Category Archives: Daily pages

Shattering memories – updated

Lefkada deserted village 2One day, while wandering around Lekfada Island (In the Ionian, in case you didn’t know), we came across this deserted village. Houses broken down and looking as if they might have been left in a hurry. We mused about earthquakes, displaced ethnicities, economic disaster etc and it was only  later that we found that the village had been hastily abandoned after a traumatic earthquake some years previously.

Now earthquakes are nothing new in this region and they are caused by three Lefkada deserted village 3tectonic plates which meet in the area of Kefalonia, Ithika and Zakynthos (Zanti). Apparently the plates, which are in constant motion are causing Greece to sink slowly into the Aegean. A major quake centred on nearby Kefalonia in 1953 was felt in Lefkada, but the real damage was likely done by one in Lefkada on August 14, 2003 – 50 years to the week after the 1953 quake.

I find it hard, if not impossible, to imagine such trauma. We regularly hear of earthquakes and other equivalent tragedies on the TV and radio, yet we are inevitably somewhat dissociated and insulated from them. Here I am so many years after the poor people watched and heard and felt as their word tumbled around them, not realising in the instant that they were witnessing the end of their village. The sadness was almost overwhelming, even so may years later.

As we wandered, we found NO evidence of the people who had probably lived here for centuries. Nothing, zip, zilch. Perhaps the odd bit of plastic suggesting that someone was trying, or had been trying, to keep the walls dry (essential if they are not to deteriorate beyond repair). A herd of goats could be heard tingling awaDeserted village in Lefkada following Earthquakes 1y at the far end of the village when we noticed the odd sign of regeneration starting. Was this one old owner returning? Was it the beginning of a complete rebuilding? Who knows? Whatever was happening, it was a sign of hope, a sign that perhaps this centuries-old village was not dead for all time.
Plagia starts to regenerate

UPDATE

Thanks to the wonder of Tripadvisor Forums I have found out more about this village. Firstly, that it is not on Lefkada but actually on the mainland just across the water and is called Palia Plagia. It is sometimes known as Old Plagia because the village has apparently been moved nearer to the coast after the earthquake that caused the devastation in the photos above. Here is a Google map of the location. 

Facebook Friend or Stalker

I love Facebook, it’s free, it’s simple, it allows me to keep in touch with family and friends (both ‘real’ and virtual) wherever they are in the world. Yes, it gets a bit full of adverts occasionally – but I have found a cool Add-In called AdBlockPlus that will block most of them as well as allowing configuration of lots of other potentially irritating features of FB. FB don’t like it and keep trying to get in it’s way, but so far ABP have managed to keep ahead of the programmers employed by Mark Zuckerberg, so give it a go.

So I use FB regularly, it is always on in both my phone and my laptop, I post several times a day and read my ‘Friends’ posts at a similar frequency. I rarely think about the consequences of my posts, having already paid a lot of attention to who I accept as a Friend, who I include in the various audiences allowed to read my posts, what I post etc… I work on the basis that, despite my best efforts, everything I post will probably be available to anyone with sufficient expertise anyway and so avoid posting photos of various bits of genitalia or being gratuitously offensive.

But a recent conversation has got me thinking about those ‘Friends’, one of who has admitted to reading posts but never posting anything themselves. My first, and admittedly rather extreme, thoughts were that this practice is in the same territory as stalking and that I would UnFriend the individual. Clearly it is not stalking, but I’m still very uneasy about someone who sucks stuff in about others’ lives but never gives anything out. How would I respond if a physical friend spent their whole time listening to my conversations, looking at my photos without ever speaking themselves or showing off their own family snaps? How long would I keep accepting that person into my house or inviting them to the pub? Would I question their motives for the apparent friendship? Isn’t friendship about a mutual exchange of information?

One part of me is interested in what lies behind this behaviour, another part thinks that even if I knew, what would I do with that insight and would it make any difference to how I feel?

So what would YOU do in these circumstances and why? I would really value your insights into the situation – please comment below. I promise I will share all comments (unless you specifically ask me not to).

