WHY DON’T YOUR CORPORATE CRIMINALS SUFFER LIKE REGULAR BLUE-COLLAR CRIMINALS? WHERE IS JUDGE ROY BEAN WHEN WE NEED HIM?

Judge Roy Bean was a dubious character – except when acted by Paul Newman in The Life & Times of Judge Roy Bean – but at least he was consistent in his sentencing; and justice was swift. He hanged everyone he found guilty; and that was pretty much everyone.

It was even fair in an arbitrary kind of way, and very democratic. And at least you knew where you stood – or hanged – whether you were rich or poor. And it kept the overheads down. There were no overcrowded prisons in Judge Bean territory.

Today, in this Great Nation, we seem to have evolved a situation whereby the poor are sent to prison in very large numbers, not infrequently for minor infractions (typically drug related), the Middle Class are punished (primarily for not being rich) through one corporate rip-off after another, the rich are rarely punished unless they are in Bernie Madoff’s class (and he really did push it), and corporate criminals do not even have to admit any wrong. They merely cut a deal with the DA, and, more often than not, they don’t pay the fine personally. The corporation does.

Meanwhile the Feds throw the book at an idiot like former governor Blagojevich. This is pure theatre to distract you.

Amazingly, there is no outpouring of civil protest, no rioting in the streets, no media onslaughts, no spontaneous lynching of bankers. In stead, the Big Banks – the primary villains – have got even bigger, their mass of corporate agents (and there must have been hundreds of thousands of them) have got off scot free, Big Business has never been more profitable – and we the people, those who still have jobs – and our children, and our children’s children - are left to pay for all this. And we are talking trillions of dollars here plus interest.

Is this what America is all about? Is this the best we can do? Nothing!

Consider me gobsmacked. We’re going to sink.

But maybe I’m imagining all this. Hell, I’m primarily a thriller writer and I think up plots all the time.  Perhaps I’ve been out in Seattle’s notorious, blazing sun too long. This can’t really be the United States of America. The people wouldn’t stand for it.

 

Victor.

 

 

 

A VERY IRISH SOLUTION TO A TRICKY DIPLOMATIC PROBLEM

Image via Wikipedia

Back in my early teens, a friend invited me to stay with him in the Curragh in County Kildare, Ireland.

The Curragh is a 5,000 area of largely open grassland which is primarily associated in Irish minds with horse breeding, racing and training – and plenty of grazing sheep. It also boasts an Army base, the Curragh Camp. The latter used to house the British Army, but it was transferred to the newly formed Irish Army after peace was (more or less) made. 

Some of the scenes in the move, Braveheart, were filmed there. 

One evening – it was after dark - when we were cutting across the damp grassland on the way to a cinema, I was completely taken aback to find a barbed-war enclosed  floodlit compound, complete with watch towers and armed soldiers, off to one side.

Together we crept as close as we could to gaze upon this extraordinary sight, and then hunkered down just outside the floodlit area. We were transformed into secret agents. We were on a mission though quite what that was seemed a little unclear. But we knew we mustn’t be detected. There were machine guns in those watch-towers (and if there were not, there should have been).

It looked like a classic WW II prison camp out of every movie you’ve ever seen. And that is exactly what it was. But this was the late Fifties, so who were they holding there? This was very exciting, and thoughts of the movie faded, as we gazed upon the real thing.

It turned out it was several hundred IRA who were not yet reconciled to the idea that a treaty had been signed with the British in 1921 – and the fight against them was supposed to be over.

I was reminded of all this by a story in the BBC magazine of June 27 2011. Ireland had been neutral during WW II, and it explained that the Curragh Camp had held both British and German internees – as well as some IRA – and that the British and Germans, at least, had been allowed out to the local pubs, have visitors, and generally to pass the time as best they could without much restraint. The Irish soldiers were armed, but their ammunition was blank. It was a very Irish solution to a tricky diplomatic situation.

