Pillar of Saint Bombed

Church of Saint Simeon Stylites

Sometimes it's only when we know the detailed history of a place that the priceless nature of its presence becomes apparent.  Between 385 to 390 AD there was born in Sis, in northern Syria, an unusual man called Simeon Stylites.  At 16 he entered the monastery at Antioch and years later he moved 19 miles north-west of Aleppo and became one of the most famous ascetics in the east.  After living three years on top of the summit of a mountain in a small hut Simeon felt called upon to take even more drastic action.

“After some time, Simeon mounted the first of three increasingly higher pillars on which he took his stance of continual prayer. The final pillar sixty feet in height had a platform on top about 6 ft square. There exposed to the elements, Simeon stood and prostrated, healed and harmed until his death in 459 when he was over 70 years old. “

He was known to spend the whole night in prayer and also the day until 3 PM. After that he he delivered teachings settled quarrels and disputes and healed the suffering. At sunset he began his conversations with God again and continued for the rest of the night.  He kept up this practice for thirty seven years. It must have been an unusual sight, the lonely mountain with pillars and a wild looking old man dressed in skins perched aloft, beseeching God for guidance. People came from all over Ishmaelites (descendants of Ishmael, the eldest son of Abraham), Persians, Armenians, Iberians( from the countries of Spain and Portugal), Homerites (a kingdom in ancient Yemen), Britons and Gauls ( Gaul was a region of Western Europe during the Iron Age that was inhabited by Celtic tribes and covered France, Luxembourg, Belgium, most of Switzerland, Northern Italy, as well as the parts of the Netherlands, Central Italy and Germany on the west bank of the Rhine).  His pillars are found north-west of Aleppo in Syria. Some remnants of documents from the same Saint have been found in the British Museum and there has been academic papers published concerning his letters describing the religious debates going on. In particular, his comments on the First Council of Nicaea of AD 325,The First Council of Constantinople in AD 381, The Council of Ephesus in AD 431 and The Council of Chalcedon AD 451 have proven interesting.  These councils were called to bring to an end divisions of religious thought and interpretations that had developed in the early church. It is worth noting that there was heated and violent debate on such issues. For example, at the behest of those at the third council a mob entered and killed one of the archbishops involved who was subsequently canonised as a martyr at the fourth council!  No wonder Simeon wrote in one of his letters,

“wherefore be stout and courageous in the cause of true piety..”

Once Simeon got an infection in his leg and those below begged him to come down to get treated.  He refused and continued in his devotions.  The last thirty years of his life were spent at a height of 60ft and such was his veneration that on his death his body was fought over by several cities who wanted the honour of having him buried there.  He was eventually buried at Antioch and there are accounts of religious visitors removing his teeth as relics to take home!  The pillars of this Christian saint later became the site of the oldest surviving Byzantine church known as the Church of Saint Simeon Stylites and in June 2011 this church and its surrounding villages were designated a World Heritage site.

Saint Simeon's pillar

Unfortunately this area was held by Islamic extremist groups for some years and they are renown for their determination to demolish such heritage sites deeming them as being against God or heretical for reasons both nonsensical and fanatical in equal measure.  Perhaps their lack of respect towards human life is mirrored perfectly in their disregard for heritage sites?  Whatever the reasons, when on the 28th May 2015 Kurdish groups managed to capture the church all were delighted to find that the church and pillars had emerged amazingly virtually unscathed.  One could still reach and touch the pillar only six foot high after centuries of visitors taking souvenirs pieces and imagine Saint Simeon deep in his devotions day and night.  Then, on the 12th of May 2016 came the horrific news that an air strike had heavily damaged the heritage site.  

When one thinks of Syria, the suffering and loss of life, the fanaticism, the rise of the world’s first cities and the loss of priceless heritage sites through ignorance and prejudice how does one respond?

“If with a pure mind a person speaks or acts, happiness follows them like a never-departing shadow.”

Buddhist scriptures, Dhammapada 

“Peacemakers who sow in peace reap a harvest of righteousness”. 

The Bible, James 3:18

The reward of goodness is nothing but goodness. 

The Quran Chapter: 55, Verse: 61

“Religion should unite all hearts and cause wars and disputes to vanish from the face of the earth; it should give birth to spirituality, and bring light and life to every soul.”

Bahá’í Writings

References

Doran, R., & Harvey, S. A. (1971). The Lives of Simeon Stylites. Journal of Roman Studies, 61, 87.

