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From Our Own Correspondent
A Thousand Horses Come to Town
00:27:29
A thousand horses. Three thousand sheep. And people, thousands of them too, clustered...
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- [00:00]
Kate Adie
Hello from the from our own correspondence studios at Broadcasting House in London, you've
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Emma Jane Kirby
downloaded the latest edition of the programme
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Kate Adie
broadcast on BBC Radio 4.
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Emma Jane Kirby
It's introduced by Kate Ady.
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Presenter/Narrator
Today the dogs are all I've got left we hear how the pain in Spain has reached the beach in Andalusia behind the scenes at the Gulf State, where there's a huge US air base and a mall where the Taliban go shopping, why a black eye in Senegal meant that President Obama was the biggest show in town, and how a thousand horses brought cheers and a few tears to the old port in Marseille. European leaders meeting in Brussels this week announced new steps to tackle high unemployment among young people. They agreed to spend more than 7 billion pounds in a bid to boost job creation. About one in four young Europeans is out of work. Spain, which has been in recession for nearly four years, has the worst figures. The unemployment rate there, at a record 27%, is the highest of all the 17 nations in the eurozone. Emma Jane Kirby, who's just back from Andalusia in the south, says it's the under 25s who are finding it hardest to get jobs. Many have emigrated in recent years or are seriously considering doing so because they see little prospect of work at home.
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Emma Jane Kirby
It's already 30 degrees on the beach at Torre del Mar, and Maria Dolores and her husband Jose are getting a little crabby with each other as they unstack the plastic sun loungers from the shed. Jose stumbles backwards into the dog's water bowl and curses. He's tired and hot and he doesn't want to be Jose the sunbed man. Today he prefers being Jose the civil servant in the coolness of an air conditioned office. But since his hours and wages were slashed two years ago, he needs this sideline to make ends meet. Why can't they cut jobs at the top rather than the bottom? He mutters as he unchains the loungers. It's always cuts, cuts, cuts. I know we have a big debt in Spain, but the pressure we're under to pay it back so quickly is crippling us. Maria Dolores takes money from a tanned, bikini clad tourist and speaks loudly and slowly to her poor pointing to the sun and making signs to show the woman that it's very, very hot today and she mustn't get burnt. She's a nice lady, that one, she tells me, even if she is German. Not like that Merkel woman. Jose snorts. He's not a fan of the German chancellor either, he says, and nor is he a fan of that European Union she runs. Torre del Mar, like the rest of Andalusia, has greatly benefited from Spain's entry into the EU in the mid-80s. The long paved promenade with its palm trees, cycle lanes and beach bars was paid for largely through EU grants. EU money is behind countless schools, roads and restoration projects in the region. As Spain emerged underdeveloped and economically weak from the isolation of the Franco dictatorship, the European Union was seen as its benevolent benefactor. Now, six years into an economic crisis which has left 27% of the population unemployed, is viewed as the belligerent bully which is forcing Spain to its knees with austerity measures. Since 2007, Spanish approval of the EU was almost halved. Just down the coast, in a nearby park, a group of elderly men play petanka in the shade. The heavy silver balls flash sparks of sunlight as they roll towards the dusty jack and smack against each other with a satisfying thock. A rumble of irritation goes round the group as the wheezing Big Antonio wins again, spitting on his handkerchief and wiping his flushed face. Oh, give someone else a bit of the glory, chides Miguel, a white haired and sprightly man of 70. These men remember what it was like to live under Franco and subsequently the boom times that followed as the Spanish economy, fuelled by EU structural funds and a decade long property bonanza, went from strength to strength. In those days everything seemed possible, says Miguel sadly. But now, where's all the money gone? The problem is the EU's no longer a collective. It's just different rules for each and every country. Antonio smacks the silver balls against each other in irritation. We're in crisis, he snaps. We need help. But all that Chancellor Merkel does is tell our prime minister to cut our deficit and our pensions. He lifts his arm and prepares to throw. Give me half a chance, he mutters, and I'd cut the damn lot of those EU politicians. We didn't elect them. The heat has intensified as I leave the park and seems to have taken the locals by surprise. Many bear angry red stripes of sunburn down their legs and backs, and everyone looks sticky and a little fractious. Back on the beach, Maria Dolores is cutting a piece of ham to offer to the couple of scraggy dogs which are skulking under the picnic table. One of them, smelling the meat, jumps up quickly, sending a gritty cloud of grey sand onto Jose's feet. He curses irritably and Maria tuts at him reproachfully. They're our children's dogs, she explains. Both our boys have gone to England to find jobs. They're working there as waiters now. When I speak to my sons on the phone, I can hear they're homesick, but of course they can't come back here because there's nothing for them in Spain. She pats the dog's head and says quietly, this is all I've got left of my family.
