Chris' Babel Blog

Coincidence is a funny thing, and I found it particularly apt that on the tenth anniversary of the death of Princess Diana, I was proof reading a philosophy paper entitled “Life after Breath”. Whilst the paper in question appraised Wittgenstein and posthumous interpretations of Nefertiti, it could have equally looked at the image of Diana – that most iconic of late twentieth century figures.

I in no way claim to be a Royalist, and hold those who fawn uncritically over the monarchy in a kind of pitiful disdain – around the same level as Reality TV aficionados and those who consume their parochial, bitter, hate-infused World view verbatim from the pages of The Daily Mail. I do, however, concede that Diana did some sterling work in bringing the causes of HIV/Aids and landmines to the attention of the wider World. Like many thousands of unsung people do. Furthermore, I recognise that her death was a tragedy – as is that of any single mother having suffered from demons, depression and who embarked naively into an unloving relationship. I am sure many others suffer an analogous fate each and every year, but we do not hear so much of these tragedies as they are relegated to a tiny column on page twenty or the tenth item on a local news programme.

It would be interesting to discover how many of those so enamoured with the ‘Diana myth’ a decade on disapproved when pictures of Diana ‘cavorting’ with Dodi Fayed were splashed across newsstands in the summer of 1997. And how many rubbed their hands in salubrious glee at seeing the pictures that adorned the front page of The Sun newspaper up until the day she died? Lets make no bones about it, in certain media circles there was coverage bordering on distasteful, closeted racism – consternation that the mother of a future king might be seeing a man of Arabic extraction.

But the moment that she died, with a Stalinist sweep, history was revised and theirs became the most tragic love story since Romeo and Juliet. From tabloid fodder, Diana became ‘The Queen of Hearts’, ‘The People’s Princess’ and the inspiration for a thousand more sycophantic sobriquets.

This in turn fuels the Diana industry. A quick look at Ebay heralds a load of Diana-related merchandise, from plates and books to dolls and (bizarrely) phone-cards. What’s more there seems to be no stopping the Diana-brand cash cow. Meanwhile aides, pallbearers and former confidants fill their boots off the back of her untimely demise. It is distasteful and disrespectful, but morality falls by the wayside when you have newspapers to sell and books to promote. In the case of The Daily Express it is an editorial decision to promote every Diana non-story and tenuous conspiracy theory to the front cover of the paper. But the drones lap it up like the lobotomised cattle they are.

Much has and will be written about how Diana’s death changed British society and, no doubt, many of the commemorative pullouts will gush of ‘our grief’, ‘our loss’ and the ‘the pain we all felt’. I objected to this presumptive, facile breast-beating in 1997 and find it equally offensive a decade on. Yes, Diana’s death was a tragedy for her family. And in years to come our kids might ask where we were when it happened, in much the same vein as we might ask our parents where they were when JFK was shot, or Neil Armstrong stepped onto the Moon. But the media reaction to Diana’s death spawned a monster that continues to rear its head and louse up a populous of gullible, emotionally-stunted retards that feel it necessary to react to every unfortunate event with a myriad of minute silences, crocodile tears and fatuous expressions of ‘their collective grief’.

Yet, loathed be the person who questions the intellectual premise of ‘the mob’. We have seen this recently with the blanket coverage of the abduction of Madeline McCann. Yes, it is a tragedy that a small child was abducted whilst on holiday, but the media reaction has been disgustingly disproportionate to the event. I wonder how many children in the Third World have died from preventable diseases in the months since the little Western girl went missing? But wait, isn't that what charity wristbands are for?

Now Diana, that was a real tragedy...

In a hurry to catch my train at Leeds station this evening, a random tramp approaches me. This is, however, not your run of the mill vagabond asking for change for a cup of tea. He starts to reel off pun after pun, joke after joke like a cross between Rainman and Bob Monkhouse lubricated by a six pack of Special Brew. I ignore him and hope he gets my drift, but he gives chase regaling me with shit one liners.