Torrey, C. C., & Simeon, S. (1899). The Letters of Simeon the Stylite. Journal of the American Oriental Society, 20, 253-276.

Chicago

Seaside of the Soul

The ebb and flow of the waves

Speaks to the spirit

Just as our blood flows

From the beat of our faint hearts 

so too this tide 

is driven by a celestial body 

whose effect, despite its distance 

shapes our coastlines. 

The sound of breaking waves

An echo of the blood surging

In our veins

A rhythm, ancient and powerful.

The first music to sooth our souls.

Earlier than the drum

Beating its unending rhythm.

The rocks are worn

Broken in parts.

Shaped by these waves.

Driven by the moon above.

We too are worked on

By this earth,

And yet orchestrated

From above.

What will this symphony produce?

Who will we become?

That is shaped by our nature

Granite or limestone.

By our condition

porous, sludge or crystalline.

By with whom we find ourselves

Shoulder to shoulder.

Or left alone to be polished or ground

Into shiny pebbles or gems.

But most of all

By our actions and deeds.

Gravity drives the tides

And this force requires

Our volition our movement.

Not until we take our first steps

Will confirmations shape us

and blessings flow

To grace our lives

and those around us.

We are the architects

of our own spiritual coastline.

Despite all these diverse powers

We alone will determine the result.

Diogenes, his barrel and his brutal challenges from over two milleniums ago

The sun, too, shines into cesspools and is not polluted.

quote of Diogenes

Growing up in a small rural village high in the Sperrin mountains of Northern Ireland, Diogenes was a Greek philosopher my father mentioned repeatedly during my childhood.  Much we know about his life is unsubstantiated by historical data but this colourful character is so different and unique somehow you never doubt his existence. 

Diogenes of Sinope was a Greek philosopher and one of the founders of Cynic philosophy. He was born in Sinope (modern-day Sinop, Turkey), an Ionian colony on the Black Sea, in 412 or 404 BC and died at Corinth in 323 BC.

He has the most who is most content with the least. 

quote of Diogenes

He considered his avoidance of earthly pleasures a contrast to and commentary on the contemporary behaviours all around him. This attitude was grounded in a disdain for what he regarded as the folly, pretence, vanity, self-deception, and artificiality of human conduct. He hardened himself to the elements by by living in a large wine cask, owned nothing, and seems to have lived off the charity of others. He destroyed the single wooden bowl he possessed on seeing a peasant boy drink from the hollow of his hands. He then exclaimed: "Fool that I am, to have been carrying superfluous baggage all this time!”  He used to stroll about in full daylight with a lamp; when asked what he was doing, he would answer, "I am just looking for an honest man.”

According to a story, Diogenes was captured by pirates while on voyage to Aegina and sold as a slave in Crete. Being asked his trade, he replied that he knew no trade but that of governing men, and that he wished to be sold to a man who needed a master. Fortunately, a Corinthian man called Xeniades liked his spirit and hired Diogenes to tutor his children. 

The vine bears three kinds of grapes: the first of pleasure, the second of intoxication, the third of disgust. 

quote of Diogenes

It was in Corinth that a meeting between Alexander the Great and Diogenes is supposed to have taken place. While Diogenes was relaxing in the morning sunlight, Alexander, thrilled to meet the famous philosopher, asked if there was any favour he might do for him. 

Dioggenes responded, “I  have nothing to ask but that you would remove to the other side, that you may not, by intercepting the sunshine, take from me what you cannot give.”

Alexander then declared, "If I were not Alexander, then I should wish to be Diogenes.”

In his typical direct manner Diogenes retorted, 
"If I were not Diogenes, I would also wish to be Diogenes!" 

He was known for brutal honesty in conversation, paid no attention to any kind of etiquette regarding social class or behaviour and when criticised, pointed out that most of these activities were normal and that everyone engaged in them privately. Indeed, Diogenes challenged codes of behaviour in ways that would startle us still even today!  I give just one example but there are much much worse. 
Someone took Diogenes into a magnificent house and warned him not to spit, whereupon, having cleared his throat, he spat into the man's face, being unable, he said, to find a meaner receptacle.

Diogenes could provoke both individuals and society and did so all his life under all circumstances.  As he approached old age he did not change his ways.

