The Lev Koverni Crisis

A magnificent job has been done, over the last fifty years, of keeping the lid on the  Lev Koverni  crisis but the recent declassifying of key documents has shed light on this fascinating story.

It started in the summer of 2013 with a series of Facebook posts detailing escalating human rights abuses in the reclusive state. Harrowing photographs of emaciated children accompanied the posts which went viral, attracting millions of likes and comments. Quite why atrocities of this sort should be liked so universally went unquestioned at the time.

Further disturbing images and descriptions of torture of people hostile to the government of LK leaked out into cyberspace, in some cases via social media, in others via MMS to journalists at major news outlets.

The growing weight of evidence of torture triggered a campaign by major human rights organisations who, based on the information gathered, launched an international push for coordinated action to be taken to stop this harm. Donations were gathered, protests organised and pressure brought to bear on all western, democratic governments.

In the meanwhile, the corporate world had its own issues to deal with concerning LK. Documents stolen from BP had appeared on Wikileaks. They detailed preliminary geological surveys suggesting that oil and natural gas were probably present in significant quantities in the plains region just outside the capital. Previously considered uneconomic, the tapping of these reserves was now in consideration due to the steadily rising international energy prices. BP denied all knowledge of the documents but the market had other views and BP’s stock gained 10% on the news. Rival companies started to make circumspect enquiries into how tightly BP had the LK market locked and what opportunities might exist.

Very little information was available at this stage. LK was not a member of the UN and the only known consulates, according to information from the LK Foreign Affairs department, were in Kazakhstan, Afghanistan and Oman. Attempts to contact the government in LK were met with silence.

Towards the end of summer, events began to move very quickly. Almost simultaneously, packages delivered to the Pentagon and to Thames House exploded in the mail rooms, spreading white powder over a number of people.  Counter-terrorism measures were activated, crisis committees of senior government officials met in secret session and analysts scrambled for what information they could get about these unprecedented attacks.

Six hours after the explosions, video posted on Al Jazeera’s website claimed responsibility in the name of Shutka, a violent revolutionary organisation devoted to the overthrow of the LK government and establishment of a fundamentalist, Sharia state in the region. Answering Congressional Committee questions following the events, senior intelligence officials were forced to admit that Shutka had not been on the radar of their agencies to that point. An Al Qaeda connection was suggested and further videos, promising more attacks of the same kind, were posted to Al Jazeera and other sites known to be methods of communication for terrorist agencies.

A week later, secretive email messages, sent through a proxy, were received by the White House, the Kremlin and other major centres of government, begging help on behalf of the democratically elected Durak of LK. The Shutka had gotten out of hand, the messages read, and only intervention by the west could ensure ongoing stable, secular government. Multinational energy companies brought further pressure for intervention to bear to protect their strategic investments and interests.

The UN Security Council met in emergency session well into the night and, after lengthy negotiations, agreed to an urgent peace-keeping mission being sent to the region “to protect democracy and uphold the government of the Lev Koverni Durak.”

Ten days later, a US carrier battle group, supported by two British destroyers and five Chinese submarines arrived at the location of LK’s major harbour, much to the surprise of the three blokes in a small fishing vessel who were the only ones there. Taken on board the flagship for interrogation, the three seemed genuinely puzzled as to what was going on until one of them said, “Bloody Bob and Stan!”

Robert James Holloway (36) and Stanley Miles Probert (27) were arrested 12 hours later in the IT support section of the offices of a major Australian accountancy firm. They were found to be in possession of talcum powder, a number of jacks-in-the-box, map editing software and a large and long simmering grudge which had arisen from not having been allowed leave to accompany their colleagues on their month long fishing vacation.

The Conservative Agenda

Conservatism is a state of mind that holds that an idealised version of the way things were is innately superior to an idealised version of how things could be, which is the purview of the progressive, or the ugly, messy now which is what the rest of us have to live with. For the conservative, the social structure, tax arrangements, gender roles, music, fashion and front yard fencing styles of yore are infinitely to be preferred to any other possible model. 

To understand modern conservative thinking, it is necessary to go further yore than your wildest dreams; back to the days of feudal Europe. 

The lords of modern conservatism - let's call them Abbotts - don't really feel that the populace should expect the aristocracy to provide support of any kind; they should stand on their own two feet. Unfortunately, the ethos also calls for no wage protection so many people find themselves unable to afford feet of their own upon which to stand. Parents could, and indeed are expected to, give their children a leg up in life by providing them with feet and all the appurtenances thereunto.  Children of the less well heeled, however, may find themselves without a leg to stand on let alone the need for socks and shoe polish. 

