Cosas de España/Galiza
Let’s hear it for the Spanish national rugby team – Los Leones – of whose existence you might well have been unaware. They’re through to the finals of the next World Cup, to be held in France next year. Sadly, they had to edge out our Portuguese neighbours to get there.
The prestigious jamón company Cinco Jotas employs 6 ‘sniffers’ to test the quality of their ham legs, pre-sale. Their job is to poke each pork loin in 4 places with probes made of cow bone and take evaluative whiffs. The most expert of these gets through 800 a day normally but as many as 3,200 a day at Xmas. Which he says can be a tad stressful. I’ll bet.
Boris Johnson is criticising ‘the West’ for not doing things re Russian gas supplies in 2014 – when it invaded Crimea – which he almost certainly didn’t recommend doing back then. This might be the one and only example of him criticising himself. Sort of.
Richard North today: The heart of Putin’s problem – years of corruption, incompetence and delusion are now exposed, and there is no rowing back. The Russian army may be good at killing civilians and breaking things, but it is not a credible fighting machine against a well-motivated enemy which is tolerably well-equipped. Putin’s homicidal assault is not so much stalled as completely bogged down and going nowhere. And, lacking the capability to win, we will see many more inconclusive days until the political realities are acknowledged and this wretched affair is brought to a halt.
Meanwhile . . .
Marina Ovsyannikova . . . An astonishingly brave woman. FB and Instagram are naturally blocked in Russia but I think Telegram and even Whatsapp still work there. Surely Russian users should be bombarded with a video of her and her placard on the set of the Channel One. Maybe even by individuals to random Russian numbers.
The Dark Heart of Russia – an interesting article, below.
Will it bail out Putin, ensuring the survival of this madman, at least for a while? See here on this.
The Way of the World
The war in Ukraine has exposed the moral infirmities of the West, says the writer of the 2nd article below
John Cleese has ruffled feathers making the valid point that slavery had existed for centuries before Europe – ie the Portuguese – first got involved in it. He cited the enslaving of Brits by the Romans and the Norman French – but left out the Danes – and suggested Italy give reparations for the Roman invasion. This bit of satire didn’t go down well with the woke folk interviewing him, as you can read here.
Calar. To penetrate a permeable body.
Un calador: Inter alia: A jamón sniffer
La cala: The probe used by caladores. (Also, it seems, a laxative suppository)
More nice words/phrases we’ve lost below . . .
Finally . . .
To amuse . . . Things in the news:-
For new reader(s): If you’ve landed here looking for info on Galicia or Pontevedra, try here. If you’re passing through Pontevedra on the Camino, you’ll find a guide to the city there.
RECOGNISABLE OLD ENGLISH WORDS: PART 7 Pronunciation in brackets
From Hana Videen’s The Wordhord
æppel, noun (ap-pell): Apple, fruit; something round, ball.
bān-fæt, noun (bahn-vat): ‘Bone-vesse/vat’, the body.
bān-hūs, noun (bahn-hoos): ‘Bone-house’, the body.
bān-loca, noun (bahn-lock-ah): ‘Bone-enclosure’, ‘bone-locker’, muscle or the body.
brægen, noun (brae-yen): Brain.
brēost-loca, noun (bray-ost-lock-ah): ‘Breast-locker/enclosure’, the mind.
dēofol-sēocnes, noun (day-ov-ol-say-ock-ness): ‘Devil-sickness’, possession by devils, insanity.
ēage, noun (ay-ah-yuh): Eye.
ēag-sealf, noun (ay-ah-seh-alf): Eye salve, ointment for the eye.
ēar-clǣnsiend, noun (ay-ar-klan-zi-yend): Little finger (ear-cleaner).
