Bahrain instability continues

Deira Diary: Bahrain instability continues

http://www.opendemocracy.net/stephen-nash/bahrain-%E2%80%93-struggle-continues This article was written just before the Formula 1 fracas in Bahrain and the talk (since postponed) of a "union" of Saudi Arabia and Bahrain

It was Christmas Day in the family house

I drove down to my Mum’s at around 5am Christmas morning. Although getting out of bed that early in the morning was not part of my plan, I assumed that an inability to sleep was an inevitable product of the child-like excitement that this time of year regularly engenders. It also had the virtue of potentially enabling me to make an early getaway later in the day and to return to my wife who had wisely opted out of any contact with any part of the family for the entire Christmas period.

Arriving a little after 7, Mum appeared to only just be getting up. I am not sure if we specifically exchanged the felicitations of the season, or just the ritual “how are you”, neither of us really wanting an honest response. After the affects of the coffee that I made myself had worn off, I began to develop a distinct feeling of dread as the realisation kicked in that we couldn’t really begin cooking for another couple of hours. “Christmas, what do you make of it,” I asked, irritably. “Well, it’s not like it used to be, is it?” she replied. I became agitated at my own unforced opening up of a vulnerable emotional flank. I, after all, was central to the value of this particular Christmas celebration as I had opted to drive down to be with Mum. “Does Christmas matter to you?” I asked, half wanting to hear that there was in fact some point in me being there. “Well, it wouldn’t matter if they did away with it,” she said. “They?” I queried, wondering if she had in mind a sudden state directive declaring the sentimentalised and superstitious memorialisation of the birth of a baby and the attendant consumer blow-out incompatible with socialist values.

“I am here because I thought it mattered to you,” I said. “Oh, it matters to be with family,” she said, half recovering but only sufficient to make me realise that my presence on this day was merely a matter of keeping up appearances. The carers had been cancelled this particular morning because one of her sons was showing up. Otherwise she would have to explain to some barely interested girl on triple time why neither of her boys was coming this year, and our family would not appear “normal”. As if any honest appraisal could consider this a remotely solid unit. “It was better when we were younger,” she added. “Oh yes,” I agreed. I suppressed the urge to remind her that no sooner had we both left home than she and Dad would themselves do what I only wish I could do, and opt out of a family Christmas. Regularly they would disappear out for Christmas lunch, and even for the night on two or three occasions - down to some hideous little guest house on the seafront.

I rallied, however, remembering that she has some sweet but not too sickly sparkling white wine getting warm in the kitchen. It would be weak enough to combine with driving, but hopefully just about strong enough to improve the atmosphere. “Happy New Year” she inappropriately toasted me, perhaps deciding to drop any more references to the event that we were apparently celebrating. We stood in front of the lit bureau that displayed my Mum’s glasses, all of them small, fit for a suitably parsimonious outpouring of liquor. Nothing was ever done in excess in our house, modesty in all things; generosity never a dominant virtue, not even to ourselves.

I had hoped Mum wouldn't bother with presents. I had told her not to. We are skint, and despite this I don't really see the point of being given petrol money as a "gift". Mum had though prepared two envelopes of cash and a present for us both: a cushion emblazoned with flying ducks. Just my thing.

We negotiated awkwardly around each other in the small kitchen space as we prepared a traditional Christmas fayre of roast beef and Yorkshire pud. For some strange reason I deferred to Mother’s apparent wisdom when it came to steaming the Christmas pudding, and watched as the water boiled fiercely, discounting her dismissal of my suggestion that the plastic container should stand on something in the pan. Mum sounded desperate as the frozen peas proved beyond reason. “Mum, they are only bloody peas, it’s not the end of the world if you can’t get some into a saucepan, is it?” I quickly became more emollient, not wanting to ruin the day.

As we prepared the rest of the dinner, the room filled more and more with smoke. As I gazed at the strange, black-current like, liquid surrounding the pudding, a high pitched alarm went off, in turn automatically triggering a dialling up of social services. Within moments a woman’s voice came through from the intercom in the lounge. “Are you alright?” I hurried in, and managed to laugh off our attempts “to burn Christmas dinner,” as I jocularly put it. Ambulance averted, I returned to the kitchen. “What should I do?” Mum rather desperately enquired. “Open the door?” I suggested, incredulous at the lack of initiative.

It is partly age, but it is also an inactive and overly sedated mind that, I guess, causes this. We managed a second Lambrusco with our meal. Beef slightly underdone (suited me; her Brussels boiled to such an extent that they no longer looked green; gravy as thick as syrup, but tasty as I managed to intervene before she deployed instant granules; spuds that were actually rather good. Her Yorkshire pudding failed to rise to the occasion, in fact it failed to rise at all, but, with another gravy gloop, it tasted alright. Christmas pudding, minus the melted plastic, tasted okay too.

I left at 2pm on the dot; my personal deadline. Here’s to next Christmas. My brother’s not getting away with it for the fourth year running.