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Presenter/Narrator
Emma Jane Kirby in southern Spain, the Middle east got its newest and youngest ruler this week as the Emir of Qatar did something almost unheard of in the region. He abdicated in favour of his son. Qatar is one of the wealthiest countries in the world. It backed the uprising which toppled the Libyan leader Colonel Gaddafi and supports the rebels fighting against President Assad in Syria. The new emir, 33 year old sheikh Tamim Al Thani, has lost no time in reshuffling his cabinet and has already made clear his state will not take direction from anyone. So more of that sort of assertive foreign policy seems in store. But what kind of estate has the new ruler inherited? Frank Gardiner, just back from Qatar, is wondering, is this the world's most ironic country?
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Kate Adie
So let me get this straight, I said to Qatar's prime minister at the start of our interview. You disapprove of many of America's policies in the Middle east, yet you're hosting the Pentagon's biggest military base in the region? There was a pause and a slow smile. It's true, he replied. But we own the keys to the base. That conversation was over a decade ago, and now Qatar has a new ruler and a new prime minister. The place has changed almost beyond recognition from the torpid Gulf backwater I first visited in the early 90s. Steel and chrome skyscrapers have shot up where there used to be nothing but desert, using its vast wealth from offshore gas deposits. The once sleepiest and slowest of all six Gulf Arab states has recently fast tracked itself to become an economic powerhouse. With over £20 billion of government funds invested in Britain. Qatar owns sizable stakes in Sainsbury's, Barclays and the city of London's iconic Shard of glass. The ruling Ul Thani family also owns Harrods, all very impressive for a country with less than half a million Qatari citizens. So there's no mistaking Qatar is rich, but it's also a country of seemingly illogical contrasts. Let's take the Taliban Qatar generously offered to host their office for peace negotiations, which opened amid confusion and recriminations from Kabul. Most of the fuss centered on the Taliban's flag that they weren't supposed to put up it was inside their perimeter walls, but outside their office. After a rap on the knuckles from the Qataris, the Taliban took it down. But then when they thought no one was looking, they put it back up again, this time on a shorter flagpole. I could see it clearly flapping in the oven hot breeze of early afternoon. After hulls of protest from the Afghan government in Kabul, it was taken down again. Now the Taliban are a hard line Islamist movement usually associated with Afghanistan's long running insurgency and the disavowal of almost all earthly pleasures. Yet it turns out that their representatives have been in Qatar for quite some time and have adapted remarkably well to the lotus life in the Gulf. You can see them any weekend, one local resident told me. They go shopping in City Center Mall. They've even had babies out here. Less than an hour's drive from the Taliban smart new villa in Doha lies the giant U S run airbase of Al U? Daid. This is where most of the coalition's air operations in Afghanistan are coordinated from, and it's strictly off limits to visitors. When a frontline combat unit on the ground in say, Helmand province radios its base for air support, the request then gets routed through Qatar. So just a short distance from the very building where Afghan peace talks may eventually get underway, coded signals are being dispatched that send Apache helicopter gunships or F16 jets into action against the Taliban. Then there's the question of Israel as an Arab and Muslim nation. Home to the satellite TV station Al Jazeera, Qatar has played host to plenty of Israel's noisiest and most vitriolic detractors. And yet, unknown to most people, Israel had a discreet trade office in Qatar that only closed as recently as 2009 after its military incursion into Gaza. The ironies don't end there. Of all the Gulf countries, Qatar is closest to the Muslim Brotherhood, the Islamist organization that swept to power in Egypt. It's home to its spiritual figurehead, the populist preacher Yusuf Al Qardawi. Yet Qatar, which used to impose a strict ban on alcohol, does have some well stocked bars if you know where to go. One offers a stunning view over the glittering lights of the capital. Another has a softly lit wine cellar with some passable Chilean mellows. Steering a middle course between the demands of the country's more devout citizens who