German in the Knesset

AOG, Madrid

A good day for Germany and Israel. Or so it would appear.

"The Shoah fills us Germans with shame. I bow before the victims. I bow before the survivors and before all those who helped them survive." So said Angela Merkel at Israel's Knesset in German, using the Hebrew word for Holocaust.


Her visit to the Knesset has proven to be controversial. It is the first time that a German Chancellor visits and her use of German has, alone, ensured that some of its members were not present in protest to this dispensation- something which was heatedly debated last week.

Merkel's visit was emotionally charged due to the memory of the Holocaust, and in her address the Chancellor said the murder of six million Jews at the hands of the Nazis continues to be a source of shame for Germans.

"The mass murder of six million Jews, carried out in the name of Germany, has brought indescribable suffering to the Jewish people, Europe and the entire world," she said.

A few of these MKs have declared that although Germany is Israel's friends, the memory of the victims should be respected.

National Union-National Religious Party MK Arieh Eldad said in response to the committee resolution that he would stand up and leave the hall during Merkel's speech. "I can't bear the thought of hearing German in the Knesset," he said. "This is the language my grandparents were murdered in."

Until today, I was not aware that one could be murdered in a particular language. I always thought one could be murdered, period.

However, the circumstances surrounding the common histories of Germany and Israel are not easy to dismiss, nor should they be.

I for one am all for using whatever language in a political forum so long as communication is ensured.

Tibet 1-China 0

AOG, Madrid

For the past few days, Tibet has sought to free itself from China's control. The Chinese Government, ever the eternal sentinel of totalitarianism, managed to control the flow of information at first. Few images, and most of these heavily censured and biased.

However, thanks to modern technology, more images soon surfaced- on the free world anyway (I'm surprised I just typed those words; I had relegated them to the "Cold War" portion of my brain). In China, television images today showed a return to calm. Shoppers shopping,kids playing in school, and no demonstrating monks in sight. Some of the Western papers are amazed that this situation did not surface earlier.

Quick to accuse everyone of wrongdoing, the Chinese Government has accused the Dalai Lama of trying to boycott the Olympic games and the Dalai Lama has threatened to resign if the violence in Tibet goes on and welcomes any investigation by China's authorities to prove that he has not.

I find it amazing that this is their main concern. It reminds me slightly of the situation in Buenos Aires in 1978.

Back then, the Argentine military Government was busy detaining, torturing and killing a few dissidents in order to show the world its best face. So that no one suspected anything, many people died.
For all intents and purposes, the 1978 World Cup was held in complete normality. Alas, along came the Falklands invasion and the military Government collapsed. Argentina and its democracy never looked back.

I am still amazed that the IOC chose Beijing as the best place to hold the 2008 Olympic Games. In 1980, Moscow, as a nuclear power, somehow managed to organise the games whilst ensuring a large boycott because of its invasion of Afghanistan. I remember thinking at the time, as my parents pointed out, that politics and sport should not mix. And yet, when do they not?
Four years later, the Soviet Union retaliated by boycotting the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics.

It is too late to ask why Beijing will hold these games.

Certainly the Chinese Government has spent millions on building and organising the event and I am sure that for most people in China, hosting the games will be a source of joy as well as national pride. For many in Beijing, the Olympics will help China to continue its -controlled- conversation with the world. It already acts as its factory.

However, I can't help but think about the lack of human rights, the persecution of dissidents, and this latest instalment in Governmental repression by a Communist regime.

According to The New York Times, "To earn the right to play host to this summer’s Olympics, Beijing promised to improve its human rights record. As its behavior in Tibet — and the recent arrest of the human rights advocate Hu Jia and others — demonstrates, China does not take that commitment seriously."

Should this country then be allowed to hold the Olympics? 28 years later I ask myself the same question. Then I said yes, of course, politics and sport should not mix.

But, today, 28 years later, knowing full well that both of these have, in fact, mixed, I am not so quick to support China's "right" to hold the Olympics. Not under these circumstances. Not in a country where people's lives are not held in a very high esteem by their own government.

Some Historians have argued that the Olympics, amongst other things, helped to liberate the stodgy Soviet Nomenklatura of the USSR. By 1990, only 10 years later, the Soviet state was falling apart. We are still living with the consecuences of that socio-political and economic capitulation to liberal capitalism (albeit not Western-style democracy yet).