All change at Little England

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EU - inoroutWaking up at 0500 my wife whispered in my ear that it looks as if the majority have voted to leave the EU. I can hardly find the words to express the whirl of thoughts and emotions running through my body at a decision that leaves me wondering what our country has come to that we have a majority of voters who believe we can return to greatness by separating ourselves from one of the largest trading and social blocks in the world. I have been disappointed to be on the losing side of general elections, but never as disappointed as this.

The pound is already lower than for 30 years and I hate to think what will happen when the stock exchange opens. The years of instability we now face while trying to disentangle ourselves from the EU and negotiate alternative trade deals around the world. will hardly encourage inward investment (not that the Little Englanders will want that, after all those foreign Johnnies had better get their nose out of our business) and will likely lead to yet more of the bloody awful austerity that was not caused by the EU but by the greedy banking classes. Egocentrism wins.
I am sad that so many people think that closing our borders to people who make a net contribution to the economy is a good thing and just hope that those countries in which so many of our friends and relatives now live are not so small-minded and will allow them to continue living there. Those emigrants relying on incomes based in sterling have just had their incomes cut by 10% overnight, I doubt that they will thank you for that.

Isolationism has never been a good thing.

I’m trying to fight off my anger at this ridiculous decision, not because I am not angry but because it was anger that led to it. Unfortunately that anger got directed at the traditional enemy – ‘the other’ – rather than the real source of it, our own government and banking classes. For the first time in my life I now start to wonder whether there is a way to bypass a democratic decision. Shall we now pull out of TTIP, NATO etc because they cost us money – but recall that the money will not be spent on the NHS or roads it will be spent propping the pound up in order to make trade with our ex-friends affordable to them.

A sad, sad day and one which really makes me wonder about continuing to live in such a self-centred, little-minded country – but of course why would any other Europen country now want me there either?

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The EU debate – worst of two worlds?

UnlikeEU - inorout,I suspect, many others, I will be voting in the EU referendum. Moreover, I have a predisposition to vote to stay in based as much on my own biases and prejudices as any hard data. Therein lies the biggest challenge that some of us face. I would like to be able to decide on a rational basis, upon indisputable facts about the various issues at play in what could be a defining decision on the future of our nation. But it’s a political arena and it’s hard to know what’s fact and what’s propaganda. It’s increasingly irritating that the debate (I would rather it was dialogue) is revolving around competing fears of what will happen if we stay/leave.

It is, of course, all speculation for nobody can actually know the consequences of the decision – especially when the consequences rest in the hands of politicians and bureaucrats of dozens of other countries around the world, to say nothing of the multinationals and bankers.

Where to go for this elusive ‘objective truth’? Well, accepting that there is no such thing leaves a hole which can only be filled with whatever sources are available. Newspapers? Each has their own agenda. Broadcast media? Some certainly seem to have an agenda, but what about the good old BBC which is required to be balanced? Well balance seems to consist of allowing equal airtime for opposing views and an attempt to provide independent analysis, but to me they are primarily a vehicle for lobbyists to air their views and I’m getting less and less interested in hearing what Dave or Boris want to tell me, especially when the tone of the debate gets more and more aerated.

So perhaps we can turn to that treasure trove of knowledge the internet? Same story here, what is ‘truth’ and what is propaganda? What about friends – either the real ones or those who simply carry that label on Facebook? Well one who meets both of those descriptions, and whose intellect I have long been impressed with, started posting some apparently objective analysis. But how do I decide it is objective? Academic references and seemingly independent research institutions and think-tanks are subsequently picked apart by others. How do I know they are independent? I don’t, they just somehow seem to be unconnected with the usual sources, but I know no more about their funders that the next man.

I guess where I am going is that, apart from the philosophical position, there is no ‘objective truth. All that exists is a series of more or less biased positions and/or data promoted by individuals some of whom clearly have personal agendas.

How then, do I decide which way to vote? Some (Boris’ camp?) seem to believe that we (the country, or perhaps big business) would be better off freed from the strictures of the EU bureaucracy who they suggest inhibit our ability to make our own decisions about how to live or whether it is OK to sell undersized bananas. One might argue (I do) that they believe in the power of free markets. Others (Cameron?) might want out because they recognise the looming United States of Europe and want to continue believing in a Great Britain that died with the Empire a generation ago. It does seem to me that the long-term vision of the founders of the EU was either hidden from the country when we first voted ‘In’ or our politicians missed it at the time.

