TV as empowerment January 25, 2010

Once again I’ve been slacking on my blog writing “duties”. I’m staying in a studio unit temporarily while I wait for my new place to become vacant, and it’s not a terribly conducive environment for writing. Sitting at the desk I have a pile of towels to my right, a pile of books and DVDs to my left, a TV and DVD player hanging above my head, and worst of all – if I open the blinds, every Tom, Dick and Harry walking by can (and does) look directly into my bedroom. So I’m startled at the number of half-finished posts sitting on my laptop. I’ll endeavour to finish them, but in the meantime I’ve got a little tidbit to tide you over.

I said previously that I would try to write a monthly book review – and I’m already behind (typical). Partly that’s because some of the stuff I read over the holidays just needed more time to process. But there is one book I’m just about finished that is so powerful and profound that I bet I’ll still be mentioning it in six months time.

That book is “Half the Sky” by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. The title comes from a Chinese proverb, “Women hold up half the sky”, and says much about the intent of this husband and wife duo. Their message is that globally women are discriminated against, abused, trafficked and die needlessly – and that it’s time for this to stop.

I stumbled across this book through reading a New York Times piece written by Kristof and WuDunn, The Women’s Crusade. It strings excerpts from the book together into a concise argument as to why and how women are being mistreated, and what needs to be done to truly see gender equality worldwide.

It’s a powerful article, I suggest everyone reads it, and the book is just as impressive. I’m sure to post more about it later, but for now I want to leave you with one interesting point; TV as a source of empowerment.

Towards the end of the book, the authors mention two new studies that were released while they were in the writing process. Both studies point towards the role of television as changing behaviours in countries with a gender bias.

In Brazil, the introduction of a network known for soap operas was followed by lower birth rates in subsequent years. The Italian economist who uncovered the trend suggests Brazilian women had decided to stop having children (or as many children) to emulate the stars of their soap operas.

Likewise in India, women became more autonomous after the arrival of cable TV in rural areas. Before the cable programmes arrived, women tended to think that a husband had the right to beat his wife, that sons were more desirable than daughters, and that a husband’s permission was required in order for a woman to leave the house. Through the wonders of television, these rural Indian women were exposed to a world outside of their own. They saw the way modern women were treated elsewhere in India, and began to change their own world views in step.

It’s fascinating to think of television having this kind of effect. For us here in the West we’re told that TV does all sorts of nasty things, including being implicated in the current buzz word; obesity. But that TV in the house is also a window into another world. Whether we are watching the way that other people in our country live and behave, or experiencing another culture’s world view. Of course, in this age we have radios, movies, books and the internet all serving a similar purpose. But could any be more powerful than TV? Wired “free” into your living room, requiring no literacy or a large time commitment. Seems like despite the bad rap, television might yet be serving another, quieter purpose.

Food for thought. Until next time, when I find a window that opens and I can write for more than ten minutes at a time!

University standards January 9, 2010

As reported in this weekend’s papers; the University of Canterbury (Christchurch, NZ) has upped the ante when it comes to dealing with failing students. In 2009, the university “excluded” 827 students from a single course, faculty or the entire university. Previous years exclusion rates have been as low as 29 students (2002).

This isn’t a new topic for Canterbury; last year the university announced that they would be taking a harder line with students not cutting the mustard. They claimed, at the time, that enrolments had gone up along with the recession, and that government funding per student had not increased similarly. Thus, enrolment numbers had surpassed that which the university gets funded for, and excess student numbers were costing them money. It makes sense then, in a business model, to crack down on students not making a good return on the investment.

This is where I get into debates with people about whether a university should be run as a business or not. I don’t know the answer, so for the means of this post I’m going to put that matter aside and focus on the expulsion issue.

Instead the argument seems to revolve around whether the New Zealand tertiary sector is based on an “open access” system; anyone who wants to go to university should be able to. And technically they can. Although we have a set of University Entrance qualifications at the end of high school, if you fail these – or never take them – all someone has to do is wait until they turn 20 and then enrol at any New Zealand university. No qualifications needed, no entrance examinations; just show up, pay the bill and you’re in.

The idea that we have to pay for tertiary education should be enough to dissuade people for enrolling just for the sake of it, and limit enrolments to those who actually plan on making an effort. But it doesn’t appear to; perhaps because students can fund their studies through student loans and allowances, this seems an easy option to get a few bucks a week without having to get a real job?

