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Covid-19: Digital Peasants and the Ignorant Rich

30 November 2021

Covid-19: Digital Peasants and the Ignorant Rich

By Gwynne Dyer

The new Omicron variant of the Covid-19 virus was discovered last week by scientists in South Africa and Botswana, the only countries in southern Africa that have the skills and resources to detect a new variant.

So what did  the rich countries of the world do? Like the drunk looking for his lost car keys under a street-light – “Where did you drop them?” “Over there.” “Then why are you looking for them here?” “The light’s better here.” – they banned travel from southern African countries.

On 23 November, scientists in Botswana uploaded 99 Sars-CoV-2 genome sequences to the Wellcome Sanger Institute in the United Kingdom, which has operated as a clearing house for more than a million such sequences from dozens of countries since March 2020. They noted that three of the genomes seemed different from the usual Delta variant.

On the same day a separate team in South Africa uploaded the genomes of seven Covid samples with the same suspicious mutations in the spike protein that the virus uses to infect human cells. Within hours scientists everywhere could study those genomes on the web, and in 72 hours the World Health Organisation declared that we have a fifth ‘variant of concern’ on our hands.

Whereupon the rich countries of the global north instantly slammed their gates shut against travelers from South Africa and nine other countries in the same region. It’s not even clear that this is where the variant first emerged, but never mind all that.

Prof. Tulio de Oliveira, the Durban-based scientist leading the effort to understand the new variant, pointed out that South Africa has been “very transparent with scientific information… The world should provide support to South Africa and Africa and not discriminate or isolate it.” Fat chance.

By Sunday South Africa’s President Cyril Ramaphosa was warning that the travel ban “is not informed by science, nor will it be effective in preventing the spread of this variant. The only thing the prohibition on travel will do is to further damage the economies of the affected countries and undermine their ability to respond to and recover from the pandemic.”

Where to start? Perhaps with the fact that there is no country called ‘Africa’. For example, there is actually no shortage of vaccines in South Africa, a semi-developed country where the main problem is vaccine reluctance. Internet access is high and mistrust of authority is even higher, so only 27% of South Africans are fully vaccinated.

This is what you might call the ‘digital peasant’ problem, and it is shared by some fully developed countries like Russia (only 43% of the population double-vaccinated) and Germany (68%), as well as by Trump supporters in the United States (ca. 50%).

Cynics might say that this is a self-solving problem. As Germany’s outgoing health minister Jens Spahn put it, “probably by the end of this winter, pretty much everyone in Germany will be vaccinated, recovered or dead.” But this is not just a local problem.

The risk of new variants emerging still exists even in rich countries where the Covid virus continues to circulate widely. In most African countries, and in the poorest Asian countries as well, the risk is very high and will remain so, because they just can’t get enough vaccines. A year after the first vaccines became available, only 6% of Africans are fully vaccinated.

Twelve billion vaccine doses will have been produced in the world by the end of this month (December), which is more than enough for every human being over 18 years old. But the rationing is mainly done by price, so school-children are being vaccinated and adults are getting a third jab in the wealthy countries, while several billion adults have not yet had their first jab in the global south.

 

In effect, the rich are maintaining a long-term reservoir of potentially devastating new variants in the poorer countries in order to make themselves a little bit more secure in the short term. Everybody knows that being rich tends to make people greedy and careless about the welfare of others; it’s less well known that it also makes them stupid.

And in the meantime, they are also punishing the economies of the poor by imposing knee-jerk travel bans on an entire region of Africa on suspicion of harbouring the Omicron virus – even though we all know that it has already been confirmed in Europe and Asia, and is doubtless present (although not yet detected) in the Americas too.

The right move, even at this late date, is to focus all the world’s energies on getting vaccines into the poorest countries: ‘nobody is safe until everybody is safe’. Omicron looks like it may be a big problem, and there could be even bigger ones behind it.

