On July 22, 2011, the summer holidaying population of Norway received a slap in their face from a cruel reality. Now, how do we handle this?
The initial devastating bomb blast in the heart of Norway's political power center was a shock to us all. Pictures from the government's office block reminding us of a war zone were, at best, surreal. Still, to most Norwegians they were simply scary and shocking. "How can this happen here?" is probably not a very unique question to ask in a setting like this, but we kept asking anyway. And, of course, no one had an answer. Except, maybe "It can happen anywhere".
A couple of hours later, we were in for the next shock: a gunman going crazy at the Labour party's youth summer camp. The initial reports, or rather rumours, from the site were few and unreal - a man in police uniform gunning down kids at random, and a lake filling up with kids trying to swim to safety from a maniac. Panic and desperation slowly started to spread. This was a hitherto unknown experience for us all, at least for the vast majority who's never seen war.
Fear and aggression started spreading, but and impressive share of the people I communicated with myself managed to remain surprisingly open-minded and calm. Speculations about the "fingerprints of international terror organizations" were present, but not dominating (apparently NY Times were doing a better, or worse, job there).
Late last night our prime minister held a press conference. I've never been a follower, and my respect for his oratorical qualities has always been quite low. But last night at least he proved that his assistants can formulate a speech under pressure.
And I quote:
This is an attack on innocent civilians. On young people at a summer camp. On us.
I have a message for those who attacked us. And for those who are behind them.
It is a message from the whole of Norway:
You will not destroy us.
You will not destroy our democracy or our commitment to bringing about a better world.
We are a small nation, but we are a proud nation.
No one is going to bomb us into silence.
No one is going to shoot us into silence.
No one is ever going to frighten us away from being Norway.
Jens Stoltenberg, I'd sign that statement any time.
Today, the day after, we're told that at least 91 people were killed.
Today, the day after, we're told that the crime was carried out by one or a few Norwegian individuals.
Today, the day after, we're about to realize the grim reality.
And today, the day after, it's time to adopt the British slogan from the blitzkrieg days of World War 2: "Keep calm and carry on".
Let's stick together now, not against the enemy, whoever that might be, but for what we believe in!
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
The curse of cowardice
I consider myself a "fascinated follower of India". Maybe not of the Indian way of handling every challenge on their long and winding road to a decent life for all their 1,2 billion people, but definitely of India as a phenomenon. And also of the progress that is made, step by step.
Every now and then, though, quite alarming news stories reach this arctic spot in the world all the way from India. Like yesterday, when I read the story of Indian slave laborers in The Economist. Or a few days ago, when I read the Tehelka story of how the Indian Planning Commission is reducing the official poverty line to suit their own needs and capacities.
Stories like this shake me out of my everyday Scandinavian comfort zone, and my first impulse, now as always, is to discuss it with my Indian friends - some of them at least. And again I'm taken by surprise. The cowardice! The "don't-rock-my-boat, we're-getting-wealthier-all-the-time" attitude! The "oh-we-used-to-be-colonized" whining! Blame history if you don't want to change it yourself.
This time it was colonialism, otherwise it's normally Pakistan who is to blame. It's like every failure in my own little country of Norway (and believe me, we have plenty) should be blamed on Sweden and/or Denmark (colonialism) or Germany (WW2).
My sincere hope for "my country of fascination" and its more or less fortunate inhabitants, is that they will all be able to face reality as well as responsibility together. The future of India is most likely so bright they'll all have to wear shades some day, but as of right now, that will have to be the responsibility of those who can afford them.
Every now and then, though, quite alarming news stories reach this arctic spot in the world all the way from India. Like yesterday, when I read the story of Indian slave laborers in The Economist. Or a few days ago, when I read the Tehelka story of how the Indian Planning Commission is reducing the official poverty line to suit their own needs and capacities.
