Against Western Military Involvement in Syria

Pouring petrol onto a fire tends to make matters worse, and also risks burning those who do the pouring. In terms of the likely consequences, in the history of bad ideas, Western military involvement with the civil war in Syria, however well-intentioned, would be very high up in the charts.

It is, of course, possible that, as with any war, there are vested interests, like crows around a battlefield, eager for the financial rewards of a military conflict.

It is the job of military leaders to think about military involvement in any situation (Korea, Vietnam, Afghanistan, Iraq), whereas there can only be political resolutions (Northern Ireland, South Africa). Without a political resolution, there is no resolution: the First World War begat the Second World War begat the Cold War, usw.

Military spokespeople tend to talk earnestly about ‘surgical strikes’. Yet In Afghanistan there have been many civilian causalities, as well as so-called ‘friendly-fire’ incidents. I suspect that the explosions in Baghdad that we watched on television at the start of the Bush (junior) administration military adventure in Iraq, however well-targeted, killed many people who themselves had been victims of the regime of Saddam Hussein. Explosions do not discriminate who they kill – best not to use them. And besides, soldiers are people, too. Just because they have got caught up, some of them probably fairly arbitrarily, on one side or the other, does not mean that they deserve to die violently.

I may be quite wrong, but I suspect that some of the Syrian anti-government soldiers are not polite, liberal-minded people fighting because the Syrian government is a jolly rotten lot. I suspect that a proportion of the anti-government soldiers are motivated by an ideology that is as implacably opposed to western liberality as it is to the current Syrian regime. In supporting the Mujahideen in Afghanistan against the Soviet Russian ‘occupation’ in the 1980s, the CIA inadvertently spawned the subsequent wave of international terrorism through which we are still living. Giving military assistance to such people sounds like a seriously bad idea.

I am as terrified of weapons of mass destruction as anyone else. However, I believe that Western politicians are responding with their hearts not their heads about the suspected / likely use of chemical weapons in Syria. 

Although it goes against the grain for many people, non-interference by the West could be the best course of action. Western electorates generally appear to support the idea that almost any action carried out by Western states must be experienced as desirable and beneficial for the people on whom it is inflicted. I suspect that the Islamic world, post-colonial Africa, and parts of Asia think somewhat differently.

If the West wishes to do something constructive, then giving significant humanitarian aid, both for the direct benefit of the casualties in the conflict, and also to the neighbouring countries to accommodate the huge number of Syrian refugees, would be a good start. At the diplomatic level, trying harder to build bridges with the Putin regime in Russia (with which the Assad regime in Syria has some kind of ongoing relationship), and trying even harder to broker a rapprochement between Israel and a Palestinian state, could, in the long-term, be of much greater benefit to the people of Syria and of countries surrounding Syria, than simply firing missiles into Damascus.

Twenty first century Egypt at a crossroads

I have no special knowledge about Egyptian politics, and I assume that I am neither more, nor less, adequately informed than the average person on the number 417 bus service from Crystal Palace to Clapham Common.

It seems to me that Egypt is flirting with the threat of a civil war between several groups: the socially-conservative but politically-radical Islamists, along with their supporters: the poor and dispossessed, who favour Shari'a Law; the socially- and politically-conservative military, along with people loyal to the rejected Mubarak regime, who favour order (and if that requires repression, then so be it); the mostly-secular progressives who overthrew Mubarak, but from whom, in their eyes, victory was snatched by Morsi and the Islamists.

From the news reports that I heard, I am left with the impression that Morsi, when he was President, was governing Egypt not as one nation, but for the benefit of those who wished for the institution of Shari'a Law, and in the teeth of opposition from those who wish the Egyptian state to have a largely secular future. Had Morsi and his government been willing, or perhaps simply able, to govern for the whole of Egypt, maybe the euphoria of the revolution that ousted Mubarak could have swept the rickety caravan along, at least for long enough to permit the establishment of a wider base of democratic institutions. However, the attempted Islamisation of Egypt's constitution was never going to win support from other than his own constituency, and ultimately led to his demise. What Morsi and his democratically-elected government were attempting to practise was effectively dictatorship by the majority, leading to the oppression of the secular minority.

