On Georgia and Kosovo

Yesterday afternoon, Russian President Dmitry Medvedev announced that his country had officially recognised the independence of the Georgian separatist states in Abkhazia and South Ossetia. This decision followed passionate speeches in the Russian Duma over the previous week by representatives of both regions. One of the common features of these announcements has been the comparison between the Georgian regions and Kosovo, a region of Serbia recently declared independent to the approval of the West. However, whilst there are certain comparisons that can be drawn between the two regions (peripherality, federalism and ethnic difference), there is little common moral equivalence ...

It is interesting to note that the nationalisms in Abkhazia and South Ossetia were so low down the interests of Moscow that the regions micro-nationalisms were ignored during the Soviet era, whilst Georgia was a constituent member of the USSR. This suggests a certain element of strategic brokering in an attempt to negate the independence of Georgia, but also represents a warning to states with large pro-Russian populations within their recognised borders. Kosovo itself was never manipulated by another state directly in an attempt to promote the division or annexation of territory. Kosovan nationalism exerted itself largely through non-violent political resistance. Violence only began following the NATO response to recognised ethnic cleansing and mass deportation conducted by Serbian troops in the region. Whilst there was violence in the Caucasus, it cannot be said to have been on a par with the actions of Slobodan Milosevic.

I have also yet to see any sort of UN Resolution proposed by the Russian representatives that justifies the invasion of a sovereign state (and ex-colony) against the wishes of that state and the international community. The word "unilateral" comes to mind. Where was the equivalent of the Resolution 1441, warning Saddam Hussain of the consequences of belligerence, in this case? I also worry that the independence of these states will not result in their becoming "nations" at the high table of diplomacy. The former republics of Yugoslavia now have seats at the UN (alongside Georgia) and 20 of the 27 EU states have recognised the de jure and de facto independence of Kosovo and its 2.1 million people. Realistically, Russian sponsorship of these tiny enclaves is not an attempt at independence, but an attempt at re-integration into a new Russian empire. No-one has suggested that Kosovo should be annexed by neighbouring Albania, nor have they proposed the unilateral presence of Albanian troops on Kosovar soil.

The ethnicity element of the two conflicts is also one primary source of difference. Where the West has attempted to promote the independence of Kosovo through the integration and assimilation of multiple ethnic groups, Russian activities in the Caucasus represent nation-building by appeal to sectarianism and violent nationalisms. This threat of violence also looms elsewhere as a result of Russian foreign policy. This month, Russian has threatened to attack both Poland and Ukraine in response to their decisions to host a US missile defence shield and also refused to endorse economic and political sanctions against the Mugabe regime in Zimbabwe. If Russian diplomacy is concerned with the "encirclement" of their state, one wonders how Kosovo and Zimbabwe are part of this breaking out.

I don't want to avoid criticism of the West by the way. The Bush administration is guilty of giving the impression of US support to Georgia, before refusing to act at the decisive moment. This is all to reminiscent of Bill Clinton's support for the Bosnians in the face of Serbian aggression, before letting them get slaughtered ... an error repeated in Kosovo. It would be nice to think there was a consistent response from Washington, but I would not bet on the idea, which is what President George W. Bush has given the strong impression of doing in the last two weeks. But surely this suggests that there was no imperial ambition involved. Will anyone say the same about Putin's undisguised plan for the forcible restoration of Russian hegemony around his empire's periphery?

Blygt

A Tree of Smoke

The following is stolen from a review of the book by Geoff Dyer in The Guardian (Saturday, October 27, 2007):


Who'd have thought that Denis Johnson had this kind of whopping, mega-ton novel in him? His last, The Name of the World, ran to a mere 120 pages but still managed to sneak on to the shortlist for the biennial Irish Times international fiction prize. What made it so intriguing was that it seemed to be the work of a writer who, at some level, did not know how to write at all - and yet knew exactly what he was doing. Jesus' Son, his best-known book, is even skimpier: a collection of stories about strung-out losers unfolding in meticulously addled prose overspilling with transcendence, lyricism or just addledness. A writer, then, of distinctly American graininess: a metaphysical illiterate, a junkyard angel.

Needless to say, he is not everybody's cup of tea. After I'd recommended The Name of the World, a literary friend responded with an email contrasting Johnson's self-described "zoo of wild utterances" with Bellow's infinite loquacity. For me, the effect of the comparison was counter-productive: Bellow instantly seemed as old and venerable as George Eliot.

