Crossing Boundaries: Resource Conflicts

Good insights into Latin American resource conflicts...'acute asymmetries of power...'

See this: Crossing Boundaries | Americas Quarterly

Wounded Mountain, Wounded People...

More social unrest in Peru at the harsh interface between our overwhelming desire to have raw materials for our consumer goods and the traditional lives of indigenous peoples.

Clash at Canadian-owned Peru mine leaves at least 4 hurt

Vancouver-based company involved in dispute with local officials over drilling at copper mine

http://www.cbc.ca/news/world/story/2013/01/25/wrd-canada-peru-mine-candente-copper-vancouver.html


Quote from the comments on the article: 'This open pit copper mine, five kilometers long by two kilometers wide sits atop a mountain where the indigenous locals rely on the watersheds of that mountain for their drinking water.'

Elsewhere in Peru, at Morococha, a Chinese mining company has invested in relocating a whole town. View article here. Perhaps a more pro-active approach than just seeing the police shoot up the locals when they resist. Some look forward to the immediate improvements in their standard of living from being provided with (small) newly built housing, but many resisters hold out, led by the local mayor. It remains to be seen whether the mass relocation will result in a viable community and a sustainable lifestyle for those relocated.

Lloyds Bank PPI Scandal

I was intrigued by some of the information that came out of the hearing before MPs at the Parliamentary Commission on Banking Standards this week. Lloyds Bank Group has increased to over £5 billion the amount set aside to meet compensation claims for mis-selling.

It emerged that concerns had been raised through Lloyds’ audit committee about the way PPI (personal protection insurance) was being sold. The MPs heard that those concerns were exposed to the FSA by the then senior independent director during a visit with the former chief risk officer to the regulator in April 2006. Apparently during the visit the senior independent director “drew attention particularly to the concerns of the directors regarding the lack of standards for treating customers fairly.”

On the face of it this is an example of the non-executive directors and the audit committee trying to fulfill their role of upholding high standards of integrity and business conduct. Unfortunately the non-execs’ concerns didn’t seem to find their way through the executive management structure to prompt and effective decisions to resolve the problem.

Quote from the hearing: “net income from PPI made up nearly 14 per cent of the bank’s profits”.

Could this be another triumph for corporate avoidance decision-making?

See the Sun newspaper article here.

Channel 4 News video here.

The storyline in my novel Wounded Mountain touches on the role of non-executive directors in resolving (or is it failing to resolve?) corporate crises.

Dangerous Mountain Motorbike Rides

I have put together some of my favourite trail bike videos from You Tube. These guys are fearless. They risk their lives on precipices and mountain peaks. Wish I could ride like that!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3575H7cMctE

Narrow mountain ridge through the snow. This looks frighteningly amazing, although I think he has spiked tyres on the bike. Nowhere to put your foot down if you are forced to stop…no options if you have a problem…no choice but to just keep going…or get ready to pay your respects to eternity!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BhhQ4z-AL1w

Riding the rocky lip of the precipice – truly inches away from death! One of the inspirations for the mountain chase scenes in my eco-thriller Wounded Mountain.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lCd2RpUNOM

Death defying! Dropping into the canyon, scrambling up along the far side and skimming the ledge, before dropping down again for the return. Another inspiration.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hWeO4SUCnyc

Riding the narrow widow maker ridge. This guy takes it slow, you can hear him thinking. Then he drops it!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wV5stWEus8w

A more sedate (!) ride around the White Rim Trail, Moab – dual-sport joy! - more my style...

Travel Globalism – Not A Two-Way Trip?

I found a thought provoking article on the Technium blog – Pre-Globalism. Read it here.

What is ‘globalism? Well, it seems to be a cosier version of ‘globalisation’, one without so many of the nasties. It is a label for the level of connectedness between different peoples of the world, separated somehow from the good and bad consequences which globalisation brings. A part of the whole that raises awareness of the lives of others far away.

The article’s premise is that there is almost no place left anywhere on Earth that is untouched by the impact of leisure travel; and that globalism has had a positive impact on the opportunity to travel. The writer claims, ‘you can get anywhere you want cheaply and easily.' And then adds provocatively, 'there is still enough difference in most places to make travel worthwhile every time.'

Unfortunately the item has been written from a rich nation mind-set. The writer enjoys the opportunity to travel anywhere in the world, saying it ‘might cost two weeks' worth of income for most people'. For 'most people' maybe we should substitute something like 'most people in the richer nations'?

In fact, for most people in the world two weeks’ income is never going to be enough for them to travel widely. What the writer is really talking about is having excess income available after the basics of staying alive have been covered. In this sense it is not a two-way exchange. Those with the money in the richer nations are able to travel the world, and they will more often do so as tourists i.e. they intend to return ‘home’ after their travels. In the poorer nations the thought of travel abroad is often going to be tied to seeking a better standard of living. Richer nations beget tourists. Poorer nations beget economic migrants.