Stories like this shake me out of my everyday Scandinavian comfort zone, and my first impulse, now as always, is to discuss it with my Indian friends - some of them at least. And again I'm taken by surprise. The cowardice! The "don't-rock-my-boat, we're-getting-wealthier-all-the-time" attitude! The "oh-we-used-to-be-colonized" whining! Blame history if you don't want to change it yourself.
This time it was colonialism, otherwise it's normally Pakistan who is to blame. It's like every failure in my own little country of Norway (and believe me, we have plenty) should be blamed on Sweden and/or Denmark (colonialism) or Germany (WW2).
My sincere hope for "my country of fascination" and its more or less fortunate inhabitants, is that they will all be able to face reality as well as responsibility together. The future of India is most likely so bright they'll all have to wear shades some day, but as of right now, that will have to be the responsibility of those who can afford them.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Time to multifocus
The Japan earthquake is absolutely tragic, and the people affected have all my sympathies. I admire the Japanese people's ability to handle a catastrophe of such gravity, and especially the courage and self-sacrifice of the power plant workers still fighting to save the rest.
However, quite contrary to how it may seem, at least in parts of the media world that I'm connected to, things have not come to a standstill in the Arab world. Concerned and connected citizens are still demonstrating around the Middle-East and North Africa. And, not to forget, fighting for their own and others' lives and freedom.
As if that shouldn't be enough, this article in Al Jazeera, by Nouriel Roubini, highlights another reason not to forget what's going on in the Arab world.
Please read, think and comment!
However, quite contrary to how it may seem, at least in parts of the media world that I'm connected to, things have not come to a standstill in the Arab world. Concerned and connected citizens are still demonstrating around the Middle-East and North Africa. And, not to forget, fighting for their own and others' lives and freedom.
As if that shouldn't be enough, this article in Al Jazeera, by Nouriel Roubini, highlights another reason not to forget what's going on in the Arab world.
Please read, think and comment!
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Panem et circenses - bread and circus
Nearly every citizen in this strange little country at the top of Europe has plenty of bread. So, we all know what's the second thing needed to keep them happily calm and inactive - circus!
The Roman emperors knew that. In the days of The Roman Empire it meant gladiators fighting till the end. In Norway today it means arranging the Nordic skiing WC, with athletes fighting till the finishing line (and then a bit in the media later on).
Seen from abroad, the most interesting thing about this event is probably that the world hardly cares. They couldn't care less, actually. There are a few historical events going on in the Middle East at the moment, and, as if that shouldn't be enough, they're probably busy with the cricket WC anyway.
However, seen from here, this event for the local few, let's count Austria, Sweden and Finland among the countries that are even aware of it, is regarded as the main thing in the world during the days it's happening. The fact that a local kid is probably the world's fastest cross country skier totally dominates the news scene, and it would probably take the killing of a Libyan head of state to even compete for news value these days.
And what's even more impressive in these days of watching TV and surfing the internet: in our capital, Oslo, a city of less than 600,000 people, more than 150,000 actually attended the most popular prize ceremony. That's more than 25 percent of the population actually standing out there in the freezing wet snow, watching this guy receiving his umpteenth little gold medal that the rest of the world doesn't even know about.
What was valid for the passive and over-fed citizens of Rome of days long gone, is apparently still valid for the otherwise passive and over-fed citizens of Oslo, or Norway if you will, today. Why am I not surprized?
The Roman emperors knew that. In the days of The Roman Empire it meant gladiators fighting till the end. In Norway today it means arranging the Nordic skiing WC, with athletes fighting till the finishing line (and then a bit in the media later on).
Seen from abroad, the most interesting thing about this event is probably that the world hardly cares. They couldn't care less, actually. There are a few historical events going on in the Middle East at the moment, and, as if that shouldn't be enough, they're probably busy with the cricket WC anyway.