The sole American internee was a pilot called Roland “Bud” Wolfe who had been serving with the RAF in an Eagle Squadron flying Spitfires, but who had been forced to bale out over Ireland. He had been cheeky enough to escape from the camp – scarcely difficult under the circumstances - but the British, concerned to maintain good relations with the Irish, and who still occupied Northern Ireland (a situation that hasn’t changed), had sent him back.

“Not the done thing to escape when they’re not really imprisoning you old chap. Bad form, don’t you know.”

Bud Wolfe tried to escape again, but was caught. The Irish security services may appear casual but are surprisingly effective. He was finally released in 1943, and he went on to serve again in WWII, as well as Korea and Vietnam, before finally dying in 1994. Probably of exhaustion. This was a warrior.

As we speak, attempts are being made to excavate his crashed Spitfire from a bog in Donegal.

Though Ireland was neutral throughout WW II (1939-1945 as far as Europe was concerned) more than 100,000 Irish served with the British Army during that time. Some say it was because of a shortage of tea in Ireland during the war. 

One, John Lentaigne, was a relation of mine. He was a young officer in the Rifle Brigade and was killed at the Battle of El Alamein in North Africa fighting against the Afrika Korps. He was awarded the Military Cross.

His name, picked out in gold, was carved into the paneling at our school, Ampleforth College in Yorkshire, England. He was a warrior too; and he is remembered. As he should be. 

 

Victor.

THINKING OF BEAUTIFUL WOMEN; AND WRITING – PART 2

Image via Wikipedia

The topic of beautiful women and writing came to mind because of a piece in the Huffington Post a couple of days ago.

It was by Best Selling author Dani Shapiro. Now, I have never met her, and probably never will – she lives in Connecticut and I live in Seattle - but twenty years ago, around the time I was being published for the first time, I was shown Dani’s first book, and a mutual friend suggested we meet up.

The encounter never happened, but Dani’s photo was on the back of her book and sent tingles up my spine. The woman was different, and she wrote beautifully. And she had that elusive quality.

Two decades and three marriages later, now apparently happily married with a young son, it is clear that she still does; and not only her books, but her blogs, are well worth reading – particularly if you are a writer.  Her advice is absolutely on target, and, in some cases, extremely amusing. I particularly liked her comment that if you want to write, don’t go into publishing, but get some experience of life first. Go work in a bar or something. And the French Foreign Legion (see above) is always an option.

Their uniforms are terrific; and you’ll lose a lot of weight. And their paras weight their green berets with a very distinctive sense of style and elan.

No, I didn’t enlist, but I did some weeks researching them in Corsica – a beautiful island - and had some interesting times with a woman I was deeply in love with. Yes, there really are bandits there.

It is not true that you can only write about what you know – in the sense of having experienced such events personally (imagination is a wonderful thing) but it is entirely true that it helps to have a few steamer trunks full of emotional and other adventures before settling down to polish your craft. And that you need to to top up your memory banks every now and then. There is no age limit to adventure.

Go read Dani Shapiro (yes, that’s her) and enjoy.

Dani reminds me of an incident when I was in Bern, Switzerland, researching Games Of The Hangman. I was walking back to the apartment where I was staying, just a few minutes from the River Aare, when a truly beautiful woman in her early twenties, laughing, stepped out of a school about twenty feet in front of me, turned, said something in Swiss-German, and then slung her bag on her shoulder, crossed the road and vanished out of sight. She was young, gorgeous, happy, and as her camel hair coat swung open, I saw she was pregnant; and that her coat was lined with some crimson material. The impact of that flash of color was extraordinary.

I have never ever seen such a stunning evocation of  the joy of life than on that occasion; and I was so impressed that I came to a halt to just savor the moment. It was beautiful visually, emotionally, spiritually, and dramatically. I was entranced.

I never learned who she was, or what she did, or what happened to her. I never tried to find out. Yet I have never forgotten those few seconds, and I never will.

Life is always interesting, and it can be truly wonderful. And even in the worst of times, some memories are very special.

THINKING OF BEAUTIFUL WOMEN; AND WRITING – PART 1

Image via Wikipedia

In truth, I’m somewhat of the antithesis of a celebrity buff, but as a writer – my professional excuse - now and then find myself both fascinated and intrigued by certain people; and as a man, as is the way of things, more often than not, I find the person in question is a woman.

