David Calling

The David Pryce-Jones blog.

Saddam’s Dictum


Saddam Hussein once made the unforgettable observation that law was two lines above his signature. One illustration of this has just occurred in Saudi Arabia. A nineteen year old woman from the town of al-Qatif was abducted and gang-raped by seven men. This November, she – the victim – was then punished for being in the company of men not members of her family. The sentence was six months in prison, and forty lashes, enough to kill a strong man, never mind her. She lost her appeal, and the clerics in charge of the court raised the punishment to 200 lashes. What kind of human beings can such clerics be? What kind of clerics?

This monstrous injustice raised a huge uproar of protest all round the globe. It is now the Muslim festival of Eid, and to mark the occasion the King of Saudi Arabia has the absolute prerogative to pardon criminals, and he has exercised it on behalf of the unfortunate woman who of course is no criminal. She appears to be free.

A second illustration of Saddam Hussein’s dictum comes from Dubai. There, a fifteen year old Swiss boy was abducted by some men, and raped. When the injured boy went to the police to report this crime, he – again, the victim – was arrested for homosexuality, a punishable offence in Dubai. The boy’s mother is a well-known Swiss journalist, and she at once began a press campaign, publicising another monstrous injustice. In the end, the ruling authority has discharged the boy, and the rapists have received lengthy prison sentences. 

The ruler has only to sign under a couple of lines, and hey presto, that’s law, that’s how to right a wrong. If we in the West protest loudly enough, then, we can shame cruel and unjust men into behaving in a civilised manner – sometimes, at least. That is worth bearing in mind.

Leading Europe


They take things seriously in Sweden where a politician by the name of Jens Orback is attaining immortality for the things he says and does. A socialist, he has been minister for Gender Equality, and Minister for Democracy. Quotations from this chap are already part of the European heritage. In one splendid example, he has said, “We must be open and tolerant towards Islam and Muslims because when we become a minority they will be so towards us.”

The spirit of our Jens is evident in what has just happened to the heraldic badge of the Nordic Battlegroup, a force of 2,400 soldiers from Scandinavia with Ireland and Estonia thrown in for no very clear reason. Its badge used to show a lion rampant, the genitalia visible. Now this has been modified to cut off the offending parts.  Writing up this fascinating illustration of where we are today, The Times of London quotes an American military blogger, “A castrated lion – the perfect symbol for European defence policy.” 

Swedes last fought in 1809, so perhaps the Battlegroup has the task of cutting its way through to Gender Equality. And maybe the immortal Jens has nothing to do with this great cut, but only encapsulates its approach. This week, a Treaty was signed by the twenty seven countries of the European Union, to give them a new and overriding legal and political entity. Europe is now to have a real president. Our Jens must be in the running for this distinguished job.


Defining “Artist”


Two composers, the one very much in the public eye and the other relatively obscure, have just died. Comparing and contrasting them is instructive. Karlheinz Stockhausen and Petr Eben, were near contemporaries, the former born in 1928 in Germany, the latter in 1929 in what was then Czechoslovakia. Both had their experience of the horrors of Europe in their day. Stockhausen’s mother was a severe depressive, and murdered in the Nazi euthanasia program, and his father, an enthusiastic Nazi, was killed in 1945. How the young Stockhausen himself dealt with compulsory membership in the Hitler Youth is not clear. As for Eben, he was a Catholic, but with Jewish antecedents. In 1943 the Nazis deported him to Buchenwald, and he could recall standing with his brother in the camp’s shower room expecting to be gassed.

Music is perhaps the most direct and beautiful of the possible means of communication. Pretty well all of us recognise melody and rhythm, and these correspond to something deep in our common humanity. Stockhausen had other ideas. He preferred not to communicate, to ignore melody and rhythm, and simply to ambush his audience with strangeness and discord. His work is a gigantic gimmick. Much of it is electronic, or consists of the abuse of instruments and people. Players are often left free to begin or to stop, interpreting as they choose. Players are advised in one instance to “Live completely alone for four days, without food in complete silence.” One of his pieces lasts for an hour with six vocalists “meditating” on a single note. In another piece, the members of a string quartet played from an airborne helicopter, their sounds relayed through screens and loudspeakers. It is the musical equivalent of conceptual art. The degradation of the man’s character was shown when he described 9/11 as “a work of art.”

Petr Eben came out of Buchenwald with a reinforced religious faith. The Communists then took over his country in a coup, and it was their turn to do what they could to thwart him. Ideology could not suppress his music. The Daily Telegraph describes his classical approach: “He was a great believer in the repetition of motifs and sequential writing, building up an effect gradually and impressively, giving his listeners a clear structure.” Eben himself claimed that his work set out “to portray the fight between good and evil in the human heart.” After Communism collapsed, he composed a Te Deum in celebration.

Egomaniacs like Stockhausen are meat and drink to promoters and sensation-mongers, and nothing much can be done about it except to endure and wait for them to be gone. Unfortunately he and so many like him pass as “artists,” when they are nothing of the kind, but only destroyers of the culture they inherited.  Against all the odds managing to survive deadly enemies, Petr Eben acknowledged the ills of his times, but sought to repair them. Where Stockhausen brought sickness, Eben brings hope. 