However, seen from here, this event for the local few, let's count Austria, Sweden and Finland among the countries that are even aware of it, is regarded as the main thing in the world during the days it's happening. The fact that a local kid is probably the world's fastest cross country skier totally dominates the news scene, and it would probably take the killing of a Libyan head of state to even compete for news value these days.
And what's even more impressive in these days of watching TV and surfing the internet: in our capital, Oslo, a city of less than 600,000 people, more than 150,000 actually attended the most popular prize ceremony. That's more than 25 percent of the population actually standing out there in the freezing wet snow, watching this guy receiving his umpteenth little gold medal that the rest of the world doesn't even know about.
What was valid for the passive and over-fed citizens of Rome of days long gone, is apparently still valid for the otherwise passive and over-fed citizens of Oslo, or Norway if you will, today. Why am I not surprized?
Monday, March 7, 2011
Barging up the Zuari river - the loading site
In spite of our somewhat slow progress upriver, the loading site is not really crowded when "Nitya Sushil" arrives in the early afternoon.
As soon as the first mate has finished the slow, but elegant "elephant-dance manoeuvre" of turning the old lady around, our main activities for the next few hours consist of waiting, drinking tea and watching newcomers arrive. The turning operation is based on three important steps: (1) Run her up against the riverside, (2) Tie her up to a convenient palm tree and (3) Let the wind do the hard work.
The site is basically a riverbend with a couple of ramps where trucks can dump the ore directly on-board the barges. And once the loading starts, and the iron dust starts drifting around, the whole thing is unexpectedly fast. Two trucks dumping alongside each other and a seemingly endless line of more trucks waiting. In not much more than an hour, the first barge is loaded and the next one can move in.
Darkness comes fast on these latitudes, and the foreign "stowaway" is not wanted on the pitch dark return trip downriver during the night. A taxi is organised out of the blue, and, at a somewhat elevated price due to a total lack of alternatives, the foreigner is returned to the comfort of a hot shower and a cold beer back in Vasco. A farewell to the crew, and the captain who, relaxing on the bridge, utters his second word of the day to me: "Goodbye"!
(And thanks to Prakash, my shipowning friend! I know you had to bend a few rules for me, but what have we got friends for? And, after all, this is India ...)
As soon as the first mate has finished the slow, but elegant "elephant-dance manoeuvre" of turning the old lady around, our main activities for the next few hours consist of waiting, drinking tea and watching newcomers arrive. The turning operation is based on three important steps: (1) Run her up against the riverside, (2) Tie her up to a convenient palm tree and (3) Let the wind do the hard work.
The site is basically a riverbend with a couple of ramps where trucks can dump the ore directly on-board the barges. And once the loading starts, and the iron dust starts drifting around, the whole thing is unexpectedly fast. Two trucks dumping alongside each other and a seemingly endless line of more trucks waiting. In not much more than an hour, the first barge is loaded and the next one can move in.
Darkness comes fast on these latitudes, and the foreign "stowaway" is not wanted on the pitch dark return trip downriver during the night. A taxi is organised out of the blue, and, at a somewhat elevated price due to a total lack of alternatives, the foreigner is returned to the comfort of a hot shower and a cold beer back in Vasco. A farewell to the crew, and the captain who, relaxing on the bridge, utters his second word of the day to me: "Goodbye"!
(And thanks to Prakash, my shipowning friend! I know you had to bend a few rules for me, but what have we got friends for? And, after all, this is India ...)
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Barging up the Zuari river - the river journey
We're on a slow boat towards the loading site. I'm given a corner on the bridge, and there's nothing to do but enjoy the trip and he surroundings.
Coconut palms, green fields and the occasional temple passing by slowly.
After a period of activity in the boiling hot engine room, the second enging wakes up and lives. Black smoke erupts, our speed increases marginally and people gather upstairs in the wheelhouse to enjoy the breeze and watch the white guy. The wheel, by the way, is pretty close to the only piece of technical equipment on the bridge, apart from the engine controls. No hi-tech navigation systems or other fancy stuff on board this old lady, only experience and complete knowledge of the river and it's ways.