oppose such creeping Western immoralities. And those who want to open up this tiny country further to the outside world will be one of the major challenges facing the new emir. Sheikh Tamim Al Thani may have only just turned 33, but he has spent the last 10 years training to take over from his father. And Qataris had been quick to pledge their allegiance. A graduate of Britain's Royal Military Academy at Santehurst, he previously attended a private school in Dorset. He's been instrumental in helping the emirate punch above its weight on the international stage, supporting rebels first in Libya and then in Syria. This newfound clout, backed by fabulous wealth, is already making neighboring states nervous. Some fear it may be overreaching itself in helping to fuel a conflict with no end in sight. But Qatar has come a long way in a short time. Not that long ago, I remember Egypt's now deposed President Mubarak complaining during a spat with Qatar's ruler. Why should I pay attention to a country with the population of a small hotel? People are certainly paying attention to it
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Presenter/Narrator
now, and that's Frank Gardner. The Indonesian president has apologized to Singapore and Malaysia for the fires, which have enveloped much of the region in a thick cloud of smog. The fires are burning in peatland on the Indonesian island of Sumatra. It's a recurring problem in the dry season there, when big companies and small holders alike light fires to clear land for planting. The Indonesian authorities say they now have 5,000 firefighters at work in Sumatra, supported by aircraft dropping water on the smouldering peat. The haze which enveloped Singapore last week, shrouding skyscrapers and closing schools, has now drifted north. Air quality said to be hazardous in several parts of Malaysia, including the capital, Kuala Lumpur. Rupert Wink Hayes has been to Sumatra to look into Southeast Asia's worst smog crisis in years.
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Emma Jane Kirby
Someone once told me there is no point in worrying about something that you cannot change. It's good advice, and it means I should probably stop worrying about the destruction of Indonesia's rainforests. But it's hard, especially after what I've seen. I first went to Sumatra nearly 25 years ago. I visited an orangutan reserve outside the city of Medan. From inside a huge cage, the great orange apes stared out at me with their big, intelligent eyes. I remember feeling pain and anger at the loss of their forest home. I feel it now. In 1989, I cycled across the island, and much of it was still covered in a thick layer of rainforest. The outside world woke up briefly to its destruction in 1997, when smoke from huge fires cast a pall of smog across much of Southeast Asia. Now another 16 years has passed, and we're talking about it again. In the meantime, most of the forest I saw has gone, and with it much of Sumatra's extraordinary wildlife. The speed of the destruction has been astonishing. In the mid-1980s, there were still around 5,000 Sumatran elephants. Half survive today. Thirty years ago, there were over a thousand Sumatran tigers. Now there are less than 400. In the same period, half the orangutans have also been wiped out. All three species are now critically endangered and heading for extinction. The timber barons once drove the destruction, but now there is a new gold rush. Palm oil. The oil palm is a pretty amazing tree. It's easy to grow, matures in less than five years and is extraordinarily productive. In the wet season, the tree will bear fruit every two weeks. The fruit grows in bunches of large yellow berries, each bunch weighing up to 50 kilos. No wonder it's so popular. Sumatra covers an area more than twice the size of Great Britain. The whole thing is being turned into an enormous monoculture. As I drove across the island earlier this week, for hour after hour, all I saw on either side were massive plantations, neat rows of hundreds of thousands of oil palms. In my hotel room in the city of Pekambaru, I switched on the TV and flicked to the international news channel. Up flashed beautiful images of lush forests, crystal clear waters and happy young faces. Over the pictures came a silky voice. Indonesia, it said, committed to sustainable development. I turned to the window and looked outside. The city was all but invisible behind the thick layer of choking smog. I didn't dare open the window. Summer in Sumatra is fire season. Once the big trees have been cut for timber, fire is used to clear the land for cultivation. It's completely illegal, but nothing is done to stop it. Locals