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi


We may never really know why the Sudanese ruler, General al-Bashir, wanted to make an example of Mrs. Gillian Gibbons, the English school mistress who went to teach children in Khartoum. The class she was teaching called a teddy bear Muhammad, and for this fictitious “insult” to the Prophet the unfortunate woman was arrested, and threatened with a jail sentence and forty lashes. Perhaps the Sudanese wanted to distract from the proposed intervention in their genocide in Darfur, insipid as those proposals are. Britain once ruled Sudan with no soldiers in garrison, and a civil service of 200 – since Sudan became independent, the civil warfare has been incessant and deadly, and perhaps General al-Bashir saw the chance for a historic revenge by holding hostage and humiliating an English woman out to do good. The Iranians have just given him a splendid example of how profitable this trick can be, by hijacking some fifteen British sailors and then gathering praise for releasing them. And maybe they roused the mobs to shout for Mrs. Gibbons’s execution just to show the world what Islamist business is like.

Everyone must welcome the imminent return of Mrs. Gibbons physically unharmed to her home in Liverpool. She is not to be imprisoned or lashed after all. What has happened is that two British members of the House of Lords, by name Lord Ahmed and Lady Warsi, flew to Khartoum, and interceded with General al-Bashir, and he consented to their petition for mercy, thus hoping to show himself in a benevolent light, and that too may have been an objective all along.

The two Muslim emissaries may be cast-iron figureheads in today’s establishment, but Lord Ahmed recently denounced the novelist Salman Rushdie’s knighthood, likening it to honouring the 9/11 hijackers,  and Lady Warsi recently said that expecting British Muslims to weed out extremism is “a very dangerous step.” Rather than send these two characters, the British government might have broken off diplomatic relations with Sudan, cut off millions in aid, revoked the visas of the thousands of Sudanese students in Britain, and prosecuted this barbarous regime for genocide. Instead it outsourced its foreign policy to two Muslims precisely and only because they were Muslims. Sic transit gloria mundi, as the philosopher Thomas à Kempis long ago said, which in translation is, can’t you see we’ve put our hands up.

Dark Days for Saudi G


A nineteen year old woman known only as G is in the midst of an unimaginably horrible ordeal in Saudi Arabia. She was blackmailed into getting into a car with a man who was not a relation. He kidnapped her, and then he and six other men gang-raped her. She was a Shia, it seems, the rapists Wahhabis, or Saudi Sunnis. That only makes their crimes more primitive and objectionable. The rapists confessed, but were then sentenced to short prison terms. Saudi justice is in the hands of clerics who imagine themselves to be acting on Islamic principles. The unfortunate woman was condemned to ninety lashes because she had been in the company of men not members of her family. She appealed. The court then increased her punishment to jail, a fine and 200 lashes. The Saudi Bar Association (yes, there is such a phantom thing) then suspended her lawyer, Abd al-Rahman al-Lahem, a well-known civil rights advocate, for bringing this case to public attention through the media.

Meanwhile Gillian Gibbons, aged 54 and British, is undergoing her ordeal in Khartoum. Only a few weeks ago, she went to teach there at an international school. Before her arrival, her six and seven year old pupils had given the name Muhammad to a teddy bear whose adventures they were supposed to write up as an exercise. Accused of insulting the Prophet, Mrs Gibbons has been arrested and sentenced to forty lashes. Crowds of bearded fundamentalists are demonstrating outside the prison, and some are calling for her death. This is taking place in the city where an earlier generation of fundamentalists hacked to death General Gordon, and the British consequently sent an expedition to take over the country and put an end to the butcher’s work. When Field Marshal Kitchener took his title, he became Kitchener of Khartoum. But let all that pass. The current British foreign secretary is so upset that he has called in the Sudanese ambassador, and suggests that he might cut off aid, but not really, he doesn’t want to rock the boat as he is so terribly concerned about the plight of Darfur. Oh, how his brow wrinkles.

What is happening to these two women shames Islam and every Muslim who allows these cruelties to be done in the name of religious faith. What’s more, the whole of humankind is shamed to be idle spectators doing nothing about such grotesque injustices. Where are the demonstrators shouting outside every Saudi and Sudanese embassy and office? Where are the defenders of women’s rights? Why are our governments so supine? Why are we all pretending that there’s not much we can do to come to the aid of these two victims of customs and fantasies lingering from the Dark Ages? These lashes may maim, and in G’s case could be fatal. And if these disgusting punishments are carried out, we can be sure that the fundamentalists will conclude that they can do as they like, and worse, much worse, will follow.