And now we have what is in some ways a Victorian novel: 600 pages, zillions of characters and a plot that offers a key to the variously contested mythologies of American involvement in south-east Asia (Vietnam, principally, but with substantial sections in the Philippines as well). What makes it a distinctly modern key is that, with every turn, the promised revelation is more securely concealed. We are talking CIA here; we are talking, more generally, about a literary mission that invites comparison with Don DeLillo, Robert Stone, Joseph Conrad (especially towards the end) and of course, Graham Greene (one of the characters is undecided whether he is a quiet American or just an ugly one).

However extensively the novel's story is summarised it is going to be sold short. It starts in 1963. "Tree of Smoke" is some kind of CIA project. Skip, an operative of uncertain status but intense dedication, is working for the Colonel (who also happens to be his uncle). Skip has an affair with Kathy, a Seventh-Day Adventist whose aid-worker husband has been kidnapped, possibly killed. Years pass. History - as they used to say of shit - happens. Kurtz-like, the Colonel's methods become increasingly unsound. At the sharp end are the seriously messed-up Houston brothers (who previously saw service in Johnson's first novel, Angels). Trung, a North Vietnamese - who once tried to assassinate the colonel - is being recruited as a double agent, but, at the same time, Trung's assassination is being plotted by the same guy - a German - who killed a priest with a blow pipe in the Philippines, back in 1963. Twenty years later, in Arizona, the Houston brothers . . . Ah, forget it. There may be no smoke without fire but in this case you can't see the wood for the tree of smoke, or something.

People and events loom out of the dense narrative foliage and then disappear. The writing can appear humdrum. Stuck in a quagmire of incantatory banality, the dialogue seems to be contributing nothing except its own capacity to keep on coming. But . . .

Whatever else might be said about my talents as a reader, my ability to quit is undisputed. I can give up on any book - and I never for a moment considered abandoning this one, even when it seemed to be going nowhere. Even though the story had disappeared like a path overrun by vegetation, the novel retained its uniquely slippery kind of traction.

Why? Because, at any moment it was capable of stumbling into the sharpest focus. Some kind of slanted truth seemed always close to hand. Let me give a tiny example and comparison. In one of Alan Hollinghurst's novels we learn that the characters all felt a bit "hectic" from drinking wine at lunch. So much is fixed so exactly with that single perfectly chosen word. Here is Johnson's swilled-out version of the same observation as applied to a sailor on shore leave in Honolulu: "He strolled the waterfront with the beer thudding inside his head." Ditto. Now imagine that casual accuracy about beer "thudding" around your head cropping up throughout the massively distended narrative that is Tree of Smoke. There are hundreds of things like this and you never see them coming. I skipped but always had to go back and read properly from exactly the point where I began skimming.

Central to Johnson's dramatised worldview is the belief that it is the mangled and damaged, the downtrodden, who are best placed to achieve - "withstand" is probably a better verb - enlightenment. It's like an inversion of the idea of the law of the jungle where trees vie with each other to reach for the sky, the light. For Johnson the real revelations are at ground level, amid the degradation of mush and swamp. As such there are moments of extreme ugliness and horror. In 1968 a GI spoons out the eye of a VC prisoner and James Houston yells: "Give it to the motherfucker. Make him holler." Thus encouraged the soldier "grabbed the man's eyeballs hanging by the purple optic nerves and turned the red veiny side so the pupils looked back at the empty sockets and the pulp in the cranium. 'Take a good look at yourself, you piece of shit.'" A little while earlier James had emerged from a firefight in the aftermath of which "every blurred young face he looked at gave him back a message of brotherly love." But then his buddy got wounded and ended up in hospital "like the Frankenstein monster laid out in pieces, wired up for the jolt that would wake him to a monster's confused and tortured finish." The book is a monster in that sense, jolted constantly into life by its own damaged circuitry, a mass of spare parts all held together with a relentlessly deranged sense of purpose and quotations from Artaud and Cioran.

Johnson is all over the place and he is an artist of strange diligence. It is as if his skewed relationship to the sentence - not really knowing what one is and yet knowing exactly what to do with it - operates, here, at the level of structure. Tree of Smoke is as excessive and messy as Moby Dick. Anything further removed from the tucked-up, hospital corners school of British fiction is hard to imagine. It's a big, dirty, unmade bed of a book and, once you settle in you're in no hurry to get out.

The Crimson Shadow

The "Crimson Shadow" trilogy ( The Sword of Bedwyr, Luthien's Gamble and The Dragon King) is written by R.A. Salvatore. These books are a fast, easy read with little complexity like some other fantasy novels. The books are straight adventure. Characters, plot and style are what drive these books through an interesting story.

Luthien Bedwyr is the main character of these books. He starts out an innocent young man from an island part of the kingdom of Eriador. By the end, he has undergone changes, found love and becomes a hero. Along the way he discovers friends and helpers in the halfling Oliver de Burrows, the wizard Brind Amour and the half-elf Siobahn. These characters move a simple, adventurous plot along to a rousing conclusion.