In the case of students who are doing exactly this, enrolling, getting the government money, and then never going to classes (I’ve known a few over the years), exclusion seems a good option. That might be the “Nanny State-r” in me coming out, but surely it makes sense to cut these people off and stop the build up of debt that they won’t have the qualification – and the resulting well paid job – to pay off. It’s a little like cutting off a mooching flatmate or friend; you’re not helping them by pouring in resources they can’t pay back. (And need I point out this is government money they are living on – as if there’s enough of that to go around!)

Of course, things aren’t that cut and dry. I am sure many of the students failing in any given year have perfectly good reasons. Life carries on regardless of how busy your job or study is, and a fail grade may simply be a reflection of this. But I am confident that there are means to deal with this, if it is the case. Students can get aegrotats for assessment they miss due to illness, death in the family and the like. At Canterbury, students even get one Get out of Jail Free card during their education – if an examination is missed due to a genuine mistake (turning up on the wrong day, for instance) a special pass can be granted, but only once during the student’s university career (I never had to use mine). Students faced with exclusion can appeal the decision. Students experiencing hardship can access any one of the student services provided for help in such circumstances.

But if, given all the help and support provided, a student is still failing – perhaps that’s a sign they ought to be doing something else. My opinion is that university study isn’t for everyone. It’s a big learning curve from school, and some people may struggle with the lack of structure, balancing the freedom, and perhaps the higher expectations. Several of the people I met in my first year at university subsequently dropped out and went to do something they were inherently good at. I don’t see the shame or the stigma in that; we should all be so lucky to find something we enjoy and excel at.

I’ve always had a beef with the “get in when you’re 20” legislation in New Zealand. I’m sure there are case studies that highlight how well it can work in some instances; maybe someone who had such a bad living situation when they were younger that they did poorly at school as a result. But it also sends this message to all the people who did work hard at school, and got the qualifications they needed to progress, that it doesn’t mean anything. What kind of a message is that to send to our high school students?

Additionally, what does the value of a Bachelors degree become? How many people carry onto postgraduate study simply because they need to differentiate themselves from the throngs of graduates with a Bachelors degree? I know that was part of my motivation.

Having a scan around google scholar I’ve found a few articles researching why students drop out of tertiary study; it’ll take me a little while to trawl through and find the interesting stuff, so I’ll try to post again when I have something more to say. In the meantime, what do you think? Am I overly harsh to think someone should be kicked out of university (or at least, courses and faculties) if they aren’t making the grade? Have I missed the definitive reason why everyone should be allowed into universities without having to prove their academic abilities?

Foie gras faux pas January 6, 2010

Would you believe me if I told you any meat you eat will sit in your gut for 40 years and eventually kill you? Or that eating foie gras can lead to Alzheimer’s?

Hopefully you would take them with a grain of salt, and perhaps, if I didn’t back it up myself, you’d go searching for some more information and call my bluff.

Because it is a bluff of course; both factoids are wrong, or at least unproven. Yet both were stated by celebrities last year (Heather Mills and Roger Moore), people in the public eye whose opinions might be taken by some as valid.

New Scientist reported on the latest report from a charity called Sense About Science. Every year since 2007, SAS has published a report detailing some of the assertions made by celebs in the media, followed by comments from scientists in regard to the validity of each statement. Their point, despite the eye-catching New Scientist headline, is to correct the statements, rather than shame the statement makers. They also provide a free service to fact-check such comments before making them.

Scanning through the report, I went straight to the Biology section. I must admit I was a little disappointed to find only a single entry, and it was one I already knew of. Sarah Palin, bless her cotton socks, dismissing evolution in one foul swoop. Being a UK charity, their respondent was naturally the ever eloquent Richard Dawkins – who could talk rings around anyone (particularly Palin, I imagine).

Other comments included some serious slights against medicine and health, none by anyone considered knowledgeable in the field. For instance, it wasn’t Patrick Swayze coming out before he died and saying the chemotherapy didn’t work, but others deciding to comment on it after his death. (Who the heck is Suzanne Somers, anyway?)

Whether we like it or not, celebrities are often found endorsing products, services or opinions without any requirement of prior knowledge. I had to chuckle when all the Tiger Woods stuff hit the fan and sponsors started withdrawing their deals. Okay, so when he was just a golf player he was eligible to promote watches; but now that he’s an adulterer golf player, he’s not? That makes sense.