ēar-finger, noun (ay-ar-fing-ger): Little finger (ear-finger).
fæt, noun (fat): Vessel or container, mainly for fluids.
fēond-sēocnes, noun (fay-ond-say-ock-ness): ‘Fiend-sickness’, possession by devils, insanity.
feorh-hord, noun (feh-or’h-hord): ‘Life-treasure’, ‘life-hoard’, the soul or spirit.
finger, noun (fing-ger): Finger.
flǣsc-hama, noun (flash-ha-ma): ‘Flesh-covering’, the body.
flǣsc-hord, noun (flash-hord): ‘Flesh-hoard’, the body.
fōt, noun (foat): Foot.
fylle-sēocnes, noun (fue-luh-say-ock-ness): ‘Falling-sickness’, possibly epilepsy.
ge-wit-lēast, noun (yeh-wit-lay-ahst): Witlessness, madness.
gold-finger, noun (gold-fing-ger): Ring finger.
gor, noun (gor): Dung, faeces, filth, dirt, slime. (gore)
hand, noun (hahnd): Hand.
hǣlþ, noun (halth): (Good) health, freedom from sickness; (act of) healing.
hēafod-gim, noun (hay-ah-vod-yim): Eye (head-gem).
heorte, noun (heh-or-tuh): Heart.
hord-loca, noun (hord-lock-ah): ‘Hoard-locker’, ‘treasure-locker’, the mind.
hring-finger, noun (h’ring-fing-ger): Ring finger.
lifer, noun (liv-er): Liver.
middel-finger, noun (mid-dell-fing-ger): Middle finger.
mōd, noun (moad): Mind, heart, spirit. (mood)
mōnaþ-sēocness, noun (mo-nath-say-ock-ness): Lunacy (month-sickness).
mūþ, noun (mooth): Mouth.
mūþ-frēo, adjective (mooth-fray-oh): At liberty to speak (mouth-free).
sāwel,noun (sah-well): Soul-blood.
scyte-finger, noun (shue-tuh-fing-ger): Index finger (shooting-finger or arrow-finger).
sēocness, noun (say-ock-ness: Sickness, illness.
swāt, noun (swaht): (In medicine) sweat, perspiration, plant juice; (in poetry) blood.
þūma, noun (thoo-ma): Thumb.
wamb, noun (wahmb): Belly, stomach; womb.
wæter-sēocness, noun (wat-er-say-ock-ness): ‘Water-sickness’, oedema.
1. The dark heart of Russia. Putin doesn’t need a reason to kill: Costică Brădățan, Professor of Humanities at Texas Tech University.
Why did Smerdyakov kill cats? Just because. The lackey is one of the most washed-out faces in Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov. He is inconspicuous, elusive, slippery, always hiding, always doing things on the sly. And yet behind this mask of anonymity there lies something frightening: a compulsion to do evil for its own sake. When Smerdyakov is introduced, we learn of him that “as a child he was fond of hanging cats and then burying them with ceremony”.
One feels compelled — especially when one comes from Eastern Europe — to look to literature for answers to bigger questions about Russia’s history and presence in the world. The Brothers Karamazov is a highly symbolic book, and Smerdyakov is perhaps the ultimate symbol in it. As he grows up, he gets better and better at gratuitous evil. Now an adult, Smerdyakov teaches kids in the neighbourhood a certain trick: “take a piece of bread, […] stick a pin in it, and toss it to some yard dog, the kind that’s so hungry it will swallow whatever it gets without chewing it, and then watch what happens”.
Why torture the dogs? Why not? Eventually Smerdyakov develops this into a systematic, coherent behaviour. He kills Fyodor Pavlovich without any clear motive; he plans the murder to the last detail and commits it in cold blood, but we don’t know why. He kills just because.
Smerdyakovism is an obscure, yet tremendous force that runs deep throughout Russian history. Its basic principle is formulated succinctly by the lackey himself: “The Russian people need thrashing”. Why? Just because. Smerdyakovism flares up especially in the form of leaders and institutions that rule through terror alone; repression for the sake of repression. Its impact is overwhelming, its memory traumatic, and its social effects always paralysing. Joseph Conrad sees “something inhuman”, from another world, in these Smerdyakovian institutions. The government of Tsarist Russia, relying on an omnipresent, omnipotent secret police, and “arrogating to itself the supreme power to torment and slaughter the bodies of its subjects like a God-sent scourge, has been most cruel to those whom it allowed to live under the shadow of its dispensation”. And that was just the beginning.