After a couple of minutes (at which point I am starting to get rather annoyed with this wannabe comedian) I tell him that I "really do not have time to listen to you, I have a train to catch". I am polite but firm, but my words fall on deaf ears. Then he changes tack...

Tramp: "Do you know any jokes?"

Chris: "Sorry mate, really got to rush for the train"

Tramp: "Come on, tell me a joke"

Chris: (becoming increasingly frustrated) "what do you call a tramp that doesn't take a hint?"

Tramp: (sucked in due to intoxication) "dunno, what do call a tramp that doesn't take a hint?"

Chris: "Sorry mate, what's your name?"

Tramps, street vendors, members of religious sects and fat people obstructing entrances take note.

If you cross Chris when he's in a hurry, you do so at your peril!

The last few days have been pretty unique, and I have come out the other side with a new perspective on life, writing and what it means to be Chris. Some people feel naked without a camera. Others without a mobile...I personally cannot function without a notebook and a pen....To this end I have been scribbling and here are the unedited highlights of my ETOG experience.

++__ Episode One: Newcastle:-Tallinn++__

Here's where it all starts.

Bleary-eyed I began my journey in the early hours of Wednesday morning. Getting to Amsterdam I stumbled around Schippol. Nervous, but excited. I feel tired and my face feels like sandpaper (this observation was to prove prophetic as we will see). As the plane leaves Amsterdam I sit cramped in the window seat. An Estonian girl in the next seat falls asleep, and without realising, ends up resting her head on my shoulder. Being repressed and English I am too polite and nervous to nudge her, and am amused when she wakes up and goes scarlet with embarrassment. I try some Estonian on her (Kuidas laheb) but realise I really could do with some more practice...

And so I arrive in Tallinn. Giovanni meets me at the airport with Natalia and we head to his flat. I am in my element; a country with unmitigated Wi-Fi!!! I drop my stuff off and meet Ruth, Fernando and we go for a few beers. The day turns to night and I try my first Estonian delicacy...I suppose they are a bit like what we would call dumplings...The people around are kind and welcoming and I find myself enjoying myself and more relaxed than I ever anticipated...

__ Episode 2: EOTG__

The next morning we are all to meet in the centre of the city. I rise early, deciding to have a bit of tourist-time before the work starts. On leaving the flat, the door gets stuck and I cannot lock it. After an hour of swearing and attempting to sort it out I text Giovanni who kindly comes around to help me. We meet in a coffee shop and I get to meet Katharina and later Adriano (it is surreal that you can have an internet relationship with people and yet not meet them in person) but before I really get a chance to acquaint myself properly I have to rush to an interview. The pub we are in becomes an office as we all set up, and returning from a successful interview I make it back to the bar to find Giovanni and Natalia

"The Office" established, it becomes a place for people to meet over the next few days, as the bar staff become increasingly acquainted with us (and we become increasingly irritated with Irish music!!!)

I am buzzing, my interview went well and I email my girlfriend telling how happy I am with how things are going...

__ Episode 3: Locked Out (part one)__

So after a nice day and night out I wander to get a taxi by the Scandic Hotel...

I get back to the flat, and the key will not turn. Fuck! My ears prick up as I hear Spanish in the distance. I go downstairs in the block and there is a house party. There are two Spanish girls smoking outside the block and I start to talk to them about my key problem.. They invite me to drink wine and think it's hillarious that an English person could possibly end up in such a precarious situation on the periphery of a city...There are a load of Russian men in the flat and they look at me suspiciously. I suspect they think that I am gay. I am not, but they feel more reassured when we start to talk about football...Plus they help me get into the flat after thirty minutes effort.

++ Episode 4: The English++

After conducting an interview with the able assistance of Margarita (my enigmatic interpreter) I am checking my emails and get a text from Natalia to meet in the 'Office'. We have some chips and a couple of beers, and decide to go and explore Tallinn for the afternoon...

We go for pancakes, only to find ourselves in the same bar as a huge stag party full of English men. It is cringeworthy. Ordering at the bar, I observe the locals looking in disgust. Scared that I might be associated with this, I made them laugh by saying "I am English, but I promise you I am not like that" In many ways it was interesting: like when you drive past a car wreck, but after an hour of Darwinesque observation it was time to move on...

