On Kony

First of all: 

Watch this if you haven't already. While I have known about Kony and what has been happening in Uganda for quite a while, it has always been simply one of those events where no one really seems to do anything about it. There's been no huge television appeal, no mass coverage. It's been happening under our noses and because no one takes the time to look at something closely, everyone became ignorant. Kony is a monstrous man, that is no doubt. The campaigns' goal to put enough pressure on the Senate and people who 'matter' suggests the right idea, that we cannot do anything but make the people who can act on it. But there's only so far they can go.

The sad thing is, if we blindly donated to the regime within Uganda, we are not donating to the good guys. Only donating to the slightly less evil ones. The Ugandan army has committed many an atrocity. The only real people we can look after are the people who aren't part of either. And then, what are we going to do? Throw money at them when it will go straight into the hands of the military? As is the case in many African nations, sometimes we can only sit back. Blindly throwing money is never the answer, look at Somalia. And that also showed that blindly throwing troops into a hell hole doesn't work. A U.N backed peace keeping aid mission may be the only logical solution but you try selling that to the international community right now. Should first world countries play the game of international police? I believe they should, it's there responsibility. Surely the right thing to do when faced with something like this is to stand up and do everything in your power to stop it? Not just let people die because we don't have the money. You wouldn't do that in real life. You wouldn't not help a woman who had fallen over in the middle of the road because you don't have the effort. At least, I hope that is true.

There are hundreds of regimes out there and each one needs to be dealt with but we can't just deal with them all. What needs to happen is a consensus on how we can bring the ones responsible to justice. Short, sharp operations aimed at the very highest level with precision, backed by international aid groups and advisors to stabilise. That's the only option. As we saw in Libya, the precise military action can help. We just forgot about what would happen after.

Above is one of the most powerful photos I have ever seen. The woman pictured is the wife of a U.S marine killed in Iraq. It's part of a series of pictures that won a Pulitzer prize - one of the few that deserved it. If you want to see the rest, it's here.

This really shows one important thing about warfare and loss. To a historian, it is far too easy to forget that every single loss is immeasurable against the other. The families suffering is immense, and whether the cause is just or not, we cannot forget this. As Stalin said - one death is a tragedy, and one million a statistic. But to the families, it will always be that one death.

Born to Run. (Away)

Alright, so it has been a pretty eventful year so far. Somethings have happened that while neccessary, still hurt. But I don't hold regrets. Was the time of my life. But this post isn't about that. I'm heading off to university in September at long last, to do a history degree, something I've been meaning to do for so long but never dragged myself to actually getting it done. But now I'm going. So really, this year is about preparing to that. Seeing friends before I head off I guess. But that makes it seem permanent. Like I'm going to australia or the Colonies. Yes, colonies.

But anyway. Shall start updating this more often.

And I will now finish with a song!

Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules

Of Hector and Lysander, and such great names as these.

But of all the world's great heroes, there's none that can compare.

With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, to the British Grenadiers.

Those heroes of antiquity ne'er saw a cannon ball,

Or knew the force of powder to slay their foes withal.

But our brave boys do know it, and banish all their fears,

Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grenadiers.

Whene'er we are commanded to storm the palisades

Our leaders march with fuses and we with hand grenades.

We throw them from the glacis, about the enemies' ears.

Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, the British Grenadiers.

And when the siege is over, we to the town repair.

The townsmen cry, "Hurrah, boys, here comes a Grenadier!

Here come the Grenadiers, my boys, who know no doubts or fears!

Then sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, the British Grenadiers.

Then let us fill a bumper, and drink a health to those

Who carry caps and pouches, and wear the loupèd clothes.

May they and their commanders live happy all their years.

With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grenadiers.

Eh

These few weeks have been different, to say the least. I can't help but give way to the overbearing feeling of helplessness. Like things are changing and I can't do anything about it. Or I don't know what to do at all. This isn't about one single thing, it's about everything. I just feel helpless in general. So if you excuse me, I'm going to attempt to learn a new language to keep my mind busy.