 

Local Civil Wars

Local civil wars: Eartha Muirhead

This November, the RCMP have been violently removing Wet’suwet’en Indigenous land defenders from their territory, in order to allow Coastal GasLink’s (CGL) fracked gas pipeline to be buried beneath the raging Morice River. This week, two planes full of RCMP officers, armed with snipers, canine units, and other military-grade

equipment, raided and arrested more than a dozen people, including elders, Indigenous land defenders, journalists, and legal observers. While B.C. is in the midst of a climate emergency, the RCMP is raiding sovereign Indigenous territory to ram through a fossil fuel pipeline which will only worsen the climate crisis. In 2019 and 2020, RCMP have spent approximately 13 million dollars, and up until March 2021, 5.8 million dollars on colonial violence in Wedzin Kwa, also known as, the Morice River area.

The Wet’suwet’en Hereditary Chiefs are the proper title holders on their unceded territory, which the Supreme Court of Canada recognized in a landmark case. The Hereditary Chiefs have governance rights that precede the elected band councils enacted under the colonial Indian Act and all five Hereditary Chiefs have refused to give their consent to Coastal Gaslink. This isn’t the first time the RCMP has invaded Wet’suwet’en territory. Land defenders have controlled access to the Morice Forest Service Road to stop Coastal GasLink from drilling under Wedzin Kwa, after the Wet’suwet’en served Coastal GasLink with an eviction notice two years ago. This week, Wet’suwet’en Hereditary Chiefs gave an eviction notice to Nathan Cullen, MLA, calling on him to step down because he is not demanding CGL’s immediate halt to all pipeline construction. Please visit the Gidimt’en Yintah Access Point website here: https://www.yintahaccess.com/take-action-1. If you are able to, please donate to the the Land Defenders legal fund: https://go.rallyup.com/wetsuwetenstrong/ Campaign/Details

And on Sunday, November 29, at Fairy Creek, two Indigenous wimmin were ambushed by RCMP officers and dragged away to a Duncan jail. There remains still a deafening silence from the BC Court of Appeals; but injunction or not, the cops are enforcing the rule of colonial law. Ancient Mother Trees and their children are being slaughtered while the corporate warlords continue their ecocidal crimes; all subsidized by colonial banks, colonial governments and social atrophy.

To learn more about the Fairy Creek blockade, please visit www.laststandforforests.com. To donate to Fairy Creek legal defense fund, go to

<LSFFdonate@protonmail.com> and put the word “legal” in the subject heading. “A possible life is one that wills the impossible.” Mahmoud Darwish

 

December Daphne Days!

December Daphne Days!

Submitted by Erika Bland for Denman Conservancy Association

In the past few years, I’ve noticed that invasive Daphne (daphne laureola) a.k.a Spurge-Laurel is becoming a real problem across Denman Island. I’m seeing it in new places nearly every time I go out for a walk. This month, we hope you will join Denman Conservancy in our first ever December Daphne Days! For the month of December, let’s learn about Daphne, and get out and remove it!

Daphne Info Webinar: To kick off Daphne Days, Heidi Grant from Coastal Invasive Species Committee will be giving an online talk on the biology of Daphne, and how we can use this information to control its presence on the island. As well, learn more about how Coastal ISC can help you with other invasive plants on your property. The talk will be conducted via Zoom on December 8th at 6PM. Link to it here:

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/81568848117?pwd=MXBzTFhCL1AzbXU1bVlJbTY3THBBZz09

A Bit About Daphne: Popular as an ornamental in gardens and for florists, due to its glossy, rhododendron-like leaves and fragrant flowers, Daphne is tolerant of both sun and shade but rapidly takes over native vegetation by forming dense thickets in a range of ecosystems. Its deep black berries are loved by birds, who spread its seeds. It occupies similar niches as native species like Salal and Oregon Grape, which provide important shelter, forage and nectaring opportunities for many wildlife species. When the plants are small, they can easily be mistaken for another leathery species that grows in similar forested environments: ‘Prince’s Pine’ – Chimaphila umbellata. However, this native species has serrated leaf edges, grows in creeping clusters of plants and is much smaller, not growing larger than about 30 cm tall. (See photos for comparison.)

A group of white flowers

Description automatically generated with medium confidence Chimaphila umbellata - Prince's Pine

Daphne Cluster Prince’s Pine Cluster

December ‘One-A-Day’ Daphne Removal Campaign: December is a great time to control Daphne, as it is present year-round and is easier to access with the dieback of native vegetation. Tackling it now while it is flowering means preventing further spread of this plant since berries have usually not yet formed or matured. Rains at this time of year moisten the soil so that pulling out smaller plants is easier than when soils are dry.