Of what use is a philosopher who doesn't hurt anybody's feelings? 

quote of Diogenes

Scolded as an old man who ought to rest, he replied, "What, if I were running in the stadium, ought I to slacken my pace when approaching the goal?" To someone who declared life to be an evil, he corrected him, "Not life itself, but living ill." When asked from where he came, Diogenes said, "I am a citizen of the world".

As he reached the end of his life, he was asked about how he wished to be buried. He left instructions to be thrown outside the city wall so that wild animals could feast on his body. When asked if he minded this, he said, "Not at all, as long as you provide me with a stick to chase the creatures away!" When asked how he could use the stick since he would lack awareness, he replied "If I lack awareness, then why should I care what happens to me when I am dead?”

We are all, Diogenes claimed, trapped in this make-believe world which we believe is reality and, because of this, people are living in a kind of dream state. Although, he was thought by some to be mad, it must be said Diogenes was not the first philosopher to make this claim; Heraclitus, Xenophanes, and, most famously, Socrates all pointed out the need for human beings to wake from their dream state to full awareness of themselves and the world.

He once begged alms of a statue, and, when asked why he did so, replied, "To get practice in being refused.

quote of Diogenes

Nose picking, B.O. and lessons to be learned

Dennis was dead by his own hand and even as I digested the news, the thought bubbled unwanted into my mind that I had never liked him. We met in primary school in the playground and his favourite trick was to run as hard as he could into unexpected victims. Pushing or pulling he seemed not to mind if you cut a knee as you fell over, or bashed the back of your head on the curb. His main satisfaction was in felling others. It was something he just could not stop despite repeated beatings from our headmaster. He was refused to be weaned from his favourite pastime.

In my first day at school, Dennis wet himself. The Headmaster’s wife, Mrs Harris, raged and locked Dennis in the cupboard off her class where the sewing baskets were kept. There Dennis howled for the full two hours until break time while Mrs Harris lectured us all on bladder control. I'm not sure what the rest of the class learnt or Dennis but those two hours taught me that people with grey hair in buns wearing respectable expensive clothes could be vicious beasts deep in their hearts. Every cry of Dennis that soared over her demands, that we sit straight, remain silent and colour in our drawings, left me with a lifeline horror of colouring in. I knew with every crayon stroke that all of our souls were being coloured by the cruelty of that situation in ways that would linger for decades.

Perhaps the soft play dough of young children hearts makes every such event traumatic? Not that Dennis endeared himself to anyone. His spontaneous acts of violence continued unabated in the playground and even grew with each passing year. I complained to my father about his behaviour and he pointed out that Dennis was from a dysfunctional home. I had no idea what that meant but learned that Dennis was being brought up by his grandmother, an eccentric woman whose hair was as wild as her language. 

My father claimed our dog Monty could identify people with unusual tendencies. In their presence Monty would change from a placid ever good-natured Labrador into a barking aggressive hound. He wouldn't bite but barked as if a bear had entered the garden. Dennis's grandmother got by far the worst reaction from Monty and so I reckon dysfunctional was something dogs sensed that we humans had to guess at. It didn't make me dislike Dennis any less.

The headmaster Mr Harris would regularly throw Dennis over his shoulder and carry him out of the class after slapping him hard across the face and knocking him out of the school seat. Beating Dennis seem to be the main educational response to any misdemeanours.

He seemed to search for ways of annoying others. Not just by pushing but by laughing at other’s discomfort. A Kindergarten child was crying in the playground for her mother. She was tiny and vulnerable in this new world absent of parents. I overheard Dennis telling her she’d never see her mother again! That was what school meant. She was so distraught at this news she cried hysterically until she wet herself. At which point, Denis ran to tell Mrs Harris of the incident. Horrified we watched as this tiny girl was frogmarched into Mrs Harris’s dreaded cupboard as punishment. Her cries were far more tragic than Dennis’s as fear rather than humiliation fuelled their volume. I remember I broke four crayons that day pushing the nibs deep into my paper, digging into the white sheets in huge red stripes until they snapped. Why on earth do people think childhood was the happiest days of their lives? Was their childhood so good or what followed so awful in comparison?