Maybe this is a kind of travel arbitrage, where the ultimate outcome is a great international levelling.  Something that I guess most developed nations would not really welcome. Is there a price for such a levelling? A transfer of wealth from the richer nations? Perhaps loss of cultural diversity, loss of dialects and minority languages for the poorer nations. Maybe we will grow more alike across nations, we will want the same things, have the same experiences. But maybe the richer nations will also grow disaffected minorities with loyalties to other countries.

I’m not comfortable looking at the benefits of globalisation without also recognising the problems it creates. Of course the bigger issue is around corporate globalisation. These huge international corporations create things we in the richer nations want. But they won’t necessarily accept accountability to us, the general public, for how they go about it.  We know they can manipulate their activities across borders. Some hardly pay any taxes. At their worst they might only display ‘good citizen’ behaviour as a short-term response to bad PR.  If there are no effective constraints on their behaviour then the worst of them won’t do it for themselves. There is no simple solution. We are talking about organisations whose primary motivation is the creation of wealth for their sponsors. At the sharp end will be the conflict taking place in third world countries over resources, a far cry from the globalist’s cosy enjoyment of international leisure.

And it isn’t just a case of people in remote villages becoming more used to seeing exotic strangers, tourists, because travel is cheaper and easier. We could be talking about loss of their culture, their land. In some cases we’re talking about their very existence. It may be difficult to find any way back from where we are now, but we are not entitled to overwhelm them. They didn’t ask us to come and when we do ‘visit’ we need to be respectful.

In my eco-thriller, Wounded Mountain, I examine some of the personal and social impacts of global resource conflict. Find Wounded Mountain on Amazon here.

A Short Story for the Kids!

I wrote this story in February 2011 when I was on a motorcycle trip down through the Sierras de Cazorla in the Spanish winter. I had been riding through the bare mountains for hours that day when I came across a plateau, a flat mountain plain between the peaks. Rather incongruously, on it had been planted huge numbers of spruce trees, row upon neat row. As I rode on alone through the damp, chilly air my imagination fired up with the idea of a lucky tree, and by the time I was ready to stop for the night I had this short story in my head just waiting to be typed up.

 

The Lucky Tree

Pedro was a lucky little spruce tree.

He was one of hundreds of saplings planted out by the woodsman on the earthy plain between the peaks of the mountain sierra. All the trees were planted in tidy rows and all looked exactly the same, except that Pedro had been the first to be seeded at the nursery and so was just a little bigger than any of the others.

Pedro was so lucky to have been planted on the patch nearest the stream bed. Although the stream was dry much of the time, sometimes it would flood and then little Pedro would drink his fill. And Pedro had a wonderful secret. Even when the stream bed was dry some water ran below the ground, so Pedro was able to stretch his little roots down and drink even when there was a drought.

His neighbours sometimes complained that there was no water to let them grow strong.

“We wish there was more water for us to drink,” they said.

Little Pedro never replied. He just listened and smiled politely, his branches nodding in the wind, as if in agreement with all they were saying.

The place where Pedro had been planted was the most southerly spot in the whole plantation. When the sun shone he was able to reach out with his branches and grow and grow, without having to worry about being shaded by his neighbours.

“Could you grow just a little away in that direction?” the other trees might ask Pedro, pointing with the tips of their branches as they spoke. “We have little light and would like to share with you.”

Sometimes they would rustle with joy when, as if in reply, Pedro waved his branches. But then they realised it was just the breeze. Pedro simply smiled politely, as he always did, and said nothing.

Pedro was far from the west side of the plantation where the winds blew the strongest. He was able to avoid the harshness of the cold winds even though he came to have the longest branches. He was the tallest among his neighbours but they all helped to shield him from the winds.

Sometimes Pedro would hear the cries of other trees.

“Ouch,” they would call out when they lost a branch or two in the gale.

“Please help me,” one called just before a strong gust snapped his thin trunk in two.

Pedro always managed to remain safe. He was stronger and well protected. But he was always a polite tree and nodded sympathetically at his less fortunate neighbours.

Pedro was indeed a lucky little tree, but, of course, he didn’t stay such a little tree for long. He grew and grew. Sometimes he thought the other trees might be jealous of how lucky he was, but he soon dismissed the idea. After all, not everyone could be lucky.

“Please could you leave a little room for me to put my roots down so I can drink some more water?” sometimes one or other of his neighbours would ask Pedro.

Pedro always listened politely and smiled. Then he did exactly as a lucky tree should and continued to take as much of the water as he could.