I can tell you nothing concrete about a journalist called Hugo Rifkind, and I merely suspect that he is the son of one Malcolm Rifkind, a member of Parliament and once foreign secretary, a Conservative – not that you’d know it from anything he says. Hugo Rifkind has a column in The Times, and an unlovely mixture of gossip and sneering it is too. For Thanksgiving, this creepy fellow published a photograph of President Bush bending with good humor over a turkey in the ceremony of “pardoning” it. The caption has the lines, “Obviously, we don’t need to tell you which is which. Or do we?” New depths of shame are plumbed all the time these days, but I must say I didn’t imagine that the Times, not long ago a serious paper, could sink so low. Rupert Murdoch is the owner of the Times, and if he approves of such a cheap shot his new acquisition, the Wall Street Journal, will soon become unrecognizable as well.

Bureaucrats, Leaguers, Muslims, Readers ...


Here’s a little story from the Italian press that people may have missed. Apparently there are 7,000 Muslims in or around the city of Padova – Padua to English speakers – and they have a mosque, but want another one. The so-called Northern League are opposed to this. In general terms, the League are either seen as local nationalists, or a bunch of semi-fascists. A document described as 5H4HID.b9(rev1154) offers guidelines on building mosques – nobody can possibly say that the bureaucrats who devised, drafted and now implement such a procedure are not earning their salaries. Studying the issue for purposes of blocking it, some Leaguers teamed up with a nearby farmer to loose a pig over the ground marked out for the mosque, in the full knowledge that the animal and above all its droppings would make the area unclean for ever. So it proves – no mosque here. The act is unworthy of Padua, complains the mayor. A spokesman for the Muslims is quoted going further: “They must choose between the Prophet and prosciutto. Islam is very peaceful, but when we are insulted we will turn everyone into sausages.”  Bureaucrats, Leaguers, Muslims, readers – who exactly has the last laugh?

Watching Sarko


You have to give it to President Nicolas Sarkozy. There seems to be no limit to his ambitions or his self-confidence. His wife leaves him on the grounds that life in the presidential palace is simply too boring for words, and he is spotted with other beautiful women in restaurants. In America, he has a love-in with President Bush, shattering hardened Gaullist prejudices. The creation of the state of Israel, he thinks, is a 20th-century miracle, and this must have brought cardiologists racing round to the Quai d’Orsay where they are quite sure that Israel is a thorough horror.

He’s also rather more than doubled his salary, a sign that he must be very sure of himself. The timing is — what shall we say — unpropitious. France is in the grip of strikes. Work more to earn more, is Sarkozy’s Stakhanovite message, and people don’t want to hear it. Half a million transport and power employees are asked to work more years for smaller pensions. Some railwaymen are currently able to retire at fifty on full pay. So the trains and subways aren’t running, columns of traffic a hundred miles long build up, the bicyclists and hikers have to make the best of it on their way to work.

At the same time students are blocking thirty of the 85 French universities, because they fear they may have to pay tuition fees and lose other privileges. Magistrates are striking in the face of a re-ordering of the courts. At the Opera, the terms of employment of the technicians were drawn up in Louis XIV’s day in 1698, and proposals to update have brought them out too. No Nutcracker Suite. Terms of employment for civil servants have hardly changed since they were drawn up by Colbert, Louis XIV’s minister who put his centralizing stamp on the country, and they’re threatening strike action too.

“Everyone to the barricades!” is the grand old cry of a grand old French tradition that also goes way back. 1968 was the last time that there was anything like real rioting, and it had a Cold War dimension on to which the Communists latched. Recently, the element of theatre has generally prevented anything much worse than cobble stones flying in the air and tear-gas fired back by the police. The government then gives way with as much grace as it can muster.

This time, things may well be different, and there may not even be much of a test of strength. The Communist trade unions have lost the appetite for class warfare, anti-capitalism and all that, and they seek compromise. A poll in the Figaro shows that 84 percent expect Sarkozy to stand firm. Spoilsport! If he wins, and succeeds in pushing through his modernizing reforms, France won’t be quite the same again.

Musharraf’s Bind


What’s happening in Pakistan reveals the inner dynamics not just of that country but of all Islamic countries. It’s a question of power: who is to hold it, and by what means? Previous rulers of Pakistan have sought to exercise absolute power, and this means ruling through the army and the intelligence service. Other institutions, including the legal branch, have the primary function of endorsing one-man rule. And like previous rulers in Pakistan, General Pervez Musharraf knows how to play the brutal game that this form of government necessarily involves.

It was never going to be easy. Pakistan is a country of some 165 million, well over half of them illiterate. Radical Islam has found it easy to fanaticise them. The Islamic Republic of Iran, and the Taliban in neighbouring Afghanistan, appeal to tribal instincts and to anti-Western prejudice. No doubt Musharraf’s worst error was to believe that he could make a treaty with al-Qaeda and the Taliban and trust them to respect it. In addition, Pakistani Sunnis and Shias murder each other. Suicide bombings are a daily occurrence.

