- Routine, and lots of it.
- Getting up early, so the day is never wasted.
- Regular exercise.
- Regular, healthy diet.
- At least 4-5 cups of tea a day.
- Classic novels / films.
- A love of comedy in every facet of life, no matter how irrelevant or irreverent.
- Pig-headed arrogance.
Tuesday 27 April 2010
Dr. Greg's Sure Cure for the Blues
Sunday 25 April 2010
‘Thoughts on the Revolution’ or The drunken ramblings of a wannabe radical
As I sit in the faux-tropical surroundings of Varadero’s ‘Club Tropical’, sipping my umpteenth all-inclusive Cerveza-Cristal from a bamboo cup adorned with the infamous image of Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara, I am inspired to consider the things I have seen over the last few days.
As I’m sure has been commented on a million times before by tourists, guide books, and not least by the Cuban people themselves, Varadero couldn’t further from the truth of real Cuba. Originally built by holidaying tycoons in the Batista era, the tropical peninsula paradise cum metropolis of tourism still retains many of the features that made Cuba popular for visiting Americans back the pre-revolutionary days. Now of course, there isn’t an American in sight. Except for the Latin kind. The American embargo is the constant but unspoken background to all life here. One can’t help thinking that much of the visible poverty you see on the streets of Cardenas for example, is not the inevitable of a ‘backward’ communist dictatorship, but of the trade embargo imposed on a small developing country by its vast economic hegemon of a neighbour ninety miles to the north. There is an easily identifiable contrast between the Cuba America likes to portray, and the Cuba of reality. Even in the most run down urban shack, or in the tiny hamlets in the Valle de Yumurí, people are still well fed, happy and in good health. This is more than one can say for many living in the favelas of westerner-friendly Brazil, and Cuba is much safer than violently homophobic Jamaica for instance. Of course the human rights issue is incredibly important, and I subscribe entirely to the Jeffersonian idea that those who would trade liberty for safety deserve neither, but if there is a place on this Caribbean island where people are being tortured and degraded for their beliefs, it is Guantanamo Bay, not Havana.
Despite all this, it is painful for me to see the divide between the bourgeois luxury of ‘Tourists only’ Varadero and the daily grind of life elsewhere. Surely the revolution was supposed to end the prioritisation of wealthy drunks over ordinary people? And yet I’d be lying if I said that I thought tourism was an entirely negative force for the country – it isn’t. The income generated by holidaying (non-US) westerners creates valuable income for this impoverished country, helping to fund infrastructural, environmental and social welfare programmes, whilst tipping puts hard cash straight into people’s pockets, supplementing pitiful state incomes. However, the dual economy that this has created, of which Varadero is the most visible element, is a blight on Cuba which deeply distorts society; the poolside barman pouring my Cerveza-Cristal likely earns many many times more than even the highest paid doctor or teacher. Such an outcome is almost a parody of what communism is supposed to be about. The economic hierarchy has been inversed, not levelled. For this reason I feel a slight tinge of hesitancy every time I tip a waiter or bar worker; to what degree am I putting money into the pockets of people who need it and to what degree am I helping to entrench an economic system which is deeply unfair? And yet even when I consider these things I am aware how much of an arrogant assuming westerner I am. It’s kinda like the people who will only ever give the homeless a sandwich or a coffee, but never money. I understand the reasoning behind it, but ultimately they are just human beings like us and who are we to decide how they live? Maybe those quids and loonies aren’t just being spent on booze, but are being put towards some savings to help lift themselves out of homelessness. And you know what? If I was living on the streets of London or, god help me, Toronto, in the middle of winter then I wouldn’t expect people to begrudge me a little scotch to lift my spirits if thats what I wanted to buy. *
The thing about Cuba is that I really can’t decide if I think well of it or not. In a political sense I mean. If I was to just forget politics and let the atmosphere absorb me I would leave with an unreservedly positive impression. But that’s the impression Varadero is designed specifically to leave. There’s a reason we think of cigars, rum and palms and not of crumbling towns and barefoot children when we think of Cuba. I don’t want to end this entry on a boring ambiguous note, and it is tempting to simply quote my Caribbean studies teacher, Melanie Newton, who told me that life was complex and that one shouldn’t simply think in terms of good revolution/bad revolution, but I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that the revolution has been generally positive for Cuba. There’s poverty here sure, but even the poorest have access to food and free healthcare, more than can be said for those on the lowest rung of society in the rest of the Americas, including the United States. Things need to improve; Castro should be ashamed of his refusal to allow free speech and this in itself is unforgivable, but Cuba is a country under siege. Ever since the Missile crisis and the Bay of Pigs the Cuban government has been terrified of another invasion. But the ideals of the revolution are unassailable. Things need to improve, but this is not the ‘bad’ country the US makes it out to be.