As Pedro grew larger and stronger perhaps another neighbour might ask weakly, “Oh Pedro, my friend, could you just wave you big strong branches for me and grow less leaves so I can share in a little of the sunlight?”

Pedro always stood politely and smiled, then continued as he had before and absorbed as much light as he could, for he was a very lucky tree.

The wind blew again and again and snapped more branches from some of his neighbours. They would ask Pedro, “Oh please, Pedro, you are so big and strong now, would you stretch across a little and perhaps you might give us some protection?”

Pedro always intended to help. He listened carefully to their pleas and smiled, but when he thought carefully he realised he couldn’t risk becoming damaged by doing as they asked. He was, after all, the luckiest of the trees and it would not do for him to be injured. If he were injured, well he would be just like them, he would no longer be lucky!

As time passed little Pedro became big Pedro, and then huge Pedro. And he became the tallest and strongest and finest tree of all on the sierra.

One day the woodsman came to visit with his friend. They walked between the trees, stopping here and there to view first this tree, then that one. Eventually they came to stand in front of Pedro, staring up to admire his firm trunk and branches and his enormous canopy of pine needles.

“Well look how tall and strong this tree is,” the woodsman said as Pedro beamed with pride.

“We are so lucky, for this will save us much work,” his friend added.

And with that the two men began swinging their axes, cutting a little further into Pedro’s thick trunk with each blow. Pedro was much surprised by this as he was the lucky tree, and such things did not happen to a lucky tree.

“Oh, excuse me, please wait a moment!” he said, politely of course, as another blow struck his trunk. “I am the lucky tree and surely you must choose one of the others, who are always so unlucky compared to me.”

Sadly Pedro was not much used to speaking, for he usually just listened politely to others without replying. Despite being such a tall, strong fellow, his voice only came out as a high-pitched rustle through the tree tops, easily mistaken for the whistle of the wind passing between the branches.

The woodsman and his friend were used to listening to the trees. They paused in their work and smiled politely as they looked up at Pedro. It seemed as if they did hear his shrill plea, but they said nothing and, after resting for a few seconds, resumed their work. To Pedro’s dismay they continued to cut him with their axes, and after he had fallen they cut him up into smaller pieces and carried him away in a cart.

If he could, he would have heard the woodsman’s final words.

“How lucky we were to find such a big strong tree in the wood, so saving us the trouble of having to cut a second tree as well!”

“Well,” said Pedro’s neighbour to his remaining companions as he enjoyed the feel of the sunlight that usually would have been taken by Pedro, “today we are all lucky trees.”

© James Rammell 2013

To my brother Miguel - César Vallejo

Translating César Vallejo – ‘A mi hermano Miguel: In memoriam’

On my James Rammell web-site I say that this poem inspired some of the scenes in my eco-thriller, Wounded Mountain. In Spanish the poem is incredibly beautiful. It is full of powerful emotions, of memories and of a yearning for something lost in youth. When I came across the poem and looked at some of the existing English translations I felt the need to create my own translation.

For those who may be interested, I’ve annotated my English translation below with a few comments on why I chose to use particular forms of words. In the Spanish original the poem has lines of uneven length and few, if any, rhymes; so I concentrated on retaining the poem’s structure and line length, as well as the word rhythm and syllable count, the cadence, whilst trying to convey the emotion and poetic sense of the original into English.

You can find a Spanish version of the poem here.

My English translation is here.

To my brother Miguel: In memoriam

Brother, today I sit out on the bench of the house.

‘En el poyo de la casa’ - ‘on the bench of the house’ is the most simple translation, although others have translated the reference as ‘stone bench’ or ‘stone seat’ or even ‘brick bench’. A degree of permanence is implied; it is the bench ‘of the house’, probably a bench found outside a country cottage near the door, but it is not clear that the poet specifically meant a stone or brick bench.

Where your absence causes an unending emptiness.

‘Una falta sin fondo’ is often translated as ‘a bottomless emptiness’ or ‘a bottomless loss’. ‘Una falta’ is ‘a lack’ or ‘an absence’. ‘Sin fondo’ relates to depth but might relate to distance. My preference was to use the word ’unending’ to help convey the emotion of the original Spanish.

I remember how we used to play at this time, and that mama

‘Esta hora’ could be at ‘at this hour’ or ‘at this time’.

would caress us: “But, boys…”

‘Nos acariciaba’ – ‘caressed us’ is the most literal translation. Some translators have tried to explain the meaning more by using words such as ‘calming’ or ‘lovingly chiding’ to emphasise the act of mothering. ‘Pero, hijos...’ – ‘hijos’ can mean ‘children’ but in context ‘boys’ is more appropriate. ‘Pero’ is ‘but’. Some have used ‘now’, presumably to emphasise the idea that the mother is not really telling the children off but simply gently remonstrating with them in a loving way.

