(This article was published by "Open Democracy" on September 2, 2010)
Has Berlusconi reached the end of the road?
Italians, as the Romans before them, have never really taken their Gods seriously. Even the Greek deities, with all their psychological complexities, were rather trivialized when they entered the Roman Olympus, losing most of their awe-inspiring qualities and becoming, rather, paternal (or maternal) figures – with occasional, conveniently timed, miraculous manifestations - to whom one could entrust one’s health, prosperity or loved ones. Indeed, their qualities greatly resembled those attributed to present day Saints in Italy, keeping in mind in the particularly pagan-oriented Catholicism of most Italians.
A very similar treatment is reserved for political leaders. Even the Pope, as temporal leader for about fifteen centuries, was chased out of Rome amid popular jubilation more than once, only to be welcomed back just as jubilantly. The last time this happened was rather recently, in 1849, at the proclamation of the glorious but short-lived Roman Republic.
This perhaps explains the success of populist, paternalistic leaders – the last one, Bettino Craxi, ending his days a fugitive from justice in Tunisia, after a long stint as Prime Minister. The same public which had welcomed him tumultuously, finally threw coins at him in the street: a gesture of ultimate contempt for a theatre loving people like the Italians.
This also explains the complexities and paradoxes of Italian political life. Voter turnout in Italy is one of the world’s highest, but the concept of “anti-politica” repeatedly appears. This appeal to the jaded palate of Italian voters was most recently exploited by the popular Genoese comedian, Beppe Grillo who, in the name of “anti-politica”, has had some success at the polls.
Recent events, as reported also in a recent article in Open Democracy, seemed to indicate a growing rift in Mr. Berlusconi’s ruling coalition, mainly at the hands of the Lower House president, Gianfranco Fini. There was much talk of a Government crisis and the need to call early elections, though at the moment all this seems to have been overcome. But has it? I believe that an attempt could be made to analyze the situation and to try to fathom what is really going on , what the motivations of the main actors are and what the short term outcome of the crisis could be.
It has to be understood, firstly, that in Italy success at the polls does not imply stability or, for that matter, efficiency in Government, no matter how large a majority has been achieved.
In no context other than Italy, would a Government in the hands of a popular, rather charismatic figure, with undeniable authoritarian ambitions and a virtual monopoly on sources of information, who can count on what we call a “Bulgarian majority” in Parliament appear unable to govern and face the possible imminent disintegration of a structure which seemed indestructible only two years ago.
It would be mistaken to attribute this to the work of the political opposition, which is divided and ineffectual, still involved in ideological disputes reminiscent of the Cold War years and which fears a government crisis even more than Berlusconi. In fact, if the Prime Minister could call a snap election, he would most probably beat them with one hand tied behind his back (As Fiorello La Guardia, legendary Mayor of New York, once said “I could run on a laundry ticket and beat these political bums any time”).
It would seem, therefore, that, actually, Berlusconi himself would not be all that opposed to an early election, also keeping in mind his firm hold – a virtual monopoly – on almost all the Television channels, but he is not constitutionally allowed to call for one, unless his Government is defeated in a vote of Confidence. Even then, however, the President of the Republic, Napolitano, would have to ask the political parties to attempt the formation of a “transitional” Government, which would be a “de facto” defeat for the Prime Minister..
The situation would appear confused unless one keeps in mind that Italian politics are conducted along lines reminiscent of the “Commedia dell’Arte”, in which set characters, or “masks” (e.g. Arlecchino, Pulcinella etc., the cultural forebears of “Punch and Judy”) play preordained roles which leave little or no room for diversion. In this framework, while trying to understand whether Berlusconi has really reached the end of the road, one has to keep an eye on all the other characters, firstly, of course, the sycophants in his own entourage, each of whom is ready to stab him in the back, but also among the mainstream opposition and coalition figures.
The larger – more or less centrist – opposition groups are loud in their condemnation of the “regime”, but when it comes to action they fall short of causing a Government crisis, because, they say, of the “difficult” economic situation. In reality, they fear an electoral confrontation because they feel that in spite of Berlusconi’s obvious weakness, he could still come out on top, and, even if at the head of a weak Government could rule the country for years to come..
Who would benefit, then, from a Government crisis? Certainly, among the Governing coalition, the “Northern League”. Counting on its simplistic xenophobic, racist, anti-Muslim and, above all, “federalist” message this incredibly successful political party would, as in all past occasions, show large gains and thus increase its grip on the apparently powerful but in reality hapless Prime Minister. Among the outsiders, a maverick personality such as Beppe Grillo could benefit, as well as the pugnacious former Public Prosecutor, Antonio Di Pietro whose actions, some twenty years back, triggered the “Clean Hands” movement and brought about the end of the so-called “First Republic”.
Within the coalition Berlusconi’s one time principal ally, Gianfranco Fini, currently in a position roughly equivalent to that of “Speaker of the House”, and therefore carrying considerable institutional weight, has been the prime promoter of the crisis. He has to tread carefully, however, because elections called too early would damage his position perhaps irrevocably and he would be added to the vast number of political have-beens fallen in the wake of Berlusconi’s irrepressible political personality.
What about Berlusconi himself? In any other country he would be politically finished, beleaguered as he is by corruption charges and episodes of sexual misconduct, with many of his closest allies facing trial or having actually been handed prison sentences.
It has to be added that, Italy being the unique political puzzle that it is, many are trying to read the signs and attempt to understand the attitude of the Roman Catholic Church, which, in reality, has been issuing mixed signals, many of them, however, critical of Berlusconi.
The unspoken question, however is “after Berlusconi, who?”
The feeling is that Berlusconi could survive, and that, quite possibly, nothing will happen simply because none of the protagonists will want to cast the first stone. There is also an additional fact which is seldom mentioned: to claim a retirement pension – a not indifferent sum of money for life – parliamentarians have to serve for thirty consecutive months, and some time must still elapse for them to reach that goal..
If Berlusconi is finally brought down, he will not go quietly, but in all his glory, leaving behind a fondly nostalgic memory of high living, low politics and a bevy of stunning ex-starlets, some in Cabinet positions. As they say in Show Business, a difficult act to follow.
In Italy, even the Twilight of the Gods has a Comic Opera setting.
sabato 4 settembre 2010
martedì 31 agosto 2010
The Kabul Conference: a formula for failure.
(Article published by “Open Democracy” on August 31, 2010)
More than a month has gone by since the much heralded Kabul Conference on “The Future of Afghanistan”, which was held on July 20, in the course of one of the deadliest months in this long Afghan venture.
Already in the weeks preceding the Conference, the signals coming from Kabul had appeared contradictory and indicative of a state of disarray among the recognised decision-makers, in Afghanistan, in Brussels and in the principal interested capitals. For its part, the International Conference did little or nothing to clarify the situation.
Taking into account both the potential importance of the event, as well as the advance publicity it received, it seemed reasonable to assume that the Conference could become a defining moment in the tormented history of Afghanistan’s present conflict. These expectations were doomed to disappointment and, if anything, the entire situation appears to be unravelling at an alarming rate.
There was a time when experts were fond of warning us of the fundamental differences between Iraq and Afghanistan. This basic truth appears to have been forgotten, and no lessons at all have been learned either from Iraq or from Afghanistan itself.
There is a need to examine these differences further: if the “surge” worked in Iraq – and even that is debatable - there are good reasons to believe that a similar numerical increase of troops will not work at all in Afghanistan, and if the training of military and security forces, as well as the civil service, proceeds, as we are repeatedly told, with some success in Iraq, the same process, applied to Afghanistan, will not reach even remotely acceptable levels by 2014 or further in the future.
Setting aside the issues of the legality or the wisdom of the invasion of Iraq, or whether the outcome can be deemed a “success”, it has to be remembered that, at least at the onset, the operation was very much more like like a conventional war, compared to the Afghan mission that had preceded it. A regular army was rather easily defeated, and the country totally and readily invaded. The “enemy” then, of course, as many had predicted, was substituted by an identifiable set of deadly, ruthless insurgent forces which, however, ended up being isolated, attacked and at least temporarily worn down.
A very different situation presented itself in Afghanistan, where the attack was aimed at a specific target (the Al Qaeda headquarters and training camp), but never encountered the opposition of a regular army. The insurgents, as traditional there, melted away and took refuge in surroundings which worked as a perfect camouflage, while their leadership – such as it was – took refuge in a neighbouring country.
The hopelessness of a “surge” could be further confirmed by a brief reminder of the failure of the Soviet invasion, where a massive regular army, not a coalition of heterogeneous forces each with its own political agenda and rules of engagement, was unable to overcome the local resistance, in spite of a lengthy, costly and much more ruthless campaign.