* Unlike London or Toronto, there are no homeless on the streets of Havana. Everyone is guaranteed housing.
As I’m sure has been commented on a million times before by tourists, guide books, and not least by the Cuban people themselves, Varadero couldn’t further from the truth of real Cuba. Originally built by holidaying tycoons in the Batista era, the tropical peninsula paradise cum metropolis of tourism still retains many of the features that made Cuba popular for visiting Americans back the pre-revolutionary days. Now of course, there isn’t an American in sight. Except for the Latin kind. The American embargo is the constant but unspoken background to all life here. One can’t help thinking that much of the visible poverty you see on the streets of Cardenas for example, is not the inevitable of a ‘backward’ communist dictatorship, but of the trade embargo imposed on a small developing country by its vast economic hegemon of a neighbour ninety miles to the north. There is an easily identifiable contrast between the Cuba America likes to portray, and the Cuba of reality. Even in the most run down urban shack, or in the tiny hamlets in the Valle de Yumurí, people are still well fed, happy and in good health. This is more than one can say for many living in the favelas of westerner-friendly Brazil, and Cuba is much safer than violently homophobic Jamaica for instance. Of course the human rights issue is incredibly important, and I subscribe entirely to the Jeffersonian idea that those who would trade liberty for safety deserve neither, but if there is a place on this Caribbean island where people are being tortured and degraded for their beliefs, it is Guantanamo Bay, not Havana.
Despite all this, it is painful for me to see the divide between the bourgeois luxury of ‘Tourists only’ Varadero and the daily grind of life elsewhere. Surely the revolution was supposed to end the prioritisation of wealthy drunks over ordinary people? And yet I’d be lying if I said that I thought tourism was an entirely negative force for the country – it isn’t. The income generated by holidaying (non-US) westerners creates valuable income for this impoverished country, helping to fund infrastructural, environmental and social welfare programmes, whilst tipping puts hard cash straight into people’s pockets, supplementing pitiful state incomes. However, the dual economy that this has created, of which Varadero is the most visible element, is a blight on Cuba which deeply distorts society; the poolside barman pouring my Cerveza-Cristal likely earns many many times more than even the highest paid doctor or teacher. Such an outcome is almost a parody of what communism is supposed to be about. The economic hierarchy has been inversed, not levelled. For this reason I feel a slight tinge of hesitancy every time I tip a waiter or bar worker; to what degree am I putting money into the pockets of people who need it and to what degree am I helping to entrench an economic system which is deeply unfair? And yet even when I consider these things I am aware how much of an arrogant assuming westerner I am. It’s kinda like the people who will only ever give the homeless a sandwich or a coffee, but never money. I understand the reasoning behind it, but ultimately they are just human beings like us and who are we to decide how they live? Maybe those quids and loonies aren’t just being spent on booze, but are being put towards some savings to help lift themselves out of homelessness. And you know what? If I was living on the streets of London or, god help me, Toronto, in the middle of winter then I wouldn’t expect people to begrudge me a little scotch to lift my spirits if thats what I wanted to buy. *
The thing about Cuba is that I really can’t decide if I think well of it or not. In a political sense I mean. If I was to just forget politics and let the atmosphere absorb me I would leave with an unreservedly positive impression. But that’s the impression Varadero is designed specifically to leave. There’s a reason we think of cigars, rum and palms and not of crumbling towns and barefoot children when we think of Cuba. I don’t want to end this entry on a boring ambiguous note, and it is tempting to simply quote my Caribbean studies teacher, Melanie Newton, who told me that life was complex and that one shouldn’t simply think in terms of good revolution/bad revolution, but I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that the revolution has been generally positive for Cuba. There’s poverty here sure, but even the poorest have access to food and free healthcare, more than can be said for those on the lowest rung of society in the rest of the Americas, including the United States. Things need to improve; Castro should be ashamed of his refusal to allow free speech and this in itself is unforgivable, but Cuba is a country under siege. Ever since the Missile crisis and the Bay of Pigs the Cuban government has been terrified of another invasion. But the ideals of the revolution are unassailable. Things need to improve, but this is not the ‘bad’ country the US makes it out to be.