Abbots also believe that while the peasants have a duty to pay tax, they should not expect anything in return. Paying a healthcare levy, for example, does not entitle the taxpayer to any actual care. They have merely purchased the right to pay for healthcare; people shouldn't expect to receive such things from the government, even if they've already paid for them. Anyone actually ill will need to pay a fee to see a doctor and, if they want some kind of cure for their illness before it kills them, they will need to pay a fee to another group who will, in turn, pay for some of the associated costs. 

Leaving peasants without lifesaving treatment is not really a problem though because many of those who die will be old and no longer contributing to the economy. Abbotts really have no use for the elderly, particularly once they've passed the age of 70 and are no longer able to toil in the master's field. There can be no expectation of largesse or support from the government in these cases. Those who have been imprudent enough to merely work their whole lives and don't have a gingerbread house they can eat, room at a time, will be provided with a bodkin, a copy of "To be or not to be" and an opportunity to second guess Hamlet's decision.  The bodkin must be returned by the family after the funeral or a fee will be charged.  

Feudal aristocracy does have one obligation in its primitive social contract - to defend the peasantry from attack.  For this, a castle or fortress of some sort is required, along with an enemy whose advances need to be repelled.  The only fly in the ointment is that there are really no enemies out there - at least none that couldn't overwhelm our defences almost instantly - so the need for subservience by the plebs might be questioned.  The Abbott responds by making one up - an enemy that is, he doesn't need to make up a pleb because he's got more than enough of those. Replacing the ravening hordes of Genghis Khan is a small cohort of poor people in leaky boats. Not obviously out for rapine and plunder - but that's what the English said when the Vikings turned up, seeking asylum at Lindisfarne in 793, and no one wants to make that mistake again.  The neocon convinces his subjects that his duty as a knight is being fulfilled by spending large amounts of the treasury on dubious military hardware and re-badging Customs officers as the Australian Border Force whose job it is to protect Australia's borders - unlike the regular defence force whose job it is to ... well this is an awkward moment.  

Of course a feudal lord needs a town crier and a herald to proclaim his deeds and decrees throughout the land. This is the role of public broadcasting in the modern conservative society. Were a herald to be unwise enough to commit lese majesty, however, one of his arms would be cut off in punishment. 

  

So all hail Sir Abbott, with his newly resurrected title and Joe his trusty steed. And beware, as famous kings have to their peril, of Malcolm, who will be king hereafter. 

For your reference, and because it's a justly famous piece of writing:

To be, or not to be, that is the question—
Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep—
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks
That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes Calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time,
The Oppressor's wrong, the proud man's Contumely,
The pangs of despised Love, the Law’s delay,
The insolence of Office, and the Spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his Quietus make
With a bare Bodkin? Who would these Fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered Country, from whose bourn
No Traveler returns, Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.
Thus Conscience does make Cowards of us all,
And thus the Native hue of Resolution
Is sicklied o'er, with the pale cast of Thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment,
With this regard their Currents turn awry,
And lose the name of Action.

Mindfulness for Parents

Mindfulness - the ancient Buddhist art of being wholly present in and at peace with the moment- is gaining great popularity in the West as a cure for everything from depression, through stress and anxiety to reality TV overdose.

 
Parents, most of all, can benefit from this powerful technique. So here, as a public service from Sound and Fury, is a parent's guide to mindfulness.

First sit yourself somewhere comfortable. Close your eyes and un-tense your shoulders.  Start at the top of your head and relax. Move down to your forehead. Frown slightly. Stand up and remove the small piece of Lego from under your left buttock. Resume your seat.

Let your eyes slowly close. Ignore the little nuisances in the world around you. Ignore the crust of toast sticking out from under the couch. No, I said ignore it. Just let it go. Alright! Stand up, Slowly and deliberately pickup the toast and take it mindfully to the bin - be aware of your every step. Resume your seat.

Become aware of your breathing. In- 2-3-4. Out-2-3-4-5-6. In-2-3-4. Let the strong chemical smell from the laundry drift slowly through your mind. Allow the possibility of unlicensed scientific experimentation, involving bleach on the family cormorant, to pass like a neutrino through your consciousness; interacting with nothing.