In my last few years of primary school Mr and Mrs Harris retired and there were speeches of gratitude to these two monsters. Even the local MP came to sing their praises, mentioning their love of children and dedication to others. When Mr Harris died I remember the same MP weeping real tears copiously while reading a piece from the Bible during the service. I sat in church watching the whole pantomime, thinking what must God think of all this? None of it made any sense to me.  Not the cruelty, nor the adoration of abusers nor the incessant nose picking of Dennis who sat beside me during the service, stinking of BO. The horror of it all was mixed with the smell of pee, the memory of warm crayons between my fingers and bitter injustice burning in my belly.

Towards the end of primary school the girls all grew into giants while the boys remained the same height. At least, that's how it seemed to me. With only brothers at home I knew how to fight and dealt out  instant justice to those I felt due. Any time Dennis played his cruel games with kindergarten kids I’d hammer him. When he pushed others over I punched him hard. It never stopped him behaving badly but it made me feel good. As if at last I could play a role in fixing things. He became my pet project for world betterment. I couldn't control Mr and Mrs Harris but I would try with Dennis.  To his credit he never held any grudges against me. I think he was beaten so badly by adults all round him he viewed our exchanges as just rough child's play. At times, on some strange level, we were close. I watched out for him in the playground and rather than resenting my interference he felt a bond that I was ashamed was one-sided.   

In the secondary school, he attended, my mother taught him Maths.  She used to bring a complete clean uniform, shirt, tie, blazer trousers, socks and pants to school for him each day.  Whenever, he had an accident she would bring him the clean set, from her room, to change into.  Two years into secondary school the wetting stopped but she continued to supply him with new clean clothes when his own were unclean. 

We went our separate ways then, Dennis and I. His grandmother was still a visitor to our home occasionally and treated with good humour. On a family outing, with her in the car, I can remember my father parking outside a huge palace of a house with elegant rhododendrons on either side of the drive. He managed to convince her that his relatives lived inside this massive mansion. She was impressed beyond words and later when he told her he’d only been joking she roared with laughter that was too loud and too long.

Years later, Dennis joined the police. My mother was stopped by the police one night in the Glenshane pass. The officer that peered through the window was Dennis. She said he looked smart and proud in his neat new uniform. He had thanked her that night for her maths lessons in secondary school and told her she'd been his favourite teacher. Dennis we learned even had a girlfriend. Then, out of the blue she dumped him for someone else. 

On a rainy night in his new car, high in the mountains, near our village, he put his police revolver to his head and blasted his life away.  When I heard the news I felt a physical ache within. His ex-girlfriend went on to marry three other men in the years ahead, breaking more hearts no doubt in the process. I wished he had been able to know she wasn't worth it. Not worth one second of the life that should've been his. Too many young men seem to take their own lives in despair and betrayal. Alone in the dark their anger turns inwards with no other bond to hold them in this world.

Dennis had really tried. He'd come through so much in his short life. None of us had ever really understood him. I still hear his cry from the cupboard and can only pledge to be more kind to the souls around me. Some journeys are so tough you can't imagine or know how bereft of love and kindness such lives can be.  If we did, I hope we’d all be different to each other.

war fuels disease and messes with our minds

It started by accident.  I got lost in Senglea in Malta.  

That triggered a hunt for news in the archives of the British papers on Senglea.  So great to have this resource with newspapers available from 200 years ago.  The two earliest mentions of Senglea in the British newspapers were interesting.  One, from the Manchester Courier June 26th 1847, concerned a lady from Senglea who was bitten by a cat and subsequently caught rabies and died of the condition.  

The second was an article entitled The Sickness at Malta, from The Dublin Evening Mail on Monday 30th October 1848.

This recounted a strange sickness affecting the British troops stationed in Malta.  This article talks of a prevailing disease amongst the military, but chiefly in the barracks at Fort St. Elmo.  The 1st battalion of the 44th, the 1st battalion of the 69th and the head-quarters of the Royal Artillery were stationed in this area.  The Lieutenant-General Ellice, in charge of these forces, ordered a change of quarters.  He unwisely moved the 69th from Senglea to St Elmo and sent another battalion to Floriana and other random movements of the troops in response to the outbreak.  This backfired in that the Senglea battalion, who had been previously free of disease suddenly started dying of the same complaint.  Those battalions moved to various other places continued to suffer from the disease in the same numbers as before.  The only result of this movement had been to spread the disease among a wider population. Dr Potelli, the chief surgeon of the civil hospital, was convinced that the disease was Asiatic Cholera but Dr Barry, the principal military medical officer, persisted in his claim, supported by other military doctors that it was no such thing.  