I believe that the military had little love for what Morsi and his government were doing, but tolerated it while there was order on the streets. I believe that the military had equally little love for the secular progressives. When order on the streets descended into chaos in Tahrir Square, the military did the only thing they could do (apart from do nothing): they removed Morsi, re-installing themselves as the authority. (Had they chosen to attack the secular progressive protesters, they would have inevitably have undermined the authority of Morsi's government.) When Morsi supporters, outraged that a military coup was overturning a democratically-elected government, created disorder and chaos, the army did what armies are for: they killed a lot of people.

I hope that all the stake-holders in Egyptian politics are able to see that this is a fragile time, with the risk of a bad situation becoming much, much worse. It would be good if everyone felt able to take a step back away from the brink, but that takes trust, of which, I guess, there is now precious little - everyone feels betrayed!

If Egypt is to return to the democratic path, then maybe for the time being it needs the kind of power-sharing democracy that is practised in Northern Ireland, in which representatives from both communities share decision-making. The kind of representative democracy that is found in states with a long history of democracy is typically supported both with a panoply of other democratic institutions, and with a ballast of civil and judicial administration so that it is hard for the democratically-elected government to tip too far towards dictatorship by the majority. That kind of infrastructure takes time to create and take effect: the EU has been in existence for 60 years, and its structures are still far from fully accepted across the Union.

It is too much to hope for a Gandhi or a Mandela to come forward. However, I hope that some of the politicians in Egypt prove themselves to be statesmen and stateswomen.

Day Fourteen: The Plan

Self-employment
Having been employed by the University of Sunderland for the past eight years, my plan is to return to self-employment: I set up and ran my own business, Alpha Word Power, in 1985. For fifteen years my small business, which also employed several people, one full-time and others part-time or on piece work, offered word processing and publishing services. Nearly thirty years ago, we were at the beginning of desk-top publishing. We produced quite a number of books, sometimes for other people, sometimes under the imprint of Blue Button Press.

Authentic Counselling and Training
I also set up, and ran concurrently with Alpha Word Power, a counselling training organisation called Authentic Counselling and Training, which is still in existence. As well as having delivered training in counselling, we also deliver a variety of personal and professional development short courses, such as stress management, assertiveness training, team development, group leadership and participation skills, and so on. Part of my plan is to relaunch Authentic Counselling and Training in south-east England, adding further professional development courses to the portfolio.

Holiday Let
On an entirely different level, we intend to let part of our new house for holiday lettings. The house is ideally suited to being separated into our own living area, on the one hand, and generous holiday facilities for a couple or a small family. There is even a sizable separate garden. We intend to market the holiday let at several market segments: a) walkers and cyclists; b) people who want a countryside holiday, but with proximity to a wide variety of places to visit; c) people who want a short break with the opportunity for some personal coaching, counselling and spiritual development; d) people travelling to/from elsewhere in Britain/France who require one or more overnights close to the Channel Tunnel. 

Recreation
The Elham Valley, designated as an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, is a gorgeous place in which, and from which, to walk, with countless lanes, by-ways, bridleways and local footpaths, as well as three long-distance footpaths (the Elham Valley Way, 22 miles from Canterbury to Hythe on the south coast of Kent; the North Downs Way, 153 miles from Farnham on the Hampshire/Surrey border to Dover on the south east coast of Kent; and the Saxon Shore Way, that follows the Kent coastline for 160 miles from Gravesend in north Kent to Hastings in East Sussex). The area is very popular with cyclists, with regional cycle route 17 running from Dover and the Channel Tunnel via Elham to Canterbury and beyond. Close by there is the wild and ancient Lyminge Forest, in which it is possible to wander for hours watched only by buzzards; or for people who have mobility issues, the Royal Military Canal runs westwards from Hythe. Also starting from Hythe is the delightful Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch Light Railway that runs as far as Dungeness, Britain's only official desert.