Perhaps in 20 years time, China might be freer- or even free.

But I am sure that between now and then, many people will continue to die; human rights will continue to be violated; and the West will, hypocritically, continue to allow it to go on given its economic dependence on China. It is hard not to notice that the US removed China from its list of top 10 human rights violators just as the biggest anti-China protests in 20 years erupted in Tibet.

Since no Government is impermeable to criticism, here's a petition to ask it to stop its actions in Tibet.

Hopefully it will make a difference. It does not matter how small.

The protests began March 10, the anniversary of a failed 1959 Tibetan uprising against Chinese rule.

Goncourt 1969

AOG, Madrid

Today was one of those sunny Winter days for which Madrid is world famous. After saying goodbye to my partner, I had a Sunday afternoon to kill.

I took a train to Atocha station and walked towards Retiro Park. Once there, the lure of second-hand books (see previous post) was much too tempting.

I spent about an hour shifting through never-heard-of titles as well as a few known ones. I was in the mood for some Latin American literature, and the shops did not disappoint.

I was particularly interested in a couple of books by Cuban author Alejo Carpentier: Ecue-yamba-o! and The Kingdom of this World which belonged to a white leather literary collection with gold lettering which also included (amongst about 90 titles) Lezama Lima's Paradise (1966) and a couple of books by Vargas Llosa. As attractive as they were, they shared one thing which I did not really care for. the price: 10 Euros a piece.

For a second-hand book.

So I looked on, partially scared-off because of the price, and the prospect of adding two more books to my ever-expanding collection of books I never have enough time to read- which is huge.

On that topic, Spanish über author Javier Marías wrote a column a few months ago in El País where he mused about his book collection. It too is probably quite large. He was rather miffed that a visitor to his library had asked if he had read all the books in it. Of course he had! he was surprised at the question. I was surprised at the answer.

Since my youth, I have been an avid book buyer, and an avid reader. However, there just aren't enough hours in my day to read all the books I've bought. Nor all the magazines I own, or all the papers I purchase daily cover to cover.

When I was at University, I remember exchanging opinions with one of my fellow classmates on graduation day. She said something like "Maybe now I'll have time to read all the titles on the reading list!" Oh how we laughed....

But she was right. Perhaps in other centuries, or other decades, time was more abundant, or life (of this I'm sure) went on at a slower pace.

So, for me, having read all the books I own is a bit of a task, a challenge, and an impossible dream. I'm sure I'll die not having finished off a few dozen novels.

Am I the only person who reads a 2-3 books at a time?

In any case, I opted not to buy these titles and walked off. As I reached the last stall, I was still peckish for literature. So I went back up, thinking perhaps I could dish out for Carpentier's books and maybe bargain.

However, before I got there, I found a book I was -at first- of two minds to get: Creezy, by Félicien Marceau.

I am no fan of translated-into-Spanish books and, wherever possible, I try to get an English translation.

But this time, two things made me change my mind: the price (1 Euro) and the words "Winner of the Prix Goncourt 1969". The Goncourt is France's top literary honor and this, coupled with the date -1969, made me buy the book.

I also liked the Brown & Pink cover.

It appears to be typically French in this respect: The main character is this amazing model/it girl who makes this respectable Government high-ranking married man fall in love with her. The novel begins with its aftermath. He is shattered and reminisces over his affair with Creezy.
Just the sort of thing one never reads about in French novels, n'est ce pas?

The title alone is hilarious: Creezy. I don't know if Monsieur Marceau was aiming for a form of Chrissie or if in 1969 the English word "crazy" appeared to be ultra cool and modern, and hence, a good name for a character. Perhaps both? Perhaps just a pun of sorts?

In any case, the good thing is that this fading book, with its brown pages and stiff, almost carton-like paper, seems to be unread. The binding is immaculate.

For a pocket book, quite an achievement.

Eliot Spitzer, what's the big deal?

AOG, Madrid

I suppose that if you have lived long enough outside of the US, you come across events like the ones surrounding the (now) ex-Governor of New York with slight amazement.

Eliot Spitzer's short tenure in office as New York's Governor started on January 1st, 2007. He did so with a record margin of victory and a profound sense of promise- here was yet another Democratic "presidentiable".