Now I hide myself,

‘Ahora yo me escondo’. This could be translated more simply as ‘now I hide’, but that would overlook the reflexive nature of the poet’s words and reduce the original eight syllables to just three.

as before, always those early evening

‘Todas estas oraciones vespertinas’. ‘Always those’or ‘always these evening prayers’ is more direct. Other translators have used ’evening lectures’. I imagine the Catholic boys had to attend early evening prayers as part of their religious education. For the young boys perhaps this was sometimes regarded as a chore and so they extended their game of ‘hide and seek’ to try to avoid it.

prayers, and I hope that you will not discover me.

‘Espero que tú no des conmigo’. ‘Hope you won't find me’ is more direct, but ‘hope that you won’t discover me’ is a better fit.

In the parlour, the hall, the corridors.

‘Por la sala, el zaguán, los corredores’. ‘La sala’ – ‘the living room’,’the drawing room’. I preferred ‘the parlour’ (or ‘the parlor’ per US spelling). ‘El zaguán’ – variously translated as ‘the vestibule’, ‘the closet’, ‘the entryway’. I preferred ‘the hall’.

Then, you hide yourself, and I do not find you.

I remember that we shed tears,

‘Me acuerdo que nos hacíamos llorar’. ‘Nos haciamos’ – ‘we did’. ‘Llorar’ could be ‘cry’,‘weep’, ‘mourn’, ‘shed tears’. Some translators are tempted to explain why the brothers are crying e.g. ‘we made ourselves cry…from so much laughing’, but this elaboration is absent from the poet’s own words. Neither of ‘we made each other cry’ nor ‘we made ourselves cry’ seems appropriate –this is a behaviour enjoyed by both boys as a result of their play, not something done to each other. Here the simple form ‘we shed tears’ seems most appropriate.

brother, in that game.

Miguel, you hid yourself away

‘Tú te escondiste’. I prefer the simple ‘you hid yourself away’ to other more elaborate translations e.g. ‘you went into hiding’, or ‘you disappeared’.

one night in August, at the coming of the dawn;

‘Al alborear’. I prefer‘at the coming of the dawn’ to ‘as dawn broke’ or ‘near dawn’.

but, instead of laughing as you hid, you were sad.

‘En vez de ocultarte riendo’. The more literal‘instead of hiding laughing’ is a little ungainly in English. ‘Estabas triste’ – ‘you were sad.’ Others have used ‘gloomy’ or ’anguished’ instead of ‘sad’.

And your twinned heart of those spent evenings

‘Gemelo’ is‘twin’. These two brothers were not twins, but ‘twin heart’ is a common translation. ‘De esas tardes extintas se ha aburrido de no encontrarte’ – this phrase seems to give translators much trouble. Variations I’ve come across are:‘extinguished afternoons is weary of not finding you’; ‘absent afternoons is tired of not finding you’; and ‘those dead evenings grew annoyed at not finding you’. I have tried to find a simple, more poetic translation.

has grown weary of not finding you. And now

a shadow falls on my soul.

‘Cae sombra en el alma’. ‘Shadow’ is preferred to ‘shade’. This is sometimes translated in the plural i.e. ‘shadows fall on my soul’. I believe the singular ‘shadow’ is more appropriate. ‘Soul’ seems more appropriate than‘spirit’, which is sometimes used for ‘alma’.

Listen, brother, do not delay

in showing yourself. Okay? Mama might become worried.

‘En salir’, in context, is ‘to emerge’ but ‘showing yourself’ is more attractive.

English translation by James Rammell. With all due acknowledgements: César Vallejo.

A mi hermano Miguel: In memoriam

Hermano, hoy estoy en el poyo de la casa.

Donde nos haces una falta sin fondo¡

Me acuerdo que jugábamos esta hora, y que mamá

nos acariciaba: "Pero, hijos..."

Ahora yo me escondo,

como antes, todas estas oraciones

vespertinas, y espero que tú no des conmigo.

Por la sala, el zaguán, los corredores.

Después, te ocultas tú, y yo no doy contigo.

Me acuerdo que nos hacíamos llorar,

hermano, en aquel juego.

Miguel, tú te escondiste

una noche de agosto, al alborear;

pero, en vez de ocultarte riendo, estabas triste.

Y tu gemelo corazón de esas tardes

extintas se ha aburrido de no encontrarte. Y ya

cae sombra en el alma.

Oye, hermano, no tardes

en salir. Bueno? Puede inquietarse mamá.

Read more about César Vallejo here.