In one day on 11th October they had seven deaths and still the disease progressed in the midst of conflicting opinions.  There is a strange mention of a native, meaning a Maltese, being brought in, suffering from what appeared to be the same complaint.  His illness was dismissed as being brought on by unwholesome food or possible neglected disorders of the bowels!!  A curious twisting of facts making it the patient's own fault.  To allay the fears of the general population the presence of stagnant water within the Fort St Elmo was blamed for the outbreak of disease.  The fact that mostly military personnel were affected (they claimed) pointed to this being the case.

By 1850 despite their conviction to the contrary, Cholera was indeed found to be the culprit and yet the practice of responding to outbreaks had not improved.  When a company of the 44th Regiment, stationed at San Francesco de Paolo Barracks, lost a third of its men to the disease the military reacted by sending the entire company to Gozo.  Within ten days of their arrival no less that 26 men fell ill with 16 deaths.  Unsurprisingly, cholera then appeared in the village of Ghajnsielem, beside the Fort and spread throughout Gozo resulting in 105 attacks and 78 deaths among the civilian population.

All of this makes one think about how disease and war could be linked in more ways than we could possibly imagine.  Apart from the movement of troops which provide a perfect vector for the spread of disease throughout a population, war itself is a perfect breeding ground for disease.  

Take for example Syria.  The war there has resulted in millions of Syrians being displaced.  High percentages of its ambulances and hospitals have been damaged or destroyed.  Only 10% of its pharmaceutical need are now being met.  Vaccination coverage was 91% in 2010, now a mere 50% of children born since the war broke out have been vaccinated.  To put that in perspective, there were no cases of cutaneous leishmaniasis before 2008.  

cutaneous leishmaniasis

By 2012 there were 52,982 confirmed cases.  This is just the tip of the iceberg.  Poliomyelitis, measles, meningitis and scabes  are all spreading among the vulnerable population.  Could those parents who peddle anti-vaccine rhetoric please take note!  Leave emotions and gut instinct aside and look at the facts, so many lives depend the presence of effective vaccines.  Those living in refugee camps and in poverty do not have the luxury of your options.  Poor diet, lack of sanitation, stress, contagions from close quarters are not choices people make.  They are a result of external forces beyond their control and for those who have an excess of money, food and good healthcare to be so short-sighted is frankly inexplicable.

War and disease have a history together.  During the Napoleonic wars , eight times the number of British army soldiers died from disease than from battle wounds.  In the American Civil war two thirds of the 660 000 deaths of soldiers were caused by pneumonia, typhoid, dysentery and malaria.

The result of the so-called Spanish flu, following World war 1 in 1918, was a worldwide death toll of between 50 and 100 million worldwide. Recent investigative work by a British team led by virologist John Oxford of St Bartholomew's Hospital and the Royal London Hospital has suggested that the major troop staging and hospital camp in Étaples, France, has almost certainly being the centre of the 1918 flu pandemic. A significant precursor virus, harboured in birds, mutated to pigs that were kept near the front is proposed as the source. 

The Second World war had its own contributions.  One of which was that dengue increased in South-East Asia during the war and the immediate post-war period, due to the spread of mosquitos and different virus strains throughout the region.  This disease produces a spiking fever, searing muscle and joint pain, blood seeping through skin, shock and possibly death.  Today this disease threatens 2.4 million people worldwide.  With such tasks facing humanity it begs the question should we be wasting valuable resources on wars?

In order to really understand why war is so conducive to disease we need to understand the various changes that contribute to the spread of disease.

1. mass movement of populations
2. lack of access to clean water
3. poor sanitation
4. lack of shelter
5. poor nutritional status
6. collapse of public health infrastructure
7. lack of health services

More than 25 countries in Sub Saharan Africa are affected by conflict and 70% of all deaths in these countries are caused by infectious diseases.

When you have a displaced population they will have a 60 times higher mortality rate.  Today there are 40 million refugees and displaced people.  The figures are heart-breaking, almost too huge to take on board.

The Zaatari refugee camp in Jordan

The loss of life can be quick and huge.  When there was an outbreak of cholera and dysentery in Goma (formerly Zaire) in 1994, twelve thousand Rwandan refugees were killed in just 3 weeks.

In Afghanistan malaria was very well controlled before conflict began in 1979.  In the past twenty years there have been 2/3 million cases every year.