Places to Visit
There are far too many places to visit to mention here. They include Folkestone (beach), 8.5 miles; Howletts (famously humane zoo), 10 miles; Canterbury (history, shopping, dining out, etc.), 11.5 miles; Dover (history), 13 miles; Leeds Castle, 30.5 miles; Sissinghurst Gardens, 32 miles; Calais (France), 45.5 miles; Pooh Corner, 55.5 miles; London, 70 miles. An hourly bus service runs each way along the Elham Valley between Canterbury and Folkestone. Both Canterbury and Folkestone are on high speed rail lines into London. From nearby Ashford International railway station it is possible to be in Calais in 30 minutes, and in Paris in under two hours.

Counselling, Personal Coaching and Spiritual Development
The house we now have is quiet and peaceful, making it an ideal venue for continuing, extending and developing the therapeutic work in which I have been engaged for more than 25 years.

Herbs, Spices and Vegan Ingredients
Again, on an entirely different level, I intend to set up a consumer-facing online business supplying herbs (culinary and medicinal), spices and other vegan ingredients by mail-order. As part of this venture, I also intend to grow less common culinary herbs for supply fresh to restaurants and companies that prepare food.

Day Thirteen

Bear with me on this one. I am trying to get all sorts of jobs underway, but repeatedly find that, in order to make progress, I am having to journey through time.

Elham is first mentioned in an Anglo-Saxon Charter of 855 AD, and later in the Domesday Book of 1086. Evidence of neolithic occupation includes hand-axes and flint scrapers. There are Bronze Age remains, including tumuli; Roman coins and pottery; and an Anglo-Saxon cemetery in neighbouring Lyminge. St Mary's church dates from 1200; the market square dates from 1251; a large Tudor building greets people who alight buses from Folkestone. All that said, the village emanates a strong sense of the nineteenth century. The population of Elham in 1881 was 1,192, and today, 140 years later, it is 1,465. A railway, the Elham Valley Line, ran from Canterbury to Folkestone between 1887 and 1947, with a station at Elham, but the first world war closed the line after which significant passenger traffic never returned. Elham had its own brick works, a chalk pit, a ropery and two windmills: the district was largely economically self-sufficient. Cherry Gardens and Cherry Tree Lane point to former orchards

As well as the Anglican church, Elham also has a Methodist church, a village hall, a primary school, a GP surgery, two pubs, a restaurant, a tea room, an estate agents, and a very small shop. A pub, a bookshop and an antique shop all closed down in recent years. The smallest post office imaginable is hosted a few days each week in the King's Arms, and a mobile library visits Elham for twenty minutes every Thursday morning.

Looked at from a different standpoint, the nearest (expensive) petrol is 4.5 miles away, the nearest (cheaper) petrol is 6.5 miles away; the nearest supermarket is also 6.5 miles away; the nearest shopping centre (Folkestone), including banks, is 8 miles away; the nearest cinema for us (Canterbury) is 12 miles away. The nearest railway stations are in Folkestone and Canterbury. We have to buy heating oil because Elham is not on the natural gas network. There is no cable broadband, and the BT broadband signal fluctuates wildly. BBC radio signals are poor. There is no Vodafone signal at all, and the O2 signal is patchy. Elham is due east from Gatwick airport, and every evening a huge number of jet planes overfly on their way to continental Europe and the Middle East.

It seems that we have chosen to live in a place that, despite witnessing the aerial dog-fights of the Battle of Britain, has avoided many of the ravages of  the twentieth century, but as a consequence has been substantially by-passed, and is now something of a little world of its own. I am reminded variously of Brigadoon, The Shire and the Island of Sodor. Whilst both attractive and desirable, perhaps there is something a little unrealistic about living in a place that has a kennels for the local fox hunt, but very few of the features of twenty-first century life in an economically- and technologically-developed country.