Given the excess of endorsements from celebs, and the sheer volume of pages spent reporting on these people, it’s bound to happen that someone steps over the line and states a falsehood. So I’m pleased to know there’s a group out there doing what SAS are trying to do; provide good information in an attempt to keep us all in the know. You can even contact them throughout the year to pass on anything that might be suitable for the next report.

And since it’s always nice to end on a positive note, so too does the report end with some correct comments that have been made. Bonnie Tyler, responding to a question about acupuncture, admitted that while she did lose weight, she was also on a better diet and that probably had more to do with the weight loss than the acupuncture did. I’d like to make a “Holding out for a Hero” joke here, but it’d just make you all groan.

I did really have to wonder though about Heather Mills’ comment about eating meat; can you imagine how much you would weigh if all the meat you ate just sat in your gut for 40 years? Yikes. If you’re interested though, I suggest checking out the comments on the New Scientist article for a few people debating whether there’s a slice (or fillet?) of truth to her statement.

Until next time, keep your guard up for falsehoods from celebrities. And from me too!

Short and sweet? January 3, 2010

Someone asked me a question today that I often hear; is an honours year harder than a PhD?

Some clarification first. Honours year in a New Zealand science degree, at my university at least, is a single year at the end of a Bachelor’s degree. It consists of course work and a small research project. For me, seeing as I study Ecology, this was a full on year of courses, with field work done during the holiday breaks. It’s an intense year, there are plenty of late nights (if not all-nighters for some) and long study weekends involved. Compare that to a PhD which in New Zealand is 3 – 4 years of solid research, no course work required.

Lots of undergrads I meet through teaching work often ask about Honours, generally with more than a little trepidation. They’ve heard horror stories about how hard it is going to be; the long nights, the piles of journal articles to read, the stress. Often people offering advice will agree with them, and recommend a Masters degree instead (one year of courses followed by 18 months of research).

Of course, it’s up to each individual person which one they prefer, but it does bug me a little when I hear “grown-ups” warning undergrads off doing Honours. That’s not very good, balanced advice.

So when asked, I always do my best to explain what each entails (Honours vs. Masters) and often I tell the student it comes down to their work habits, their goals, their plans for the future. A successful Honours year will allow instant access into a PhD. So if someone is planning to do a doctorate, then doing Honours will shave 18 months off their total study time (the 18 months otherwise spent on Masters research). Of course, that extra research experience is invaluable when heading into a PhD, and perhaps that is another consideration (sometimes I wish I’d taken that path, although I suspect I never would have moved onto a PhD at all).

About this time last year, I was talking to a student who was about to start Honours. They asked me how my year went, and if I thought they were making a mistake. So I told them about my Honours year, about how it was crazy and hectic and stressful, about how I spent so many nights sitting alone at university studying, about working through the holidays and never quite feeling on top of things. But I also told them how exhilarating it was, how much better I knew myself and my limits after pushing so hard throughout the year, how I made close bonds with classmates that we maintain three years later, and how ultimately, despite everything else, it was probably the best year of my life.

The student thought I was crazy.

I touched in a few times during the year, always being told how wrong I was, how terrible my advice was etc etc.

Then I touched base again a few weeks ago, asking how it all turned out now the year is over. After a year of berating me, this student finally agrees. Yes, it was stupid and crazy and majorly lacking in sleep – but quite possibly the best year yet.

So I’m satisfied; apparently I gave good advice to at least one person. But to get back to today’s question; Honours vs. PhD?

I’m always a little shocked when I hear this one. It’s generally an undergrad student, or possibly someone who’s just finished Honours and is contemplating a PhD, and they have been told by a lecturer or a tutor that a PhD is easy compared to Honours. It seems like such a false economy to me. Presumably their point is that Honours is busier, but that doesn’t necessarily mean a PhD is easier. After all, you have to focus on a single topic for 3 -4 years, organise an entire research project, manage research funding and assistants, write and defend a thesis, publish articles. Some of those are also included in Honours, but all to a lesser extent.

For me, I don’t think I could pick one or the other. Undertaking a PhD has presented so many challenges to me, that I can’t fathom thinking it’s easier than anything. But then, Honours was crazy and intense.

