A bit of woo

You know, like a lot of latte-swilling inner city leftoids, the overt trappings of nationalism are not really my bag. Not my thing. (Get a new flag and we'll talk though.)

But that doesn't mean I don't have a sense of place. And frankly, I really love a lot of Australian expressions. Especially old school ones that I heard when I was in primary school in the 70s; usually from then 50-60 year olds. You know the sort: blokes called Len, with a sybillant whistle, a 40s hat and form guide under the arm. Old sheilas called Beryl or Esme with a fascinator, and the air of having hatboxes secreted in top cupboards at home.

One of my faves was "let's have a bit of woo" (i.e. everyone calm down).

Another was the favoured declamation of my own grandmother: "my hat!"

Or referring to teenagers as "young blades". Or "tiger". Steady on there, tiger.

Most of these I haven't heard in ages. So, in the spirit of cultural heritage preservation, feel free to like, document any like, disappearing personal faves. Dude.

Portuguese Forts in Asia #4: Mysterious Maubara

More forts which are Portuguese and are also in Asia!

Ah, but is it??? Portuguese, I mean. Obviously it's in Asia.
Ah, but is it in Asia? Oh puhleeease, let's not get into the Wallace line debate. Isn't that about fauna anyway?

Well, while those two sort that out, allow me bid you bemvindo to mysterious Maubara. What a cracking little fort it is too. Simple, square design. Looks to me like it was designed primarily for booty storage rather than defence. Imagine the sandalwood piled up in there circa 1680. Woo baby!

Incidentally, its a great little beach too. By chance, I met Kirsty Sword Gusmao there in 2005, when she was swimming there with her three lovely little kids (and a bodyguard or two). Turned out she knew my Timorese pal Alex from the resistance days, so we all had a chat.

Anyway: the mystery. What you need to know is that Maubara is west of Liquica - and that gets us into the ill-defined regions which were contested between the Dutch and Portuguese for some centuries. Therefore the crucial question is: is it of Portuguese, or Dutch provenance?




















The enclave of Maubara was certainly among those handed over to the Portuguese in an ill-advised trade, in which the Dutch got the entire islands of Flores and Solor. What a rip-off! That was Governor Lopes da Lima, who lives in infamy for his poor negotiating skills. That was in the 1850s, so one would presume this is originally Dutch. Also its rather regular looking, and frankly, the Portuguese were generally a bit more interesting in the main - although there's also the Batugade fort; which is not entirely dissimilar.

Anyhoo - fact is, no one can be precisely sure, since these sandalwood bearing enclaves passed between the two powers with great regularity in the 1600s. Bottom line is, its a nice little fort, with a full sea wall, which you can visit, and some more than satisfactory cannon stockades and old guns. So where the bloody hell are ya?! etc.

A brief ode to the $100 I won backing Spain for the Euro Cup

Ole Ole
Ole Ol-aaaaa
porque España va a ganar!

Havana

Well, a week in Cuba can't fail to impress. Not always for the good, it must be said - but more of that below. Havana is a beautiful city in its own run-down, 19th century Hispanic way. Its cars, frozen in time, the grand squares of Habana Vieja, the Capitolio in Habana Central and the magnificent Malecon by the sea, the Hotel Nacional and the great, great people.

First the positives, of which there are many. As a tourist, you'll have a great time. Plus it's way safer than central America. People's most basic needs are essentially met by the government at highly subsidised rates. And the healthcare system is outstanding. So no one is going to stab you from sheer desperation - and I must say, there are places I've in Guatemala and Mexico where that isn't the case.

There, the key words are: Cuidate;Ojo; Atención! But not in Cuba.

However, basic needs, healthcare and education are one thing, and wants are another. One should never underestimate the role of desire (and boredom) in history. If a Cuban wants anything extra - or something major goes wrong with their house, or car,and the government won't cover it - they pretty much have to go into the tourist economy (with its higher value convertible peso).