The barges we meet on their way downriver are heavily loaded with iron ore. Down in the port of Vasco lies plenty of bulk ships waiting. Most of them going to China, the world's giant steel consumer.
As the hours pass, the river is getting narrower and the riverbanks even more lush green. A few incidents of meetings with less maneuverable vessels on our way acts as welcome breaks from the slow routine.
The fact that the river is now hardly wider than the lenght of the barge, and they've got to turn this thing around somehow, indicates that the busy action of the loading site is drawing nearer.
Coconut palms, green fields and the occasional temple passing by slowly.
After a period of activity in the boiling hot engine room, the second enging wakes up and lives. Black smoke erupts, our speed increases marginally and people gather upstairs in the wheelhouse to enjoy the breeze and watch the white guy. The wheel, by the way, is pretty close to the only piece of technical equipment on the bridge, apart from the engine controls. No hi-tech navigation systems or other fancy stuff on board this old lady, only experience and complete knowledge of the river and it's ways.
The barges we meet on their way downriver are heavily loaded with iron ore. Down in the port of Vasco lies plenty of bulk ships waiting. Most of them going to China, the world's giant steel consumer.
As the hours pass, the river is getting narrower and the riverbanks even more lush green. A few incidents of meetings with less maneuverable vessels on our way acts as welcome breaks from the slow routine.
The fact that the river is now hardly wider than the lenght of the barge, and they've got to turn this thing around somehow, indicates that the busy action of the loading site is drawing nearer.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Barging up the Zuari river
It's not from the fjords today, it's from the river - the Zuari river - in Goa, India.
What lots of people know about Goa is beach and tourism, and maybe a dash of hippie wannabes, dope and trance music. And they're all here, hippies in the north, charter tourists in the south. And the beaches are beautiful, temperatures fantastic (while it's cold and snowing back in Norway) and life seems good.
But how do the other guys make their living in this little Paradise state of Goa? The answer is, as always in India, a little bit of everything. But the main areas seem to be mining, fishing and shipbuilding.
Iron ore is mined in lots of open works, legal as well as illegal, in the interior. It doesn't look too good, and environmentalists are not too happy, but it pays for a lot of food. The low-grade iron ore is transported down to the nearest river, loaded onto river barges, and taken down to port where it's transferred to the big deep-sea ships, normally bound for Far East.
Tuesday this week I signed on to the "Nitya Sushil" for a trip up the Zuari river to the loading site.
Nitya is, and looks like, an old lady, but she does her job day in, day out.
The captain, Gurudas Naik, suits the ship - not a young man anymore, slow moving and relaxed. And he knows the river as his own pocket.
A long, slow, hot and dusty journey upriver lies ahead.
What lots of people know about Goa is beach and tourism, and maybe a dash of hippie wannabes, dope and trance music. And they're all here, hippies in the north, charter tourists in the south. And the beaches are beautiful, temperatures fantastic (while it's cold and snowing back in Norway) and life seems good.
But how do the other guys make their living in this little Paradise state of Goa? The answer is, as always in India, a little bit of everything. But the main areas seem to be mining, fishing and shipbuilding.
Iron ore is mined in lots of open works, legal as well as illegal, in the interior. It doesn't look too good, and environmentalists are not too happy, but it pays for a lot of food. The low-grade iron ore is transported down to the nearest river, loaded onto river barges, and taken down to port where it's transferred to the big deep-sea ships, normally bound for Far East.
Tuesday this week I signed on to the "Nitya Sushil" for a trip up the Zuari river to the loading site.
Nitya is, and looks like, an old lady, but she does her job day in, day out.
The captain, Gurudas Naik, suits the ship - not a young man anymore, slow moving and relaxed. And he knows the river as his own pocket.
A long, slow, hot and dusty journey upriver lies ahead.
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