It was Stalin who brought Smerdyakovism to perfection. Under his rule, Smerdyakov starved to death millions of Ukrainian peasants and killed tens of thousands of Polish prisoners. In Siberia he built a vast network of camps and prisons whereby a significant part of Russia’s population was turned into slave labor. All this for no particular reason — just because.
In The Gulag Archipelago, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn documents the whole thing in maddening detail. The Great Terror that Stalin orchestrated and put into practice with the help of the NKVD in the late 1930s is perhaps the most eloquent example of Smerdyakovism in 20th-century Russia. Without any trace of rational justification, the country’s artistic, scientific, political, and military elites were decimated within a few years. Some of its best writers, scientists, engineers, and generals received then a bullet in the head. Among them was Pavel Florensky (1882-1937), philosopher, theologian, mathematician, physicist — one of the greatest minds Russia ever had, often called the “Russian da Vinci”. And so was Osip Mandelstam (1891-1938), one of its finest poets. But maybe we should not be surprised that Stalin killed poets: after all, Smerdyakov never liked poetry. “Verse is nonsense”, “who on earth talks in rhymes?” he complains. “Verse is no good”.
The more fascinating the philosophical vistas opened up by The Brothers Karamazov, the more puzzling its author. Dostoevsky is a complicated case. As a creative artist, he is as insightful as it gets. He has given us access to regions of the human soul that few before or after him have. He is bold, visionary, and uncannily prophetic. As a novelist, Dostoevsky is a most generous demiurge: each of his novels emerges as a universe in its own right, a polyphonic world where characters have their distinct voices, independent from their author’s. Yet as a journalist Dostoevsky can be embarrassing. He was narrow-minded, often mediocre, and parochial, when not openly xenophobic and anti-Semitic.
This Dostoevsky — the nationalist, the inveterate Slavophile for whom Russia was a “God-bearing country” that had some natural right over others — would have likely approved of Putin’s efforts to save Ukraine from the paws of the godless West. Ever since he died Dostoevsky has not ceased to supply Russia’s political establishment with ideas, one fancier than the next.
We should not be so surprised, though. For that, too, is in The Brothers Karamazov. Throughout the novel, Ivan toys with the idea that “if God does not exist, then everything is permitted”. He drops it carelessly in conversations so that any idiot can pick it up and use it. Then, one day, Smerdyakov tells him that he just used it to murder his father. The killing “was done in the most natural manner, sir, according to those same words of yours”, says the lackey, barely containing, we surmise, sardonic laughter. Smerdyakov is of course lying — he killed Fyodor Pavlovich just because — but his mockery of Ivan’s idea is real. Mocking philosophical ideas is another facet of Russia.
Putin’s spin doctors are always ready to connect his politics to a line of Slavophile thought that runs deep in Russia and leads straight to Dostoevsky himself. Indeed, Putin is often seen crossing himself in the presence of Orthodox clergy and lighting candles in the midst of pious, simple Russian folk. Cameras are always close at hand to capture his churchgoing, just as they are to seize his tiger hunting, horse riding, crane saving, reindeer feeding, topless fishing, tank driving, or jet flying. Putin must be laughing like mad at Dostoevsky’s Slavophilia, just as Smerdyakov was laughing at Ivan’s philosophy. For Putin cares as much about ideas (Slavophile or otherwise) as he does about the tigers he kills.
Putin can be a politician, a thinker, a hunter, a fisherman, a hockey player, a fighter pilot — he can be anything he likes because he is nothing in particular. “He is an excellent imitator”, writes Anna Politkovskaya. “He is adept at wearing other people’s clothes, and many are taken in by this performance”. Journalists have often noticed how difficult it is to “read” Putin, since he is always so slippery. Yet for any serious reader of The Brothers Karamazov this is something familiar. Featurelessness itself can be a feature — that’s one of the indications that you are in Smerdyakov’s presence.