This may involve starting a 50/50 business with the government (which is how that works), or more commonly, just hit the streets and tout.

So, as a result, there's pretty constant hassle on the streets for your convertible dollar. Buy a cigar. Do you need a tour guide. On and on it goes. Not in any way threatening, as I noted above - but constant. It can be annoying. Mind you, Cuba is hardly alone there for the joys of touts in tourist town. But the constancy of Jiniterismo ('jockeying', i.e. touting) will strike you.

The music is of course fantastic, and the night life hard to beat. Cubans are educated, always literate, friendly for the most part, and proud. I found that I very much liked the average Cuban.

The other thing that struck me: how deeply, deeply stupid the US blockade is. Let me tell you a secret, Miami Cuban: Every night, Fidel and Raul Castro get down on their knees and bless you for the blockade. Why? Because the regime would have been in big trouble post-1990 without it. The net effect of the 45 year blockade has been to recruit nationalism to the Communist cause. That's it. Thats what you achieved in your wasted, pointless lives of vengeful smallness. You kept the regime in place.

Of course, in any other place, a policy that hadn't worked in 45 years would be considered a "failure". But not in Florida! Hell no.

But its worse than failure: the blockade is one of the main things going for the Cuban regime. If there's one thing that unites Cubans behind the Castros, its that.

Indeed, if there are a bigger bunch of plonkers on the globe than the ageing clique of older generation Miami Cuban leaders, I'd like to know who they are. Please write in and tell me here at BmL. The other thing to bear in mind is that its just a bitchy little family feud among the Castros. That's right - the big Miami Cuban leaders are their cousins.

Note that I mention the older generations - surveys among younger Miami Cubans show that some 55% favour easing the travel and economic restrictions. The battle is being lost in their own community.

Plus frankly, it all makes that otherwise grand, powerful nation - the USA - look like a whiny little bitch. Drop into Toronto airport, folks, and its all "Cuba Si!" vacation advertising. Same in Mexico. No one else gives a crap; its all so pathetic and petty. If your system is better - it should win out in the end, right? Face it, you can't round up more than 3 votes in the general assembly to support el bloqueo. The other two are generally Israel and Micronesia.

Don't get me wrong - its great to go to a country where there's no Yanks. The Cuban government and the travelling world thank you. I'm just lost as to how this works for you there in the US. Beats me! You could be ruling that joint with your tourist dollars, and billions in exports tomorrow. But hey, own goal for another 45 years; see if we care. Just bear in mind that while it really hurts the ordinary people of Cuba, it only benefits the regime. Nice one, dufus!

Anyway, here endeth the rant; and starteth the pics! Here's some nice spots in Havana and Trinidad. Travelling down the page:

• Bookstalls in the Plaza de Armas
• In the Bodeguita del Medio - Hemingway's favourite bar
• Havana Streetscape, Capitolio in the background
• UNESCO listed town of Trinidad

Bite my Interregnum!

Well, apologies to those happy few who do stop by BmL from time to time. I've been overseas and unable to blog of late. However, I have accrued some interesting material in Havana, and will post it up as soon as I shake this jetlag.

Meanwhile, dig this: Did you know Fidel Castro's HQ during the Bay of Pigs campaign was in a Cuban town called 'Australia'?

Me neither! Apparently there was a sugar mill there in the early 1900s, run by a firm called Central Australian Sugar. Just off the Havana - Santa Clara highway.

Here, then, is a pic taken in Australia, Cuba.

And don't tell me I never get ya nuthin.

New Eurotrends

You know, with Eurovision, I tend to skim or avoid the songs, and turn up avec popcorn for the regional bloc voting. Then try to annoy Ms LE by guessing as many douze points as possible. I got about two-thirds right tonight - not that its especially difficult.