It is true that the resistance, then, was aided and financed by outside help (United States, Pakistan and Saudi Arabia), but the same, quite evidently, holds true now, and this was quite evident even before the recent Wikileaks revelations.
Similar considerations must be made regarding the formation of a workable civil service: Iraq, when invaded, did have a Government and a Government structure – some say even rather efficient. Afghanistan, after decades of conflict – starting with the Soviet invasion of December 1979 - was already what could be termed a “failed State”, and the cream of its middle class, traditionally the backbone of a civil service, had either been killed or dispersed, or, if luckier, had fled to more hospitable foreign countries.
The formation of military and security forces presents even greater obstacles, most of which are seldom mentioned in dispatches and reports issuing from Afghanistan. Two of the main obstacles are, on the one hand, the massive percentage of illiteracy among the personnel which, in the future, should be upholding the law, and, on the other hand, the necessity to respect ethnic and tribal differences which could create considerable problems in the formation of a professional military force. It was particularly disturbing to hear, from General Petraeus himself, the idea that the problem could be circumvented by training and arming local militias. This, of course, was the policy which did contribute to the defeat of the Soviet invaders, but also brought the country into a savage civil war, which could easily be repeated.
Not only is there no obvious, short-term solution to the Afghan problem in sight, but, and this is far worse, there is no clear definition of what would be meant by a “solution”, and what the real war aims are at this moment, except for survival and the protection of the by now fully fortified and garrisoned city of Kabul.
The real pity is that, away from the triumphalism of our military and political rhetoric, some real progress is being made in civilian sectors, thanks to many Afghan and foreign NGOs, and, of course the traditional International and National Organisations. The tragic events of the past days illustrate the dangers involved, which will increase as the occupation continues, in a country almost totally outside the control of its government or of the invaders..
In this context, defining a target date for an ill-defined “handover” is basically unrealistic and, perhaps, not a little dishonest, smacking, as it does, of prefabricating an alibi and, above all, a cynical betrayal of expectations we ourselves have contributed in forming within Afghanistan’s civil society.
More than a month has gone by since the much heralded Kabul Conference on “The Future of Afghanistan”, which was held on July 20, in the course of one of the deadliest months in this long Afghan venture.
Already in the weeks preceding the Conference, the signals coming from Kabul had appeared contradictory and indicative of a state of disarray among the recognised decision-makers, in Afghanistan, in Brussels and in the principal interested capitals. For its part, the International Conference did little or nothing to clarify the situation.
Taking into account both the potential importance of the event, as well as the advance publicity it received, it seemed reasonable to assume that the Conference could become a defining moment in the tormented history of Afghanistan’s present conflict. These expectations were doomed to disappointment and, if anything, the entire situation appears to be unravelling at an alarming rate.
There was a time when experts were fond of warning us of the fundamental differences between Iraq and Afghanistan. This basic truth appears to have been forgotten, and no lessons at all have been learned either from Iraq or from Afghanistan itself.
There is a need to examine these differences further: if the “surge” worked in Iraq – and even that is debatable - there are good reasons to believe that a similar numerical increase of troops will not work at all in Afghanistan, and if the training of military and security forces, as well as the civil service, proceeds, as we are repeatedly told, with some success in Iraq, the same process, applied to Afghanistan, will not reach even remotely acceptable levels by 2014 or further in the future.
Setting aside the issues of the legality or the wisdom of the invasion of Iraq, or whether the outcome can be deemed a “success”, it has to be remembered that, at least at the onset, the operation was very much more like like a conventional war, compared to the Afghan mission that had preceded it. A regular army was rather easily defeated, and the country totally and readily invaded. The “enemy” then, of course, as many had predicted, was substituted by an identifiable set of deadly, ruthless insurgent forces which, however, ended up being isolated, attacked and at least temporarily worn down.
A very different situation presented itself in Afghanistan, where the attack was aimed at a specific target (the Al Qaeda headquarters and training camp), but never encountered the opposition of a regular army. The insurgents, as traditional there, melted away and took refuge in surroundings which worked as a perfect camouflage, while their leadership – such as it was – took refuge in a neighbouring country.
The hopelessness of a “surge” could be further confirmed by a brief reminder of the failure of the Soviet invasion, where a massive regular army, not a coalition of heterogeneous forces each with its own political agenda and rules of engagement, was unable to overcome the local resistance, in spite of a lengthy, costly and much more ruthless campaign.
It is true that the resistance, then, was aided and financed by outside help (United States, Pakistan and Saudi Arabia), but the same, quite evidently, holds true now, and this was quite evident even before the recent Wikileaks revelations.
Similar considerations must be made regarding the formation of a workable civil service: Iraq, when invaded, did have a Government and a Government structure – some say even rather efficient. Afghanistan, after decades of conflict – starting with the Soviet invasion of December 1979 - was already what could be termed a “failed State”, and the cream of its middle class, traditionally the backbone of a civil service, had either been killed or dispersed, or, if luckier, had fled to more hospitable foreign countries.
The formation of military and security forces presents even greater obstacles, most of which are seldom mentioned in dispatches and reports issuing from Afghanistan. Two of the main obstacles are, on the one hand, the massive percentage of illiteracy among the personnel which, in the future, should be upholding the law, and, on the other hand, the necessity to respect ethnic and tribal differences which could create considerable problems in the formation of a professional military force. It was particularly disturbing to hear, from General Petraeus himself, the idea that the problem could be circumvented by training and arming local militias. This, of course, was the policy which did contribute to the defeat of the Soviet invaders, but also brought the country into a savage civil war, which could easily be repeated.
Not only is there no obvious, short-term solution to the Afghan problem in sight, but, and this is far worse, there is no clear definition of what would be meant by a “solution”, and what the real war aims are at this moment, except for survival and the protection of the by now fully fortified and garrisoned city of Kabul.
The real pity is that, away from the triumphalism of our military and political rhetoric, some real progress is being made in civilian sectors, thanks to many Afghan and foreign NGOs, and, of course the traditional International and National Organisations. The tragic events of the past days illustrate the dangers involved, which will increase as the occupation continues, in a country almost totally outside the control of its government or of the invaders..
In this context, defining a target date for an ill-defined “handover” is basically unrealistic and, perhaps, not a little dishonest, smacking, as it does, of prefabricating an alibi and, above all, a cynical betrayal of expectations we ourselves have contributed in forming within Afghanistan’s civil society.
lunedì 30 agosto 2010
The Clash of Civilizations revisited
Rome, Italy, August 24, 2010
(Article published by "Open Democracy" - August 24 2010)
A decade and a half ago Samuel P. Huntington’s “The Clash of Civilizations” made a considerable impact on Western public opinion, but was soon relegated to an all-purpose catch-phrase, with the result that the message itself became confused and, to a certain extent, discredited. At a grass-roots level, however, the concept has taken on a rather disturbing aspect in the form of growing, seemingly irreversible Islamophobia.
The impact of Huntington’s book appeared to reside more in the title than in the content, and the term itself was more often than not trivialized and misused by those who had not read the original work.
Many famed pundits and intellectuals, perhaps in the name of “political correctness”, took to attacking the concept and comparing it unfavourably to the much more optimistic future promised by Fukuyama (“The End of History”): some – and I trust that the irony of this will not be lost – indicated the “friendship” between the United States and Saudi Arabia as a sure sign that the Clash of Civilizations would not occur.
The events of September 11th 2001 radically changed the general perspective, with the “War on Terror” monopolizing the attention, while the “Clash of Civilizations” was seldom brought up if not in a bellicose, truculent tone very far indeed from the letter and the spirit of the original text.
I had a taste of this early in 2002, talking to a Northern European Diplomat from whom I heard, for the first time, that we – i.e. “The West” – should not only recognize but actually welcome the existence of the “Clash of Civilizations” (he actually used the term) and prepare for a war of annihilation against Islam, in which, he assured me, “hundreds of millions” of Hindus and Buddhists would be on our side and help defeat the enemy.
At the time, I dismissed these ideas as merely the delirious rant from a slightly tipsy older colleague, and thus much too far-fetched to be taken seriously.
Since then, however, events both in Europe and in the United States have been indicating the existence of an ingrained and deepening hostility to Islam. Some episodes should have sounded a warning but they seemed the work of small, isolated, extremist minorities, and irreconcilable with the spirit of tolerance which was thought to reign in Western democracies.
Such episodes and events, however, have recently shown an alarming cumulative effect and Islamophobia is gaining ground, more often than not abetted by those very Political institutions which should normally guard against such potentially dangerous developments.