Day Twelve: A New Rhythym

A different rhythm both to my day and to my week is starting to emerge. It is no longer the mechanical rhythm of commuting to and from paid employment five days each week, my hourly schedule regulated by the clock, fitting food shopping, cooking and leisure into evenings and two-day weekends. Nor is it the kind of relaxed daily routine into which one slips during a holiday, in which the week as a whole follows a schedule but no rhythm.

My week still retains a reasonable differentiation between the days: so, for instance, I still cook pancakes for Sunday breakfast, and we have returned to attending the Sunday morning Quaker meeting. Most mornings I walk between four and eight miles before breakfast, and as a result am getting to know the geography of the area, and to encounter people out jogging or exercising their dogs.

It is hard to ignore the fact that we have committed ourselves to a massive undertaking, and there is an enormous mountain to be climbed. My temptation is to press on relentlessly. However, as a friend pointed out, it is important to try to pace oneself. I recognise that from mid-morning until lunchtime my energy will be higher, and I feel readier to embark on heavier work. This morning I launched into carving an office out of a solid block of still-full packing boxes. The crowning achievement was re-assembling and setting up my desk-top computer. Afternoons bring with them a serious risk of flagging, so I try to do something less strenuous (than box shifting) that involves lots of movement. On several occasions last week the activity was grass cutting; today it was skip (dumpster) diving. A few days ago I spotted some wooden palettes beside a skip. Today I was able to request the palettes, and removed them on a sack barrow (station porter's trolley), palette by palette, wheeling each noisily along the road. My intention is to construct a two-bin garden compost unit, for which wooden palettes are reputed to be ideal. Nous verrons. By the time I had rescued seven wooden palettes, two large, palette-like wooden crates and five 60 cm concrete kerb stones, it was nearly time to start vegetable preparation for dinner. However, I was determined to rearrange the kitchen before I started the cooking. This was not a distraction activity, just trying to make the slowly emerging space work a little more efficiently.

After dinner, we each visit Facebook to catch up with people. The living room is still solid: which is how it will remain until I have some furniture straps with which to secure the book shelves, and as a result we are unable to watch television (a situation about which I do not feel especially unhappy, although my daughter does). It is usually well after midnight when, having drunk a hot (soya-)milky drink, I switch off the bedside light.

Day Eleven: A trip to Samphire Hoe

A brisk 90 minute walk at dawn, up hill and down dale, decorated like a William Morris design with the usual complement of rabbits, squirrels and assorted birds. Nearly back in Elham, I greeted an old, old man dressed in his Sunday best, on his way to church. I slowed to his pace and we talked about how he had recently moved to Elham, along with his daughter and son-in-law, having spent much of their life in and around Romford, Essex. Sadly, he had lost his son seven years ago, and his wife twenty years ago. A passing neighbour greeted him as "George". We parted at the lytch gate. Almost every day someone stops to talk with me. It was the same sitting in the garden of the Quaker Meeting House in Canterbury later that morning - Friends came over to talk.

In the afternoon we visited Samphire Hoe, a somewhat underwhelming country park beneath the Shakespeare Cliffs, created from land reclaimed from the sea by the spoil removed from the construction of the Channel Tunnel. The car park was nearly full: clearly a popular destination for a Sunday 'blow'. Samphire, sea cabbage and sea buckthorn (sanddorn in German - we encountered sanddorn saft in Stralsund last summer) were all thriving in the harsh littoral environment. A stiff breeze was whipping up the white horses as we walked over a kilometre along the sea wall. At the far end of the walk, a middle-aged man with his young daughter were standing watching the waves crash onto a pebble beach and sibilantly scour the shingle. Without ambiguity his appearance, including a lengthy beard, showed him to be an Orthodox Jew. A little while later, as we were arriving back at the car park, he approached me, explaining that his car battery had failed, and asked if I could help restart his car using jump leads. From the other side of the car park I drove our car over to his, and opened the bonnet to expose the car battery. His (now) three daughters were all in their car, and his wife hovered, expressing considerable gratitude. I concluded that the length of my beard, and having a daughter, must have allowed him to feel a sufficient degree of association that, out of the many people in the car park, he felt comfortable requesting my help.