Perhaps it all comes down to personality. Some people thrive on deadlines and stress, others fall apart at the first sign of a looming due date. Which one do you think you are? How does that benefit or hinder you at your work or study? Would you prefer something to be intense and over quickly, or drawn out and requiring much more management, focus and patience?

I’m not sure which one I am. I seem to have done okay at both spectrums, and the road blocks I’ve hit during my PhD appear to be due to something else entirely. I haven’t worked out what yet; when I do I’ll be sure to let you know.

A darker side of the internet December 21, 2009

Today I hit a new low. I had a fight with a person I don’t know, via my friend’s Facebook page. Yep, definitely a new low.

The circumstance was this: a Hollywood celebrity died today – you know who she is, I’m not going to name drop because I don’t want to add to the excess of web pages citing her name. She was 32 years old and she died of a heart attack, in her shower, her mother found her unconscious.

I don’t care who the person was, that’s a horrible story to start the day with.

Immediately though, the internet rumour mill started and people started commenting that it was probably a drug overdose.

Probably a drug overdose! Heck, this person just died, five days out from Christmas, she’s not even cold yet and already people are speculating that drugs were involved!

The coroner, at this point in time, has called cause of death “natural”. They’ve said they will try to get a toxicology report out by tomorrow, due to public interest. So all we have to do is wait a single day to find out what happened. But that’s not good enough for the people commenting on the internet, we have to speculate now.

To be crystal clear here, it is not impossible for a 32 year old to die of a heart attack, without drugs being involved. A quick google search of “32 heart attack” turns up several articles or obits about people who died under the same banner, including a chef and …. er, okay I swear I  had another one earlier – now however my search results are clogged with today’s news. You get the point though, people can have heart attacks in their thirties, and they can die. It’s rare, but not unheard of.

As soon as I started reading articles about what had happened, I couldn’t help but read the talk-back in the comments section (you’d think I’d have learnt by now!). Immediately I saw people commenting that it must be drugs. Some of the rag articles were pointing out how emaciated she’d looked in recent years or months. It must be drugs!

Sure, it could be. For all I know, I will wake up tomorrow, read the coroner’s report and find out that it was in fact a drug overdose. It’s happened before. It’ll happen again. But for now, for tonight, how about giving someone the benefit of the doubt?

So you can probably guess where the fight today came from. Someone made a comment about drugs, I pointed out that the coroner has said “natural causes” and perhaps we shouldn’t lay into a dead person before all the facts are in. Cue written barrage on the mutual friend’s Facebook page. I was even asked if I would like to bet on how she died; “lay down your money or shut up, lol”. Sickening.

Okay okay, I shouldn’t have risen to the bait. I know! But boy I was so mad. And this highlights one of my least favourite things about the internet. Everyone’s got an opinion (don’t worry, I see the hypocrisy of that statement being written in a blog) and some of them are just plain malicious.

And it’s not just going into a void. One of my favourite celebrities, if you can call him that, is Kevin Smith. He’s been a prolific message boarder, blogger, and now podcaster and tweeter, and is always very open and honest with his life. He has, for many years, struggled with the feedback on the internet. For him it’s always been hard to ignore the negative. It’s that age old adage, that people forget the compliments and remember the criticism. So here we have at least one person who admits to being hurt by things said about them on the internet.

In any case, today I just got so mad at the world and the people in it. Someone dies and these are the immediate thoughts they need to share with the world. It’s just crap and nasty and through my years of Kevin Smith fandom I’ve learnt that some people are listening, and they can be hurt by petty words from someone who doesn’t even know them.

I was reminded of one thing today though. There are some genuinely unkind people out in the world. That’s when it struck me that I don’t know ANY of them! The people I hang out with, and those who I am fortunate enough to be related to, would never succumb to this bollocks. They are kind, considerate and thoughtful. That’s why this kind of behaviour shocks and appals me; I just completely forget that my friends and family are (unfortunately) not representatives of everyone. I wish they were; the world would be a much nicer place.

By the time you read this you’ll know the cause of death, so you’ll know more than I do right now. So gloat if I am in fact wrong, but I stand by my point that we shouldn’t be judging dead people before we have all the facts.

And I don’t care who you are – 32 is too young to die.