A perplexing dichotomy seems to have emerged. On the one hand, in most countries, the political and cultural leadership seem intent to show that current military struggles, though they oppose the Western Powers to Islamic organizations, are in no way directed against Islam. Concurrently, however, and with growing vigour and ever shriller language, in the same countries grass roots movements are growing which portray Islam as a philosophy of violence and a traditional and dangerous enemy of Western civilization.
At times, this wave of hostility has caught political leaders off guard, as happened recently in Switzerland when a referendum banned the construction of minarets. Often, however, more populist political leaders seem rather inclined to seize upon this prime example of generalised fear and to increase tensions through statements and actions which many consider irresponsible.
Geert Wilders, in the Netherlands is the first example which springs to mind. His popular success is all the more surprising in that it takes place in a Country generally known for its tolerance of foreign ideals and religions. He is also spreading the message on an international level.
In Italy, in much of the “Northern League’s” territory, one of the political slogans is “White and Christian”. Requests by Muslim communities (there are over a million Muslims in Italy) for Mosques are met with refusal, sometimes expressed with civility, most often with violent hostility and sarcasm (“All you people need to pray is a mat!”). Times have really changed since the Rome Mosque – the largest in Europe – was inaugurated by the Foreign Minister, Susanna Agnelli.
Even in the United States, where the concept of religious freedom has always constituted one of the mainstays, the polemic around the Ground Zero Mosque has brought to light widespread hostility, throughout the country, to the opening of new Mosques. President Barak Obama is again being “accused” of being a Muslim, although being a Muslim is not a crime, and a leader’s religious beliefs should not have that great an impact in a democratic context.
Huntington depicted a situation which, in his view, had to be taken into consideration for a valid analysis of international political developments. Perhaps the case was overstated, for even the Iranian president Khatami was on record stating that he did not believe in the inevitability of such a clash. At present, it is disturbing to note that the concept is becoming a battle-cry, used to inflame western opinion by giving an historical and philosophical justification to the budding and growing Islamophobia visible in the U.S. and in so many European societies. The “Clash”, from a situation to be feared and neutralised, seems to be evolving into a desirable development, as envisaged, many years ago, by my tipsy colleague.
In over a quarter of a century spent in Muslim countries, I have come across anti-American and anti-Western feelings, especially after the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq, but, even in recent years, I have not noted a basic widespread revulsion against Christianity and its Faithful, comparable to the growing, often irrational and misinformed animosity of western public opinion against Islam.
These tendencies must therefore not be underestimated, and need to be addressed rationally and comprehensively. Otherwise they could end up fomenting a similar, mirror image, hostility to Christianity in a number of Muslim countries. The “Clash of Civilizations” could then become a reality.
.Carlo Ungaro
Via Campagnano 51
00060 Sacrofano (Italy)
+39 06 90 86098
+39 320 778 3160
carloungaro@gmail.com
(Article published by "Open Democracy" - August 24 2010)
A decade and a half ago Samuel P. Huntington’s “The Clash of Civilizations” made a considerable impact on Western public opinion, but was soon relegated to an all-purpose catch-phrase, with the result that the message itself became confused and, to a certain extent, discredited. At a grass-roots level, however, the concept has taken on a rather disturbing aspect in the form of growing, seemingly irreversible Islamophobia.
The impact of Huntington’s book appeared to reside more in the title than in the content, and the term itself was more often than not trivialized and misused by those who had not read the original work.
Many famed pundits and intellectuals, perhaps in the name of “political correctness”, took to attacking the concept and comparing it unfavourably to the much more optimistic future promised by Fukuyama (“The End of History”): some – and I trust that the irony of this will not be lost – indicated the “friendship” between the United States and Saudi Arabia as a sure sign that the Clash of Civilizations would not occur.
The events of September 11th 2001 radically changed the general perspective, with the “War on Terror” monopolizing the attention, while the “Clash of Civilizations” was seldom brought up if not in a bellicose, truculent tone very far indeed from the letter and the spirit of the original text.
I had a taste of this early in 2002, talking to a Northern European Diplomat from whom I heard, for the first time, that we – i.e. “The West” – should not only recognize but actually welcome the existence of the “Clash of Civilizations” (he actually used the term) and prepare for a war of annihilation against Islam, in which, he assured me, “hundreds of millions” of Hindus and Buddhists would be on our side and help defeat the enemy.
At the time, I dismissed these ideas as merely the delirious rant from a slightly tipsy older colleague, and thus much too far-fetched to be taken seriously.
Since then, however, events both in Europe and in the United States have been indicating the existence of an ingrained and deepening hostility to Islam. Some episodes should have sounded a warning but they seemed the work of small, isolated, extremist minorities, and irreconcilable with the spirit of tolerance which was thought to reign in Western democracies.
Such episodes and events, however, have recently shown an alarming cumulative effect and Islamophobia is gaining ground, more often than not abetted by those very Political institutions which should normally guard against such potentially dangerous developments.
A perplexing dichotomy seems to have emerged. On the one hand, in most countries, the political and cultural leadership seem intent to show that current military struggles, though they oppose the Western Powers to Islamic organizations, are in no way directed against Islam. Concurrently, however, and with growing vigour and ever shriller language, in the same countries grass roots movements are growing which portray Islam as a philosophy of violence and a traditional and dangerous enemy of Western civilization.
At times, this wave of hostility has caught political leaders off guard, as happened recently in Switzerland when a referendum banned the construction of minarets. Often, however, more populist political leaders seem rather inclined to seize upon this prime example of generalised fear and to increase tensions through statements and actions which many consider irresponsible.
Geert Wilders, in the Netherlands is the first example which springs to mind. His popular success is all the more surprising in that it takes place in a Country generally known for its tolerance of foreign ideals and religions. He is also spreading the message on an international level.
In Italy, in much of the “Northern League’s” territory, one of the political slogans is “White and Christian”. Requests by Muslim communities (there are over a million Muslims in Italy) for Mosques are met with refusal, sometimes expressed with civility, most often with violent hostility and sarcasm (“All you people need to pray is a mat!”). Times have really changed since the Rome Mosque – the largest in Europe – was inaugurated by the Foreign Minister, Susanna Agnelli.
Even in the United States, where the concept of religious freedom has always constituted one of the mainstays, the polemic around the Ground Zero Mosque has brought to light widespread hostility, throughout the country, to the opening of new Mosques. President Barak Obama is again being “accused” of being a Muslim, although being a Muslim is not a crime, and a leader’s religious beliefs should not have that great an impact in a democratic context.
Huntington depicted a situation which, in his view, had to be taken into consideration for a valid analysis of international political developments. Perhaps the case was overstated, for even the Iranian president Khatami was on record stating that he did not believe in the inevitability of such a clash. At present, it is disturbing to note that the concept is becoming a battle-cry, used to inflame western opinion by giving an historical and philosophical justification to the budding and growing Islamophobia visible in the U.S. and in so many European societies. The “Clash”, from a situation to be feared and neutralised, seems to be evolving into a desirable development, as envisaged, many years ago, by my tipsy colleague.
In over a quarter of a century spent in Muslim countries, I have come across anti-American and anti-Western feelings, especially after the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq, but, even in recent years, I have not noted a basic widespread revulsion against Christianity and its Faithful, comparable to the growing, often irrational and misinformed animosity of western public opinion against Islam.
These tendencies must therefore not be underestimated, and need to be addressed rationally and comprehensively. Otherwise they could end up fomenting a similar, mirror image, hostility to Christianity in a number of Muslim countries. The “Clash of Civilizations” could then become a reality.
.Carlo Ungaro
Via Campagnano 51
00060 Sacrofano (Italy)
+39 06 90 86098
+39 320 778 3160
carloungaro@gmail.com
venerdì 23 luglio 2010
AFGHAN CIVIL SOCIETY MUST NOT BE ABANDONED
Rome. July 21 2010
When it comes to counting casualties, whether of military action, or of an accident or a disaster, there is a particular poignancy, almost a magical quality, in round numbers. It was therefore quite appropriate and understandable that, some weeks ago, British Prime Minister David Cameron should have commented on the three hundredth British death in the Afghan war.
This circumstance, perhaps, had more of a moral or psychological than a practical significance. It happened, however, to coincide with many other signs pointing to the need of urgent re-evaluation of the ultimate war aims in Afghanistan . It also shortly preceded signs of an evident deepening of the confusion and disarray which, for some time, have characterized both military and civilian activity there.