Day Ten: The Concert

Today was emotionally dominated by one event - The Concert. Twelve of Elham's ukulele group shared a platform with the Cherry Town Warblers (a Cheriton community choir) in All Souls church, Cheriton (a suburb of Folkestone). The choir performed some songs a capella, whereas others were accompanied by a keyboard and a flute, and some were accompanied by the ukuleles. Half the concert was given over to the ukulele group alone, playing (and singing) a medley of Beatles, Buddy Holly and other '50s and '60s numbers (including, oddly, the Postman Pat theme song). Fortunately, I had had a few days to practice some of the songs, but saw others just once last Monday, and had to sight-read one (which rather took me by surprise).

Apart from a few ukulele-accompanied songs at a Durham community association Christmas fete, and a quick flash-mob in Durham City centre, this was my first proper concert playing a musical instrument. There was an audience of three dozen, and they paid good money (three pounds) for their evening's entertainment. 

I wonder if the ukulele group might secure some paid gigs (like in The Blues Brothers).

Day Nine

It is unreasonable to expect everything to go well all the time, especially having made radical changes in one's life. Today was a day when some things went wrong, and other things just didn't happen.

I felt fatigued when I woke up, but determined to make some space in a room we have been calling my 'study', but I think I shall revert to my preferred term: my 'office'. I turfed countless heavy boxes out into the hall, and because I have not yet moved them back, it almost impossible to use the front entrance to the house.

I needed some furniture straps to secure book cases to walls, so decided to drive to B and Q and Homebase in Folkestone. After spending ages scouring their aisles I was unable to find any in either, as a result of which I did not have time to do a supermarket shop. I also needed to get to the Post Office, the bank and the council offices, but failed at the latter for the second time. When things go wrong or don't work out, questioning whether we have done the right thing (most of the time, lurking in the shadows) skulks more openly.

I guess that there are bound to be demoralising days.

Day Eight (Week Two)

We have now been moved in for a week. I doubt that we have yet managed to unpack ten percent of the boxes which, in some rooms, remain four or five deep. I doubt that we shall have fully unpacked before Christmas. At least the kitchen has become sufficiently functional to permit the preparation of a full roast (vegan) dinner.

I shoveled gravel, and lugged paving slabs from a variety of locations, in order to improve wheelchair access at the rear of the house (we await a ramp from social services to help with the front entrance).

I have produced (and part shredded) huge heaps of woody prunings, although the garden close to the house still looks like a set in Jurassic Park. I spent several hours making myself very travel sick cutting the grass using the ride-on tractor mower - it sounds as though it should be fun, but not for me.

I found a neighbour's cat in our kitchen - maybe a sign that it is now time to acquire our own felines.

Day Seven: Welcome To The Arboretum

We live in an arboretum. I have by no means fully enumerated the number and variety of the trees. The property is infamous for the massive line of Leylandia that camouflages the house from the road (yesterday a visitor had to return to Ashford having driven past several times and failed to find us). The huge poplar trees that mark a far corner of the property are visible from elsewhere in the Elham Valley. A different corner is marked by willow trees. There is a majestic yew, and a tall and elegant silver birch. Several varieties of conifer are vying to attract the term pinetum. The mature sycamore outside the bedroom window was hacked back to trunk and a few limbs at some point last year. A horse-chestnut is reaching towards maturity. There are at least three dead trees, bare, gnarled and twisted, as though props in a production of Macbeth. Overgrown stands of hazel (awaiting pollarding), hawthorn and elder can be found in several places. I discovered an apple tree hidden in the Jurassic Park shrubbery. There remain many trees that I have not yet identified.