We challenge you to get out and remove just one plant (or one small patch of Daphne plants) each day this month where you live. Take a photo and keep track of your numbers. Watch our Facebook page for updates and send your photos and removal updates to dcalandmanager@gmail.com. The person who removes the most Daphne plants this month will win a $25 gift certificate to Abraxas books!

How to Manually Control Daphne: When removing Daphne, use gloves and pull small plants by hand, especially when the ground is moist. Remove larger plants (more than 30 cm) by cutting the stem just below ground level, with as little disturbance to the soil as possible, even though this means leaving part of the root system behind. Mind the Sap! The bark, sap and berries of Daphne can cause skin irritation (and in rare cases nausea or vomiting). So, make sure to wear gloves when handling it. Daphne won’t re-root from cut pieces, so it’s ok to ‘chop and drop’ it, as long as it’s not somewhere where children or pets might get into it, due to the toxicity factor. If you’re worried about that, plants can also be collected and buried, or bagged and brought to landfill. Daphne should never be burned due to its toxic compounds.

If you have Daphne in your garden, consider replacing it with an alternative that will not threaten local native ecosystems. BC Invasive Species Council suggests the following plants as alternatives for Daphne in gardens: Evergreen Huckleberry (vaccinium ovatum); Japanese Azalea (rhododendron kiusianum hybrids); Oregon Grape (berberis nervosa); Tall Oregon Grape (berberis aquifolium); Winter Daphne (daphne odora).

This December (and anytime), if you see Daphne where you live, or on trails where you spend time, please consider taking a few minutes to pull it out or cut it and help keep island biodiversity thriving!

 

Official Results Show That Hornby and Denman Islands High-Speed Internet Project Moving Forward

Official Results Show That Hornby and Denman Islands High-Speed Internet Project Moving Forward

November 29, 2021

On November 27, 2021 a referendum for the proposed Hornby and Denman Islands high-speed internet initiative was held. The official results have been tallied and the community has voted in favor of moving forward with the project. 94% of voters were in favour of establishment of the service, authorizing the necessary borrowing and entering into an agreement with CityWest, the telecommunications service provider. Voter turnout was 55% of the estimated eligible electors.

Advance Voting Opportunity:

Wednesday November 17, 2021 from 8:00 am to 8:00 pm at the CVRD Office

Special Voting Opportunity:

Wednesday November 24, 2021 from 9:00 am to 12:00 pm at the Denman Island Senior’s Centre

Special Voting Opportunity:

Wednesday November 24, 2021 from 2:00 pm to 5:00 pm at the Hornby Island Community Hall

Mail Ballot Voting General Voting Day:

Saturday November 27, 2021 from 8:00 am to 8:00 pm at the Denman Island Senior’s Centre

General Voting Day:

Saturday November 27, 2021 from 8:00 am to 8:00 pm at the New Horizons Seniors Hall

TOTAL NUMBER OF VALID VOTES CAST

“I am thrilled to see the community voted in favor. The new service will bring high speed internet to both Hornby and Denman Islands, and will provide both homes and businesses top-notch connectivity.” explains Comox Valley Regional District Electoral Area A Director Daniel Arbour. “Seeing projects like this come to fruition after years of research and community interest is so amazing. Thank you to the Hornby/Denman

Internet Committee for bringing this issue to light and helping find a community solution with CityWest.”

Total project costs are estimated at approximately $7.6 million with 90 per cent being covered by grants. A community contribution of 10 per cent or $760,000 is required as part of the grant funding criteria.

On December 7, the CVRD Board will consider adoption of the bylaws upon which next steps for the project can be developed.

To learn more about the project and referendum results visit www.comoxvalleyrd.ca/islandsinternet

(http://www.comoxvalleyrd.ca/islandsinternet)

The Comox Valley Regional District is a federation of three electoral areas and three municipalities providing sustainable services for residents and visitors to the area. The members of the regional district work collaboratively on services for the benefit of the diverse urban and rural areas of the Comox Valley.