He resigned on March 12, 2008, in a scandal over his involvement in a sex ring, bringing an abrupt close to a legislature marked by, according to the New York Times "an almost unbroken string of stumbles and frustrations."

Surprisingly, to many, perhaps to most, all of his previous work and achievements mean little when compared to his sex life, by all means a private and personal affair.

According to the New York Times:

"Mr. Spitzer's difficulties were a stark contrast to his long and steady rise. Over the previous eight years as attorney general, Mr. Spitzer, a Democrat, gained national recognition as the 'Sheriff of Wall Street' for his pursuit of corporate corruption and his self-styled role as the defender of the American investor. During his campaign, his signature promise was to change state politics "on Day One" of his new administration, with ethics reform high in his sights."

I read this and I am amazed at his downfall. Some call him a hypocrite. And yet, here I am thinking, aren't we the hypocrites? Is this man not allowed to have a brilliant career, be good at what he does, and nail whosoever he desires, be it man, woman or banana tree?

Are we to understand that having sex with a prostitute is an offense capable of erasing all of your past achievements?

Would this happen to an NFL player? Would it take away his accolades? No. Hollywood star? No, certainly not. President of the US? Well, I don't know for a fact that Clinton and Kennedy used prostitutes, but according to popular lore, they both slept around. And they remained in office. One of them was even re-elected.

So I ask, what is the big deal? Are politicians not allowed private lives? And if they are not, then certainly they retain to sleep with whomever they want (short of paedophilia). I think public life obligations stop just above the belt line.

Ok, so he booked $1,000 an hour prostitutes. So? Whose business is this? Did he pay for them with public money? If so, then there is a different issue. There is a crime. He misappropriated public funds. And, no, sorry, I don't buy the whole "prostitution is a crime" spiel. It is a crime only because people choose to make it so. It is known as one of those "victimless" crimes. Thus, no crime at all.

If there is a crime at all it is that he overpaid for sex. One thousand dollars an hour is certainly well beyond the scope of normality. Like those nails that cost the Pentagon $200 each. An abuse on the part of the provider, but little else.

It would appear that even his wife, Silda Wall Spitzer, finds this as not too big a deal. Certainly she has stood by her man during the public resignation speech, as political wives often do.

According to the Washington Post, "hers was the loudest voice in Spitzer's inner circle urging him not to resign". Here was the main injured party, and it appears like the injury is not bone-deep.

So why are we all tearing our tunics in shame and anger? I hope the charge of "sin" does not come up. We live in the XXI century. Such concepts are outdated. So then, what is the charge?

In Spain, something similar has happened this week, though in a much lower scale.

A local ex Town Councillor in Palma de Mallorca (Rodrigo de Santos López) has been accused of spending 50,000 Euros in one of Palma's male brothels. He is a member of Spain's Conservative party. It has already declared that if found guilty, he will be expelled from the party.

Apparently he used the Town Council's credit card to charge for his foray into the sex trade. But, in Spain, his crime is that he broke people's trust by using money that was not his own to pay for something which was his own: his pleasure. Therein lies the fault, not in that he used prostitutes, or even male prostitutes. I rather the US gained this perspective one day and lost the one it has now.

I certainly am not holding Spain up as any sort of example (no country on Earth gets to be held up as an example of good or evil, we are all people after all), however, Spain is a good representation of, not so much Europe's more laid back attitude towards extra marital affairs, but rather at the division between the public and the private.

No, no one here finds infidelity a joke, but when it does happen, the approach is slightly more pragmatic, and (although there are always exceptions) less histrionic. Certainly so when it comes to the lives of others. And politicians are others.

For all the Christians out there, perhaps the line "He who is free from sin...", throwing the first stone and all that, should take note. No politician on Earth is perfect. Not Fidel Castro, not Nicolas Sarkozy, not Bill Clinton nor George Bush, nor Napoleon or Charles V. No one.

We cannot chastise politicians for not being perfect. They are not. No one is. And if the fault is rooted in his private life, then shame on us for being so prissy.

But, as I said, these observations I'm making only come about after my not having lived continuously in the US for many years now.

I don't expect the majority of Americans to understand, just as they don't understand why health care should be free and universal because it is a basic human right. But that is another post.