In the Democratic Republic of Congo, 1930 there were more than 33 000 cases of trypanosomiasis (sleeping disease).  With health care initiatives by 1959 this figure had dropped to less than a thousand cases.  The conflict that erupted in the 1960s meant that by 2001 the number of cases was estimated at 40 000.  It is hard not to hold your head in despair.

In focussing on physical complaints alone, of course we do not have the whole picture.  It is estimated that 10% of the World's population lives with mental illness.  In 2008, five years after Liberia's civil war had ended 40% of Liberians had symptoms of major depression.  Conflict leaves scars that we have yet to understand fully. For example, in Northern Ireland there has been a doubling of the suicide rate since the peace agreement in 1998.  Conflict, it seems leaves effects that linger and eat into the mental wellbeing of a population long after peace has been established.

What strikes one is that we cannot afford to have war.  We must learn the lessons of the past.  War is far too expensive in terms of human suffering, creation of disease and far too distracting from the vital tasks that lie ahead in this world of ours.

refugees in Europe   Photographs that speak to the heart

Parcels, journeys and lessons learned

Tried to go to the post office centre in Marsa, on Malta, and got hopelessly lost. Ended up in the Three Cities having started in Sliema. Totally the wrong direction what a failure. Seems to typify most of my endeavours at this stage of my life. Set up simple task clearly in my mind this morning - retrieve parcel from post office. Expend huge amounts of energy and end up exhausted but with totally nothing to show for it. At times you feel everything in life is a spiritual metaphor. Reflecting back to us fundamental truths that need to be heard whether we like it or not. 

So let's look at today. The parcel had been delivered to Malta. Being from outside Europe the parcel goes to an office in the middle of the island. You have just seven days to pick it up and must pay a percentage tax on it. I have no idea what it is or how much it costs. Without a car you must master the intricate bus routes that exist on Malta. It is a tiny island and a mere 27 kilometres by 15 kilometres but by bus almost every destination is over an hour, or more, away. You spend ages at bus-stops waiting for buses which completely ignore their timetables. It's not their fault. The roads are gridlocked and ,as no one gets anywhere fast, anger grows. You can see it in the faces of car drivers who sit breathing in fumes.  It is also apparent in the erratic bus drivers who brake, accelerate, swerve and stand on their brakes, sending passengers flying down the aisle. Bus passengers here have adopted a weary resignation tinged with humour. Only when driven to extremes do they display anything other than determined good nature. I burn with agitation that I must have sailed past the proper stop and ended up at the opposite part of the island. Today I have failed in my endeavours.

What are the fundamental truths learned today? Despite being a foreigner in Malta people are universally kind to me. They offer me seats on overfilled buses. I must have reached that age of visible vulnerability? On the second bus, going in the wrong direction, the Maltese, dignified, elderly man beside me, sensed my growing agitation as I consulted my map and signs of passing bus stops. Eventually, he asked, “Where is it you want to go?” I showed him the Maltapost address and he sighed in some distress. “You are in the Three cities and will have to go back the way you came”. He carefully wrote down the name of the stop I should get off at and then instructed me to catch a completely different bus from there. I thanked him profusely as he got off at his stop. A tall white bearded figure in a suit with a briefcase. Hands like a musician and kind concerned eyes. I then, typically, totally ignored his instructions. The bus came to the end of the line and I got off there instead. 

In between tall old houses I can see the ships and oil rigs. It looks too interesting not to explore. 

Going back on one’s tracks always feels like failure somehow.  I eventually find myself close to the ferry terminal it will take me to Valetta and home. Travelling by boat is such a treat. I order a cappuccino and enjoy the moment. 

Lessons learnt so far. 

1. Even when given a clear and limited objective, I have the infinite capacity to fail. 
2. People are exceptionally kind and courteous much more so than I deserve or expect. 
3. Being beside the sea is a constant joy. 
4. Travelling by public transport forces me to engage with people. This is a necessity as I am by nature a loner and odder than one can possibly imagine. 
5. The days of one's life march past at an incredible rate and I do hope no one is tallying up my productivity. It seems an inverse relationship. The more days pass - the less I appear to achieve. The only logical explanation is that I must be in reverse!

I better go and catch this ferry as I've already missed the first two sitting here having a coffee daydreaming.