Arms and the Middle East

Saudi Arabian military and security officers were out in force at the biennial “defence and security equipment international” sales exhibition, DSEI, held at Excel Stadium (part of ADNEC, the Abu Dhabi exhibitions company) in London’s Docklands in mid-September. Hundreds of companies from literally around the globe were represented. It was a strange event, a bit like a cross between a rock memorabilia convention and the UN. Like the latter, it was also replete with prostitution of the overt sexual variety. A number of impossibly sexy Russian women had been shipped in to tout their wares alongside their fellow countrymen.

Saudi Arabia did not have its own exhibition area as it is not quite in the market for selling its wares. It is though in the market for big purchases. The US$100 bn extra spend announced in May by King Abdullah includes a large allocation to the interior ministry – a logical response to the Arab Spring, and this will not just be a boost to manpower. In addition the National Guard, run by Abdullah’s son Miteb, are in the midst of an extensive modernisation programme (and a stabilisation programme in Bahrain), and the Saudi defence ministry (MoDA), are apparently moving to actualise the large US contract announced two years or so ago. The Bahrainis were also in town, although much of their defence, internal and external, is effectively contracted out to the post-British successor protector state, Saudi Arabia. Saudi ambitions to develop indigenous defence industry capability seem to be largely focused on the partnership with BAE SYSTEMS, who employ 5,000 people in country and have set up a tail fin assembly facility for the EuroFighter (Typhoon) in the Kingdom. MoDA has also long run a small defence manufacturing outfit, but this is far from cutting edge.

Much optimism was in the air at DSEI as far as sales in general and specifically in the Middle East were concerned. UK defence procurement minister Gerald Howarth was lively first thing in the morning, wowing assembled UK defence journalists and British civil servants with morally uplifting talk of the virtues of the country’s defence industries. Defence secretary Liam Fox was due to speak later in the day. However two UK government ministers in one day would have been a bit much to take, so I had made my excuses before he hit the stage.

Cassidian, a Welsh company that forms part of the French-led Euro consortium, EADS, boasted, a tad ironically perhaps, of “defending world security”, and hosted on the spot briefers to talk to industry issues. BAES had a large display on one side of the stadium, including an array of armoured vehicles. Needing a breather I went dockside and witnessed Sonardyne’s “Sentinel” sonar detection technology in a simulated threat to the British warship HMS Tyne, which had berthed at DSEI alongside some fellow NATO craft. This was disappointingly dull as a large number of DSEI attendees crowded around television screens on a wind-swept poop deck. However one of Sonardyne’s PR people put impetus into proceedings when he indicated that the sonar could be used to induce vomiting or even a blow akin to being hit over the head by a baseball bat, should an intruder be foolish enough to get too close to the mammoth vessel. Then suddenly the presentation conducted by UK naval personnel in partnership with officials of British company Sonardyne was rudely interrupted by a heavily American accented robotic voice announcing that there was a “suspicious diver at 3 o’clock”.

In terms of Middle East-produced wares, Jordan had a large exhibit, mostly revolving around KADDB, a company founded in 1999 to develop indigenous defence engineering capabilities. Two of the model armoured vehicles on display, I was told by a Jordanian officer on the stand, were designed and made in-country at the 100% Jordanian staffed company. I guess that goes for the life size versions too. One of these may be “under development”, but, if wholly true, this seems an impressive and rare feat in that part of the world. Rare, that is, apart from the Israelis, who were, so to speak, out in force. Uzi and other sub machine guns were menacingly pointed at punters (see picture), while a freely distributed English language journal, Israel Defense, talked of “a return to the southern front” in light of changes in Egypt following the so-called Arab Spring.

The event was (almost) disappointingly free of protestors – they had been rerouted upriver to the House of Parliament, while the police, transport and regular, were heavy on the ground. In terms of the protestors’ concerns, some of the kit could no doubt be used to put down domestic opposition, whether in Jordan, Israel, the Gulf, or, for that matter, Europe where economic woes and criminal ambition are motivating civil disturbances. Whether that is a reason not to sell seems a moot point. Much of the kit could also be used to undermine another country’s national sovereignty, whether blessed by the UN or not, but that does not seems to be mobilising the anti arms trade people so much these days.

Saudi and the Arab Uprisings

For comment on Saudi Arabia's response to developments in the Middle East, check out this article on BBC Newsonline. Timely as the Yemeni government apparently reneges on a GCC deal it never really backed.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-13208800