Spam December 14, 2009

It’s a little sad that the two latest comments on my blog are both spam. Handily, WordPress blocks them automatically, but they are fun to read. So for your amusement here is what people are apparently saying about my “The Internet” post:

“The blog was absolutely fantastic! Lots of great information and inspiration, both of which we all need!”

“I dont usually comment, but after reading through so much info I had to say thanks”

It’s good to know I’m reaching out to people – even if some of them don’t know how to use punctuation (you of course knew that mistake wasn’t mine).

I got another junk email today; this one was a little riskier. It was a phishing email supposedly sent by one of the New Zealand banks, one that I happen to have an account with. Apparently my online account has been hacked and I need to sign in using this link to do so. Tsk tsk tsk, could be so close except they spelt our beloved country’s name as “New Zeeland.” Rookie mistake.

All of that in one day, and to boot I just won the “google lottery”. It’s strange they don’t tell me how much I won, or that I didn’t even know I had entered a lottery. But winning is winning, right?

It must work on some people though, otherwise there wouldn’t be any profit in it. I can’t imagine the person who really thinks they won a lottery, or who believes they should log in to their bank account because an email says so. Still, I recently got a bungled email from a friend saying she was in London (I knew she wasn’t) and desperately needed money. Not too long before that I’d read a news article talking about people who had actually sent money thinking their friend was in trouble. It’s sad when spammers/phishers actually manage to prey on someone’s innocence and good nature.

This might be biased, but I have to assume the people getting scammed aren’t younger than about 35. Anyone of this generation knows enough about computers to plug a few words into google and find out anything they need to, including whether something is a hoax or not.

Although perhaps not. In looking for the article about the London scam I stumbled across this Guardian piece. In it they talk about some of the famous email hoaxes that do the rounds, such as the story of robbers using a tape of a baby crying to lure a woman out of her house. I’ve had enough of those forwarded to me over the years to know some pretty smart women who have felt unsure enough to forward it on “just in case”. A tiny bit of sniffing around and you can quickly discover the hoax; especially if you ponder why on earth the police would issue some of these warnings via email.

I’ve always been a fan of urban legends, and that’s really all these are, but was any one ever truly scared of alligators in the sewers? This seems to be the use of the internet to scare and intimidate people, mainly women. And as Tony Neate, a former police detective, is quoted as saying in the Guardian article: “it would be far more useful if women saved their concern for real problems”.

Anyway, my point was that it serves me right that my only comments are spam. I haven’t posted nearly enough to warrant an audience. I will endeavour to improve, life is getting close to being back to normal now that I am settled back in NZ.

But still, I would like to know how to let my little guy have more courage. Wouldn’t you?

Belfast 2 December 6, 2009

Continuing on from the last post…

Carrying on along the wall, I reached the gates between the two neighbourhoods. These gates close right across the street, and although most are open during the day, many of the gates and closed and locked at night. Again, by accident I found my way through to the Catholic side of the same wall (I really don’t know how anyone expects to see anything of a city by taking a pre-arranged tour, I always find the most interesting things by accident). I came out on Falls Road, the sister road to the Shankill, next to the Solidarity Wall. This is a set of murals depicting other countries around the world experiencing segregation and civil fighting: Israel, Palestine, Basque Country, Cuba.

Following Falls Road led me through the Catholic area, looking much as you’d expect any neighbourhood to. It was a Sunday, so most things were closed, but I sat and had coffee and cake in a cafe where two guys were playing music at one of the tables. The murals on this side were in memorial of the 1981 hunger strikers, Bobby Sands, who was elected as an MP shortly before he died in those hunger strikes, and others whose lives were lost during the fighting. Eventually I ended up at the Milltown Cemetery, where the bodies of the hunger strikers lie (I didn’t see their graves though; I doubt they would be well advertised given the circumstances surrounding their deaths).

Overall, the Protestant murals struck me as being so much about glorifying the contribution made to WWI, while the Catholic murals were an attempt to remember those who died fighting in their own country. I don’t know if one is better than the other, I would say both sides lost out horrendously, but it was the first time I’d seen such a divide in front of me.

I felt lucky to be able to see this for myself, fortunate to have made it to Belfast so soon after the fighting had died down to still see the burnt out buildings, the walls, the division. In some ways Belfast is inspiring. Here is a city that a mere decade ago people were giving up on. No one thought the Troubles would be over. Without belittling the ongoing problems, it does appear to be a city with hope. Although the more I read, the more I consider whether there have been actual inroads made towards integration, or if Northern Ireland is just a pot waiting to boil over.