Much attention is rightly being focussed on the apparently inevitable military failure in Afghanistan. Dismay and frustration at the ever more confused enunciation of the war aims are also frequently expressed as explanations for the reasons of our presence and our ultimate goals there keep multiplying with amazing prolificacy, and have never really managed to be convincing. The lack of clarity emerged from the very beginning, when the justification was apparently simple and straightforward: the elimination and possible capture of the Al Qaeda hierarchy active in Afghanistan. Since then there has been only contradiction and confusion, until recently often amplified and enhanced by a prevalently unquestioning international press.
It is therefore understandable, but nonetheless unfortunate, that little time or space can be dedicated to the impact that this war – added on to two previous decades of conflict – is having on Afghan civil society, especially, but not only, on the women, who, along with significant ethnic minorities have much to fear from a return of the Taliban.
Afghanistan’s ethnic, religious, linguistic and cultural groups live, today as before, in separate and distinctive realities. These differences should be considered in any attempt to envision a viable political future for a country which will always – to its misfortune – maintain a strategic importance.
Afghanistan’s civil society is, to a great extent, an extremely reliable model of stability, and, in spite of all the years of conflict – two foreign invasions with the interval of a long civil war – has not much changed since the years in which we, who lived there and loved the country, could travel freely, safely and comfortably from Kabul to all outlying areas.
It is a well known fact that the Taleban, as a socio-political phenomenon, are a relatively recent creation, encouraged in their early years as a weapon against the Soviet occupation. However, even in the seventies, what could be called a “Taleban mentality” existed in parts of the country: it could be said that for the people (particularly the women) of, for example, Khost or Kandahar, the difference between the years of Taleban rule and their usual lifestyle was not really very noticeable, except, perhaps, for increased security and a drastic fall in the level of corruption.
In fact, we must remember, that the Taleban takeover was welcomed in many parts of Afghanistan and by large segments of the population of Kabul, while it was feared by some of the ethnic groups – mainly the Hazara – in the North and viewed with great apprehension in the Western areas, particularly in Herat.
These differences persist, and I was fascinated by the sense of “déjà vu” I felt, in post-Taleban years, travelling from Herat to Shindand, in the same province: Herat has always been model of “Persian” civilisation, with people, friendly open-minded, and curious about foreigners. One saw many uncovered women’s faces there, and a sight which always struck me as particularly heartening was that of young girls, neatly dressed in school uniforms, marching off to receive the education which the Taleban had denied them. Shindand, instead, had all the austerity of a Pashtu town. The few women on the streets fully covered, the men, all bearded, strictly minding their own business and children being the only ones to show curiosity.
Civil society in Herat and similarly inclined areas would suffer greatly from the return of the Taleban, as would most of the ethnic groups in the north, the Hazara having the additional “handicap” of their “oriental” looks and of being in vast majority Shia.
There is a growing realisation of the need to “talk” to the Taleban, but, in my view, any negotiation with them should include also traditional leaders from non-Taleban areas, even if this should involve the so-called “War Lords”, and should be held on the basis of a future Afghanistan ruled on the principle of regional or provincial autonomy. The Taleban, on their part, will have quite a handful trying to control their own area, which some call “Pashtunistan”, negotiating and fighting with their peers on the Pakistani side of the infamous “Durand Line”.
The welfare of Afghan civil society is, by now, also our responsibility, and it would be tragic to abandon these people to their fate.
Carlo Ungaro
Via Campagnano 51
00060 Sacrofano (Italy)
+39 06 908 6098
+39 320 778 3160
carloungaro@gmail.com
When it comes to counting casualties, whether of military action, or of an accident or a disaster, there is a particular poignancy, almost a magical quality, in round numbers. It was therefore quite appropriate and understandable that, some weeks ago, British Prime Minister David Cameron should have commented on the three hundredth British death in the Afghan war.
This circumstance, perhaps, had more of a moral or psychological than a practical significance. It happened, however, to coincide with many other signs pointing to the need of urgent re-evaluation of the ultimate war aims in Afghanistan . It also shortly preceded signs of an evident deepening of the confusion and disarray which, for some time, have characterized both military and civilian activity there.
Much attention is rightly being focussed on the apparently inevitable military failure in Afghanistan. Dismay and frustration at the ever more confused enunciation of the war aims are also frequently expressed as explanations for the reasons of our presence and our ultimate goals there keep multiplying with amazing prolificacy, and have never really managed to be convincing. The lack of clarity emerged from the very beginning, when the justification was apparently simple and straightforward: the elimination and possible capture of the Al Qaeda hierarchy active in Afghanistan. Since then there has been only contradiction and confusion, until recently often amplified and enhanced by a prevalently unquestioning international press.
It is therefore understandable, but nonetheless unfortunate, that little time or space can be dedicated to the impact that this war – added on to two previous decades of conflict – is having on Afghan civil society, especially, but not only, on the women, who, along with significant ethnic minorities have much to fear from a return of the Taliban.
Afghanistan’s ethnic, religious, linguistic and cultural groups live, today as before, in separate and distinctive realities. These differences should be considered in any attempt to envision a viable political future for a country which will always – to its misfortune – maintain a strategic importance.
Afghanistan’s civil society is, to a great extent, an extremely reliable model of stability, and, in spite of all the years of conflict – two foreign invasions with the interval of a long civil war – has not much changed since the years in which we, who lived there and loved the country, could travel freely, safely and comfortably from Kabul to all outlying areas.
It is a well known fact that the Taleban, as a socio-political phenomenon, are a relatively recent creation, encouraged in their early years as a weapon against the Soviet occupation. However, even in the seventies, what could be called a “Taleban mentality” existed in parts of the country: it could be said that for the people (particularly the women) of, for example, Khost or Kandahar, the difference between the years of Taleban rule and their usual lifestyle was not really very noticeable, except, perhaps, for increased security and a drastic fall in the level of corruption.
In fact, we must remember, that the Taleban takeover was welcomed in many parts of Afghanistan and by large segments of the population of Kabul, while it was feared by some of the ethnic groups – mainly the Hazara – in the North and viewed with great apprehension in the Western areas, particularly in Herat.
These differences persist, and I was fascinated by the sense of “déjà vu” I felt, in post-Taleban years, travelling from Herat to Shindand, in the same province: Herat has always been model of “Persian” civilisation, with people, friendly open-minded, and curious about foreigners. One saw many uncovered women’s faces there, and a sight which always struck me as particularly heartening was that of young girls, neatly dressed in school uniforms, marching off to receive the education which the Taleban had denied them. Shindand, instead, had all the austerity of a Pashtu town. The few women on the streets fully covered, the men, all bearded, strictly minding their own business and children being the only ones to show curiosity.
Civil society in Herat and similarly inclined areas would suffer greatly from the return of the Taleban, as would most of the ethnic groups in the north, the Hazara having the additional “handicap” of their “oriental” looks and of being in vast majority Shia.
There is a growing realisation of the need to “talk” to the Taleban, but, in my view, any negotiation with them should include also traditional leaders from non-Taleban areas, even if this should involve the so-called “War Lords”, and should be held on the basis of a future Afghanistan ruled on the principle of regional or provincial autonomy. The Taleban, on their part, will have quite a handful trying to control their own area, which some call “Pashtunistan”, negotiating and fighting with their peers on the Pakistani side of the infamous “Durand Line”.
The welfare of Afghan civil society is, by now, also our responsibility, and it would be tragic to abandon these people to their fate.
Carlo Ungaro
Via Campagnano 51
00060 Sacrofano (Italy)
+39 06 908 6098
+39 320 778 3160
carloungaro@gmail.com
The Antiquarian of Herat
Rome, July 21, 2010
The beautifully kept grounds of the main Mosque in the western Afghan city of Herat are flanked by one of the town’s most attractive and busy streets. There, on an unbearably hot summer day of 1972, I came across a very friendly “antiquarian”, who, witnessing my state of exhaustion, took me into his vast store and offered me words of comfort and a large Coca-Cola.
He proudly showed me a “silver” cup, which he claimed, his hand on his heart, was a “very ancient” Russian artefact. So ancient it was that it bore an engraving of the 1957 Sputnik and had been produced in the Soviet Union on the first anniversary of the launch. Most foreign tourists would have greeted this allegation of antiquity either with hoots of derision, or with the certitude that they were dealing with a dishonest man. Both assumptions would have been wrong, unfair and insulting. Traditional Afghans have a deeply embedded sense of history, but, paradoxically, unlike us, they are not obsessed with chronology and are usually unsure even of their own age. I knew this because of childhood memories in Kabul. Our aged plumber, for instance, fascinated me with tales of his encounters with “Sikandar” (Alexander the Great). These are the results of a tradition of oral history, and he was totally convinced of what he was saying. The chronological discrepancy only dawned on me later, as I became progressively more “westernized”.