* Unlike London or Toronto, there are no homeless on the streets of Havana. Everyone is guaranteed housing.
Monday 19 April 2010
"Nationalism is an Infantile Disease."
The title of this post comes from Einstein, who was often critical of blind patriotism because of its inevitable descent into jingoistic violence.
Friday is St George's Day, the day which commemorates the patron saint of about half the known world, "as well as a range of professions, organisations, and disease sufferers." (Thanks, Wikipedia). I feel no connection with the man, who appears to be a semi-mythical, barbaric zealot. Since I was born in England, however, he is apparently my patron saint too.
This could be rather daunting, except England doesn't feel the need to wrap itself in flags and blind nationalism in the same way that the USA does. This is a good thing. Patriotism, regardless of its actual worth, has been disfigured by its close association with the worst, lowest elements of society. Crude racism, anti-immigration sentiment, and all-round xenophobia are the cornerstones of English nationalism, and I am glad that St George's Day receives comparatively little attention.
Apart from anything else, patriotism is completely unnecessary and unwarranted. I have no particular love for my country (although I enjoy residing in parts of it, and will happily pay for its upkeep), and I genuinely can't see why anyone else would. What is there to love? Our political system? It's certainly reasonable, and a lot better than many countries'. Our history? Like most other countries', largely shameful. The people? I like a lot of them, but only because of them, not because of their "Englishness". There's nothing inherent to England which means I should love it, any more than I should love one of perhaps ten to twenty of the most developed and progressive nations.
Perhaps, instead, patriotism is just a crude form of gang mentality. We can band together, and feel stronger in unity. I suppose that has a warm, fuzzy feel to it if you, say, decide to support England in the football World Cup (god knows why you'd want to) The downside of this gang mentality is its inevitable decline into right-wing violence. In an arguably enlightened age, I think we can dispense with this, along with the whole despicable relic of nationalism.
Friday is St George's Day, the day which commemorates the patron saint of about half the known world, "as well as a range of professions, organisations, and disease sufferers." (Thanks, Wikipedia). I feel no connection with the man, who appears to be a semi-mythical, barbaric zealot. Since I was born in England, however, he is apparently my patron saint too.
This could be rather daunting, except England doesn't feel the need to wrap itself in flags and blind nationalism in the same way that the USA does. This is a good thing. Patriotism, regardless of its actual worth, has been disfigured by its close association with the worst, lowest elements of society. Crude racism, anti-immigration sentiment, and all-round xenophobia are the cornerstones of English nationalism, and I am glad that St George's Day receives comparatively little attention.
Apart from anything else, patriotism is completely unnecessary and unwarranted. I have no particular love for my country (although I enjoy residing in parts of it, and will happily pay for its upkeep), and I genuinely can't see why anyone else would. What is there to love? Our political system? It's certainly reasonable, and a lot better than many countries'. Our history? Like most other countries', largely shameful. The people? I like a lot of them, but only because of them, not because of their "Englishness". There's nothing inherent to England which means I should love it, any more than I should love one of perhaps ten to twenty of the most developed and progressive nations.
Perhaps, instead, patriotism is just a crude form of gang mentality. We can band together, and feel stronger in unity. I suppose that has a warm, fuzzy feel to it if you, say, decide to support England in the football World Cup (god knows why you'd want to) The downside of this gang mentality is its inevitable decline into right-wing violence. In an arguably enlightened age, I think we can dispense with this, along with the whole despicable relic of nationalism.
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