Where are the ‘big beasts’ speaking on behalf of the concept of a united Europe? One that is not a United States but which shares enough values and beliefs to keep us from attacking each other for another 50 years; one that values solidarity and communality; one that enables free trade across one of the biggest trading blocks in the world; that facilitates free movement of people across borders that are but temporary artefacts created by politicians?

So in the end I guess I will vote based partly on my preference for the latter philosophy and partly on a belief that the uncertainty caused by exit will be more detrimental than the current dysfunction. For the system certainly needs change and maybe a narrow margin of stayers might give Dave et al a renewed mandate for tougher renegotiation of the way the institutions work.

Discuss. Please.

Reflections on Hay

Hay on WyeIt was warming up for The Festival here, the annual pilgrimage for a quarter of a million (or so my landlady tells me) literary, arty, philosophical types to the Kingdom of Hay. For so it was declared by Richard Booth, the instigator of the global fame of this book-centric town and its ‘largest arts festival in the world’. Over the next week or so the population of around 5000 will be swamped by incomers and I hope they have fat wallets, for this pretty town deserves it. With its river, derelict but hopefully being rebuilt castle, a cheese hall, more pubs than you can shake a stick at, even more restaurants, cobbled streets, high-class delis and knickknack shops it has a lot going for it. People on early morning walks even say hello to you.

I think the closest I can get to a one word description is ‘genteel’, although in a positive life affirming way. It feel safe, happy and comfortable in its skin.

I’m in Wales but the local accents don’t give it away – or perhaps I have yet to meet a true local, for this is certainly the sort of place likely to fill with a well-off middle-class eco-warriors. Throw a stone across the river with a strong arm and it would land in England. I know this because I read it in a guidebook.

Did I mention books? Since Richard Booth’s first bookshop – and by the way his original is beautiful, airy and well-organised and with a cafe that encourages encourages you to stay even longer – over 30 more followed. It takes very little research to recognise that way over 1 million second-hand books are offer in this small town. You name it and you can buy it here. From publishers’ overstocks to antiquarians (aren’t they just old books?) and even a whole shop devoted to books about railways. This is book porn without the porn books, although it would not surprise me to find a little corner somewhere selling early- or high-class porn as well. As for me, I headed to the cookery sections and found everything from the ubiquitous Jamie through Anton Edelman to vintage professional kitchen guidance tomes. A mere £12.50 released three into my possession and not only will they occupy a few hours happy reading but two of them (Picnics by Claudia Roden and Creative Cuisine by the aforementioned Edelman) will even prove useful in my own culinary adventures.

The Thursday market was due the morning after I arrived. Advertisers as from 0800 onwards I guess I should have expected that it might not have been up and running as early as a French equivalent would be but nonetheless it, and a smaller flea market the following day, added colour to the already interesting streets. Some of the flea market vendors even had sufficient bravado to have a few second-hand books on offer. I resisted the temptation to buy one of Nigella’s early oeuvres.

So, lasting impressions. Pretty place in a gorgeous setting, amazingly friendly and helpful locals (one, when I asked directions, even came down from his ladder and went inside his house to get me a free town guide before giving precise and detailed directions to my dinner venue), shops and activities that will surely keep everyone occupied. What’s not to like? I will be back.

A trip back in time

DSC_0279I don’t know who Walter Elliot was, nor how old he was (maybe nobody did) when he died in a foreign field. This was the first name I noticed, perhaps because he came from West Yorkshire; others had no names, yet others no graves.

At the rising of the sun and in its going down, we shall remember them

I hope that someone here in West Yorkshire remembers him.

“How about we spend one of our sessions in Belgium exploring the World War 1 sites” was an innocent enough suggestion a couple of years ago. And it gained traction, and the plans slowly formed, and a decision was made that he Spring 2016 meeting of The Brookfield Group would be based in Ypres, Belgium.

Rail tickets were booked, minibus hired, accommodation sourced, schedule suggested and eventually on 13th April I set off for Winchester. By the time we got to Dover for an early afternoon ferry on Thursday 14th there were 11 of us; by the time we got back to Calais on 18th there were still 11 of us, but we were changed men.

I have posted before about my responses to visiting Auschwitz and reading that post in conjunction with this one could make sense.