In retrospect, those days appear idyllic, and yet, by our tactless, overbearing and patronising attitudes, already then we were unwittingly sowing seeds of mutual distrust and animosity.
There are places, where Time really does seem to “stand still”, and I was overjoyed, though scarcely surprised, when, over three decades later (in 2005), I came across the very same “antiquarian”, tall, austere, with an immense black beard, now slowly turning white. He and his vast and dusty shop both appeared unaffected by the succession of tragic and violent events which had troubled the Country and, which, of course are far from over.
He greeted me like a long lost brother, not because he recognised me (in the seventies tourists were plentiful in Afghanistan) but because, like a true Afghan gentleman, he wanted to please and, of course, also spotted a potential customer and, possibly, a friend. I identified myself, and reminded him of our meeting long ago, mentioning the camel-bells he then sold in abundance because a drought had killed many camels.. We embraced fondly, although I’m not really sure that he remembered me, but he obviously liked the story and enjoyed speaking to a foreigner with no need of an interpreter.
These personal souvenirs are not an otiose autobiographical exercise, but rather an attempt to examine the Afghan Civil Society in those years, focussing the attention on how we, the foreign community, could possibly have contributed to the erosion of its lasting, though fragile, stability. The clues were there for all to see: Mainly the great and growing cultural (and, of course, economic) gap between a very westernized, and timidly secularised elite in Kabul and the rest of the country, even on the very outskirts of the Capital. I once rode into a nearby caravanserai and was greeted, as usual, with effusive affability. As I dismounted, I realised that my wristwatch, my glasses and my horse’s tack were probably the only signs that we actually were in the twentieth century, and not in biblical times. Kabul, which some called “the Paris of Central Asia”, seemed very far away indeed both in time and in space.
I am convinced that unwittingly, often with the best of intentions, we, and some of our Afghan friends were convinced that progress could be achieved throughout the country not only in the standard of living but also in a gradual evolution to a more “enlightened” (i.e. “western”) lifestyle. Very few foreigners and a small but growing number of our Afghan friends seemed aware of the dangers or preoccupied by them: the fact was, however, that the centuries-old fabric of Afghan society was being torn, up to then through peaceful means, with no viable alternative being offered.
This is not the appropriate venue in which to discuss the reasons for our continued military presence in Afghanistan, or to offer different options to the growingly elusive military solution.
Our actions, however, have undeniably brought about a violent disruption in the existence of Afghan civil society which, strong as it is (my Herat antiquarian is a living example) would have great difficulty withstanding further upheaval, such as that which could be brought about by our hasty departure.
Efforts are being made to “train” Afghan military and security forces, and there are signs of an orientation to revive the power of the “war lords”. Are any serious, effective efforts being undertaken to leave behind also a cultural legacy to which the Afghan middle classes of the future will be able to adhere? I sometimes feel that also our civilian intervention there will turn out to have been disastrous.
Carlo Ungaro
The beautifully kept grounds of the main Mosque in the western Afghan city of Herat are flanked by one of the town’s most attractive and busy streets. There, on an unbearably hot summer day of 1972, I came across a very friendly “antiquarian”, who, witnessing my state of exhaustion, took me into his vast store and offered me words of comfort and a large Coca-Cola.
He proudly showed me a “silver” cup, which he claimed, his hand on his heart, was a “very ancient” Russian artefact. So ancient it was that it bore an engraving of the 1957 Sputnik and had been produced in the Soviet Union on the first anniversary of the launch. Most foreign tourists would have greeted this allegation of antiquity either with hoots of derision, or with the certitude that they were dealing with a dishonest man. Both assumptions would have been wrong, unfair and insulting. Traditional Afghans have a deeply embedded sense of history, but, paradoxically, unlike us, they are not obsessed with chronology and are usually unsure even of their own age. I knew this because of childhood memories in Kabul. Our aged plumber, for instance, fascinated me with tales of his encounters with “Sikandar” (Alexander the Great). These are the results of a tradition of oral history, and he was totally convinced of what he was saying. The chronological discrepancy only dawned on me later, as I became progressively more “westernized”.
In retrospect, those days appear idyllic, and yet, by our tactless, overbearing and patronising attitudes, already then we were unwittingly sowing seeds of mutual distrust and animosity.
There are places, where Time really does seem to “stand still”, and I was overjoyed, though scarcely surprised, when, over three decades later (in 2005), I came across the very same “antiquarian”, tall, austere, with an immense black beard, now slowly turning white. He and his vast and dusty shop both appeared unaffected by the succession of tragic and violent events which had troubled the Country and, which, of course are far from over.
He greeted me like a long lost brother, not because he recognised me (in the seventies tourists were plentiful in Afghanistan) but because, like a true Afghan gentleman, he wanted to please and, of course, also spotted a potential customer and, possibly, a friend. I identified myself, and reminded him of our meeting long ago, mentioning the camel-bells he then sold in abundance because a drought had killed many camels.. We embraced fondly, although I’m not really sure that he remembered me, but he obviously liked the story and enjoyed speaking to a foreigner with no need of an interpreter.
These personal souvenirs are not an otiose autobiographical exercise, but rather an attempt to examine the Afghan Civil Society in those years, focussing the attention on how we, the foreign community, could possibly have contributed to the erosion of its lasting, though fragile, stability. The clues were there for all to see: Mainly the great and growing cultural (and, of course, economic) gap between a very westernized, and timidly secularised elite in Kabul and the rest of the country, even on the very outskirts of the Capital. I once rode into a nearby caravanserai and was greeted, as usual, with effusive affability. As I dismounted, I realised that my wristwatch, my glasses and my horse’s tack were probably the only signs that we actually were in the twentieth century, and not in biblical times. Kabul, which some called “the Paris of Central Asia”, seemed very far away indeed both in time and in space.
I am convinced that unwittingly, often with the best of intentions, we, and some of our Afghan friends were convinced that progress could be achieved throughout the country not only in the standard of living but also in a gradual evolution to a more “enlightened” (i.e. “western”) lifestyle. Very few foreigners and a small but growing number of our Afghan friends seemed aware of the dangers or preoccupied by them: the fact was, however, that the centuries-old fabric of Afghan society was being torn, up to then through peaceful means, with no viable alternative being offered.
This is not the appropriate venue in which to discuss the reasons for our continued military presence in Afghanistan, or to offer different options to the growingly elusive military solution.
Our actions, however, have undeniably brought about a violent disruption in the existence of Afghan civil society which, strong as it is (my Herat antiquarian is a living example) would have great difficulty withstanding further upheaval, such as that which could be brought about by our hasty departure.
Efforts are being made to “train” Afghan military and security forces, and there are signs of an orientation to revive the power of the “war lords”. Are any serious, effective efforts being undertaken to leave behind also a cultural legacy to which the Afghan middle classes of the future will be able to adhere? I sometimes feel that also our civilian intervention there will turn out to have been disastrous.
Carlo Ungaro
venerdì 9 luglio 2010
THE D.R. CONGO FIFTY YEARS ON
Greed and exploitation: DR Congo's 50th anniversary
Carlo Ungaro
2010-07-08, Issue 489
http://pambazuka.org/en/category/comment/65770
Printer friendly version
cc J HWith the DR Congo having passed 50 years of independence, Carlo Ungaro reflects on a turbulent history, the originally pervasive support for Mobutu and the greed of myriad interests in destabilising the country.On 30 June 1960, the 'Belgian Congo' obtained its independence, at a time in which a number of former African colonies were achieving the same goal.
The beginnings were inauspicious, with the visit of King Baudouin being marred first by Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba’s inaugural speech, which departed from the agreed text and contained a scathing – if well articulated and well deserved – attack on the 'white rulers' of the Congo, and secondly by an incident which appeared comical at the time, but somehow was an omen of things to come: in the course of the royal motorcade, a Congolese citizen eluded security barriers, leapt into the king’s limousine and made off with the ceremonial sword.
I was posted there – my first diplomatic posting – shortly after the murder of Patrice Lumumba. Mobutu’s (then Lieutenant Colonel Joseph Désiré Mobutu) first military takeover had taken place and had ended with his returning power to the civilians, as he had promised. A 'moderate' democratic government was then already in existence, which, by its composition and actions, gave rise to justifiable optimism for the county’s future.
Over the distance of all these years, I still occasionally ask myself 'what went wrong?', and why a land so rich both in natural and human resources (Congolese art and music are second to none in Africa, and already then there was an effervescent intellectual middle class) ended up sliding further and further into chaos and senseless violence.