As the situation deteriorates, the West is caught in a horrible bind. The United States continues to back Musharraf with money and weaponry, but cannot condone the methods he has to employ to retain absolute power, instead publicly pressurising him to “democratise.” This opens the way to a vicious power struggle. Former failed and disgraced (and disgraceful) absolute rulers pretend to be democrats, military men plot a coup, and judges led by the dodgy Chief Justice, Iftikhar Chaudhry, make their bid to end up on the winning side by deciding no longer to endorse one-man rule.

What is Musharraf to do in such circumstances? He could follow the example of the Shah of Iran, throw his hand in and fly into exile. Or he could do what Saddam Hussein and Hafiz Assad and other Arab one-man rulers have done, and murder as many as need be to restore the status quo, however bloody and vengeful. In the event, he has declared a state of emergency, sacked the judicial activists and arrested about 500 opponents. Addressing his fellow Pakistanis in Urdu on television, he broke into English for the sake of Washington and London, pleading, “Please do not expect or demand your level of democracy which you learned over a number of centuries. Please give us time.”

And that’s the nub of it. The political establishment in Washington and London are mouthing the usual mindless clichés about their “grave concern” and the press throughout the democratic West is shrieking that Musharraf has doomed himself, and deserves to go. In reality, it is hard not to feel sympathy for his plight. He has proved to be neither a quitter nor a killer. If anything, his measures are too mild to protect his rule, and he may have to arrest more, and prevent street demonstrations sponsored and paid for by the several would-be one-man rulers striving to replace his person with theirs. The alternative is the continuation of the power struggle by force of arms, the certain talibanization of large parts of the population, and perhaps even the total break-down of the country. The timing of this crunch could hardly be worse. In the near future, both Iran and Pakistan could be in a position to place nuclear weapons at the service of Islamist terror, and what then is the world to expect?

A sample of Islamic wisdom that goes back a thousand years is applicable to Musharraf at present: “Tyranny is better than anarchy.”


An Unbalanced BBC


Why is it that the media can no longer be relied on to be fair? The slanting of news and comment to give the worst possible interpretation of public figures and public life is a phenomenon that goes to the heart of today’s culture. The mixture of cynicism and frustrated power drives provides the rich but unhealthy mix spooned out every day in the press and on television.  For instance, anyone who relied on the New York Times for a world picture would be seriously misled. And the same goes for the BBC.

To listen to the BBC output is to be assured that everything in the United States is in bad hands, and nothing there goes right. Night after night, Matt Frei, a chief correspondent in Washington, finds some way of twisting the news in an anti-American sense. He reached a low recently when President Bush announced that a sum of several million dollars was to be given to help eliminate AIDS in Africa. Frei then showed us four AIDS victims in the American South who said they could get no treatment.  So in doing good to others, the President was actually doing harm to his own. That’s the moral of Frei and the BBC.

A fine example of this inverted moral is to be found in a two-part BBC film, shown these last two days, with the title No Peace, No Plan – the Inside Story of Iraq’s Descent into Chaos.  These films purport to reveal that President Bush and his administration had no idea what they doing by invading Iraq. Ignorant, whimsical, incompetent, they threw other peoples’ lives and money to the wind. A story-line for the Left is being established, and it goes like this: Colin Powell would have stopped the overthrow of Saddam Hussein if he had known how to, but Donald Rumsfeld overrode him. Praise the supposed liberals, blame the supposed neo-conservatives.

A slew of self-important and sneering Americans were interviewed, including Ambassador Barbara Bodine and Larry Wilkerson, Powell’s aide, to bad-mouth their colleagues and denigrate everything that had been done or not done. In their eyes, it was purposeless to single out mistakes of conception and planning because everything was a mistake. The BBC demonstrated to its satisfaction that the British should have had nothing to do with all this. Tony Blair was too superficial even to criticize Bush, let alone stop him. A general with a face like a boot and no powers of articulation had the gall to call Rumsfeld “intellectually bankrupt.” One slimy British diplomat after another looked to camera, said that the whole Iraqi affair was a disaster and none of it was their fault, they had entrusted everything to the Americans and were shattered to find that the Americans had let them down.

Intermittent clips stressed the horrors of suicide bombings, the shelling of Falluja or riots in Basra. Failure all round the compass, then. Not a single voice suggested that the overthrow of Saddam might be a necessary prelude to a new and humane Iraq, and perhaps a challenge to other disgusting regimes in the region. Nobody put the argument that it makes geo-strategic sense to have a large military force in between Iran and Afghanistan. Nobody even hinted that it is better to fight Islamists on their territory rather than have them come and fight us on ours. To these moralists of the age, an ultimately pacified and successful Iraq would still be presented as imposition and failure. 

The BBC has really become a political party, and these films are advertising its campaign. The sooner the BBC puts itself up for election, the better.

Marwan’s Fall


The Case of Ashraf Marwan is one to intrigue Sherlock Holmes. To recap it, Marwan fell to his death this June from the balcony of his apartment in the most expensive part of central London, almost within view of Buckingham Palace. Aged 62, he had risen from humble origins in his native Egypt, reaching the very top when he married President Nasser’s daughter. Afterwards he became an advisor to Anwar Sadat, Nasser’s successor. Israeli sources have revealed that he volunteered information to Mossad, the Israeli secret service. Other Israeli sources say that on the contrary he deliberately misled them. Egyptian sources ostensibly treat him as a patriot, not a traitor. After the accusations of being a double agent, at any rate, he went into exile, making a huge fortune as a businessman, notably dealing in arms. He is also reported to have finished writing his memoirs.