Plotwise, the books are straight foward. In the first book, Luthien becomes the reluctant leader of a revolution. The second book tells the story of the freeing of Eriador. The final book involves the great battle to defeat evil king Greensparrow.

Mr. Salvatore's clean, simple style helps the books considerably. Word choices convey the right images to the reader without being overly descriptive. This style moves the plat along swiftly.

These fantasy books don't have a lot of depth, but are good if you're looking for entertainment. A reader can put their brain in idle and enjoy a fun romp through the fantasy world of the Crimson Shadow.

A Radical Jesus

I've just returned from a week on a Scripture Union holiday camp for kids between the ages of 10 and 13. There was the usual evening meeting and small group stuff, but the kids also put on a (very impressive) theatrical version of Roald Dahl's "Revolting Rhymes" in the space of 6 days. It was over this last week that I've had the chance to think over a few thinks regarding my personal faith, and it was fittingly one of the kids that sparked a bit of a brain wave - "what did Jesus look like?". It's a rather simple question, but one with deeper meanings. Yes, he probably wasn't the guy with the film star looks and long flowing robes. But then I thought what did he look like in situ? What was it like to be around him, to experience miracles and the wisest teachings. A group meditation activity got me thinking about this further - "imagine you were there at the Pool of Bethesda...". What did this man that I've given my life to, really ... look like?

So I started at the beginning. Think about Jesus, and what is the first image that pops into your mind? Like most in the West, I went for the tall Caucasian looking guy, with the beard and the long flowing white robe. There are probably a smattering of children around as well. He's teaching, healing and everyone is very supportive and very well kept in appearance. Clean, friendly and loving - a bit like the famous Last Supper portrait by Da Vinci.

It was as I was sitting there in a school chapel just outside Rugby that I realised that its a rather sanitized view of Jesus. Does this view permeate the way that we practice our faith and relationship with God? Would we be prepared to accept that person who loiters at the back of the church, you know the one ... the one with the leather jacket and tattoos, who maybe smells a bit? Do we want to see the dirty or the clean?

The great thing about Jesus is that he did not accept to our sanitized view of the world, and neither did he marginalise those who did not live up to it. He was neither North American or European. He'd have probably had dark skin and black hair (though not mentioned in the Bible either way, I'm assuming that he'd have resembled those people of the day in terms of appearance). We've also sanitized his message. We don't want to see how Jesus' message would have been received at the time. It was as radical then as it is now.

Firstly, Jesus was a Jew. The Jews at the time were waiting for God's chosen saviour, the Messiah, to come and sweep the Jews to salvation in the form of military conquest and success. Not just a spiritual salvation, but a physical release from Roman oppression. There was no revolution with Jesus, but there was salvation. And the best thing of all was that it wasn't just for the Jews but for everyone. In Colossians 3:11 Paul says: “Here there is no Greek or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all.” To Jesus, there was no difference between male and female, black and white, rich and poor. No longer was there the division between Jew and everyone else. The Samaritans are the perfect example of this segregation ... and of Jesus breaking it down.

Just think about the story of Jesus and the woman at the well (John 4:3-30). Most people when they were travelling through this part of the world avoided Samaria like the plague. So Jesus' journey is quite a radical step in itself. It's on this step of his mission that he meets a woman with no status, who was a mixed-blood Samaritan with a perceived poor moral fibre (5 husbands and now another man at home). She is the perfect incarnation of everything that the Jews reviled, yet here is one of the few examples in which Jesus actually reveals himself directly as Messiah (the other if you're wondering is during the trial with Pilate). Jesus reveals his true identity to a woman that most Jews would never have met, primarily because they went nowhere near her country. This was not a "clean" message that made his contemporaries comfortable. He challenged people and called them on their crap. He did not pull his punches but laid people out when they needed it. At the same time he presented love to all.

Why is it now that we like to hear messages from our preachers that make us feel good and comfortable? Why is it that we often shy away from any type of challenge in our life? The message that Jesus preached was a challenge to the way of thinking at the time. He called people to action, in a way that they had not thought of before.

Rob Bell says in Velvet Elvis:

“The intent then of a rabbi having a yoke wasn’t just to interpret the words correctly; it was to live them out. In the Jewish context, action was always the goal. It still is. (47)”

What action is God calling you to today? Are you ignoring those in your midst that need help because they are outside of your comfort zone? Do you walk by the needy on the street and ignore the need presented right in your face? What radical message do you preach today? If Jesus was on the earth today would he be preaching a message that liberated you or condemned the practices that you are a part of? I think for myself He all to often would be preaching against the life that I live.

Blygt