– 30 –

Media Contact:

Jake Martens, General Manager of Corporate Services and Chief Election Officer 250-334-6029

© 2021 Comox Valley Regional District

 

Memoir of a Rural Sisyphus-Redux, First Spring

Introduction

Memoir of a Rural Sisyphus-Redux

Bill Engleson

For a few years, I kept a diary of my inauguration into the Denman Community. This column, recently renamed Memoir of a Rural Sisyphus-Redux, will extract a few of my observations from a dozen or so years ago and share them. This particular extract was carefully and artfully prepared for the 2006 Audio Arts CD, Musical Chairs. It was significantly enhanced on the CD the musically artistry of Randy Duncan. Hopefully, it will have some modern times currency.

First Spring

March 2, 2004

It is near the end of our first full winter on Denman Island. Hibernation time is about to lapse. More’s the pity as it has been play up to now. Rural conjuring, a pretend sort of experience, at least on my part. My love has always had a more realistic bent. And a more complex work ethic to boot.

Today, sun beaming down and warming the 10-degree earth, we chance out into the yard. She shows me the work options. I am exhausted just contemplating any one of the tasks. I pluck a few broom plants, recycle some bottles, gather blow down and add them to a future bonfire. I seem the complete fidgeter, jumping from chore to chore like a giant hummingbird. I attempt to ignite the pile of accumulated forest refuse but all I generate is a flit of smoke. I pull some broom and contemplate cleaning out the gutters.

“Help me get rid of this big rock,” my love beckons. She is digging in the garden and is about eight inches down. A large rock impedes her way. I am of a mind to let it lay there, like some sleeping dog. Surely, we can grow vegetables around it. My arguments are obviously weak and betray a slacker’s inclination. We extract the stone, like the old molar it is. My love is delighted. We have one more sacrifice for her rock retaining wall. She is drawn to rock walls, to the methodical layering, one on another, rock on rock, boulder on boulder, not like Frost’s neighbour in Mending Walls, to mark property and keep land orderly, but for the sheer beauty of erecting an immaculate wall of stone. I expect that this hunk of granite is the first of hundreds I’ll be called on to remove. I see no reprieve from her master plan. I pity the souls of these stones; they only want to be left alone, left where time has placed them; either that or to be swept up in one mother landslide, some magnificent avalanche, the true calling of rocks.

Nonetheless, what a glorious day? A few clouds hover back of the Beaufort Hills but other wise the sky is as blue as sea.

Later, my ignition attempts improve. The bonfire is much more inflammatory. Well, perhaps not quite the right word but it catches fire well and burns most of the afternoon. Three properties over, a neighbour is burning one of his fifty feet tall piles but reports it isn’t catching. I have never aspired to skyscraper sized burning mounds. Small fires engender manageable pleasures.

I pull out of storage one of two original green plastic Adirondack style lawn chairs, crack a beer open and settle back to soak up the faint sun and sight of smoke. I daydream of rock walls built at a slow and meandering pace. Off in the distance, the sound of circling birds too early for the herring run. Down on the sea, a small launch inches along the sound. The fire crackles. I keep a watchful eye. The occasional plane scoots across the open sky. The sun starts to set, the evening chill sweeps up the hill from the sea, the fire’s smoke dances in front of my eyes and chases me down.I cannot escape it. In time, the fire falters, gasping for fuel. It has run its course.

I take a turn in the hot tub. And what a joy that is. The air is crisp, and the slight breeze gently slaps my face with a chilled hand as the trunk of my body is warmed by the heated water. The eucalyptus tree on the side yard was horribly misshapen by the weight of winter snow. It is bent at 90 degrees and hangs over the roof of the house like some cliff overhang, menacing in its deformity.

As I lollygag about in the hot tub, I am aware that I have let much of another sunny day slip away.

At night, my love and I speculate on beach bonfires, coolers of beer, sparkling spring night skies, full moons, endless walls of stone and mad cats.

Sadness, Thomas Provençal

When sadness lives in beauty 

we have nothing left to lose. 

To our soul we have a duty 

and our mindset we do choose. 

Our will directs our destiny 

choosing details for our path. 

We can live in happiness 

or succumb to raging wrath. 