I am not aware of any family connections to WW1 and much less interested in history generally than some of my colleagues in Brookfield, and I agreed to go on the basis that the trip would at least enable me to explore my ‘attitude’ in the light of hard experience of visiting the sites of some of the most prolonged and bloody battles. I am so pleased that I went and was abe to share the experience with a bunch of men who have come to know each other well and are able to support each other through thick and thin. Many of us needed that support.

This is not a travelogue, but perhaps listing some of the places we visited would help, so here goes (in no particular order) – The Flanders Field Museum in Ypres, the Commonwealth cemeteries at Tyne Cot, Poperinge, Croonaert, Dantzig Alley and others, The Menin Gate, two memorials to the Welsh contingent, Talbot House, Langermark German Cemetery, the Paschendale Museum, reconstructed trenches at Bayernwald. We saw and revered the resting places of hundreds of thousands of poor young men of so many nationalities; we wept; we laughed; we wondered about the existence of a ‘just war’; we debated (somewhat pointlessly, for who really knows how they will respond in extremis) how we might individually respond if the call came to fight for our country; we took photographs; we bought souvenirs; we left only footprints.

But I left more than footprints, part of MY heart now lies in those foreign fields. The part of my heart that cannot help but pour out in sympathy for those poor young men, those sons of mothers and prides of fathers, who had their lives so rudely torn from them in a conflict that so few of them probably understood. I find myself unable to agree with the mantra so often seen “They gave their lives…” NO THEY DID NOT! The lucky ones had their lives extinguished by a well-placed bullet or massive explosion – over in a flash; the unlucky ones were wounded with inadequate medical support whose job anyway was to get them fit enough to go back and be shot at once more, the even more unlucky spent hours/days in the cold wet trenches with their feet rotting perhaps wondering how much longer this war that would be over before Xmas was going to last before going home with what we now label PTSD but in those days was not recognised and go getting no support as they were unable or unwilling to talk about their horrific experiences; worst of all were those 306 men who were summarily court-martialled and shot at dawn for desertion or cowardice.

I can hardly call them ‘highlights’, perhaps a few more memorable moments:

Flags list major conflicts since WW1 finished.

Flags list major conflicts since WW1 finished.

The exit from The Flanders Field Museum in Ypres – there hangs a series of banners listing the major conflicts that have happened since the end of the war to end all wars. Tragic.

 

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The gardens at Talbot House in Poperinge. A haven for those able to spend time away from the lines – humanity in amongst inhuman carnage. Talbot House was behind the lines and Poperinge was never taken by the Germans. It was the origin of the humanitarian movement TocH, who still work supporting and bringing together disparate parts of society.

 

 

Tyne CotTyne Cot – the largest Commonwealth War Grave containing nearly 12,000 marked graves, over 8000 of which contain unidentified remains as well as names of over 34,000 British and New Zealand soldiers whose remains are still missing in the Ypres Salient.

Eternally watching over them

Eternally watching over them

Finally, Langermark, one of the few German cemeteries. The Germans repatriated most of their fallen. This moving sculpture watches over both named and  unidentified remains of tens of thousands of German fallen.

 

At times it seemed that the only way I could deal with the assault on my senses was to dissociate from what I was witnessing, yet to dissociate would weaken the impact. We now have a generation of politicians who like me have never faced the reality of war, dissociation enables them to send more young men to die in Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria and all of the many conflicts around the world. Is the ‘war’ against ISIS any more just than WW1? What view would a utilitarian take of war? Is the participative democracy that we believe in and send people to defend and impose really much better than a benevolent dictatorship? Would fewer people die and/or live at least acceptable lives has Saddam, Assad, ISIS etc been allowed to do what they were doing for longer? Conflict is generally ended by enemies sitting down talking to each other, should we be more prepared to spend longer talking before getting the guns out?  Unanswerable questions, but questions we should surely explore openly and often, let’s not allow a ‘war is the answer’ mindset to proliferate.

How do I feel now? A host of words come to mind, but I have yet to find a label for a complex set of emotions that includes anger (unwanted because anger only fuels disputes), sadness and disappointment that the lessons have yet to be learned and so many around the world still think that the way to resolve their differences with others is to send more young men to their graves, grief for those who suffered (some briefly and some for many years after the conflict was over), helplessness to prevent it happening again, pleased that I went on the trip, disconcerted that the prickliness that I often manage to control leaked out during those times when my internal editor was tired out.