This made me think. The film - The Great Dictator, made in 1940, by Charlie Chaplin. The famous slapstick and comedy writer. A little bit of background research would tell you that he was advised against releasing it - a satire on Adolf Hitler. The film itself is hilarious, as only Chaplin can be. But it is the speech at the end that truly made me think. Today, Europe doesn't really suffer under the wrath of a tyrant, but people do, somewhere in the world. I used to believe in the old system, purely because I thought mankind was only good for that. It could not do better, we are all wrong, we are all selfish. I am starting to think I'm wrong. Am I no longer a cynic? Balls to that, cynics get the best jokes. But freedom is something every single person should have, but they don't. They don't because they are different, they are poor. They are black, white, christian. Muslim, Jewish, anything. Humanity and there will never be anyone like the next person you see. You walk down the street and the person you first see is the rarest sight - you will never see anything like them again. We preserve species because they are unique and rare - why not preserve eachother? Not for the good of a 'race', for the good of 'all'.

On recent events.

No, this isn't a rant. I wish to express something about this weeks events. What we saw in Oslo and Utoeya was the worst kind of tragedy. The man, if we can call him that, dealt an unforgettable hell to all of those people, both on the island and in the capital and yet the Norwegians did not respond with cowardice or hatred but merely promised that they will become a more tolerant and open society. To me, personally, this tragedy has really affected me. It happened in a country I could possibly call my own, in and around a city I grew up in. One of the most beautiful countries in the world fell victim to a horrific act, by a hateful person.

I feel for every single family who has lost a relative, everyone who has lost a loved one. There's not much more I can really say, words don't seem to be enough, but I am thinking about them.

Completely unrelated fiction.

An idea shamelessly stolen from a good friend of mine - her blog is here.
Except, this uses classical figures!

The first to enter the cramped and dusty pub is a resplendant man, shining in golden armour with a billowing red cape. His hair is neatly trimmed and yet he looks twelve. Due to the absence of a beard probably. Sitting at the barstool, he orders every drink in the house, downs them all and mutters something about conquering the known world before dropping his spear and mentioning how his father, Philip, did nothing for him. And then, suddenly, a collection of strange looking Greek and Macedon hoplites, all unshaven, come in and surround him for no apparent reason. He decides that the table by the window is his and they all enter a phalanx, Alexander mounts his horse and charges towards the seat. In the pub.


The next to enter is no less resplendant and strangely similar, he'd been watching the young Macedonian through the window and decides to charge a table by the door, occupied by some long nosed Italian looking men, all neatly ordered and clean. Pyrrhus takes some burly yet stupid Greeks charge, fall over and all seem to die or lose limbs for no apparent reason. Yet the older Greek of Epirus takes the table, declares victory with his one remaining man, heavily wounded and screams triumph, staring and the frightened and embarrassed younger man by the window. 


The door burst open, and Hannibal enters, with a carved elephant and screams at the Romans sat at the bar, whom he decides to enter a barfight with them all, managing to outmatch and beat them all - until they decide to chase him down the road, where he hides in bins and skips, beats the hell out of them and flees again. Then a bald headed Roman, named Scipio decides to step out the way and kicks him in the side and the bearded man flees. Looking pleased with himself, he walks into the bar and the other Romans chase similar looking beardmen down the road with bins. 


A slightly chubby Roman - Pompey - enters after the bald one, followed by Crassus, clutching gold coins and Julius Caesar in military dress, balding with a hawk like nose and the ever loyal Marc Antony following him. In his arms, a beautiful Queen, Cleopatra - but he fails to notice the Legionnaire grabbing her backside though. Following but avoiding them, Cicero, an older, wiser man enters, sits at the bar, speaks for what seems to be hours in a strangely stirring manner until he finally drinks a ton of gin, speaks some more and begins to write, a clutch of wig wearing Americans, French and English liberals surrounding him, copying and screaming in his direction. 


The bar erupts! Caesar has started a fight with the barman! Pompey enters, punches Caesar but Caesar sends him flying out the window. Crassus, however, had drowned himself in cheap golden alcopops. The bar is Caesars! After several hours of nothing happening, a load of men, one of them talking to Marc Antony about breasts, all jump Caesar and stab him. Then a young man named Augustus calmly enters, decides the bar is his, wears a crown - proving it is and shoots the men who stabbed Caesar. He then chases Marc Antony and Cleopatra down the road with a stick, until they both jump in front of a bus. Returning back, he sees Cicero dead - but he looks like he's still writing.


Augustus renames the bar and nothing really happens.