A few nights before I arrived, there was a big event outside the City Hall for the turning on of the Christmas lights. Some youths got frisky and there was a “riot” on the streets. Check out this Belfast Telegraph article for more. On first read I thought “sectarian violence, of course!” Then on successive reads I found the bit where they say the three people arrested were 14, 17, and 19 years of age. Hang on, surely at that age you don’t know a thing about religion, whether you’re a loyalist or republican, or what “sectarian tension” is. Reading through the comments on the article, I believe I found my answer. They’re teenagers! They’re being unruly “thugs”, out to crash a family event (who hasn’t seen that at Christmas in the Park or similar?) for the pure thrill of it. Not everything can be boiled down to theological or political reasons. Yet because it was Northern Ireland, because it was Belfast, it was reported as such. It seems unfair, doesn’t it?

One of the comments I read really struck a chord, it talked about segregating children from the age of five by sending them to Catholic or Protestant schools. Someone else mentioned having Leisure Centres mere blocks from each other (I confirmed this seeing as I walked past both of them, the Shankill Rd and Falls Rd Leisure Centres are a mere 0.8 km walk from each other, so says google maps, aka Lord of the Internet).

Tonight I found this article from the Guardian, published back in 2002. It claims that not only is segregation still present in Northern Ireland, it is actually worse since the signing of the Good Friday Agreement (or at least, it was in 2002, I’m too tired to look for new numbers tonight). Lots of stats in the article, but one got to me: “68% of 18- to 25-year-olds living in Belfast have never had a meaningful conversation with anyone from the other community.” How’s that for segregation? No wonder teens are getting angry with each other in the street and spoiling a Christmas celebration. How can you expect anything to be different if you are still raising children with the notion of “us” and “them”? It could be enough to make me despair, but it’s still a step forward from the all out fighting of so recently. Belfast, to me, is still an inspiring city; it still gives me hope that other areas of imbalance may yet find peace. And strange as it may seem, I felt oddly patriotic during my time in Belfast.

Here’s the photo of me on the Shankill side of the Peace Wall. Midget.

Belfast 1 December 4, 2009

I’ve spent the last eight days sight-seeing in Dublin and Belfast, much of which has been spent in museums studying exhibits on the recent history of the island.

I should state some biases early on here. I’m half Irish; my father was born in Eire and moved to New Zealand in the 1960s. I had not visited Ireland until last month, and now I have spent a mere ten or so days, split between two trips, in Dublin and Belfast. I’ve only recently been learning more about Irish history, and I am completely enamoured by the country, its history, and the people. So be prepared for a totally biased, love-fest of Irish history.

First off I want to talk about Belfast, which I only ended up going to by chance for three nights and completely loved. For a city which was, according to Lonely Planet, one of the three B’s travellers were once advised to avoid (Belfast, Baghdad, Beirut, Bosnia) this city has turned itself around. It’s a small city, 260,000 or so citizens, you can walk easily from one end to the other. The city centre is focused around the City Hall – built to celebrate the elevation to city status, granted by Queen Victoria in 1888. From November 20 to December 20, the City Hall grounds play host to a Christmas Festival, featuring foods, drinks and crafts from various countries, mostly European in origin. It was here I drank mulled wine and Gluh wine, ate Bison burger (it tasted like beef), drooled over fudge displays (but didn’t buy any) and snacked on bratwurst. Yum!

To the east of the city are the River Lagan and the prominent ship-building area. The section is called the “Titanic Quarter”, named after the ill-fated ship which was built in Belfast. (A souvenir t-shirt reads, “Titanic: Built by an Irishman, Sunk by an Englishman”). Unfortunately for me, as I’ve always had a thing for the Titanic, they are doing major renovations of this area in anticipation of the 2012 centenary since the launch of the unsinkable ship, and as such you can’t access much of the ship-building yards at present. Towering over the city are two huge Harland and Wolff cranes, nicknamed Goliath and Samson by the locals.

Walking about Belfast, you wouldn’t know that last decade the city was still considered a warzone. I’d heard story of armoured police cars and police stations, but only caught sight of one heavily armoured vehicle. There are police contact points scattered throughout the city, where pushing a button gives you a direct contact with police, and there is still a large amount of security and barbed wire. Most obvious to me, coming from New Zealand, was the sheer amount of CCTV cameras, on nearly every corner and outside most pubs and restaurants. Big Brother is definitely watching, and recording, in Belfast.