If you get the chance to go on such a trip please take it – you are likely to learn about yourself as well as history.

ADDENDUM

I finally managed to capture these thoughts a couple of weeks after our trip:

I saw graves and names beyond count
Graves with no name and names with no grave
I heard the gentle hum of the traffic, the whispering of the wind in the trees, the gentle twittering of the birds
I tried to hear the grim sounds of battle, the cries of agony, the last whispers of millions of lives being extinguished
I felt it all and I felt nothing
The despair, the passion, the pain
The hundred years of separation and the lifetime of privilege
I cried and I cry now that lessons have to be learned anew by each generation
Young lives are too important to waste in pursuit of some ego or ideology
No more, no more
If only, if only…

No news and good news

happy-sad-masksI have not posted an update for a while so this contains ‘action’ (and mostly the lack thereof) over the last couple of weeks. The summary is that I am still waiting for medical progress whilst encouraged that the Patient Experience Team at LTHT have engaged with me and want me to help them improve their systems.

Blood Pressure

After a couple of visits to the GP, I am now on what I understand to be the usual upper dose of Ramipril (10mg a day – althugh as drug dosage is generally weight-dependent I’m not sure if this takes account of my above-average weight). BP is still coming down and I am due for another review in early December. What’s interesting, and impressive, is that the Pre-operative Assessment team at LTHT have been proactive on this, ringing me on a couple of occasions to ask how it was going. The latest, a couple of days ago, suggested that because of the delay in getting my BP down I would have to go through the pre-op assessment again. Oh well, I understand.

I did ask what the target was for my BP but was told “We cannot give you one”, nor could/would they give me a range of acceptable BP. If they don’t know what is acceptable then how will they know it is OK!? The great thing is that they will contact my GP to see how it is going – one less hassle for me 🙂

Sleep apneoa

Still have not heard from the sleep apneoa clinc after my GP referred me on the request of the pre-op team. Maybe they have a long waiting list, and maybe a simple acknowledgement would reassure me that they at least have me in the system; maybe they could just give me an appointment even if it is 3 months into the future?

Patient Experience

I have made contact with the Patient Experience Team at LTHT, they have read my blog and reecntly I was invited to meet some members of the team with a view to exploring how I might be abel to help improve the patiet experience.

I stressed that at all points the (medical) care I have received has been fine, with one exception that I have already mentioned – at no point has anybody ever sat me down for a conversation along the lines of “OK Geoff, so this is what a pitutary adenoma is, this is what we expect, this is the prognosis, this is the care pathway you will experience…” Nearly everything I know has been either offered me in parts or confirmed with the medics after my own internet research. IMHO such a conversatin could/should be done by either my GP or the first consultant I saw at the hospital.

I was delighted at how well my willingness to help was received and ws pleased myself to hear that some of the issues I have raised were already on the agenda for improvement (not as a consequence of my story – I’m not claiming any credit for that). So we, OK they, cooked up three specific opportunities for me to help – acting as a patient voice on a couple of development projects and maybe making a film of my experience to be used in various formats and for training and awareness. Let’s see what happens, I am encouraged.

So, the summary again – waiting for BP to come further down, waiting for an appointment for sleep apneoa about to get involved in improving the administrative processes about which I have been critical.

Amd how am I feeling? Medically/physically fine – there are no additional symptoms and as I have said already if this had not been discovered incidentally on the original MRI then I woudl be waking around happily ignorant. Phsycholgically, I still hold to my view that it’s not affecting me – although others might be better equipped to comment on that. When asked, I happily say that I am not full of bravado but genuinely unaffected – mind you the seemingly interminable proccess might be starting to irritate me (which of course puts my BP up!!)

Behind the screen

Behind the curtainSo, what is going on behind this screen? Well, let me share something with you.

For a while this morning I thought I was watching a man die. Not a good feeling.