It is hard to pin down a turning point. The violent rebellion in the east, with the consequent addition of foreign (mainly white) mercenaries to the equation of violence, Moise Tchombe’s seizing of power with the help of Belgian (and other Western) interests – the same figure who some years earlier had brought about the Katanga 'secession' – and the rather suspect death of UN Secretary General Dag Hammarskjöld were all dramatic events causing a rise in existing tensions, but none of them seemed decisive.
Then, in November of 1965, Mobutu (by now General Mobutu) seized power again. Those of us who had met Mobutu and who really thought we knew (and liked) the man heaved a sigh of relief. He asked for 'five years' and then he would return power to the civilians, and, of course, because of the historic precedent, we believed him. There was much enthusiasm during those first heady times – Congolese musical geniuses came up with songs and ditties such as 'Cinq ans, cinq ans, Mobutu au gouvernement' – and even normally sceptical observers, the so-called 'seasoned diplomats', had to admit that he had introduced a new dynamic style in Congolese political life, proclaiming to enthusiastically cheering crowds that he was about to abolish tribalism, corruption, poverty and other ills.
AGAIN, WHAT WENT WRONG?
Even after all these years, Lumumba’s speech is well worth listening to, and for those of us who were in Congo in the period immediately following his assassination, it had a feeling of authenticity and appeared still applicable to many – certainly not all – European residents. This could relate especially, but not exclusively, to those Belgians – mainly Flemish – who had decided to 'stay on' after a precipitous flight caused by the first 'troubles', an army mutiny, shortly after independence.
Some did not hide their contempt for the 'natives', and spoke with open nostalgia of the 'good old days' and of the recent Katanga 'secession'. In the months preceding Mobutu’s takeover, these were ardently hoping and actively working for the creation of a Tchombe government, which they felt would be more 'sensitive' to their demands. The racism, so eloquently depicted by Lumumba, was still very active, and how often did I hear the tired joke of those who would go to South Africa because they were dreaming of a 'white Christmas'.
I have read, with more than usual interest, that Louis Michel, a very influential Belgian MEP (member of the European Parliament) and a former European Union commissioner, has been trying to rehabilitate the figure of King Leopold, to whom, instead, most historians and observers attribute the responsibility for the Congolese disaster. These statements certainly appear shocking to most of us, but I believe that still today, as indeed in the 1960s, there is a hardcore school of thought in which the Congo atrocities are minimised, indeed justified, and the responsibility for the disastrous outcome of Congolese independence is attributed to a hopelessly 'primitive' mentality and to the work of well-intentioned but misinformed 'do-gooders' who have conspired to instil wrong ideas into the minds of the Congolese people.
Michela Wrong some years ago wrote an extremely pleasing and important book on the end of the Mobutu regime, and gave it the evocative title 'In the Footsteps of Mr. Kurtz', with, of course, a reference to Joseph Conrad’s 'The Heart of Darkness'. The temptation to explain current political events through historical analysis is always strong, but has its pitfalls and needs to be controlled. In the case of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, however, retracing, as it were, Conrad’s Congolese journey could be a useful exercise – as indeed, a swift perusal of the Congo’s incredibly cruel 19th century ordeal could show the reasons for its weak and fragile social structure.
It would be a mistake, however, to attribute the Congolese tragedy entirely and exclusively to King Leopold or to the subsequent Belgian colonial rule. Indeed, in later years, the colony received a rather valid infrastructure system, no worse than that which was left by other colonial powers, and, thanks to reforms in the education system, a literate, cultured middle class was also emerging.
The tragedy of the Congo, from the days of Stanley to the present, has been its immense, almost unbelievable wealth, and the uncontrolled, unbridled greed with which it has been – and is being – exploited. It has to be added that if this exploitation was perpetrated exclusively by Europeans as long as the Congo was a colony and in the immediate aftermath of its independence, in later years the scramble for the country’s riches has included many Congolese themselves working either with foreigners or on their own.
I saw this cancer growing when I was there, starting in Katanga and then spreading to the rest of the country, corrupting all those it touched, and finally bringing about the country’s total ruin.
Many of us, in 1965, really believed that Mobutu would be able to turn things around, and I am rather convinced that he, in good faith, actually believed so himself. For a while, after seizing the presidency, Mobutu remained, at least in appearance, immune from the megalomania and the paranoia so often associated with absolute power: he still was a seemingly unassuming, intelligent, humorous individual, to all appearances earnestly dedicated to the welfare and development of his country.
One of the first signals of incipient paranoia came the following year, when a former prime minister and three former cabinet ministers, clad only in their underwear, were publicly hanged for allegedly conspiring to overthrow Mobutu. Such was his charisma, however, and so deep the feeling that he was basically a 'good guy', that until the very last many of us – Congolese and foreign – were sure that a last-minute reprieve would be issued. The men, instead, were duly executed and it can be said that the spiral of megalomaniac paranoia and of absolute corruption and accumulation of wealth began more or less concurrently, although very few if any of us, the foreign observers, had an inkling of what was to come.
The last memory I have of Kinshasa is that of waiting for my final flight, in the blistering heat of Ndjili airport, thinking to myself, quite confidently, that 'things could not get any worse', while instead the deterioration was constant and lasted almost four decades, bringing the Democratic Republic of the Congo to the verge of becoming a 'failed state'.
Europeans and successive American administrations share a lot of responsibility, if nothing else for having bolstered and thus encouraged, for many years, the misdeeds of a regime such as Mobutu’s in the name of security and anti-communism. But human greed was and is the prime culprit of the situation there. We can only hope that the solemn occasion of the 50th anniversary of independence will give the Congolese and their friends the strength and the means to reverse the situation.
I can’t help, however, being obsessed by a nagging doubt, and I keep asking myself if a similar fate is, for instance, being prepared for Afghanistan. Why was the 'discovery' of vast riches there given so much publicity at a moment when Afghan civilian social structure has been weakened by three decades of conflict? The lessons of history are there, but few seem interested in learning from them.
BROUGHT TO YOU BY PAMBAZUKA NEWS
* Carlo Ungaro is a retired senior Italian diplomatic officer, who has spent many years of his career in Asia (Central Asia, Afghanistan) and Africa (Congo, Somalia).
* Please send comments to editor@pambazuka.org or comment online at Pambazuka News.
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ISSN 1753-6839 Fahamu
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ISSN 1753-6847 Pambazuka News en Français http://www.pambazuka.org/fr/
ISSN 1757-6504 Pambazuka News em Português http://www.pambazuka.org/pt/
© 2009 Fahamu - http://www.fahamu.org/
Carlo Ungaro
2010-07-08, Issue 489
http://pambazuka.org/en/category/comment/65770
Printer friendly version
cc J HWith the DR Congo having passed 50 years of independence, Carlo Ungaro reflects on a turbulent history, the originally pervasive support for Mobutu and the greed of myriad interests in destabilising the country.On 30 June 1960, the 'Belgian Congo' obtained its independence, at a time in which a number of former African colonies were achieving the same goal.
The beginnings were inauspicious, with the visit of King Baudouin being marred first by Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba’s inaugural speech, which departed from the agreed text and contained a scathing – if well articulated and well deserved – attack on the 'white rulers' of the Congo, and secondly by an incident which appeared comical at the time, but somehow was an omen of things to come: in the course of the royal motorcade, a Congolese citizen eluded security barriers, leapt into the king’s limousine and made off with the ceremonial sword.
I was posted there – my first diplomatic posting – shortly after the murder of Patrice Lumumba. Mobutu’s (then Lieutenant Colonel Joseph Désiré Mobutu) first military takeover had taken place and had ended with his returning power to the civilians, as he had promised. A 'moderate' democratic government was then already in existence, which, by its composition and actions, gave rise to justifiable optimism for the county’s future.
Over the distance of all these years, I still occasionally ask myself 'what went wrong?', and why a land so rich both in natural and human resources (Congolese art and music are second to none in Africa, and already then there was an effervescent intellectual middle class) ended up sliding further and further into chaos and senseless violence.
It is hard to pin down a turning point. The violent rebellion in the east, with the consequent addition of foreign (mainly white) mercenaries to the equation of violence, Moise Tchombe’s seizing of power with the help of Belgian (and other Western) interests – the same figure who some years earlier had brought about the Katanga 'secession' – and the rather suspect death of UN Secretary General Dag Hammarskjöld were all dramatic events causing a rise in existing tensions, but none of them seemed decisive.
Then, in November of 1965, Mobutu (by now General Mobutu) seized power again. Those of us who had met Mobutu and who really thought we knew (and liked) the man heaved a sigh of relief. He asked for 'five years' and then he would return power to the civilians, and, of course, because of the historic precedent, we believed him. There was much enthusiasm during those first heady times – Congolese musical geniuses came up with songs and ditties such as 'Cinq ans, cinq ans, Mobutu au gouvernement' – and even normally sceptical observers, the so-called 'seasoned diplomats', had to admit that he had introduced a new dynamic style in Congolese political life, proclaiming to enthusiastically cheering crowds that he was about to abolish tribalism, corruption, poverty and other ills.