Heading into the west of the city is a different story altogether. Here Belfast is split in two; Protestant and Catholic. To the north is Shankill Road, the main thoroughfare of the Protestant/Loyalist section. The Shankill played a major scene in the Troubles, and is still a site of poverty, low-income housing, and of course the political murals. Some of the more controversial murals have been painted over with tamer versions, but many are still there. Mostly the Protestant murals are about Ireland’s, or particularly Ulster’s, part in the First World War, or otherwise celebrating ties with the United Kingdom. There is one mural dedicated to celebrating Queen Lizzy’s 50 years on the throne in 2003.

After making my way to the end of Shankill Road, I wandered through the streets and, by accident, found myself at part of the “Peace Wall” dividing the Protestant and Catholic neighbourhoods. These walls were put up following the 1968 outbreak of “The Troubles” as a temporary measure by the British Army. Proving effective, they were later upgraded to permanent structures, some walls up to 25 feet high and topped by wire netting. Stumbling across one section of the 21 km of walls still remaining, it took me some minutes to realise what it was I saw in front of me. Completely dwarfed by a graffiti covered wall, still standing even twenty years after the Berlin Wall fell. Even standing across the road from it, it was hard to fathom how tall the wall really was. It wasn’t until I set my camera up across the street and took a time-delayed photo that I realised; I was a midget with the wall towering above me. All this to keep Christians apart.

Yet again I’m hitting my unofficial word limit, so I’ll continue in a separate post about the Catholic side of the wall. Aka, To Be Continued…

A Thousand Splendid Suns December 2, 2009

For the last year I’ve been using a blank page in my day planner to list books I want to read. Lately it’s progressed to DVDs I want to buy/rent, since I haven’t had access to a DVD store in Spain. Now that I’ve filled both sides of the page, it’s about time I got serious about reading these books. To be fair, I’ve crossed many things off that list. But to give myself more impetus, I’m going to try write at least monthly reviews here of a book off my list that I’ve managed to read. Though I imagine they’ll be less reviews, and more general, subjective musings.

I’ve just finished reading Khaled Hosseini’s “A Thousand Splendid Suns”. I feel like I should say “re-reading”, seeing as I listened to this on audiobook last year, and have only just read it for myself. (It’s fantastic on audiobook by the way, narrated by the actress from “The Kite Runner” – Hosseini’s first book, which was made into a movie).

I finished Splendid Suns on the train back to Dublin from Belfast the other day. It was hard not to cry in the last few chapters, and I was shamelessly wiping tears away in the crowded train carriage.

The book, set in Afghanistan, begins with a young girl, Mariam, remembering the first time she was called a harami, a bastard. Mariam’s story quickly becomes one of tragedy, with her mother’s death and Mariam’s marriage to an older man from Kabul. This marriage, one of convenience for Mariam’s father, turns sour for Mariam, as she finds herself married to an abusive, domineering man.

Later we meet another character, a young girl living in Kabul – near to Mariam and her husband – called Laila. Laila is everything that Mariam isn’t, she is raised in a family of intellect and pride, her father, a professor, is convinced that Laila will be well-educated and have a valuable role to play in society. Then the Mujahideen (loosely translated as freedom fighters) beat back the Soviets, and Afghanistan yet again changes hands – this time into a fundamentalist regime in which women have no part. Laila’s life is profoundly changed by this regime, and we soon find her and Mariam living the same existence, despite such different beginnings.

This book is a love story about women, written surprisingly well by a man. Hosseini somehow captures the voices, the dreams and hopes of these two women, and as readers we follow their intertwining lives through a tumultuous few decades of Afghanistan’s history, leading up to present time. Through the lives of women, we learn of how the different regimes in Afghanistan have changed the societal structure, and are given a little insight into how this history affected the country’s inhabitants. It is ultimately a book about the resilience of women, and as such is uplifting, emotional, and heart-breaking. Hosseini is a master story-teller, and he does credit to his country of birth by writing such compelling stories about Afghanistan.