It is something of a jungle, with nettles two metres tall, and thistles with stems as thick as my arm. There are drifts of cuckoo pint which flick intensely poisonous sap into my face when I strim. The yew trees, the leaves and berries of which are also fatally poisonous, require some serious management. Some of the shrubs have thorns that would have not embarrassed the movie set of Jumanji. My wife found a spider in the kitchen: it was the size of a saucer. I shudder to think what reptiles live in the jungle.

Day Six: A Trip To Dungeness

Trip to Romney Marsh and Dungeness. I was proud of having successfully navigated my way across the Marsh, simply relying on my sense of direction. Despite the looming presence of the hideous nuclear power station, Dungeness is fascinating. It is Britain's only official desert, and consists of one of the largest expanses of shingle in the world, yet has an amazingly rich bio-diversity. We watched dolphins catching their afternoon tea. The photogenic wooden shacks, scattered across the shingle landscape, are like out of a (cowboy) Western movie: the late Derek Jarman (movie director) owned one of the shacks. Dungeness is the other terminus of the Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch Light Railway, and seeing the little engine with its long train brought back memories of my only previous visit (by rail) in 1962.

Day Five: The Ukulele Group

The highlight of my day was attending Elham's ukulele group. I was welcomed with great enthusiasm, even though there were fifteen of us (which is quite a lot). We rattled through a lot of material. I had to sight-read all but one piece, which was exhilarating. Their overall approach is slightly more 'professional' than that of the Durham group, which suits me because it feels as though I shall be given the opportunity to develop.

Afterwards we retired to the Kings Arms where I started to learn people's names. They were highly impressed when they learned that I had made enquiries about the ukulele group even before moving to Elham - and it was not me who informed them of this.

We shall be performing in a ukulele concert in Cheriton (Folkestone) on Saturday evening. I have no idea for whom we shall be performing, but tickets are on sale.

Day Four: A Trip To Canterbury

Attended the Quaker Meeting in Canterbury. After the meeting people were so friendly. Bought some tempeh at Canterbury Wholefoods, and some cauliflowers and a cabbage at a farm shop in Broad Oak. Almost every time I drive from Canterbury to Elham I am able to find a different way home. It is delightful to live in such gorgeous countryside. Almost back in Elham I had to stop the car because a baby rabbit was sitting, probably petrified, in the middle of the narrow lane. My wife got out of the car and lifted the rabbit into the hedgerow.

Day Three: Visiting The Acrise Flower Festival

We visited Acrise Flower Festival, held in and around St. Martin's Church in Acrise. It was like stepping back in history. Hundreds of people turned out for a rural village fete straight out of The Archers, including a real coconut shy, ploughman's lunches, and historical photographs. The tiny, ancient church (a simple chancel and nave) was dressed with floral arrangements, and in the organ loft the village organist played Bach.

Day Two: A Trip To Howletts

Day Two began with a protracted thunderstorm and some much-needed rain, so instead of going for a walk in the rain I backed-up the contacts from my now-old Sony Xperia X1, and transferred them to my brand new Sony Xperia E, in preparation my cellphone number being ported from Vodafone to O2 - the Elham Valley must be the only place in the world without a Vodafone signal. The afternoon was given over to a restorative activity: a visit to nearby Howletts Animal Park. Famous for its gorilla colonies, Howletts is strongly animal oriented, focusing on breeding programmes for some of the most endangered species. I enjoyed spending a long time observing the gorillas behave in ways that are more natural to them in the wild. Seven million years ago the forebears of the gorillas I was watching would also have been my forbears.

Day One

Shuffling packing boxes as though in a three-dimensional version of the sliding tile puzzle; pruning bushes and trees that belong in a set for a Jurassic Park movie; inventively cooking with three sprouts, an olive, and some black pepper, or at least that's how it seemed.