I was sitting quietly enjoying my coffee when an old man standing outside the shop with his wife (or maybe daughter) just keeled over and fell, head crashing to the floor. My instant reaction was “What should/could I do?” before realising that I was impotent. You see, I have no first aid training and beyond putting the man into the recovery position (which was not necessary as he happened to have fallen in exactly the right position) I could have done little except check if he had a pulse and, I guess, make some amateur attempts at CPR in the event that he didn’t have a pulse. Impotent.

Fortunately within seconds  a couple of passers by who it seemed to me knew what they were doing stopped and then 10-15 seconds later one of the security guards for the building turned up and started checking pulse etc. whilst one of the ladies who first stopped was ringing someone (presumably 999?).

Frustration turned to concern for the man. He was very grey and there was blood coming from his mouth. The first security man, eventually there were 4 or 5 moving on the gawpers, calmly checked his pulse and I saw a twitch of the old man’s mouth as he appeared to answer a question. The longer it went on, by now perhaps 2 or 3 minutes but who knows as we don’t put a stopwatch on these things do we, the more I could see the old man slowly yet clearly moving his mouth.

His wife, or was it daughter, was there and I finally found something to do. She was clearly shocked and I decided that a chair would be in order so I picked one up from the cafe, took it outside, a gentle touch on the shoulder, a gentle “I see you are trembling, perhaps you might like to sit down” and 5 seconds later she was sitting down. I had done what I could.

The medics arrived after about 5 minutes and maybe another 5 minutes passed before the screens that you see in the picture were wheeled around the scene and the man had some privacy while he was treated.

Some time later he was wheeled away on a stretcher, clearly alive and I hope not too seriously injured.

All in all it was as smooth a response as you might hope for (with the exception of the screens, which might have arrived earlier and maybe those who tended to his needs in those early minutes did actually save his life. Because I didn’t.

I am left reflecting on my own impotence in this situation.  What is the minimum that ‘one’ might hope the average man or woman in the street to be able to offer someone in these circumstances and do I have those skills. Should I train as a first aider on the offchance? Fortunately this was a crowded place and equally fortunately others appeared and did the necessary, but what if I was in the middle of nowhere and something similar happened?

 

Reflections on friendship

LoveAs I have mentioned elsewhere, I am almost overwhelmed by the outpourings of support and expressions of love that have come my way since disclosing my current pituitary challenge. I am immensely grateful for all of these and I find myself reflecting, as I would, on the processes happening here.

All of the things that have been said to me have been supportive, and some not only been wonderful but also somewhat unexpected. Unexpected not only in content but the fact that they have been said at all.

I am left wondering how often we fail to express our deepest feelings for others. Whether we keep that love, respect, appreciation, recognition, whatever ‘under our hat’ or whether we choose to express it. Are we perhaps more able/willing to write down our innermost thoughts? Do we take those thoughts and feelings for granted, always assuming that the other person somehow knows through some mysterious process how much they are valued?

Let’s not hold back. Let’s express our love for each other, our respect for someone’s ability, our recognition of someone’s contribution – whilst the emotion is hot rather than leaving it to cool down and lose its power.

So, whoever you are reading this, THANK YOU. It’s important to me that this blog is not just a piece of self-aggrandisment but also something that others find interesting for whatever their own reasons.

Migrants, refugees, hordes, people…

Refugees

Refugees

This is a thinkpiece, and perhaps inevitably something of an opinion piece as well, about the current challenges faced by people fleeing for whatever reason from the Middle East.

These people, for whatever other label we choose to apply to them they are all people – mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, neighbours, friends – have all chosen to travel thousands of miles, often in appalling circumstances and at risk to both lives and future financial capacity, to escape a regime that dehumanises them in so many ways. Ethnic cleansing, oppression of women, forced combat status, simply being in the wrong place when an oppressive (and yes I reaise that is MY values surfacing) regime decides to start shelling or gassing or raping and pillaging or abducting women/children/men – add your own reasons for wanting to escape ISIS/ISIL/DAISH. As an aside, why do so many politicians insist on using a label – DAISH or DA’ESH – that is known to be offensive? It would certainly piss me off if every time someone referred to me I was called “tosspot” and I would not be likely to engage with them on neutral terms – here is one explanation from The Deconstructed Globe:

In all of the Arabic countries, ISIS is referred to as DAISH, which is short for ‘Dawlat al-Islamiyah f’al-Iraq wa al-Sham’, Arabic for the Islamic State of Iraq and al Sham (Syria).  What makes the Arabic acronym interesting is that the Arabic word  ‘دعس‘ , or daish, which means to ‘tread under foot‘ or ‘crush‘.   I’ve been meaning to look this up for a while, and I’m glad I finally did.  The Arabic acronym is pejorative and clearly hostile, unlike the English word Isis, which is the name of a powerful Egyptian goddess.