Allow your senses to absorb the world around you but don't interact with the thoughts they inspire. Imagine your thoughts flying like birds in through an open window and back out through the opposite window; gone as quickly as they came. Yes, the bird is allowed inside and, no, it won't poo on the new carpet. Do not get up and close the window; it's not letting all the heat out.

Observe impassively as the birds of your thoughts sail gently across the room. Watch them fly but don't try to catch them. Don't engage emotionally with the things that occur to you. There goes the sparrow of washing up. Let it go. Here comes the pigeon of bills to pay. Don't spend tuppence to feed it. There is the raven of lost school shoes, lurking ominously in the skies - observe impassively. There flees the cockatoo that is your youngest closely followed by the eagle older brother, intent on violence.  Ignore the puff of feathers and the the loud squawk.  Detach yourself from the carnage that follows.

Well, OK, if you must, but deal with it organically and hurry back.

You did what to the birds of consciousness?  Someone's going to have to clean that up later, you know?  

 
OK, forget the birds.

Sit again.  Resume your regal pose. Find your centre. Listen to the sounds and rhythms of your body.

Become aware of your heartbeat. Be mindful of its beating - at about 120 bpm, driving your blood pressure to red line. Listen to your breathing which is now coming in ragged pants of the kind you used to enjoy before you realised what all that caused.

Now open your eyes,  turn the TV on, sit your kids in front of it. Go to another room. Pour yourself a large red wine, sit in a comfy chair and let your mind explore the astral plane while you take a siesta. It's the only way.

Please share this with your friends.

Sound and Fury is published each Monday and Thursday afternoon, Australian Eastern Standard Time.

 

Welcome to the CSD

Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming this afternoon and expressing your interest in joining the Campaign for Slower Driving or CSD. 

As a wholly owned subsidiary of the Fight Against Youthfulness and Enjoyment (FAYE), the CSD is determined to teach road users to be patient, slow and measured. There are too many young people – those who have not yet qualified for a seniors’ card - using the roads irresponsibly. They hoon, they speed, they listen to music written after 1955 and at volumes that are frankly disturbing to the cat. They drive too close to other drivers, display impatience and an unwholesome desire to get where they need to go sometime today. 

Our task is to teach these young hooligans proper driving through exaggerated slowness, distance and generally unpredictable behaviour – forcing them to become slow to the point of painful and careful to the point of immobile, just as we have become.

I cannot promise that membership is easy. The task can be daunting and our efforts are not always appreciated. You will need to commit to driving a minimum of 10 kph under the speed limit at all times. This increases to 20 kph under on roads where overtaking is impossible. You must stop 2 metres back from traffic lights so the sensors don’t work and sit, with the car out of gear and your brain disconnected, until the light goes orange before you move off.  Like disciples of truth since time immemorial, you will be derided, abused and insulted.  But fear not, we won’t send you out there unarmed. The CSD, through training, will equip you with your armour of righteousness which will allow you to drive, eyes rigidly in front and hands firmly on the wheel, undeterred by the slings and arrows of the heathen.

Good judgement and careful estimates of distance are also going to be required. You will need to know exactly how far back from the car in front to stop at the lights. This is important as you need to block access to the turning lane, just as the arrow goes green, to force unbelievers to wait through another change of lights, thus training them in patience and resignation to those things which they cannot change. You will need to know just how close to the last minute you can put on your blinker (indicator) before turning a corner. We cannot give notice to the car behind too soon or they will never learn to drive six car lengths behind us in a constant state of vigilance and nervous tension. It is only through this unpredictable behaviour that they will learn these hard lessons.

Don’t think, however, that you’ll always be out there, blocking the overtaking lane alone. We have club days and team activities where we have fun competitions like Double Bung (in which we test which pair of drivers, by slowing down both lanes, can create the longest queues of traffic) or Driver Surpriser (in which we test how many people you can prevent from overtaking by speeding up just as you get to the first overtaking lane for 50 km). 

Our annual awards night is also a fun night for the whole family. At least those members of the family over the age of 55; we don’t like young people much. The major annual prize, proudly sponsored by the local caravan and motorhome industry, is awarded to the CSD member that has caused the most heart attacks, strokes or other similar conniptions to drivers simply by being repeatedly frustrating. Last year’s winner, Reg Dimbleby, caused three heart attacks and two strokes and, in a final flair of brilliance, slowed down the access of emergency service vehicles by getting his wife, Marg, to drive – apparently deaf and unable to use a rear-view mirror, down the adjoining major arterial routes.