Sadness is destructive 

when it is left to smolder, 

circulating in our system; 

it makes the blood run colder. 

An exacerbated emptiness 

can fill us with a void 

leaving only room for heartache 

while others get annoyed.

Del Phillips releases his album, Gentle Molecules

Hi folks, my name is Del Phillips and I’ve lived on Denman Island for 33 years. As of this month I’m the proud parent of a brand new musical album, entitled:

“ Gentle Molecules “ 

The 13 song album was recorded, engineered and produced by Hornby Island master of all things musical, Marc Atkinson. Marc, recent winner of the Canadian Folk Music award for Best Solo Instrumental Album, also plays every instrument on every song and co-wrote all of the tunes. Scotty Donaldson, Randy Duncan, and Cafe Pete Keher also co-wrote tunes with Marc and I. Hornby Island residents Kim June Johnson and James Emerson provided additional vocals as well.

   It’s an album of stories presented in sometimes traditional Folk style, while others are more alternative Folk. Some tunes are guitar based, others piano. The album deals with important and oft controversial topics like the opioid crises, Fish Farms and the declining viability of the shellfish industry. Maidens Blush is a song of love, loss and renewal placed on Canada’s Prairies in the 1950s. Just A War Wound is a dramatic and moving piece that poses the question …” can you feel anything at all? “ within a deep dive into PTSD.

  Not to say that the album is all heavy listening, not at all. Several toe tapping tunes show up in the form of a Celtic ode to life and love down at the Riverside, a sea shanty about a life of work on the beach, and a hook laden song about a poor fella and his communication breakdown with a bewildered Lady In The Lake. The title song Gentle Molecules is a bouncy and happy tribute to the empathetic people that have hoisted me up from anxiety and depression that sometimes invade my life.

This is my first album in 16 years, following my “ Delbertwindowpain Suites “

  This new album or singles can be streamed or purchased on almost all streaming platforms, Google Music, Amazon, Apple Music, You Tube and Spotify. The CD’s arrived on our front porch last week and are available from myself or Shirley Phillips at Lilac Sun Pottery. CD Albums also available at Abraxas Books and at The Guest House on Denman.

Check out my website, delphillips.ca for all the album details, song lyrics and photos.

 

Green Wizardries, Max Rogers

Green Wizardries, Hot Mash for Hens and Darning to Save the World, by Maxine Rogers

The Oak King is losing a hard-fought battle with the Holly King. According to Druid legend, the Oak King rules the summer half of the year and the Holly King rules the winter half of the year. It has been getting colder and dry with sharp frosts and then wet and mild with rain as the Oak King battles back. We all know he is going to lose and soon.

The question is, how will this affect your hens and what are you going to do about it? I was talking with a young lady who has her first flock of laying hens and she said they had stopped laying. Now, there are two factors here: one is that hens need a certain amount of daylight hours to lay eggs at all. They need 14 to 16 hours of daylight to lay eggs. The supplemental light should be added in the morning so they roost naturally.

The second thing is, in the cold of winter they need enough nutrition to keep warm and to lay eggs. If they are not getting enough good food, they will stay warm but stop laying.

You may well ask why the hens don’t just eat more of their layer pellets? Think for a moment. Layer pellets are always a food of last resort for hens. The feeder can be full of layer pellets and not a single hen is eating. If you throw in a chunk of wormy compost, suddenly, they are all eating.

That is where a hot mash comes in. Some people like to put their hens in the barn at night with a hot mash and some people like to give the hens a hot breakfast. Mine get a hot breakfast in the winter and they seem to thrive on it.

One farmer friend just pours a kettle of boiling water over a dish of layer pellets and lets the water soak in and cool down a bit and gives his hens that. The benefit to this is the hens think they are getting a treat and eat the hot mash up quickly, getting lots of water at the same time. Hens don’t want to drink ice-cold water when they are cold already so a warm, moist mash gives them the fluid they need to digest their food.

Other people make more elaborate mashes containing table scraps, porridge oats, fruit, kelp meal, soaked hen scratch and chopped greens. I sometimes soak alfalfa pellets and add that to their mash but not too much or the hens balk at it. I render lard from pig’s fat and the crackling, the leftovers from lard production, go into the hens mash. I give them mutton fat too as they really need rich food in the winter, especially bantams.