But back to the people massing on the shores of Europe. One might argue how great it is that we have created a culture/economy that is so successful and, by and large, accommodating that people want to live here. Does it have to be a culture/economy that is restricted to those of us living here now? Let’s be honest, much of Europe’s success has been built on the Imperial past of the UK, France, Germany, Austria. An Imperial past that, to be very polite, ‘drew on’ the resources to be found in those far-flung lands where we managed to impose our will. We cannot deny our implicit connection to the oilfields of the Middle East, any more than we can dismiss our earlier pillaging of India, Western Africa, the Caribbean etc.

It was us that drew the lines on a map delineating most of the Middle East. Lines that crossed traditional tribal or other groupings, just as the lines dividing India from Pakistan led to discontent that remains today.

It was us that armed and supported regimes that turned tyrannical and now we find ourselves on the horns of a dilemma about how to support whom in the mess that we helped create.

It is us who, if we believe the conflicts to be religious in catalysis, refuse to remember the death and destruction wielded in the name of Christianity. Crikey, if we think the Sunni/Shia division is baffling then how do we account for the Cathars driven to extinction by ethnic cleansing by a Pope who did not like their particular form of Catholicism.

But back to today’s people and ‘our’ response to the reality that so many hundreds of thousands see themselves living a better life in Europe. Can you imagine yourself so dissatisfied with what is happening where you live that you set off to walk thousands of miles across countries you have never visited, across desert with little water or food, carrying your life possessions on your back with your wife, children, mother, grandmother in your company. The when you get somewhere near your destination – Europe – you find it necessary to pay mmore than your life savings to an unscrupulous human trafficker who packs you so tight in an unseaworthy vessel that your mother slips overboard never to be seen again, your child dies of the crush in a locked below-decks compartment and your wife is raped in front of your eyes by those traffickers who you so hoped would lead you to a better life? Go on, imagine it. I have tears in my eyes as I just write these sentences. These people are HUMANS like you or I, with desires and dreams like you or I, but without the ability to make them happen.

You finally make it to your destination, only to find that instead of the dream you are living in the open air or under a plastic sheet with thousands of others who made it. You are treated as criminals by regimes who you believed were more compassionate than the one you escape. You are held in detention centres while some bureaucrat driven by Political will, decides whether HE thinks it was worth all your sacrifice to get here.

We were happy to accept, even encourage the inhabitants of many of our former colonies to come to our textile factories, our buses, our shipyards, our hospitals. We were even magnificent, albeit probably not magnificent enough, in helping thousands escape the Nazis. Yet here we are making it difficult, and more difficult by the day, for those who look up to us, who value our freedoms to share in them. How selfish. How uncaring that we pay for fences and razor wire to stop a few thousand desperate migrants/refugees/whatever coming over from France. How petty-minded that when Germany has accepted over 800,000 such people we are resisting a few tens of thousands. How ridiculous that we spend millions on arming and training and even bombing one or other regime in the Middle East while we refuse to help those fleeing from the carnage.

Let’s find a way out of this situation that treats these poor people as human beings, that shares our wealth with them (maybe the oil companies could ‘repatriate’ some of the profits they make out of ‘their’ oil to the people in such dire straits) and that positions us as a beacon of human responses to human challenges. We need to address both the cause and the effect, we focus on the effect because it is here in our backyard whereas the cause is thousands of miles away in foreign lands so many of us do not understand.

Refugees welcome in german footballWhat a delight to see German football fans with signs saying “Refugees welcome here”. What a delight to hear of Icelandic families offering their homes to refugees.

And what a shame on us that 67% of the population think that sending the Army to France to restore order is an answer!

And one final question. How much is it costing us to resist the few thousand in Calais, compared to how much it would cost to treat them as deserving humans and find room for them in our so-called compassionate society?