Briefly, since I've got the flu and must retire, here's my take on a few evident trends:

• Its all shifting eastward folks. Maybe Rumsfeld was actually talking about Eurovision that time. Old Europe is finito!
• Is it just me, or was that huge pro-Armenia vote just one big ‘euro-finger’ to Turkey? 'You want in to Europe? Cool! Armenia's coming too. Oh, have you guys met? Hope the seating arrangements aren't awkward.'
• UK has firmed its place at the bottom, no doubt for linguistic reasons. Let's face it, history has turned - and its all about 2nd language Eurenglish now, and well... you native speakers are just a little embarassing to have around while we're rhyming shady with lady. How many times you gotta come last before you get the hint?
• Not even the French bother to sing in French anymore. Mind you, that was the only interesting entry for mine.
• I wonder how the inaugural Kosovo entry went? Make the semis? Non?

Hoyt Pollard, and war anxiety cinema

1972.

Sometimes I'll watch a film just because it was made in that year. Whitlam, Watergate, Fischer v Spassky - it was all happening.

Some great films too: The Godfather, Solaris, Fritz the Cat. But I come to speak of a discrete genre of film, the white male war anxiety flic.

Perhaps we have Australian species of anxiety cinema in Walkabout (1971) starring a young Jenny Agutter (yowza!), The Chant of Jimmy Blacksmith (1978), and maybe the Cars that ate Paris (1974).

But the real deal was in the US: of course, we are talking about Deliverance (1972). Not only that, but also my personal genre fave, Southern Comfort (1981, but set in 1973).

I guess you don't need an SBS film reviewer on staff to work out these are male anxiety psychodramas about Vietnam, with probably also a touch of blowback from the rise of feminism, and the civil rights movements as well.

What do these great films boil down to? This: we're acting tough, but don't know we're the hell we are, or what we're doing. And the local folks we're really pissing off (Hillbillies, Cajuns) really do. They're out there. In here, in the US swamps and hills. Shadows on our peripheral vision.

The protaganists are plainly unequal to the task. They are either civilians with warrior fantasies, like crazy Burt and his bow, or just plain scared (read conscripts). Or literally firing blanks, like the Louisiana National Guard.

The (erm...) climax, of course, is the complete demolition of the fragile masculine psyche on parade. "Can you squeal like a pig, boy?". Apparently that was ad-libbed. Boy, that bit part actor got it. But no less, the mental breakdown of Cpl Bowden, whose insane destruction wrought on civilians to compensate for earlier cowardice seals the fate of all.

Only two will make it: not the showy Rambo. He's toast. Not the scared guy who believed Rambo would protect them either. He dies horribly. The survivor is the quiet American. The one whose reluctant bravery is directed solely at getting out of this insanity, and respected the locals more from the get go. And the other scared guy, who follows him instead. He's got a chance. In Deliverance at least, he's even more interesting: a Phoenix, arising from the ashes of the obliterated faux-macho self.

Oh, and Hoyt Pollard played the banjo.

Beatles Art - shock pics exclusive!

Well, if that post title doesn't generate some google hits, nothing will. But hey, I've got a minor Beatles tale, a blog, and a shameless, self-promotional bent, so... you do the sums.

Back in November 1994, I louched up to Liverpool from my job in London (teaching politics at the lowest possible rung of tertiary institutions in the UK; South Thames College, Tooting. No doubt you've heard of it, while quaffing oysters with some ra-ra Oxbridge types).

Anyway, I was just hanging around pointlessly outside the abandoned Jacaranda Club, where Os Beatles - as they are known in Portugal - use to play before they landed the more famous Cavern gig.

Bing! Up comes Alan Williams, the Beatles first manager.
I said "hey, you're Alan Williams".
"yes, hello there ... have you read my book?"
"er, no, sorry. I saw your picture in Peter Brown's one".

Despite this, he invited me down into the low-ceilinged club, abandoned for 10 years at that time. Which was really nice of him - he's a very friendly chap. Thanks Alan! With him was the new prospective owner of the club, having an inspection.