A whole range of people, then, might have an interest in killing Marwan. The police maintain that his death is unexplained, and they are investigating. Now The Times has tracked in Budapest a Hungarian by the name of Jozsef Repasi, one of several others including Marwan who were directors of a company called Ubichem. On the day of Marwan’s death these directors were meeting in a building at an angle to Marwan’s apartment. Repasi says, “I was discussing the company. And then someone said, ‘Look at what Dr. Marwan is doing.’ I turned left and saw him falling.” Two men in dark clothes were standing on what he believes was Marwan’s balcony, looking down with suspicious self-control, and they were “of Middle East appearance.” The police claim to have identified the two men, but have no other information or activity to report. One more piece in the detective story is that the only known copy of Marwan’s memoirs disappeared that same day. That same day too, by a coincidence that a fiction writer would hardly dare invent, at the moment of Marwan’s death Tony Blair was driving past on his way to Buckingham Palace to resign as Prime Minister, and the skies were full of helicopters for security purposes.

Marwan is the third Egyptian with alleged ties to security services to have died falling from London balconies. This has prompted one Egyptian commentator, quoted in The Times, to wonder what it is about these damned London balconies on which controversial Egyptians “stand and suddenly fly like a pair of socks.”

Famous Last Words


There are several anthologies of famous last words. You know the kind of thing. A servant lit a candle at the bedside of the dying Voltaire, and he said, “The flames? Already.”  A priest implored a monarch on his deathbed to forgive his enemies. The reply: “I have none. I have killed them all.”

Here’s an apposite anecdote which might well make its way into immortality. Doris Lessing, this week’s winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, grew up in Southern Rhodesia, as Zimbabwe then was.  Only a few miles away lived Muriel Spark, a future writer of equal fame. Their age, their circumstances, were very similar but amazingly the two had no awareness of one another even though both went to the same Catholic convent school, though at different times. Only years later, in London, they were to meet and became friends, and in a certain sense rivals.

Muriel died in April last year.  The lady who was with her at the end quotes Muriel’s last words, and they provide comfort as well as a final touch of inimitable Sparkian fantasy: “I must remember to tell Doris that when you come to die, you don’t give a damn.”

Diana’s Clash of Civilization


An inquest has just opened in London for the purpose of examining the death of Diana Princess of Wales in a car crash in Paris no less than ten years ago. The French authorities and the European Court of Human Rights in Strasbourg have already determined on the evidence that the crash was the result of wild and drunken driving by the chauffeur. Lord Justice Scott Baker in charge of the inquest opened proceedings by saying that many members of the public are concerned that something sinister may have caused the collision, and suspicion is now to be “either dispelled or substantiated.”

The holding of this inquest so long after the event, and the Lord Justice’s remarks, are an amazing tribute to Mohamed Fayed. His son Dodi died in the car with Diana. Rumor has it that Diana and Dodi were in a relationship, to use that euphemism. Fayed has since maintained that Diana was pregnant and about to marry Dodi. In his view, the crash was “murder in the furtherance of a conspiracy by the Establishment, in particular His Royal Highness Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, who used the secret services to carry it out.” And the motive? Supposedly it was intolerable that the mother of the future King of England might be married to a Muslim. Fayed uses his position as owner of Harrods, the famous London store, to publicize these accusations as loudly and as often as he can.

There is no record of British secret services murdering anyone anywhere at any time. Brigadier Mason-Macfarlane was British military attaché in Berlin before the war, and in a memorandum in 1938 he offered to shoot Hitler. Horrified superiors had him transferred at once to be governor of Gibraltar. Michael Grant, a wartime intelligence officer and afterwards vice-chancellor of Belfast university, once told me how early in the war he had had a hand in recruiting a Military Intelligence team of assassins. The authorities were then so frightened by the men they had trained that they kept them enclosed in a country house in Worcestershire for the rest of the war, and disbanded them as quickly as they could. The concept of the Duke of Edinburgh using the secret services for anything, never mind murder, is so far out as to be rather comic.

But that is how they do things in Egypt, the country in which Mohamed Fayed was born and grew up. Those with the power to do it may well murder whoever gets in the way. Prominent victims of past power struggles have included Hasan al-Banna, head of the Muslim Brothers, and Prime Minister Noqrashi Pasha. President Nasser almost certainly had his friend and rival Field Marshal Amer murdered, and he ensured the judicial execution of the Muslim thinker Sayyid Qutb. Islamists murdered the free-thinker Faraj Fuda, and the secret police cause Islamists to disappear regularly.