AGAIN, WHAT WENT WRONG?
Even after all these years, Lumumba’s speech is well worth listening to, and for those of us who were in Congo in the period immediately following his assassination, it had a feeling of authenticity and appeared still applicable to many – certainly not all – European residents. This could relate especially, but not exclusively, to those Belgians – mainly Flemish – who had decided to 'stay on' after a precipitous flight caused by the first 'troubles', an army mutiny, shortly after independence.
Some did not hide their contempt for the 'natives', and spoke with open nostalgia of the 'good old days' and of the recent Katanga 'secession'. In the months preceding Mobutu’s takeover, these were ardently hoping and actively working for the creation of a Tchombe government, which they felt would be more 'sensitive' to their demands. The racism, so eloquently depicted by Lumumba, was still very active, and how often did I hear the tired joke of those who would go to South Africa because they were dreaming of a 'white Christmas'.
I have read, with more than usual interest, that Louis Michel, a very influential Belgian MEP (member of the European Parliament) and a former European Union commissioner, has been trying to rehabilitate the figure of King Leopold, to whom, instead, most historians and observers attribute the responsibility for the Congolese disaster. These statements certainly appear shocking to most of us, but I believe that still today, as indeed in the 1960s, there is a hardcore school of thought in which the Congo atrocities are minimised, indeed justified, and the responsibility for the disastrous outcome of Congolese independence is attributed to a hopelessly 'primitive' mentality and to the work of well-intentioned but misinformed 'do-gooders' who have conspired to instil wrong ideas into the minds of the Congolese people.
Michela Wrong some years ago wrote an extremely pleasing and important book on the end of the Mobutu regime, and gave it the evocative title 'In the Footsteps of Mr. Kurtz', with, of course, a reference to Joseph Conrad’s 'The Heart of Darkness'. The temptation to explain current political events through historical analysis is always strong, but has its pitfalls and needs to be controlled. In the case of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, however, retracing, as it were, Conrad’s Congolese journey could be a useful exercise – as indeed, a swift perusal of the Congo’s incredibly cruel 19th century ordeal could show the reasons for its weak and fragile social structure.
It would be a mistake, however, to attribute the Congolese tragedy entirely and exclusively to King Leopold or to the subsequent Belgian colonial rule. Indeed, in later years, the colony received a rather valid infrastructure system, no worse than that which was left by other colonial powers, and, thanks to reforms in the education system, a literate, cultured middle class was also emerging.
The tragedy of the Congo, from the days of Stanley to the present, has been its immense, almost unbelievable wealth, and the uncontrolled, unbridled greed with which it has been – and is being – exploited. It has to be added that if this exploitation was perpetrated exclusively by Europeans as long as the Congo was a colony and in the immediate aftermath of its independence, in later years the scramble for the country’s riches has included many Congolese themselves working either with foreigners or on their own.
I saw this cancer growing when I was there, starting in Katanga and then spreading to the rest of the country, corrupting all those it touched, and finally bringing about the country’s total ruin.
Many of us, in 1965, really believed that Mobutu would be able to turn things around, and I am rather convinced that he, in good faith, actually believed so himself. For a while, after seizing the presidency, Mobutu remained, at least in appearance, immune from the megalomania and the paranoia so often associated with absolute power: he still was a seemingly unassuming, intelligent, humorous individual, to all appearances earnestly dedicated to the welfare and development of his country.
One of the first signals of incipient paranoia came the following year, when a former prime minister and three former cabinet ministers, clad only in their underwear, were publicly hanged for allegedly conspiring to overthrow Mobutu. Such was his charisma, however, and so deep the feeling that he was basically a 'good guy', that until the very last many of us – Congolese and foreign – were sure that a last-minute reprieve would be issued. The men, instead, were duly executed and it can be said that the spiral of megalomaniac paranoia and of absolute corruption and accumulation of wealth began more or less concurrently, although very few if any of us, the foreign observers, had an inkling of what was to come.
The last memory I have of Kinshasa is that of waiting for my final flight, in the blistering heat of Ndjili airport, thinking to myself, quite confidently, that 'things could not get any worse', while instead the deterioration was constant and lasted almost four decades, bringing the Democratic Republic of the Congo to the verge of becoming a 'failed state'.
Europeans and successive American administrations share a lot of responsibility, if nothing else for having bolstered and thus encouraged, for many years, the misdeeds of a regime such as Mobutu’s in the name of security and anti-communism. But human greed was and is the prime culprit of the situation there. We can only hope that the solemn occasion of the 50th anniversary of independence will give the Congolese and their friends the strength and the means to reverse the situation.
I can’t help, however, being obsessed by a nagging doubt, and I keep asking myself if a similar fate is, for instance, being prepared for Afghanistan. Why was the 'discovery' of vast riches there given so much publicity at a moment when Afghan civilian social structure has been weakened by three decades of conflict? The lessons of history are there, but few seem interested in learning from them.
BROUGHT TO YOU BY PAMBAZUKA NEWS
* Carlo Ungaro is a retired senior Italian diplomatic officer, who has spent many years of his career in Asia (Central Asia, Afghanistan) and Africa (Congo, Somalia).
* Please send comments to editor@pambazuka.org or comment online at Pambazuka News.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Readers' Comments
Let your voice be heard. Comment on this article.
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ISSN 1753-6839 Fahamu
ISSN 1753-6839 Pambazuka News English Edition http://www.pambazuka.org/en/
ISSN 1753-6847 Pambazuka News en Français http://www.pambazuka.org/fr/
ISSN 1757-6504 Pambazuka News em Português http://www.pambazuka.org/pt/
© 2009 Fahamu - http://www.fahamu.org/
giovedì 1 luglio 2010
ITALY'S DRIFT TOWARDS A BURGEOIS NEO-FASCISM
This article has been published by "Open Democracy" with the title: "Italy’s “business as usual”
There is a certain kind of drift into a regime that has nothing to do with the introduction of paramilitary stances, Roman salutes or party uniforms: more to do with television
Carlo Ungaro
The year 2011 will mark the 150th anniversary of the unification of Italy. The most influential political party in the Italian ruling coalition – the “Northern League” – has publicly and flamboyantly indicated its lack of interest in the celebrations, and its leaders were conspicuously absent at the parade held for Italy’s National Day last June 2.
This is just one example of the malaise which permeates the Italian political scene today, even as many notice – with growing, impotent fascination – the country’s seemingly inexorable glide into what could be defined as a form of “bourgeois neo-fascism”, greeted with apathetic indifference by the vast majority of the population.
The roots of this unwholesome situation reach far back into the country’s history. At the very beginning of its reign, in 1861, the fledgling Italian Monarchy found itself confronted by a number of major problems which it failed to tackle, and which many decades later still persist. The lack of a really deep-seated sense of national unity; the great social and economic gap between North and South; together with the oppressive presence of the Pope and the Roman Catholic hierarchy on the national turf, were certainly three of the biggest concerns. Although partially tackled – with some success – both by the Fascist regime (1922-1943) and by subsequent republican governments, they have been, and still remain, major impediments to the country’s political and social progress.
The first two of these problems go hand in hand: and as the economic gap between north and south widens, so too does the intense rivalry between two very distinctive cultures, constantly eroding the sense of unity bound by the use of a common language with its historical and cultural resonances of belonging to the same nation. The “Northern League” tends to exasperate feelings of frustration which they insist are due to the useless handicap imposed on the regions of the North by a “thieving and lazy” South. Their request for a “federal” solution is often accompanied by empty and yet effective threats of “secession”.
There is a more than apparent contradiction in the situation: a strong government, with definite authoritarian tendencies, supported by a very large parliamentary majority is compelled, by its most prominent partner, to dedicate the bulk of its energies to the decentralisation of power and its devolution to regional authorities. The results can be chaotic and begin to show growing rifts within the majority itself.
The considerable, insidious weight of the Catholic Church constitutes, in itself, a fundamental factor in Italy’s failure to achieve a normal social status. At present, however, its influence appears secondary compared to the constant erosion of Constitutional guarantees on the part of the Government, as well as the growing centrifugal tendencies shown by the Northern League, easily the country’s most efficient and influential political party.
There is one fundamental factor, however, that is at the basis of the current crisis in Italian democracy, contributing directly to the gradual loss of democratic sensibility by the population: the Prime Minister, Silvio Berlusconi, owns the three most relevant private national television channels. By grossly overreaching his powers as head of Government, he exerts undue influence on public channels as well. He does not attempt to hide this and has frequently stated that “in a civilised country” the “state television” (he never uses the correct term “public television”) does not broadcast programmes which are “critical of the Government”.