Let me stress, I’m not primarily talking about sexuality here – though that is certainly a factor when a woman is involved. Instead, I’m talking a quality that has a very particular appeal, and which has an unusually powerful emotional impact. I’m not sure it has a name. 

Such people, where I am concerned, tend to have an enigmatic aspect, and, I suspect, it is that very elusiveness which is part of their attraction. Yet even if the encounter is only at a distance, and perhaps only for seconds, they have made a difference – for the better - in your life. You are intrigued, captivated, uplifted and, perhaps, for a second or two, in love; or, at least, infatuated. And you are left with a sense of beauty and feelings of loss – a bitter-sweet feeling that can linger for years. Unrequited passion does have its uses. Or perhaps, you are just lost in admiration. Either way, your life has been enriched.

My very first encounter of that nature was when I met Princess Soraya at Le Beach (a private beach club) in Monte Carlo while carrying out my very first journalism assignment. At the time she had just been divorced by the Shah (the emperor of Iran in those days) and was somewhat older, and even more attractive than the above picture suggests. She had grown into a mature woman. What is more, she was wearing a one piece black bathing suit, and had a tanned, svelte figure that more than did it justice. To say she was stunning does not get close. I was still in my teens. and impressionable. Frankly, when it comes to someone like Soraya, I’m fairly sure I’m still impressionable.

Our encounter was brief, but I was left awestruck. It was summer and – as normal - Le Beach in Monte Carlo was full of truly gorgeous women, many sunbathing topless around the pool; but Soraya was exceptional. Many decades later, the feeling still lingers. 

The shah (see below) divorced her because she couldn’t bear him a son. I debated his judgment then, and  have had no occasion to change my mind.  Her re-married, lost his throne and died. Little did we know how events would unfold. Little do we know now as Iran progresses to become a nuclear power.  

I spent quite a few summers in Monte Carlo when I was growing up. Soraya set the bar high when it came to beautiful women. That said, beauty is a subtle thing, and is far from just being physical.

 

Victor.

 

TOXIC LEADERS HAVE TOXIC CONSEQUENCES

Image via Wikipedia

There was a very interesting piece about Army Leadership by Greg Jaffe (a consistently excellent journalist) in the Washington Post of June 25 2011. It carried the provocative headline:

ARMY WORRIES ABOUT ‘TOXIC LEADERS’ IN RANKS

Let me quote briefly from the piece:

A major U.S. Army survey of leadership and morale found that more than 80 percent of Army officers and sergeants had directly observed a “toxic” leader in the last year and that about 20 percent of the respondents said that they had worked directly for one.

The survey of about 22,000 Army leaders was conducted by the Center for Army Leadership and comes during a year when the Army has removed or discipline three brigade commanders who were en route to, or returning from war zones in Iraq and Afghanistan. Selection to command a combat brigade, which consists of about 5,000 soldiers and is commanded by a colonel, is highly competitive in the Army.

The Army defined toxic leaders as commanders who put their own needs first, micro-managed subordinates, behaved in a mean-spirited manner or displayed poor decision making.

…..About half of the soldiers who worked under toxic leaders expected that their selfish and abusive commanders would be promoted to a higher level of leadership.

Hmm! The Army’s findings are disturbing though I guess that the good news is that the subject is being discussed in the first place.

Personally, I have great affection for the U.S. Army (insofar as one can have feelings for such a vast organization) which was why I spent many months with units in the Nineties, and have followed its activities so closely ever since. In fact, most of my American  friends are either serving or retired military, and the majority of those are Army. My interest is both personal and professional. Where the latter is concerned I planned a series of books around that institution. So far, only The Devil’s Footprint, which features the 82nd Airborne, has been published, but Getting To Know The Warfighters is due out shortly, and other military related books will follow.