Mohamed Fayed’s conspiracy theory is a revealing illustration of how someone can misinterpret British culture in the light of his very own different culture. His vision of the world sounds demented but it’s conditioned by what’s familiar to him. In their culture, what the British actually do is set up inquests and Lord Justices to deal with issues through due procedure, something unknown in Egypt.

Nobody has a clue what – if anything – Diana and Dodi felt for one another, but if the two of them had settled down together the whole Establishment would have gasped with relief at an example of a Muslim at last integrating, and at the top of society too. Fayed’s insistence that the mother of the future King couldn’t be allowed to marry a Muslim is evidence of the victim complex that runs through Islam – the poor man is simply not equipped to understand the British.

Party Time


The British Labour party has been holding its annual conference, and a very triumphalist occasion it’s been too. Much crowing and boasting on the part of the Labour elite, as the rest of us prepare ourselves for another long spell of high-tax-and-spend socialism. Where will we be at the end of it?

Lord Kinnock was once the leader of the Labour party, and he is supposed to be an elder statesman. He lost elections to Mrs Thatcher, and has been busy amassing privileges ever since. He’s a member of the House of Lords, and for some years he’s been a Commissioner of the European Union in Brussels. His wife is a member of the European parliament, and the press from time to time point out their tax-free earnings, expense accounts and massive pension rights. Few conservatives have done so well out of the public purse as he and his wife.

Well, Kinnock addressed some of the Party faithful, the cameras recorded him, and he appeared grinning on television to say to the country, concerning conservatives, that he wanted “to grind the bastards into the dust.”

Which is more depressing, the vileness of the language or the hypocrisy of pretending that there’s a class war, and he’s a loser in it?

Saving Lars Vilks


Those who comment on the Muslim world and Islamo-fascism are likely to receive death threats. What is to be done about that ?  Rebecca West, someone whose courage matched her intellect, showed the way. Years ago, when the PLO under Arafat was casting its first shadows over the Middle East, she went to Jerusalem. There she met lots of people. One of them was evidently a secret PLO agent. Her next stop was Beirut.  The telephone rang in her hotel there – the famous and now burnt-out Saint Georges – and a voice told her that she had been fraternising with the Israelis, and they’d come to kill her.  She replied that she’d had a long and wonderful life, had written the books she’d wanted to write, and had nothing more to look forward to. She told me how she had explained to the PLO chap which room she was in, and how she would leave the door open for him. She had called him “dear boy” and added that he had to be sure to bring his gun and take off the safety catch, and aim straight.

This morning, I heard that some al-Qaeda thug is offering $100,000 to anyone who can kill Lars Vilks – he is Swedish and last month drew and published in his local newspaper an unflattering cartoon of the Prophet Muhammad. He had already received a number of threats, The Times reported, but none so explicit as this call to murder him. “I suppose that this makes my art project a bit more serious,” he went on, “It is also good to know how much one is worth.”  Whereupon I remembered Dame Rebecca and the marvellous sarcasm she had put into telling about how she’d seen off her would-be gunman. And by the way, she knew Sweden, and liked the fierce dramatist August Strindberg, and I bet she’d have approved of Lars Vilks too.

Putin Pushes


“He only does it to annoy, because he knows it teases.”  President Vladimir Putin must have basing himself on Lewis Carroll’s great poem. He’s been doing lots of annoying and teasing lately. Taking his summer vacation in Siberia and apparently out fishing on the banks of a river, he posed stripped to the waist, or better still, stripped for action, in a series of photo ops. All biceps and pectorals – got the message?  Alexander Solzhenitsyn was once in Siberia for rather different reasons and I could not help remembering his description in The Gulag Archipelago  of the mosquitoes swarming in Siberia in the summer in such numbers that if they settled on you they could sting you to death.

No sooner is Putin back in the Kremlin than he sends Russian bombers over European air space, and British pilots scramble to see them off. Better that, I suppose, than murdering exiles like Alexander Litvinenko in London, and then covering up for the suspect wanted by Scotland Yard – that whole case has gone into abeyance. And the next step was to test out the biggest non-nuclear bomb ever manufactured, one that wipes out all life in an area of several square miles. That should impress the unfortunate Chechens, Georgians, Moldavians, Estonians, Ukrainians, and others for whom Putin is duly flexing those biceps and pectorals. At the same time, they have just launched a super-submarine, nuclear-powered and capable of staying submerged for twenty days. More impressive still, he’s just sold the latest anti-aircraft defence system to Iran.

His most recent move, only yesterday, has been to dismiss his whole government, just like that, on the spur of the moment, no warning, no apparent motive – just the way they do these things in Russia. So he appoints a new government, with one Viktor Zubkov as prime minister. Only a very few in or out of Russia have ever heard of the man. Experts tell us that he too is a former KGB man like Putin, and a financial specialist who helped rob the oligarchs and send oilman Mikhail Khodorkovsky out to Siberia for ten years, without fishing. Boris Yeltsin once picked the then unknown Putin in exactly this personal manner, like the conjuror who pulls a rabbit out of a top hat.