Middle East in turmoil

Crisis what crisis? If I hear the word revolution (or thawra) one more time I think I will engage in high projectile vomiting. If I may paraphrase al-Masri Al-Yowm (Egyptian daily) the revolution in that country still has some way to go. Not many partner. I may be in danger of being conditioned by so-called "People's" revolutions of the 20th century, but who ever heard of a revolution that leaves the Field Marshal/defence minister still in place and now more obviously in charge? The revolution has a kind of substance in Libya, although a shoot out for regional and tribal dominance fuelled (ouch) by petroleum ambitions (those of the LIBYANS!) seems closer to the money (as it were). Has anybody talked any sense among the western opinionistas since the Arab spring first saw the light of day? Not too many, though I would cite the attractive presentation of Anita McNought on Al-Jazeera English who on April 11 was the first person I heard say simply that the fight in Libya is a fight for life, literally, on the part of the Qadaffi family and their erstwhile green comrades in Benghazi. What's bothering me is that the so-called Arab democracy wave/spring/awakening becomes a western conflict with flaky Arab state support, just like yesteryear.This is becoming Iraq circa 1992-2002, with Benghazi increasingly shaping up to be the protected northern Kurdish regional government…….) Next stop ground troops (first they came as advisors).....Then there is the current Gulf role...more than ignoring sanctions as they did in the 90s ---we now have a few Qatari planes and the UAE still standing by with their US pilots....

Here is a link to something that gives a different spin on what's happening within the Gulf

http://partrickmideast.org/archive.html

Stiffs and stuff

Thought I would fire this up after a five month lull, in part to see if any of my legions of followers are still out there, or still alive for that matter. A few stiffs have been registered of late. Among those who made a particular mark on my radar were Captain Beefheart, Gerry Rafferty and Anthony Howard. The Captain could disappear up his own arse musically but particular album highlights for me were "Decals", "Spotlight Kid" and Ice Cream for Crow. If you want accessible Captain, try Bluejeans and Moonbeams, which includes a JJ Cale cover, Same ol Blues Again. The infamous Trout Mask has its moments (in short doses or longer if you're in the right, assisted, mood), Dachau Blues was one track that made an impression on me among others. Anthony Howard is best remembered for editing "The Crossman Diaries" and general press and TV punditry. Gerry Rafferty's late 70s album "City to City" is very good (whatever one thinks of Baker Street). Then there is what became the psycho soundtrack "Stuck in the Middle With You" because it was used in Reservoir Dogs. (It was written during the Stealer's Wheel phase 20 years earlier). Having read his very sad obituary in The Guardian, his late 60s/early 70s solo number Mary Skeffington also took on a very poignant note. It's about his mother.

Livestock review

Livestock is a fanstastically named back to basics music festival held in a small village in Oxfordshire where farm animals meet musos. I had not sampled the delights of this four year old event before and had sadly missed the first two days, which were held in the nearby Red Lion (This is a small festival). Festival director Malachi, whose family owns the farm including the land on which this almost intimate festival was partly taking place, goes to a lot of trouble to bring in acts from around the world as well as provide slots for friends and acquaintances. The result is a barely known gem. It almost felt Glasto 1972 (tad smaller admittedly) with comments overheard about how it had grown (I would say there were 200 people present on the Sunday afternoon). I don’t think they're in danger of spoiling the vibe just yet.

The Knights of Mentis kicked up a storm, livening up the last afternoon of festival with country and blues-style banjo and guitar picking, accordion and fiddle, and hearty singing that brought plenty of people to their feet. Their version of Bob Dylan’s much ignored Gotta Serve Somebody (from his first Christian album) was a revelation, while I am not sure I will be able to listen to the Led Zep original of Rock n Roll without wondering if the Mentis haven’t nailed it for good. Lenny (see below) was on banjo and mandolin, while earthy singing from the guitarist and one of the other two banjo players kept things lively. Festival main man Malichi was on double bass. Stage left stood Rhys Iffans doing a passible impression of Peter Cook as a folkster; he had some droll repartee to boot.


Bowell & The Movements are either criminally misnamed or singer, and lead writer, Rob Powell, is simply emphasising the creative tension between the intense emotion of some of his songs and the humour that somehow coexists, even sometimes in the same verse. This in essence is what this band does: ramshackle stompers and heart-wrenching ballads. During Rob’s solo set there were moments when his ability to hit the emotional funny bone in his half-innocent plaintive laments for love lost (or not found?) that you thought this guy pisses all over much of the rather precious(mostly Brit) balladeers from this millenium onwards. But then, just when he was in danger of getting mawkish, the daftest rhyming couplet would make you wince with delight. I don’t know the names of the first and last songs of the solo section of the gig as I didn’t manage to get the names down, possibly because I was somewhat overcome. Rob should get some of these (possibly new) solo tracks out there (there are some solo numbers available to hear on My Space). Perhaps a dedicated band website, together with one or two of the band’s stompier numbers is in order. And what about that band? Sterling performances from mandolin player Lenny (aka Midnight) and bassist Patrick Leonard fleshed out the more up-tempo numbers, while a very late stand in on drums (from earlier act, The 309s) helped to keep up the rhythmic pace.

Despite the official drummer dropping out, this, the first live reunion of The Movements for 12 years, was high on emotion, not least for the hard-core Bowellistas in the grass mosh pit, and for many, including those less familiar with the Movements’ work, an absolute delight. This band – and in particular it has to be said – the singer’s solo songs – show a lot of promise and a lot of passion. Of course that does not guarantee any kind of professional future, but people were moved out there and it wasn’t just the Oxfordshire Ales that were responsible.