Sunday afternoon

AOG, Madrid

(Igor Mitoraj sculpture)

The nice thing about living in a major world capital is that it has a lot of cultural events going on most of the time. I don't think of Madrid as a major world capital, though I do think of it as a major cultural city- perhaps more so than Barcelona, but not quite London or New York yet.

Nevertheless, Madrid these days is really into its art and it takes itself very seriously. Wherever you read in the Spanish media, the fact that Madrid has three major museums within walking distance of each other is a source of pride. Art is big business in general. That goes double for Spain, for many a bargain when compared to other capitals such as Paris or New York.

The Prado (Spain's Louvre), the Thyssen, and the Queen Sofia Museum of Contemporary Art- alias the "Reina Sofía"- are all on the same street- the Prado boulevard.

Now, within the same street, Caixa Forum Madrid, a cultural, not for profit, organisation funded by La Caixa, one of Spain's largest savings banks, has opened its doors.

Sporting Madrid's, probably Spain's, first vertical garden, its modern headquarters building in Madrid is less imposing that the other three. As in Barcelona, it has taken a pre-existing building, and remodeled it into something new. I have not been inside of it yet but from the outside it is not a very impressive building, except for its vertical garden which you can see on the photograph at left behind the winged sculpture.

However, what it lacks on the outside, it makes up for in its first public exhibition: the work of Igor Mitoraj.

The Prado boulevard has been peppered beautifully with Igor Mitoraj's sculptures. Neoclassical, postmodern, certainly sensual and at the same time, cold, given their metallic nature.

I discovered it today when I went to visit the "Cuesta de Moyano" (link is in Spanish), an uphill (cuesta) street linking the boulevard with Madrid's Retiro Park and located at the back of the Agriculture Ministry, Madrid's most beautiful ministry building (below).











On the slope you find about 15 covered stands which have been selling second-hand books, as well as new books, since 1925. All sort of literary treasures are found there. My find yesterday was the January 1977 issue of National Geographic. I bought it for the articles on Stockholm and Haiti.

Whilst there, I met up with an improv-class classmate and one of the tutors. We spoke about life in general and how best to get into improv. The sucking of a particular body part was part of the way into improv. Ha ha ha, how we all laughed.

On my way home, I marveled at the sculptures which I had seen in Barcelona a few months ago, at Barcelona's Caixa Forum. And then some.

One of the small pleasures of living in a European capital.

Why I love being a Journalist/Writer/Actor/Model/Waiter

AOG, Madrid

T0day I started, sort of, a new job (sort of job). I am with a news agency in Spain. Sort of. They don't really know how to take me on, either as an intern, or a freelancer. Or what.

But, to me, that is secondary.

This morning I showed up at work and went to cover the Anne Frank musical. Yes, it is odd for Spain to come up with this, but then, if the British can turn Les Miserables into a musical, then I suppose the Spanish can turn Anne Frank's diary into a musical.
We arrived at the Häagen-Dazs Theater in Madrid (don't ask, I don't know), and the director, or perhaps he was the musical director, was telling off a blond actress of age unknown for being late. She politely, yet defiantly, told him that other people had been late too. So, obviously, the problem was not the actors, it was the call sheet.

The director, or stage hand, or whatever he was, mentioned that that could not be the case. The actors had been late all throughout the rehearsals. And so it went on.
A few minutes later, a local television station was interviewing the blond actress who came down from the stage outraged at the way she had been treated. As soon as the camera went on, she switched on the charm. A true professional, I thought.

We were treated to two scenes from the play.

There I was, witnessing a press conference, thinking how this might be replayed for Tele-K's immigration program, my other (unpaid) job in Madrid. The angle being that the female lead is played by 13 year old Havana-born Cuban American Isabella Castillo, who flew all the way from Miami to play the part. The general consensus was that she was very pretty. Prettier than the real Anne. But then, this was theater, and not without controversy.

There were two, in fact: One, which the journalists were trying to create, concerning the two Anne Frank foundations (Basel and Amsterdam) one of which is not (untrue as it turned out) 100% happy with the musical.

The other, a question from the AP journalist concerning the producer's claims that this was the first musical based on Anne Frank. Incorrect. According to the journalist, and The New York Times, there is at least one other, "Yours, Anne", which was produced off Broadway in 1985. Then the journalist and the producer, Señor Alvero, began to discuss the difference between a musical, and a sung play. In short, the controversy was set.