My bantams are Mille Fleurs, so you might expect them to be a French breed but they are really from Holland. They are large for bantams, about half the size of a laying hen. Smaller birds have more trouble keeping warm in the winter and mine stopped laying in the winter, years ago. I looked up the problem and the traditional solution: hot mash.

The next part of this essay deals with another underutilized traditional skill and that is darning. To illustrate my story, I want to tell you about a. favourite pair of trousers I have. They are green, cotton breeches that tie at the waist and knee. They came all the way from Nepal. I loved them so much I wore them out on the inner thighs and tore a hole in the leg while wearing them in the garden.

The holes in the inner thigh were very large and the remaining cloth there, very thin. Sewing a patch on them would not work. I thought about a story I read set in the gold rush of South Africa and how the servant would darn the master’s trousers. I thought I would try some visible mending.

Back in the day, people did invisible mending. They used different coloured threads to simulate the weave of a tweed or what have you. Some of those darns are minor works of art. I know because people were so proud of their master works that they were sometimes framed. I guess this helped if you were going for a job where needlework was part of the work. Easier to bring a framed scrap to an interview than a whole pair of trousers.

I can’t darn like that but I did have wool yarn I had spun and dyed in two shades of green. I was able to darn the thin cloth to strengthen it and to reweave places were the cloth was frankly missing in action.

The result was a fine pair of trousers with some very attractive darns if you look closely enough. One pair of trousers will not save the world but think what went into my having the trousers in the first place. Someone had to plow a field, probably using a petroleum-powered machine. The plants probably got dosed with synthetic fertilizer which, along with plowing, is terrible for the soil health. Then the plants were probably sprayed with fungicides and possibly herbicides. Cotton is a very polluting crop.

We are not done yet. The cotton was picked either by someone under the hot sun by hand or picked by another petroleum-powered machine. Transported by belching, diesel truck to a mill, carded by electrically-powered machines but the electricity was most likely from a (dirty) coal-fired electrical generation plant. Spun and woven by the same dirty electricity and then transported again to a factory to be cut out and sewn up by people who are classed as cheap labour and who help our lives of exaggerated luxury to continue on their exploited backs.

Then, the trousers were probably packaged in plastic that will be around, polluting for ages and poisoning any little creature who ingests it by mistake. Then, the trousers were shipped by various polluting technologies most of the way around the world where they came to me.

So, you see, by darning the trousers, I have saved the need for all that environmental destruction, exploitation and pollution that would have been necessary if I had bought another pair of trousers. Plus, I would never have been able to find this style of trousers again. If you are interested in darning, you might want to look up Sashiko, a traditional Japanese style of visible mending.

 

An Unpainted Portrait, A Kraken Awakes

A Kraken (of sorts) Awakes

Shortly after being thoroughly insulted, we were ‘marched’ for the first time. Now – this is awkward – before I move on, please understand that I am a reasonably coordinated person. I can drive a car without tying my legs and arms in knots, I can dress without a great deal of assistance, and I can even rub my tummy and pat myself on the head at the same time (or is that the other way round?). I was moderately proficient at several sports which required me to do more than one thing at a time and very involved in playing rugby. I’d therefore anticipated no problems in the area of working out how to move my arms and legs to travel forwards. Uhuh…

Having received some basic instructions, we moved across the parking lot in a wobbly single file. Most of us ended up looking down at our feet for some reason, as if we had no other way of telling what was happening down there. This provoked hysterical shrieking from our instructor. Of course, it just had to be me who made the basic – and utterly disastrous – error of trying to march. Perhaps I crave attention…anyway, the result of my inability was catastrophically funny to everyone except myself and Tendril.

“WHAT!…IS!…YOUR!…BLOODY…NAME!?” he screamed when we were safely out of earshot of the people in the buildings. Adding to my anxiety, we were by this time disturbingly close to where I’d parked my heap of automotive delight. In his own gentle and nurturing way he marched alongside me, seething noisily. It didn’t help. I tried to tell him that my body was no longer under my conscious influence – I really did – but with my neurology fully engaged in trying not to tie my legs into a pretzel, I was unable to speak. For a moment I considered bursting into tears and sitting down on the spot but decided that – despite the disaster unfolding below my neck – doing so was probably not the best way to start a career.