Based upon both my field research and experiences, the Army has a long way to go before it gets its leadership up to the standard required. The reasons are structural so extremely hard to eradicate. They include:

 

• The fact that the best and the brightest tend not to go into the Army. This doesn’t mean that there are not some notable exceptions, and that there is not considerable competence, but more that the Army, as a service, does not attract restless, cutting edge talent. Worse, its culture actively discourages intellectualism and academic brilliance, particularly when it comes to the more senior ranks. ‘Clubability’ rather than talent is preferred. Bright people tend to question the status quo and the last thing Army generals want is the very system that treats them so well to be questioned. Dave Petraeus and a few others are exceptions – though they shouldn’t be -  but the overall standard of generals is not high  and the Club of Generals, both serving and retired (informal but no less real for all that) likes it that way.
• An excessively authoritarian and rigid culture that, by definition, discourages creativity, initiative and original thinking. After all, if you are conditioned day after day, and year after year, to follow orders, and regard The Army Way as being the only way, you are scarcely likely to question the system particularly as the system actively discourages such behavior. Such action is typically a career breaker. In contrast to ‘The Big Army, ‘Special Forces’ have considerably more autonomy and and freedom to use their initiative, and the results speak for themselves. This raises the whole question as to whether as to whether Special Forces training and culture should not be adopted more widely.
• Careerism has become endemic to the Army culture. There are various definitions of careerism, but few are as pithy as this one from thefreedictionary.com:  careerism - the practice of advancing your career at the expense of your personal integrity. Needleless to say this scourge is not confined to the Army but is widespread in politics, business, the professions and academia.

I could write much more about this, but will save it for a longer paper. But the overriding point is that the whole question of Army leadership is vastly important; and, up to now, has not received the attention it deserves.

The Army, despite its massive power tends to be excessively sensitive to criticism – ‘defensive’ would inadequately describe its mindset. Accordingly, let me soften my words by paraphrasing Ernest Hemingway. The above photo is of him in Milan in 1918. 

The U.S. Army is a fine institution; and its leadership is worth improving.

We pay for its inadequacies in both blood and treasure.

 

Victor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HEART-ATTACK COURTESY OF MICROSOFT. ONE OF MANY

Image via Wikipedia

As I recall, I’m supposed to be working up to a serious post on economic matters, but meanwhile you (my merry band of readers) are due a report on Microsoft’s Windows Live Writer. Consider this an interim report because I’m damned if I yet know how it all works.


I guess it is supposed to be intuitive, but I don’t think I’m being unreasonable in wanting a HELP MENU. There isn’t one. This is Microsoft country where all the Microsoft Pharisees already know what to do, and the rest can go and do anatomically impossible things.


I remember the days when I was introduced to a program called Word Perfect, and thought I had died and gone to heaven. It was pretty much WHYSIWYG and it had a marvelous set-up page. In it, you merely chose what you wanted – ‘defaults’ in the jargon of the medium - and it did exactly that until YOU changed it.
Today, software seems to have a mind of its own; and I don’t take kindly to it. I set the FONT SIZE at 12 point and it immediately changes to 9.9. And so on! Yes, I know that there is probably a simple solution to all this – if one is familiar with the ‘Microsoft Way’  - but I regard such an assumption, in the absence of a HELP MENU, as arrogance.


There is no doubt at all, but that software is improving, but I still have a suspicion that the people who write software, and real people, come from different races; and from different planets at that. They certainly come from different cultures, and, believe me, that shows.


I hold Microsoft – its movers and shakers - in debatable regard for the following reasons:

• For most of the last quarter century plus, they have marketed operating systems that have overpromised and under–performed to the great distress of hundreds of millions, probably billions, of users. I hate to think how many businesses they have bankrupted, suicides they have caused, relationships they have destroyed, and heart-attacks they have induced.  Personal computers are personal, and the consequences of their failure are just that.
  
• They are a monopoly, and have long abused their dominant position.  They have maintained it though unethical behavior. In fact, I see scant evidence that Microsoft has a moral sense.
  
• They don’t have a healthy corporate ethos. Whereas Google has thought through the obvious fact that treating people well pays – consider the corporate environment and 20% time to do what you please – Microsoft just believes in long hours, and divide and conquer. As their architecture reflects, they are remarkably dull slave-masters.
  