We wander and end up spending a couple of hours lying on sunloungers by a church...The one thing that I love more than anything is learning about other cultures and attitudes. It is fun guessing the nationality of tourists as they walk past. It can be quite a good game. Although it is easy to spot the German men, because they wear socks with their flip-flops....

Episode 5: Networking...++

It started oh so well...We have some beers, take the piss out of an drunk Australian man, and myself Giovanni, Ruth, Margarita and Zeidy head to another bar.This place is crazy. There is one toilet (shared) and it is full of artists, intellectuals and (dare I say it) journalists. I met the most famous political commentator in Estonia; but only because he spilt his pint on my feet. The sun came up and after a couple of cigarettes and a stop at an after hours place I decide to go. It is around 7 in the morning and I REALLY need to get some rest... ++

__ Episode 6: The Tramp's guide to Tallinn__++

The key doesn't work (again). Fuck. Two Russian-Estonian women come down the stairs. I appeal for help. They look at me apathetically and move on. After (finally) getting a response from my host I decide to walk into the city. Unshaven, stinking of cigarette smoke and looking like I have woken in a dumpster...I feel like shit. I haven't slept. I do not have a map (my bag at the time is with Ruth and Giovanni, for fear that I would lose my laptop thankyou btw). After about 4 hours walking around I go to the tourist information office. The girl at the desk is pretty, German and, smiling. She asks where I am from. My face feels like sandpaper. I smell like a goat...I would love to have been more charming but I am seriously pissed off.

Later after the debate a man told me that I "had no concept of living on the streets"

If only he knew

Chris...

.

(Photo Flickr/Janeknumberone)

As some readers of this blog might already know, I am off to Estonia this week to do some reporting for Cafe Babel as part of the latest Europe On The Ground project, where armed with just a camera, a dictaphone, a smattering of Estonian phrases and my own charm and cunning (ha!) I will be researching for a feature soon to appear on a website near you. As Tallinn is somewhere that I have never visited before, I am going to try to keep a blog diary of my trip and take a load of photos, so be sure to return here over the next few days for updates...

Chris

The Three Ages of Blair (Minifig)

In contrast to the situation in Iraq, Blair has been able to organise a well managed exit strategy. With a week to go before he leaves office, you can read my assessment of his time in power here.

I welcome your comments...

Apologies for my recent inactivity on this blog. Deadlines and a lack of home internet connection have taken their toll on my output...

"Either-Or" (C.A.Fahey - 2007)

Nevertheless a couple of articles in the British press over the last couple of days (here) and (here) have got me ranting (once more) about the shameful destruction of Civil Liberties that we have seen in the years since 9/11 (for a couple of published works on this see here and here). Now I understand that intelligence is needed in the fight against International Crime and Terrorism, and it follows that this places limits on fundamental freedoms. However, over the course of recent years, the British Government, amongst others, has become ever more authoritarian in its supposed pursuit of bellicose 'wars' on crime and terror. Indeed, the British Government's own Information Commissioner has gone on record to concede that we are "sleepwalking into a surveillance society". This authoritarian shift shamefully exploits people's fear and the media hysteria of the modern age to attack to the core of our democratic traditions.

These latest examples are, once again, symptomatic of a slide towards a police state. Of course, some will claim that "if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear", but the idea of a democratic state even mooting the idea of people informing on one another is particularly distasteful - a political thesis not far removed from the McCarthy 'witchhunts' of the 1950s or the spectre of the Stasi in the former East Germany. Crime will still occur and there will still be a threat from terrorism regardless of overly zealous state intervention, but that is a small price to pay for the basic right of individual freedom. As Jago Russel from the Human rights Group Liberty has remarked, "How far are we willing to go in pursuit of the unrealistic promise of a risk-free society? "

Protecting democracy and freedoms by eroding their very values is a dangerously founded and intellectually flawed contradiction.