At first, it wasn’t too bad because I was at the back of the line and it only sounded hilarious to my colleagues, but after a short period of hopeless staggering about, Tendril stopped us with a high pitched shriek of “Class!…Claa-aassss…HALT!” We sputtered to a stop. Tendril made his way to exactly one point six-seven millimetres from my cheek. “WHAT are you trying to do?” he shouted into my ear, a second or two after the soft pitter-patter of halting feet had died down. While my left ear began to close up for the rest of my life, I computed the data and assumed that this was a rhetorical question and kept my mouth shut to await the next sarcastic volley. “WELL?” Oh; not rhetorical; “Trying to march, sir.” I replied, with as much dignity as I could muster. ‘Trying’ was the operative word; I was trying very hard, but I was failing in a manner that had reduced my colleagues to a giggling bunch of idiots. Trying wasn’t working.

Somehow – and I still don’t know exactly how I did this – before we had come to a halt, both of my arms had started moving forwards and backwards at the same time. As in: together. Try it – go on. Stand up and start walking with both arms held out in front of you, then swing them back together – and repeat. If you have just done so – and by the way, I hope that you aren’t reading this on a train or in the library – you’ll know that it’s a very difficult way to move about. Tendril was – rather unfairly, I thought – quite ignorant of the extraordinary feat of locomotion that he had been privileged to observe. I deserved a medal, not abuse!

“Is there something wrong with you then?” he said with a hint of desperation creeping into his voice, as a tiny drop of saliva landed on my earlobe. My brain, busily engaged in the middle of a protracted re-boot, located a suitable response from its mid-term memory cache. “Hay fever, sir!” Part of me (the thirteen-year-old class clown) rejoiced in the comic timing, and part of me (the almost-adult) quailed at the clanger that I had just dropped, not unlike an ACME anvil, onto my own foot. There was an unpleasant silence of the kind that usually hangs around between the time the condemned person looks up and notices the guillotine blade and the moment it starts to fall. The great man tried to work out what I’d said, allowing several of my colleagues to splutter, snort and unsuccessfully stifle their laughter. Somebody along the line sounded like they were retching.

My nemesis glared at me from underneath his slashed peak, seemingly lost for words, working out if I was mocking him. Somehow, probably as a by-product of my abject terror, I managed to maintain a deadpan expression. Had I intended to be facetious, I’d have never kept my face straight, but what had taken place instead was the equivalent of my brain surprising itself. His own internal battle continued for a few seconds as his spleen wrapped itself around his gall bladder and squeezed, whereupon a hoarse scream devoid of any actual words erupted from his shrivelled body. I braced myself for a bayonet between the fifth and sixth ribs. The man visibly took a moment to draw some deep breaths and control himself. “Right…we’ll start again, this time going back towards the building. Sort yourself OUT!” This last was aimed at the group as a whole, and then he turned to me with a snarl: “I don’t care if you’ve got St. Vitus’ bloody dance my lad, get your friggin’ arms swinging properly!” He sounded fragile, as if for the first time realizing the enormity of the challenge. For the first – and only – time, I felt a tiny pang of pity for the man.

Having turned us all to face in the right direction, he set us off once again: “BY THE FRONT, QUICK MERCH!” he croaked. I was rather pleased with myself for stepping off with the proper foot, but within three paces I was thinking furiously, listening to Tendril’s barked “’Eft, ‘ight, ‘eft, ‘ight…” and, fatally, trying to get conscious control of each arm. Trying is the bane of novice marchers. The result was horrific; a fuse – or possibly a valve – blew somewhere in my head and the brain went on holiday once again, leaving my body to try to make the best of a bad job. It failed. Both arms began to move together – again. We headed towards the buildings and pale faces appeared at classroom windows as we made our way towards them; faces which bore expressions of amusement, incredulity and, I swear, on some was fixed wonder and awe. Needless to say; within a very short period of time our meagre band, maintaining an entirely new variation on ‘single file’, came to a halt and dissolved into helpless laughter at my ambulatory failings. Tendril, beside himself with rage and for some reason taking my unintentional spasms as a personal insult, spluttered and croaked and was clearly bemoaning the fact that he didn’t have a suitable firearm with which to dispatch me, as he would a wounded animal…

Killer Drones

20 November 2021

Killer Drones 

By Gwynne Dyer

Commercially available quadcopter drones carrying small amounts of explosives are “the most concerning tactical development since the rise of the improvised explosive device in Iraq,” US Marine Gen. Kenneth McKenzie Jr., senior US commander for the Middle East, said last February. But now drones are political weapons as well, and it will get worse.