Putin, too, is Smerdyakov. The institution that created him (the KGB) is one of the most Smerdyakovian institutions ever devised. His unapologetic defense of the Soviet Union and his attempts to revive it, his recycling of the Stalinist propaganda machine, the silencing of human rights movements all over Russia, the manner in which he annihilates his opponents — all are signs that Smerdyakovism enjoys a new life in today’s Russia. Most significant of all, however, was Putin’s first vivisection of Ukraine; Smerdyakov’s signature all over it. An army of faceless, nameless, insignia-less “little green men” who steal themselves into the country under the cover of night and, before anyone knows it, cut off a piece of it. Since they do everything on the sly, and the whole operation looks more Mafia-like than military, people liken Putin’s army to a gang of thugs. That’s inaccurate: the “little green men” are not thugs, they are Smerdyakovs in action. There is nothing fake about them; their modus operandi is the lackey’s 100%.
To be sure, Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin is not Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin. They are both Smerdyakovian, but, by its very nature, Smerdyakovism is protheic, multidimensional, complex. Stalin’s Smerdykovism manifests itself especially in his “just because” acts, while Putin’s in his anonymous, cowardly mode of operation. But that’s little consolation to an Eastern Europe traumatised for centuries by its stronger, always erratic, always drunk-like neighbor. For these countries the danger does not necessarily come from Putin or Stalin personally, but from Russia’s timeless Smerdyakovism, of which they are only temporary embodiments.
Politically, the tragedy of Eastern Europe comes from the fact that its security ultimately depends on what happens in Russia. Here political legitimacy is produced not through ordinary democratic practices, but through fabricated crises, at home and especially abroad. Putin has staged the farce of free elections several times already; he’s had his fun, but must be tired of it. At the same time, as he well knows, to stay in power he can’t rely on photo ops alone, no matter how lowly they get. Having made a mockery of democracy, Putin has reached a point where only inventing conflicts and invading countries could bring him what, in Russia, passes for political legitimacy. That’s true of the Smerdyakov who rules Russia now, as it is of those who will rule it in the future.
2. The end of the Age of Fragility. The war in Ukraine has exposed the moral infirmities of the West. Brendan O’Neill
It is not the most pressing question to emerge from Russia’s onslaught on Ukraine, but I have nonetheless found myself wondering – what will happen with the word ‘erasure’ following this war? Ukraine’s heroic president Volodymyr Zelensky used the e-word last week. Russia, he said, is out to ‘erase our history’. The Putin regime and its marauding forces want to ‘erase our country, erase us all’, Zelensky cried, aptly, given the vigour and bigotry with which Putin has mocked and violently undermined Ukrainian sovereignty. Putin clearly sees Ukraine as a joke nation that can casually be erased from the map.
Zelensky’s impassioned, existential words got me thinking: which woke warrior here in the mercifully war-free West will dare to misuse the word ‘erasure’ now? ‘Erasure’ is a key buzzword in the PC lexicon. There’s trans erasure, LGBT erasure, the erasure of black women with ‘kinky hair’. Only erasure here doesn’t mean ‘the removal of all traces of something’. It certainly doesn’t mean a foreign power using brute force to extinguish your most basic rights. No, it means a gender-critical feminist turning up to your campus and saying ‘If you have a penis, you are a man’. It means EastEnders not having enough bisexual characters. It means being asked ‘Can I touch your hair?’. It means attending a museum or some other public institution and seeing that its Pride flag doesn’t include the shade that represents your femme-boy demisexual identity. All of this is very seriously described as ‘erasure’. Even as bombs fall on Kharkiv and Kyiv, threatening to erase people and infrastructure, designed to erase a nation’s identity, still time-rich, experience-poor activists in the West seriously believe they are being erased by mean tweets and differing opinions.
It remains to be seen which woke midwit will be the first to say out loud that having to walk past a statue of a long-dead Brit with iffy beliefs feels ‘erasing’ at the same time as statues and buildings and people in Ukraine are being erased by Russian bombs. But we already know for sure that the war in Ukraine is raising questions not only about the Putin regime’s criminal behaviour and Ukraine’s right to self-determination, but also about the West. The war in Ukraine is an incredibly confronting moment for Europe. It reminds us that history is not in fact over. That unresolved questions of power and territory lurk just beneath the surface of politics. That war is not the faraway phenomenon we thought it was. More fundamentally, it implicitly issues a challenge to the unseriousness, the smallness, of what passes for public life in the 21st-century West. It asks us if we are ready for the violent return of history. The answer, right now, seems to be No.