What’s the meaning?  According to the constitution, Putin can serve only two terms as President. Nobody would be surprised if he were to wangle his way round a paper obstacle as flimsy as that. But perhaps he thinks he can install this Zubkov as his successor, and manipulate him like a puppet. If all this isn’t annoying and teasing, then it’s real trouble ahead.

Lebanon Is Key


Lebanon is the country to watch right now, it is the key point in the Syria-Hezbollah front that keeps on threatening to start another and wider war against Israel. At the end of the month, moreover, there are due to be elections that for the usual sectarian reasons are virtually certain to result in political deadlock. Syria demands subservience, however, and its determination to have its way generates brutality, murder if necessary. The disruption already created by the terrorist group calling itself Fatah al-Islam is a sinister portent, and it happens also to illustrate perfectly the whole Arab order and the difficulty of interpreting it.

Nobody knows who or what Fatah al-Islam really is. The name suggests Islamism but that may be a cover for some sort of military coup. A man called Shakir al-Absi and some three hundred well-armed followers simply turned up four months ago, and took over Nahr al-Bared, a Palestinian refugee camp outside the northern Lebanese city of Tripoli. Who paid for these men and their weapons ?  How were they recruited ? What was the purpose of occupying at gun point a Palestinian stronghold ? The experts more or less unanimously answer that Syria intended to give a warning that it truly means to have its way, and can prove it by restarting civil war in Lebanon with huge and disastrous consequences. And who was Shakir al-Absi ? Reports claimed that he had served a short sentence in a Syrian jail, the presumption being that he was now working his way back into favour in Damascus, a producer of terror satisfying his customers’ demand. In short, he was as much an entrepreneur as a terrorist.

It’s been a long time since I visited Nahr al-Bared. I remember looking down on it from mountainous rises to its east, and thinking how attractive the setting was. I had a PLO guide taking me through the little lanes and alleys so characteristic of an Arab medina, where privacy and the collective are in happy contradiction.  I met some rather scary members of Murabitun, a Sunni extremist group. The inhabitants of Nahr al-Bared are virtually unanimously Sunni: What was their real relationship to Fatah al-Islam ?

Today the story is over. After a pretty dismal performance dragged out over these four months, the Lebanese army has finally routed Fatah al-Islam, killed Shakir al-Absi and his deputy, and identified some of the dead terrorists as Saudis and others as men who have fought in Iraq. Between two and three hundred have been killed, about half of them Lebanese soldiers. And meanwhile 40,000 Palestinians have fled from their homes, most probably never to return. Lebanese artillery has turned Nahr al-Bared into the sort of ruin the Russians have made of Grozny in Chechnya.

This whole ugly episode exemplifies the self-inflicted violence of Arab power politics. Probably Syria really did inspire it, but maybe some Saudis were the financiers, perhaps even al Qaeda – we are unlikely to discover the truth.

The media is no help, of course, hardly reporting the Nahr al-Bared crisis unless in a paragraph on some inside page. In contrast, just cast your mind back to 2002 when the Israeli army cleared Fatah terrorists from the refugee camp of Jenin on the West Bank. No artillery, no indiscriminate destruction, no 40,000 fleeing for their lives, less than a hundred dead all told, but pretty well every front page and every news bulletin accused Israel of war crimes and atrocities. I particularly remember one Professor Derrick Pounder on behalf of Amnesty speaking of massacre, and proclaiming that the dead under the rubble were too numerous to be counted. The absence of such media professors and human-rights groups from Nahr al-Bared now certifies the whole lot of them as foremost specialists in the double standards underpinning the usual Western representations of the Middle East.

Fisk in Training


A British newspaper called The Independent is a fine specimen of left-wing opinion. Occasionally I look at it to see what new conspiracy and disaster its Middle East correspondent, Robert Fisk, is making up as he goes along. Attributing all past, present and future wrongs to Western policy makers and their horrid little stooges the Jews, this Fisk has an imagination that affords much entertainment to readers.

A columnist in the same newspaper is one Johann Hari, supposed (I think) to be the voice of youth. I never took much notice of him since he never had anything to say which every leftist wasn’t already saying. Perhaps I was mistaken, however. He seems to have had a  conspiracy in mind, namely he bought a passage on the NR cruise last November, passing himself off as a reader like everyone else. In fact he was on undercover work. He proposed to have a go at the genuine passengers, and especially at the lecturers invited to speak, every one of them a conservative and therefore stereotyped n his mind. Why he then waited six months before writing the experience up – and in an American magazine The New Republic, at that – is a mystery.  One of those lecturers myself, I never discovered that he was on board, and it is obvious why he took pains to hide from me. I was the one and only person on the cruise likely ever to have ever heard of him, and also in a position to expose his purpose. I like to think of him hiding behind some life-boat at the sight of me. But he was able unimpeded to mock the likes of Bernard Lewis and Judge Bob Bork simply because they were older and more distinguished than him. There’s the spirit of The Independent for you.