PS caught ferry after being distracted by Senegal and then decided having reached Valetta to try once more my original destination in Marsa. I have now found the Maltapost office and am awaiting customs inspection as the item is from Turkey. After waiting for a customs official for forty minutes, I am now thinking perhaps it is far from being such an innocent gift from an ex-student! Will it contain illegal substances of which I know nothing? Suddenly, images from Midnight Express film flood the mind.

Since, I have instructed the customs officer to open said package to determine its value (necessary to pay tax) I am now awaiting to see if the amount is of the order of the few euros or serval tens of thousands. In the latter case I will be in deep trouble. I could be totally innocent but also a stupid drug mule! Why does customs the world over make you feel as guilty as sin?

PPS gift turned out to be a simple backgammon set. I'm not a drug mule as I feared. I feel a heady sense of freedom. Another lesson learned - take nothing in life for granted!

Nasty History - learning from the shadows

I always hated history in school. There were several reasons.

1. I have long suffered from the blackboard memory. In order to learn a date or name or event something else has to be erased. The actual content in memory banks does not seem accumulative but substitution in nature.  I cite for evidence, the fact that I studied French for seven years without any success. Spent 10 years in Greece and remain bereft of the Greek language. In fact despite my love of writing the reason I chose science as a profession was largely due to my atrocious spelling in English.  Anything requiring memorisation, I have always sought to avoid.        

                                                               

                                                                        

2.  For some reason history syllabus’ all around the world have a ‘cockeyed’ view of history. So, for example, in the UK thousands of years of history is almost ignored in favour of modern world wars. Which always struck me as a wasteful direction of human intellect. If we studied war history with a view of avoiding future conflicts and their associated catastrophic loss of life then perhaps it would be beneficial. Future generations could learn from past mistakes. Instead history, wherever it is taught, seems to focus on the glorification of battles and nobility of killing fields. Stirring up nationalistic fervour in the younger generation so they will be willing fodder for the warfare of the future.

Or as in the words of George S McGovern

“I'm fed up to the ears with old men dreaming up wars for young men to die in.”

More impressive still when you know the background of George S McGovern.

• He was a pilot of World War II 
• Holder of the Distinguished Flying Cross 
• On one his missions as a pilot, his plane had 110 holes in the fuselage on its return
• Was a history professor
• Sought to end the Vietnam war
• Was instrumental in the creation of the United Nations World Food Bank program
• Was the First UN Global Ambassador of World Hunger 

Not bad for someone who once was known as an average student, painfully shy and afraid to speak a word in school when young.  On to my third reason to dislike history.

3.   My history teacher was a vindictive woman who really should not have been left in charge of children or indeed sentient animals of any kind. In future, I think we should look at teachers and “ask would I trust this person with an ill hamster”. That sensitivity to see to the needs of vulnerable dependents, nurturing their well-being and their growth and well-being, free of any hurtful tendencies to those under their care should be the basic benchmark.

Having said all that I am a voracious reader even at school loved Edward Gibbon’s ‘The history of the decline and fall of the Roman Empire’. It covers the period from 98 to 1590. In particular, I liked one of his lines of bitting comment,

“As long as mankind shall continue to bestow more liberal applause on their destroyers than on their benefactors, the thirst of military glory will ever be the voice of the most exalted characters.”

or rather more pessimistically still,

“history is indeed, little more than the register of the crimes, follies and misfortunes of mankind.”

If you ever despair of today's morals and standards. Feel that they have reached levels of degradation beyond that ever encountered before. Read Gibbon’s book and be reassured that humanity has ever had the ability to sink to levels almost beyond our imagination  in their grotesqueness and cruelty. In fact, it is our ability to sink to levels  far below those of wild animals that almost defines us as a human species. Don't get me wrong. I believe humanity can rise to heights we cannot see in the shadows of the present valleys. But if we are to attain future summits we must never lose sight of the very real gorges and chasms that make up our historical landscape. We need to recognise the dark places and hateful deeds that make this world hell like. Register them for the decline they represent and turn away from such darkness.

Then, when we hear the hateful prejudices that have ever blighted mankind’s history we can make wiser choices. Or when nations flee from war or starvation to our borders we would realise our response is a test of our very humanity.  When cities of civilians are bombed into oblivion does our silent acquiescence not speak volumes?  For history always judges on what was actually done to our fellow humans and our role for better or worse in response to that. These heroes or villains are made, today and in history, by how are they responded to what went on around them. Hard choices in difficult days by heroic individuals, down through the ages, create lights that lead to better days for us all.