Over the past few weeks, the contrast between the frivolousness of the woke West and the seriousness of threatened Ukraine could not have been more stark. On the very day Russia launched its invasion, the UK Ministry of Defence’s LGBT Network (why?) announced on Twitter that it was having a coffee morning to discuss pansexuality and asexuality. Yes, as Ukrainians hid from Russian tanks and planes, a part of the actual MoD was sipping lattes and chatting about folk who feel a ‘romantic, emotional and / or sexual attraction to people regardless of their gender’. Not to be outdone, the head of MI6, Richard Moore (he / him), used the occasion of Russia’s bombardment of Ukraine to issue a ‘series of tweets’ on LGBTHM2022 – that’s LGBT History Month 2022 for those of you not abreast with the alphabet soup.
As everyday Ukrainians pull together and arm themselves with guns and petrol bombs, Britain’s military top brass have rather different concerns. Such as why you should avoid using words like ‘manpower’, ‘strong’ and ‘grip’. They ‘reinforce dominant cultural patterns’, according to a recent internal report authored by UK national security adviser Sir Stephen Lovegrove. Apparently you should also check your white privilege and use gender-neutral language wherever possible. And let’s not forget the campaign for ‘vegan uniforms’ in the British army. Last week, as Ukraine burned, it was reported that the Ministry of Defence Vegan and Vegetarian Network (again, why?) is agitating for animal-friendly clothing and boots, excluding things like leather. Well, you wouldn’t want to be wearing the skin of a dead animal as you kill a human being, would you?
The ridiculousness of all of this is thrown into sharp relief by the crisis in Ukraine. Imagine if the Ukrainian military and the network of armed citizens who have joined it to fight against the Russians shared the eccentric obsessions of British military officials. Imagine if they policed each other’s speech on the frontline, warning their comrades not to say ‘Kill that bastard!’ or ‘Fuck the Russians!’ on the basis that these are gendered and / or racialised slurs. Imagine if the brave armed citizens said, ‘Sorry, I can’t wear this bullet belt because it is made from leather’. Imagine if manoeuvres had to be interrupted every now and then for a coffee and a chat about why asexuality is a legitimate identity that deserves its place on the LGBTQIA2s+ spectrum. The consequences would be dire. Their foreign oppressors would exploit their frailty and wipe them out.
So, wouldn’t that happen to us? How would a military that has within its ranks people worried about wearing leather and terrified of causing offence with manly words like ‘strong’ and ‘power’ fare against an enemy like Russia that is actually strong and powerful? Not well, I’d wager. Of course this goes far beyond the adoption of woke sensibilities by military officials. Our armed forces have also shrunk themselves physically. The British army is the smallest it has been for 400 years. Cuts have reduced Britain’s fighting forces to around 72,000 men and women. The British army says technology is now more important than ‘manpower’ (a word you’re not even allowed to use). Drones and robots will allow the military to become ‘leaner and more agile’, said one senior army officer last year. So we have fewer soldiers, and the ones who are left are increasingly woke, and they’re implored to be ‘compassionate’ (the British army advertised for ‘snowflake’ recruits in 2019, claiming that it needed their ‘compassion’). What could possibly go wrong…?
The war in Ukraine seems to be waking up Western European leaders to their own dangerous delusions. It is shaking some from their luxurious conceit that we inhabit a post-war, post-nationhood world in which everything is mostly fine and dandy, give or take the ‘climate emergency’ and all of that. So Germany has started to make unprecedented moves to bolster its military forces. Some German greens are even wondering if the fantasy of living in a non-nuclear world has been firmly shattered by the Russia-Ukraine war, and if it might now be time to resuscitate all those shutdown nuclear power plants. No doubt British officials are also looking at whether their decimation of the military and their capitulation to anti-nuclear greens has been wise, given that war and energy and other historical questions are not as neatly resolved as we thought they were.