Private Eye is a fortnightly London publication specialising in gutter press journalism, and does it rather well. In its current issue, the muck it rakes concerns our very own Johann Hari. First of all, in a review he totally misrepresented a book by Nik Cohen, a left-wing author who nevertheless – and unusually – castigates the Left for its refusal to welcome the overthrow of Saddam Hussein. Hari defended himself by saying that he had once overheard Cohen speaking in this vein contrary to his book at a drunken dinner. Bloggers then moved in, and one of them posted the opinion that for a journalist “a reputation for making things up should be career death.”

At this, Hari “went ballistic,” as the Eye puts it, with threats of libel and damages, all allegedly supported by the Independent lawyers. The laughter of the bloggers grew all the louder, and ruder. The Eye went on to report Hari’s pretence that a package tour of archaeological sites that he’d taken in Iraq in 2002 was really investigative work, and how later he had reported that a pastor had been a human shield in 2003 until he saw the reality of Saddam’s rule. This was a pure fabrication. “I should have checked his story out more rigorously before I used it,” Hari was obliged to lament.

Bravo, Hari, keep it up, and in due course you’ll be just the chap to step into Fisk’s shoes.

Life After Blair


Tony Blair has got out of Downing Street just in time, leaving a whole range of crises, any one of which might well scupper Gordon Brown, the new British prime minister. Scotland is one of the issues with potential for immediate and lasting harm.  Blair initiated a process of devolution that gave the Scots limited powers of self-government. At the time he was warned that this threatened the integrity of the United Kingdom, and so it is proving. This summer, the Scottish National Party won elections to the Scottish parliament, though by a very thin margin. The SNP’s sole purpose is to break away from the United Kingdom so that Scotland becomes an independent and sovereign country.  Its leader, Alex Salmond, has just completed his first 100 days in office, and with a mixture of ability and guile he is playing the independence card long. It so happens that Brown is himself a Scot, and it is the rawest of ironies that he has to confront the SNP. This duel of the two Scots will decide whether Britain continues to exist in its historic entity, or becomes as obsolete as the Soviet Union.

Opinion polls suggest that almost two-thirds approve of Salmond’s administration so far, and also that independence one day is inevitable although under a quarter of the respondents actually were in favour of it. I have just spent some time in Scotland, and pretty well everyone I spoke to there confirmed the broad outlines of these polls. However unenthusiastic they might be at the prospect, almost everyone considered that independence was the virtually certain outcome of devolution. And that would be Blair’s irreversible legacy.

One Scottish grandee, a Unionist, had an interesting angle. The Scots, he said to me, have a very strong sense of their own identity, and do not take kindly to others coming to live among them, or telling them what to do. This is tribalism, with its plusses and minuses, and it means that when they look at Britain they see that immigration is out of control, and there is a diminishing sense of identity, and even less national pride. The Scots hope to avoid such a fate. In a nutshell, then, repudiation of multi-culturalism is the motor driving Scottish independence and the ultimate break-up of Britain.

Arbitrary divisions loom, involving all sorts of unquantifiable confrontations and losses. More Scots live abroad than at home. What nationality is theirs to be ?  What about the many English who live in Scotland ? How are long intertwined commercial and industrial interests to be sorted out in a just and peaceful manner ? In the event of Salmond having his way, the Scots look set to become the Palestinians of Europe.  

Forgery, False Allegations, Abuse of Power ...


France does scandals well, and the latest one there has really explosive potential. It goes by the name of Clearstream, which has its comic touch, considering how murky everything is.

The scandal begins in January 2004. The then minister of foreign affairs, and later prime minister, Dominique de Villepin, had a meeting with two friends. One was General Philippe Rondot, lately head of the military secret service, and the other was Jean Louis Gergorin, a highly placed executive with the aerospace company EADS. At this meeting Gergorin produced a list of secret and therefore illegal bank accounts supposedly held by prominent French people in Clearstream, a finance company in Luxembourg. On the list were two accounts attributed to Nicolas Sarkozy, then minister of the interior and the main political rival of Villepin for the coming election for President to succeed Jacques Chirac. General Rondot was asked to investigate. The list proved a forgery. Press commentary now suggests that Villepin was trying to smear Sarkozy, and even more damaging, that President Chirac was the originator of this unlovely stratagem.

The Clearstream list was also sent anonymously to a magistrate, Renaud van Ruymbeke, who was investigating bribes paid in connection with the sale of warships to Taiwan. This magistrate is known to have met Gergorin, and his involvement adds another level of mystery. Two other magistrates have meanwhile confiscated the detailed notes of General Rondot’s investigation. As the evidence piles up, and leaks are published bit by bit, Villepin has been warned by the two magistrates that he has to answer to several serious charges, including complicity in calumny, resort to forgery, and concealing theft (in French, recel de vol.) He has had to post bail for about $300,000, and most injuriously he is forbidden to contact Chirac. He promises to take the gloves off in his own defence.

Forgery, false allegations, abuse of power, conspiracy apparently calling on military intelligence, and implicating the offices of president and leading politicians, why, think Clearstream, think Dreyfus.


Subscribe to National Review