Two weeks ago three quadcopters flew into the heavily fortified ‘Green Zone’ in Baghdad to attack the home of Iraqi Prime Minister Mustafa al-Kadhimi, who won last month’s national election and is working to form a new coalition government (usually a months-long haggle in Iraq).

Two of the drones were shot down, but the third dropped explosives that blew in Kadhimi’s front door, injured at least five guards, and wounded the prime minister’s wrist. If he had died, he would have been the first senior politician killed by a drone, but that honour will have to go to someone else. We probably won’t have to wait too long.

Small quadcopter drones were first used by ‘Islamic State’ during the siege of Mosul in 2017, and the main venue is still Iraq. A drone loaded with a 2-kilo munition was found on a rooftop in central Baghdad in March, another was found nearby after it crashed in July, and US forces shot down a quadcopter carrying explosives over the US embassy later that month.

Long-range, million-dollar drones have been killing people remotely for  a more than a decade, but those are big aircraft making big explosions and they usually avoid densely populated urban areas. They won the war for Azerbaijan against Armenia last year, which was their first decisive use in a ‘conventional’ war. But now we are seeing something quite different.

“I’m not just talking about large unmanned platforms, which are the size of a conventional fighter jet that we can see and deal with by normal air defense means,” explained General Mackenzie. “I’m talking about ones you can go out and buy at Costco right now for $1,000.”

If you have some people who are good at making improvised explosive devices ( a fairly widespread skill these days), then buy yourself a clutch of drones big enough to carry two or three kilos each and you can go into business right away.

Otherwise, you’ll have to figure out how to make ‘IEDs’ for yourself by trial and error – and do bear mind that errors are generally lethal. But the golden age of political assassinations, dormant for a century, is probably on its way back in. 

You can shoot down quadcopters, of course, but they are small, fast-moving targets. They can be launched in large numbers, and they can avoid detection until the last moment by staying low amid the urban clutter. If they are actively guided you can jam the signal, but if they are following a pre-programmed flight path using GPS there’s no signal to jam.

They’re also untraceable. Even if you find the bits after the thing exploded, there will be no markings on the pieces that let you trace it back to the person who bought it.

What caused the recent unpleasantness in Iraq was that Khadhimi’s party won the right to form the new government in the October election, while the pro-Iranian militias lost two-thirds of their seats in parliament. It was a surprisingly fair election, but the militias automatically claimed foul. (They even borrowed Trump’s slogan: “Stop the Steal”.)

On 5 November stone-throwing militia supporters marched on the Green Zone to protest. The police opened fire, dozens of people were injured, and at least one demonstrator, maybe two, died. The drone attack on Kadhimi’s house, ‘safe’ inside the Green Zone, came just two days later.

It doesn’t take much by the way of offense to motivate people into doing something that’s so cheap and safe (for the attacker). Even if the attack fails, the authorities probably won’t be able to find the perpetrator. Just wait a month or so, and try again from a different direction with different speeds and altitudes.

It’s inevitable that this technique will spread rapidly far beyond Iraq, and that politicians and other prominent public figures will be vulnerable to it in every country, even the well-run ones. They will need more security than before, perhaps much more, and even that will not guarantee their safety.

And there may be one more step in this dance. It’s not normally a good idea for a killer drone to be in direct radio contact with the person who launches it, but if that person has access to face-recognition software it might be possible to make remote attacks outdoors on individual people with relatively little ‘collateral damage’. Is nothing safe?

Of course not. It never was, really. Kings needed food-tasters to avoid being poisoned; presidents and prime ministers just need different kinds of protection.