Yet even as all of this happens, we need to ask ourselves how we got into this situation. How we arrived in a world in which defending people from supposedly offensive words is considered more important than defending our borders. In which we seem to have so little need for the virtue of ‘strength’ that we’re willing to blacklist the word itself for being gendered and stereotypical. This is where the Ukraine war really confronts us. It interrupts, violently, our post-Cold War conceits. It upends our belief that history, in Europe at least, is largely settled, and now we can concern ourselves with petty things like pronouns and sexual identity or with purposely overblown, mission-creating projects for the technocratic elite, like the ‘climate emergency’. This conceit has impacted on almost every facet of public life in recent decades, nurturing the delusion that ours is a post-war, post-borders, post-everything continent, in which the highest aim of public life is either to manage the public or validate individual identities. Those bombs in Ukraine have shattered this Western arrogance and decadence by reminding us that history lives.
For too long, we have lived in an apolitical vacuum, supposedly separate from world events and historic momentum. We exist in a state of blinkered comfort, convincing ourselves we can outsource all the difficult stuff. Energy production has been outsourced, largely to Russia and China, so that we don’t need to sully our green virtue by burning coal or building nuclear plants. Even war has been outsourced, not only in the sense that we now do battle with competing powers on other people’s terrain – such as in Syria, where Western proxies battled Russian proxies – but also in the sense that even our physical fighting is increasingly done by private companies. In Iraq and Afghanistan, Western allies deployed mercenary forces, well-paid private contractors, to fight the enemy. You couldn’t ask for a better snapshot of the self-deceptions of the West than the fact that our leaders believed they could designate war, the defence of our way of life, to profit-driven non-state actors.
The impact of this misguided sense of being separate from history, forcefielded from time and conflict, cannot be overstated. Not only has it led to the depletion of military power and the outsourcing of energy production – it has also contributed to the Age of Fragility, to the cultivation not of strength but of vulnerability among younger generations. These new generations have been told that nationhood is a meaningless idea, that struggle is the stuff of black-and-white footage from the Forties, that history is an already done deal, expressed in offensive statues and dusty tomes, and not something you yourself make or contribute to. This has inexorably led to the elevation of the vice of fragility over the virtue of courage. New generations, convinced that history itself is a historical phenomenon, have been enticed to focus on the self over the nation, on their own bodies and identities and pronouns over their communities, on me rather than country. In the alleged absence of history, the self is all that’s left.
In the Age of Fragility, cultivating vulnerability has become the chief aim of almost every major institution. Schools, universities, even workplaces promote the idea that we are weak, at risk of mental ill-health, even of PTSD, and that we require constant official guidance and validation. The promiscuous use of the phrase PTSD to describe everything from being offended on Twitter to hearing a disagreeable speaker at your university captures the extent to which the delusions of post-history comfort have frazzled our minds and morality: PTSD was once seen as something suffered by those who sacrificed almost everything in defence of the nation; now it is something that can apparently be triggered when someone refers to you as ‘he’ when you consider yourself to be a ‘she’. Once, it took war to hurt us; now it only takes words.
In these circumstances, it isn’t surprising that, a few years ago, a poll found that large numbers of millennials said they would dodge conscription in the event of a world war. Thirty-nine per cent of Brits aged between 18 and 40 said they would hide away from the responsibilities of fighting for their nation in a world-consuming war. This is the price we pay for nurturing fragility and self-obsession. Perhaps it is time to bring back national service, to train every young adult into the warrior ethos. This would help young people to feel a real part of the nation they live in, to discover the joys of strength over weakness, and to develop the resources required to stand up for our friends and allies when they are under attack. ‘We shouldn’t get militarily involved in Ukraine’, many people are saying. I agree. That would cause more problems than solutions and it would escalate the crisis in Ukraine by introducing yet more external geopolitical interests. But there is something else too, and we cannot ignore it: the question of why we seem to lack the people and the resources, ‘the right stuff’, to get involved in Ukraine if it were a good idea to do so.
No, the war in Ukraine will not resolve the moral infirmities of the West. Packing youths off to fight against Russia will not transform them from cancel-culture aficionados into real-life John Rambos. Those dreaming that war in Europe means the West will magically recover the ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’ ethos of old need to think again. Our problems are too entrenched, and they require domestic debate and transformation not romantic gazing at brave youths in a faraway land. But what Ukraine has done is confirm that history is coming violently back to life, and that, morally, politically and physically, we are not prepared for it.