According to your man Williams, the wall art you can see was painted by none other than Stuart Sutcliffe and John Lennon, back in 1960. Have a squiz. Below is a pic I snapped of Alan, with a Sutcliffe original behind him, and above some pre-renovation Sutcliffe and/or Lennon wall art.

I gather you can now go to the refurbished club, and see it yourself, if you're up Liverpool way.

PS if you want to see the restored version of the Stuart Sutcliffe painting behind Alan Williams, there's a picture of it here, half way down the page.

Te recordamos, Victor Jara

Here's a news item from a Latin American news list I'm on. The upshot is that the investigation into the death of Chilean singer Victor Jara, killed by Pinochet's forces in 1973, has been closed without a finding; raising the prospect of many other investigations into disappearances under the Pinochet regime being dropped.

I needn't translate the demand: NO A LA IMPUNIDAD.

Lot of it going around.

The Victor Jara Foundation webpage is here

ACCION CULTURAL POR LA JUSTICIANO A LA IMPUNIDAD EN LA INVESTIGACION DEL ASESINATO DE VICTOR JARA

La Fundación Víctor Jara convoca a toda la ciudadanía a una "Acción Cultural Por la Justicia" para repudiar e impedir el cierre del sumario en el caso de la investigación por la muerte del músico Víctor Jara.
Invitamos a los artistas, a los trabajadores, a los estudiantes, a los jóvenes, a los luchadores de derechos humanos y a todas las organizaciones de nuestro país, a participar en esta acción que pretende impedir que se cierre un caso emblemático de la lucha por los derechos humanos.

Creemos que el cierre del sumario en el caso de la investigación por la muerte de Víctor Jara, es el inicio del cierre de esta y otras causas de victimas de la dictadura. Hoy más que nunca debemos levantar nuestra voz para repudiar esta acción de la justicia chilena. Hoy debe ser la ciudadanía y las organizaciones culturales, sociales, sindicales y políticas las que deben pronunciarse.

El desafío es por el futuro de nuestro país, por la justicia y por el NO A LA IMPUNIDAD.
Nos juntaremos el lunes 19 de mayo en el Estadio Víctor Jara a partir de las 19 hrs. en un jornada en la que esperamos encontrar a todos los amigos de Víctor.
- Fundación Víctor Jara

Latte d'Or Prize winner: The Battle of Algiers (1966)

Woo baby! What a stonking film this is. An Italian production made in 1966, dramatising the Algerian war of independence and French counter-insurgency tactics in the mid to late 1950s.

But really, as interesting as all that is, its the performances. The French commander is so compelling yet understated in his role, I actually started to wonder if that section was documentary footage. It's gripping cinema.

According to sources, the key filmic influences were "Italian neo-realism, French cinema verite and Soviet socialist realism". I have no idea what neo-realism is, frankly, but the rest of that sounds about right I suppose. Whatevs. I hasten to add, there's none of tiresome worthiness and longwinded "mass as actor" shots of lowgrade Soviet agitprop.

More interestingly, this: The Pentagon screened it in 2003 to get their Intel guys thinking about the emerging challenge of the Iraqi insurgency. According to Wiki, the flyer for the Pentagon screening read:

How to win a battle against terrorism and lose the war of ideas. Children shoot soldiers at point-blank range. Women plant bombs in cafes. Soon the entire Arab population builds to a mad fervor. Sound familiar? The French have a plan. It succeeds tactically, but fails strategically. To understand why, come to a rare showing of this film.

Which gave me pause to think - once again, we find the US following the French around, falling in the same traps without really looking at the French experience, and making the same mistakes - the other prime example, of course, being Vietnam.

Anyways - if this film doesn't boot your arse into next Tuesday then .... I guess you're just, erm.... interested in other things.

Oh yes, and props to Fyodor who wins the Lucky d'Or prize for predicting the subject of this post on the basis of some scant clues on the Truffaut thread.