And there I was. Day one and amazed and grateful for being able to be there, then.

Later in the afternoon, we went to cover the anti FARC demonstration in Plaza Mayor. It was mostly Colombian expats living in Madrid. A few Venezuelans, who were there to offer their support for Uribe, and their distate for Chávez, the odd camera-seeking individual (who, by the way, had me beckoned so as to shoot him and his daughter, which we did), and, most surprisingly, my International Journalism professor, M.A. Bastenier. I wanted to go and say hi, but I was working. So I couldn't. And in any case, he was busy telling the crowd how his heart was Colombian.

One of the participants quoted García Marquez, "We Colombians are born suspect, and we die guilty". How true of Colombians, unfortunately. Why do some nationalities have such negative connotations?

Half way through, they started singing a popular human rights folk song by Argentina's answer to Bob Dylan, Leon Gieco, "Solo le pido a Dios" (I only ask of God). It was very emotional.

And there I was, in the midst of it all, looking for camera angles, people to interview, story angles.

Then back to the office to edit, cut, write up the story, then go home.

And I so loved every minute of it.

Oh, yes, and I learned something new today.

There is no subway into Georgetown, in Washington D.C., because Jackie Kennedy opposed the idea. Something to do with social class and her finding public transport too low class for Georgetown.

Or so I was informed today by a work colleague who knows D.C. much better than I do.

Truth? Hearsay? Urban myth? Bad propaganda?

Heath Ledger is found dead

AOG, Madrid

Heath Ledger was found dead this afternoon in an apartment in Manhattan inhabited by the actress Mary-Kate Olsen, according to the New York City police.

A native of Perth, Australia, he won acclaim for his role as a co-star in Ang Lee’s 2005 film “Brokeback Mountain”. The film, based on a short story by Annie Proulx about two cowboys who fall in love, won critical acclaim.

The New York Times said of him in that movie: “Mr. Ledger magically and mysteriously disappears beneath the skin of his lean, sinewy character. It is a great screen performance, as good as the best of Marlon Brando and Sean Penn.”

Signs point to a suicide, police sources said. Mr. Ledger was 28.

I for one, am shocked.

Beggars, artists and Romanians

AOG, Madrid

Last Sunday, I went to a friend's birthday dinner. My improv teacher's boyfriend was hosting a dinner in honor of his turning 30. At least I think that's how old he was turning!

We ate Gnocchi with 2 sauces, and then played a few table games, not without absenting ourselves (Paula, Ana her friend and I) to buy some cigarettes and gossip a bit. Innocent gossip.

When we returned, after scouring the streets of northern Madrid in search of an open bar with a working cigarette machine, we got back to a group of men desiring to play Karaoke on the X-Box.

And so we did.

Afterwards, we did that very Spanish of things, we talked. For hours.

At one point we were discussing Madrid's beggars. How some of these people are part and parcel of the city, and how they have certain areas where they work.

The conversation was odd and peppered with strange protagonists. Some I had knowledge of; others, I had never seen. I had heard of the gypsy thalidomide woman with deformed arms and legs who sits on cardboard and displays herself in all her glory, expecting society to take pity on her.

Then there is the American black musician who plays the saxophone on Callao square, off Madrid's Gran Vía, and right in front of the FNAC store (famous for music, books, DVDs and electronic equipment). As you walk past, he will ask you for money, regardless of whether he is playing a tune or not. He just asks as you walk past. Odd I think.

Then there was the lady beggar who got up from her spot, started to walk up the street, then, stopped, shook her hips slightly, let drop a huge turd, then just continued on her way.

Her, I'd never seen. But I have encountered the small army of Romanian gypsies who pretend to be deaf mutes and walk around with a printed sheet of paper and ask (or rather gesture) for your money. They pretend to belong to an NGO.

They I find a little reprehensible since genuine NGOs carry out the same exercise and have to meet people who have already been fooled once. They have even been on the news a couple of times. And yet, you can see them in central Madrid daily. Pretending to suffer from a disability. Not nice. Not fair. But then, neither is their life probably...

So we continued to trade stories all night long, moving from people with mental problems, to those who hold no sway over the public´s minds.

Today, I was traveling home from giving a class, and saw a young guy doing some juggling at a traffic light. He didn't seem to be doing all that well. Perhaps drivers are not too keen to support struggling artists.