• I don’t know what goes on in the bowels of Microsoft, but their people come across – particularly when considered in relation to their resources – as lacking the innovation gene, and excessively corporate in mindset.

Apple’s courageous decision to switch to a more reliable Unix based operating system illustrates the contrast. The corporation took the risk that its user base put up with having to buy completely new software because the new Apple OS would not run legacy software – and it paid off. Apple has the proven ability to generate significant customer loyalty over the long term. Microsoft primarily trades upon corporate inertia.


I think I’ll leave my latest comments on Windows Live Writer for another day.


Regarding UNIX, I came to the conclusion years ago that I should using it. I was talked out of by all my DOS/Windows support system on the grounds that I wouldn’t get the support I needed, there wasn’t enough software available and it would cost too much to run. In the end I went with the prevailing wisdom. It is frequently, perhaps normally, wrong. It was in this case.
It’s a foolish thing to defy one’s instincts.

Victor.

I THOUGHT I WAS GOOD AT DEALING WITH DEATH. IT APPEARS THAT I AM NOT.

Image via Wikipedia

The first death I ever witnessed was that of a motorcyclist descending a hill beside the common in Chalfonts Saint Peter in Buckinghamshire, England, who failed to make a turn, crashed into a wall, and broke his neck.

I was about five when it happened, and only a few yards away from the point of impact. I remember the crash, and the fact that his head was at a funny angle, but I don’t recall any blood. He was wearing a helmet and leathers. At that age, I didn’t know what death looked like, but he looked – and was – dead. I didn’t stick around. I went on home with my carton of cigarettes and told my mother what had happened. She didn’t believe a word.

Today, children aren’t allowed out by themselves at such an early age but that was then, and I had a fairly unusual mother. From the age of five I had been sent down to the village to buy her cigarettes. I normally bought them by the carton. I was known as “the little boy in the pith helmet who likes Craven A.” The pith helmet was a military affair, given to me by one of mother’s many boyfriends, which fitted me little better than a basin. But I loved it. The only outfit, that I know of, that wears such headgear today is the Royal Marines (see photo).

I am always feel mildly jealous when I see them in action. I thought I had the monopoly on such cool gear. The point of a pith helmet was to keep the sun off – scarcely a threat in England in those days. My helmet was made out of some kind of insulating cork composite, covered with cotton and a spike, and was wonderful in the rain. It was like wearing an umbrella.

Thereafter I considered myself as a person of experience and capable of dealing with death. When relatives and family friends died off, I wasn’t particularly phased. I was never taken to the funerals. Death was normally a line in a school letter; and remote. Face after face sort of faded away. I wasn’t entirely unaffected as the ranks thinned, but I rationalized that it was the natural order of things.

I dreaded my grandmother dying. She was the person I loved most and was closest to, and a constant support under any, and all, circumstances. She didn’t fuss and she didn’t nag. In times of crisis, violent or otherwise, she was as cool as a cucumber. When I was bought home at dawn by a police car after being mugged and injured by a gang in north London – we chased and caught them and they were imprisoned - she didn’t turn a hair. She merely helped me out my torn clothes, and cooked breakfast. She had been a nurse in WWI and an Air Raid Warden in WWII during the blitz in London so death and injury just went with the territory. When she died, my heart was broken. I knew life would never be the same; and it hasn’t been. 

Over the years I’ve experienced death in various ways and in various forms but I have never had so many friends die as over the last six months. It started with Jo who killed herself as a small group of her friends, including me, stood around her bed. She was dying anyway, in enormous pain, so all she really did was chose the time and circumstances; and I salute her for that.

Since then, one more person who I knew well, has died in this building, as have five other friends elsewhere – mostly of cancer.

I guess I should accept all this with equanimity, but the truth is that the death of each friend has hit hard. It doesn’t fit my self-image. I like to think of myself as reasonable compassionate, but stoic.

I fear that is not the case. Perhaps, on balance, it’s  a good thing. But I still feel sad.

 

Victor