Afghanistan, I increasingly find, is a fascinating country. For a country which only came onto my radar in light of September 11, 2001, it has a deep and rich history, a long story of colonisation and invasion, a story that perhaps informs and is reflected in the histories of other countries. Afghanistan shares borders with China, Iran, Pakistan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan. Its position on the Silk Road has ensured a long human history in Afghanistan, and power has switched many times, including between Alexander the Great, Ghengis Khan, and the United Kingdom (though not successively).

In the last 90 years, Afghanistan has seen an incredible amount of history. In 1919 King Amanullah Khan ascended to the throne, taking power back from the United Kingdom and establishing a new period of Afghan independence. Afghanistan was ruled by a Monarch until a bloodless coup in 1973. Caught between the Cold War opponents, Afghanistan then saw Soviet invasion in 1979, and the following Soviet occupation lasted until 1989. With Soviet withdrawal, the Mujahideen took over, only to be overtaken by the Taliban between 1994 and 2001. From 2001 until present day exists the Afghanistan we know today, one which is an epicentre for a war on “terror”, despite never having had a chance to find its own footing in the past decades. In the last few weeks, more troops have been committed to the “war in Afghanistan” – I wonder how people might view this war if they knew more about the turbulent history of the past century. Not that I have any answers, just curiosity and fascination with a country that has seen such change.

If you’re interested in reading more Afghan books, I can recommend The Kite Runner, also by Khaled Hosseini, and The Bookseller of Kabul, a non-fiction book by Asne Seierstad, a norwegian journalist. A Thousand Splendid Suns is, I believe, in plans for a movie – so if you like to read a book before seeing the movie then you might like to jump aboard now.

As for my copy, I’m seriously overweight on luggage and flying back to New Zealand tomorrow – so I’ll be leaving my copy in the hostel’s book swap. I wonder who the next person to read it will be, and I hope they enjoy it.

Leaving Spain November 28, 2009

Through the wonders of the internet, by the time this gets posted I will be in Ireland. I don’t know when, if ever, I will be back in Spain – though it may be as soon as next year.

Sevilla, in southern Spain, has been my home for the past three months. I can still remember when those three months seemed like the longest time, and I would never be heading home. Now I will be making my way to Barcelona in two days, and then heading to Dublin the following day for a week in Dublin and Belfast before winging it back to New Zealand.

I have mixed feelings about Spain.

It’s very noisy. Right now I am sitting at the kitchen table, it’s a Sunday afternoon. It should be peaceful. Instead I can hear my neighbour’s T.V turned up loud (and that’s a blessing, since the other noise we hear from that house is the couple arguing), someone down the road is blasting their car horn, the other neighbour’s kids are screaming wildly, there’s a marching band somewhere nearby and I can hear the “boom-boom-boom” of the drums. Finally, there is a garage door opposite our place that makes a god-awful screeching every time it opens and closes – which appears to be every five minutes.

None of this makes for a peaceful Sunday. Whether it’s a bad thing, I’m not sure. These are just the noises of people going about their daily lives. It just happens that when you’re all wedged on top of each other in tiny street – everyone experiences everyone else’s day to day business.

I suppose I’d be remiss to not mention bullfighting. Except that I don’t really have much insight there. The city’s bullfight ring is right across the river from our apartment. I arrived during “fight season” and on a few nights I heard what seemed to me to be the sounds of a football match; the screaming, delirious crowd roaring for the triumph of their team. It wasn’t until I jumped onto google maps that I realised there wasn’t a football stadium around. No, it was the sound of fight night at the bullring across the river.

I made a conscious decision before I left New Zealand that if anyone invited me to a bull-fight, I would go. If someone said to me, “Look, I know it’s weird and different, but you’re here to see our country so give it a chance,” I would have gone. But no one has. No one has even remotely mentioned the idea. The only bull fight conversation I’ve had was with a colleague, who also lives near the ring, about how he had a similar experience the first time he heard the sounds of the “fight”. (I “air-quote” fight because I can’t see how egging an animal on until it is driven to attack, and then slaughtering it, could be counted as a fight. But that’s just pedantics.)

So that’s really all I have to say about the bulls. I don’t feel fit to judge something I haven’t seen and don’t understand.

In the interest of keeping these posts short and readable, I’m finding I have to cut my thoughts (rambles) short. I’ve got plenty more musings on Spain, but for now I’ll leave it at that.

And Greetings from Ireland; right now I’m probably freezing my hiney off!