Last night, two of my dinner partners were discussing their life in Madrid. What they do on their spare time, and how spare time is of the necessity. One of them, the lead singer in the band, mentioned how he payed for singing lessons once a week- 38 Euros per hour.

He mentioned in passing that he was going to stop working at the hotel chain where he's been working as accountant for 2 years, and how he was entitled to 8 month's unemployment benefit. "And now, with more free time, I can concentrate more on my singing", he declared.

"If you are in Madrid, you always have to be doing something to further your career. You can't spend your life working in a bar. If you are going to do that, stay in your home town", said Ana- working actress.

I admired them both. I am always glad to be in the presence of talented people.

Then today, I was brought back down to earth when I saw the juggler. I wonder how many lawyers, or teachers or pilots have to moonlight to make their dreams come true?
Why is it that only artists are expected to do other jobs and work twice as hard as anyone else to carry out their vocation?

National Anthem

AOG, Madrid

A national anthem. A song which is somehow meant to represent the best that a country has to give but which often uses lyrics which are odd, warrior-like, poetic, or plain strange.

There is not a country on Earth which does not have one. However, there is one whose national anthem has no official lyrics. At least not at present. Spain.

Spain’s martial national anthem is based on a military march of the XVII century. It is known as the Royal March, and until the beginning of the XX century, had no lyrics (it is worth noting that the XIX century was disastrous for Spain, and this during a time when most of Europe defined nationalities had their heyday defining the modern states we have today).

It was up to King Alfonso XIII to change this state of affairs. He commissioned the poet Eduardo Marquina to come up with some lyrics. These, although not necessarily very popular, were the official words until Spain became a Republic, and the Himno de Riego became Spain’s national anthem.

At the end of Spain’s Civil War, General Franco reinstated the old National Anthem and commissioned José María Pemán (1897-1981) to come up with some lyrics. For better or worse, most Spaniards knew his version of the national anthem. However, with the advent of democracy, these were derogated and Spain’s anthem is an unsung affair.

And so it was until a couple of months ago when Spain’s Olympic Committee asked that some lyrics were written down so that Spain’s athletes could have something to sing at matches, and not just stand there silently humming or lah-lah-lahing the anthem away.

Legend goes that after witnessing a rousing rendition of You'll Never Walk Alone at Anfield in 2007, the President of the Spanish Olympic Committee, Alejandro Blanco, said he felt inspired to seek lyrics to La Marcha Real ahead of Madrid's bid to host the 2016 Olympic Games.

So a commission was set up and a national contest (sort of) went on to come up with lyrics. The result was meant to be introduced to all in a star-studded gala headed by Spain’s famous tenor, Placido Domingo.

Guess what happened….

The press got hold of the wining lyrics- written by unemployed Mr. Paulino Cubero (above), 52,- and everyone found them to be disappointing.

They were either not very poetic, too nationalistic and reminiscent of Franco's version. Or just had no literary value. They were supposed to be presented in Parliament and a vote was to be had on whether or not they were the new lyrics.

In short, a project intended to unite the country, backfired. Or rather, it worked, but not as you thought it would. It did unite the whole country in declaring the lyrics to be not only banal, but atrocious.

The foreign press have had a field day with this. The Guardian, The New York Times, even FT have noticed this new episode in Spain’s difficulty to be at ease with itself.

Finally, the Olympic Committee withdrew its request and said it would bring it up at a later, less acrid, time.

Strangely enough, no one has said a word about the tune itself.

No Golden Globes this year

AOG, Madrid

The Golden Globes have been canceled. Well, the ceremony at least. No parties, no make up, no show, no glitzy run-up to the Oscars.

The reason? The on-going writer's strike.

I have to admit that it is a pain, but, after all, I do support the right to strike by any group of workers. Used as I am to European strikes, however, where public workers ask for money to make a decent living, I find it hard to side with some writers who earn the kind of salaries a street sweeper in Europe will never see in his lifetime.

However, the right remains and it is not dependent on a certain amount of money, but rather on a job and its proper payment.

Will the same happen at the Oscar's?

I have chosen to post this image of Julia Roberts, who is nominated for Best Performance by an Actress in a Supporting Role in a Motion Picture for Charlie Wilson's War.

I find it beautiful as well as haunting.