He has also openly reiterated that “since the people have given me such a large majority, I must be allowed to govern”. This statement signals a deep, oft-stated aspiration radically to modify the Constitution (which he has often and publicly dismissed as a “Soviet- inspired document”) in order to remove or fundamentally loosen those “checks and balances” which still work, albeit in ever more difficult circumstances.
He has repeatedly referred to himself as “the greatest Prime Minister in Italy’s history”, and his efficient propaganda machine keeps informing the Italian public of his popularity and triumphs on the international scene: a telephone call by Berlusconi to Angela Merkel, Italians have been told, brought about the success of the recent EU summit on the Greek crisis. There is no trace of this in the international media, but then, it is easy to take advantage of Italy’s cultural isolation. Most Italians are stubbornly monolingual and, for example, have never seen a foreign film if not badly translated and atrociously dubbed, nor do they follow international news on foreign channels. Their only source of information is television, because only a small minority read the vast number of Italian newspapers, most of which are of a high standard.
At the moment the Government appears to be losing a battle, thanks to the “defection” of some political allies, which would have had Parliament approving a law - which the press has almost unanimously dubbed “the muzzle law” - designed to silence most forms of investigative journalism and to undermine the powers of public prosecutors and judges. If the law should pass, the control of telephone conversations would be difficult and the reproduction of bugged conversations would be a crime: this would protect many leading politicians (the main object of the proposed legislation) but it would also be a boon for organised criminality.
According to the official propaganda “leitmotif”, virtually all Italians are subject to arbitrary telephone control, and the law is designed to safeguard the sacred right to privacy. In reality the number of legally established telephone controls (or other forms of electronic espionage) is extremely limited and applies only to people under investigation, or strongly suspected of very serious crimes, including Mafia activity.
In reality the law is designed to prevent the press from reporting precisely on those links between politics and criminality which are of great public interest, and the “privacy” which would be defended concerns highly placed political figures, who for some reason, often are involved in conversation with some of the people under investigation.
It is also true that some newspapers have very easily and freely published extracts from official transcripts which concerned prurient aspects of some politician's private life and had nothing to do with any criminal investigation: the point is to find a solution that can prevent these abuses without muzzling the press in its right to conduct investigative reporting.
The Government has had to back down from its initial demands, but the battle is still raging.
The path towards the transformation of the government into a “regime” is, far from complete, and is taking place in a “business as usual” atmosphere which does not plan the introduction of paramilitary stances, Roman salutes or party uniforms. This makes it all the more dangerous and menacing.
Some have described the period we are living through as “Italy’s Weimar” – referring to Germany’s ill-fated democratic experience between World War One and the Nazi regime. Others claim that if Italy, in its present state, were to apply for membership in the European Union, doubts would be expressed on its eligibility.
These, doubtless, are exaggerations: but there is a feeling here that Italian democracy is in real danger.
There is a certain kind of drift into a regime that has nothing to do with the introduction of paramilitary stances, Roman salutes or party uniforms: more to do with television
Carlo Ungaro
The year 2011 will mark the 150th anniversary of the unification of Italy. The most influential political party in the Italian ruling coalition – the “Northern League” – has publicly and flamboyantly indicated its lack of interest in the celebrations, and its leaders were conspicuously absent at the parade held for Italy’s National Day last June 2.
This is just one example of the malaise which permeates the Italian political scene today, even as many notice – with growing, impotent fascination – the country’s seemingly inexorable glide into what could be defined as a form of “bourgeois neo-fascism”, greeted with apathetic indifference by the vast majority of the population.
The roots of this unwholesome situation reach far back into the country’s history. At the very beginning of its reign, in 1861, the fledgling Italian Monarchy found itself confronted by a number of major problems which it failed to tackle, and which many decades later still persist. The lack of a really deep-seated sense of national unity; the great social and economic gap between North and South; together with the oppressive presence of the Pope and the Roman Catholic hierarchy on the national turf, were certainly three of the biggest concerns. Although partially tackled – with some success – both by the Fascist regime (1922-1943) and by subsequent republican governments, they have been, and still remain, major impediments to the country’s political and social progress.
The first two of these problems go hand in hand: and as the economic gap between north and south widens, so too does the intense rivalry between two very distinctive cultures, constantly eroding the sense of unity bound by the use of a common language with its historical and cultural resonances of belonging to the same nation. The “Northern League” tends to exasperate feelings of frustration which they insist are due to the useless handicap imposed on the regions of the North by a “thieving and lazy” South. Their request for a “federal” solution is often accompanied by empty and yet effective threats of “secession”.
There is a more than apparent contradiction in the situation: a strong government, with definite authoritarian tendencies, supported by a very large parliamentary majority is compelled, by its most prominent partner, to dedicate the bulk of its energies to the decentralisation of power and its devolution to regional authorities. The results can be chaotic and begin to show growing rifts within the majority itself.
The considerable, insidious weight of the Catholic Church constitutes, in itself, a fundamental factor in Italy’s failure to achieve a normal social status. At present, however, its influence appears secondary compared to the constant erosion of Constitutional guarantees on the part of the Government, as well as the growing centrifugal tendencies shown by the Northern League, easily the country’s most efficient and influential political party.
There is one fundamental factor, however, that is at the basis of the current crisis in Italian democracy, contributing directly to the gradual loss of democratic sensibility by the population: the Prime Minister, Silvio Berlusconi, owns the three most relevant private national television channels. By grossly overreaching his powers as head of Government, he exerts undue influence on public channels as well. He does not attempt to hide this and has frequently stated that “in a civilised country” the “state television” (he never uses the correct term “public television”) does not broadcast programmes which are “critical of the Government”.
He has also openly reiterated that “since the people have given me such a large majority, I must be allowed to govern”. This statement signals a deep, oft-stated aspiration radically to modify the Constitution (which he has often and publicly dismissed as a “Soviet- inspired document”) in order to remove or fundamentally loosen those “checks and balances” which still work, albeit in ever more difficult circumstances.
He has repeatedly referred to himself as “the greatest Prime Minister in Italy’s history”, and his efficient propaganda machine keeps informing the Italian public of his popularity and triumphs on the international scene: a telephone call by Berlusconi to Angela Merkel, Italians have been told, brought about the success of the recent EU summit on the Greek crisis. There is no trace of this in the international media, but then, it is easy to take advantage of Italy’s cultural isolation. Most Italians are stubbornly monolingual and, for example, have never seen a foreign film if not badly translated and atrociously dubbed, nor do they follow international news on foreign channels. Their only source of information is television, because only a small minority read the vast number of Italian newspapers, most of which are of a high standard.
At the moment the Government appears to be losing a battle, thanks to the “defection” of some political allies, which would have had Parliament approving a law - which the press has almost unanimously dubbed “the muzzle law” - designed to silence most forms of investigative journalism and to undermine the powers of public prosecutors and judges. If the law should pass, the control of telephone conversations would be difficult and the reproduction of bugged conversations would be a crime: this would protect many leading politicians (the main object of the proposed legislation) but it would also be a boon for organised criminality.
According to the official propaganda “leitmotif”, virtually all Italians are subject to arbitrary telephone control, and the law is designed to safeguard the sacred right to privacy. In reality the number of legally established telephone controls (or other forms of electronic espionage) is extremely limited and applies only to people under investigation, or strongly suspected of very serious crimes, including Mafia activity.
In reality the law is designed to prevent the press from reporting precisely on those links between politics and criminality which are of great public interest, and the “privacy” which would be defended concerns highly placed political figures, who for some reason, often are involved in conversation with some of the people under investigation.
It is also true that some newspapers have very easily and freely published extracts from official transcripts which concerned prurient aspects of some politician's private life and had nothing to do with any criminal investigation: the point is to find a solution that can prevent these abuses without muzzling the press in its right to conduct investigative reporting.
The Government has had to back down from its initial demands, but the battle is still raging.
The path towards the transformation of the government into a “regime” is, far from complete, and is taking place in a “business as usual” atmosphere which does not plan the introduction of paramilitary stances, Roman salutes or party uniforms. This makes it all the more dangerous and menacing.
Some have described the period we are living through as “Italy’s Weimar” – referring to Germany’s ill-fated democratic experience between World War One and the Nazi regime. Others claim that if Italy, in its present state, were to apply for membership in the European Union, doubts would be expressed on its eligibility.
These, doubtless, are exaggerations: but there is a feeling here that Italian democracy is in real danger.
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