So it’s a challenge, being a member of the CSD but we are performing a valuable public service and I invite you all to consider joining up. Membership forms are available on the table by the door and, as a special offer, if you join here at conference we’ll install, free of charge, our patented Public Flasher into your car which will cause your blinkers to come on at random and run for five minutes at a time, even though you have no intention of turning.

And remember, keep ‘em on their toes out there.

Sound and Fury is published every Monday and Thursday morning, Australian Eastern Standard Time. Please share this with your friends if you enjoyed it.

The Case for Mars

Dr Robert Zubrin has, for some years now, been proposing that it's time to go to Mars; and he has a way to get us there. Mars One is a Dutch reality TV show proposal to turn the first human trip to Mars into a money-making venture. It's time - we need to go to Mars - we're eating ourselves up down here.

In the halcyon days of the Greek Epics - when all you had to do to get a flattering and probably somewhat exaggerated picture of your naked body on an urn was to sail from Greece to Turkey and back again - there were adventures for our heroic young men. In the age of sail, great men and their intrepid crews set out to find unknown continents in far off oceans - thousands of miles from help. They lived off the land and, if that failed, off each other. From the time of the Crusades through to about three days into the First World War, there were mighty battles to be fought, spoils to be gained and women to be seriously impressed - and other words rhyming with "essed" - by the manly prowess of their warriors - returning bearing their shields or on them.

Now? Everything has been discovered and 60 Minutes has wrecked the tale Minotaur by exclusively revealing it to have been an encounter with a slightly angry bull after a heavy night on the grappa on Cyprus. These days, we're reduced to retracing the voyages of the great men of the past or trying to be the something-est person so achieve a particular feat. The youngest person ever to sail solo around the world, the fastest person every to summit Everest or the stupidest person ever to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel - that last one is a perpetual dead heat. Glory now comes not from a multi-year voyage around the coastline that you can talk up into a three book epic, but from a precisely measured 0.01second improvement to the 50 metres freestyle record that will last until someone discovers the syringes in your gym bag.

And exploration? James Cook isn't even getting out of Plymouth any more. He has been tied up in paperwork for three years trying to get the risk assessment approved, find an insurance underwriter for the job, and get agreement on the worldwide broadcast rights for the documentary being made by the four man crew he's had to find accommodation for, alongside Joseph Banks and his retinue.

As for war and glory, that's completely out of the question. Following the two world wars there has been a general realisation that old-fashioned, multi-national war is not going to cover our boys in glory, it's going to cover us all in mud, blood, mustard gas blisters and nasty, high-energy stuff that makes you glow in the dark.

So our heroic young are reduced to becoming triathletes - fit for sure but self-absorbed with PBs and protein bars and, ultimately, achieving nothing of lasting significance.

We need Mars.

For the rest of us, past the stage of heroism, foolishness and fitness - what is left? To what do I aspire?

My aspirations, my dreams and the quantum of my worth are measured in pointless but every-renewed consumption. My society and my economy don't need me to be adventurous, brave, daring or visionary - they just need me to spend. A bigger TV on which to watch an ever smaller selection of worthwhile stories, a bigger fridge with internet connectivity to that I can re-order every product I've ever bought without having to think about it and a new phone every two years with an exciting new interface through which I can ... get the same old information; the weather, the news and stock market prices.

By the way, what is it with stock market prices? Is there anyone in the world that actually understands them and/or tracks them day to day using the little widget on their phone or the information on the nightly news? It might be one great big con. Sometimes I think that the stockbrokers only moved to a computerised exchange because people had started to realise that all that Auslan signing on the floor of the pit was just random garbage and none of them actually knew what they were doing.

But it's important that I spend and consume, spend and consume again and don't think too much about it. To be fair there have always been bread and circuses for the masses - the vodka and pornography of Orwell's distopia - but our daily bread is now costing us the earth - literally. Whole new continents are arising from the sea, built on a solid foundation of 1980's CRT monitors, followed by layer upon layer of disused cell phones, old pocket calculators and laptops. Mixed in, for the paleontologists of the future to find, are the fossils of the jobs that each succeeding generation of ICT took away and buried.

We need something great to aspire to, something awe inspiring to wonder at.

NASA - get your act together.

Don't forget, Sound and Fury is published every Monday and Thursday morning, Australian Eastern Standard Time. Please share this with your friends if you enjoy my blog.