say the fires are set by agents hired by big palm oil companies from Malaysia and Singapore. The companies deny it. Later that morning, as we drove through the smog, my local driver tore in to Indonesia's wealthy neighbours on the news. The Malaysian and Singaporean governments had both been complaining about the pollution. They come here and they destroy our country, my driver said. Now they get to taste the results for themselves. There is one more piece to add to this environmental catastrophe. Much of the east of Sumatra is a giant peat bog up to 20 meters deep. For thousands of years, it has been slowly growing and accumulating greenhouse gases. When they burn the forest, the peat catches fire too. Each year, Indonesia's peat fires pour billions of tons of greenhouse gases into the atmosphere. All this is pretty depressing, but hey, what's the point in worrying about it? Well, perhaps. But there is a final irony here. One of the biggest drivers of the palm oil industry is the demand for biofuels. Palm oil makes excellent biodiesel because it burns cleanly and has a very high energy content. But according to a leaked European Union report, making biodiesel from palm oil is worse than using crude oil. On the nasty index of things you definitely don't want to use, it is second only to oil from tar sands. So next time you fill up your car with biodiesel, remember, just because it has bio on the pump does not mean it is good for the planet.
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Presenter/Narrator
Rupert Wingfield Hayes in Indonesia, Barack Obama is in South Africa on the latest leg of his three nation tour of the continent. This afternoon he'll be visiting Soweto. This evening there'll be dinner with President Zuma in Pretoria. Meanwhile, Dakar, the capital city of Senegal, has been trying to get back to business as usual after his visit there, which he toasted the friendship between the two countries. He recalled how the very first president of this West African nation, Leopold Senghor, had visited the US in the 60s and told President John F. Kennedy, senegal is a small country, but it's a republic inspired by the principles of democracy. Our man Caspar Leighton was among the correspondents in Dakar reporting on the excitement and the disruption which accompanies a visiting U.S. president.
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Caspar Leighton
If they can sweep the streets for President Obama, why can't they sweep them for us? Lamented a local colleague as we zipped along the corniche that separates Dakar from the seafront. In the days before the Big Man's arrival, the city, or the bits that President Obama would see were being cleaned up. A shabby alternation of undersized American and Senegalese flags appeared on lamp posts. Random posters of Mr. Obama and his host, President Macky Saul, appeared on walls around the city. But overshadowing the smiling faces of these two partners in democracy were the giant, menacing glares of two men who wouldn't know soft power if you'd wrap them up in it. The pairing most Senegalese were excited about was not of presidents but of two colossi from the pantheon of traditional wrestling, Emur Sen and Modu Lo. Wrestling is bigger than football in Senegal, and a match of this calibre would fill a national stadium. The two men were set to face each other a couple of days after the Obamas had left town. I don't imagine many of the pupils at the Martin Luther King Secondary School for Girls had tickets for the wrestling. They were preparing furiously to welcome the almost as formidable Michelle Obama. Two days before the visit, workmen were painting While pupils practiced dance routines in the sun, those indoors were being drilled in the American national anthem, and all were hoping to be sprinkled with a bit of magic dust come the big day. The school was part of an itinerary that included a visit to Goree island, from where many slaves were shipped off to America. Some inhabitants of Goray complained about the restrictions placed upon them by American security measures. The Dakarrois don't come across as a particularly cynical bunch, and the general feeling about the Obama visit was positive. But for most of them, the biggest immediate impact of the presidential presence seemed to be the restriction on traffic around town. The corniche that was being swept clean was closed to all non official vehicles. One newspaper carried a headline saying that the Senegalese presidential security guard had been disarmed on the insistence of the Americans, a partner in democracy, maybe, but no guns please, guys. Another headline was the United States take over Senegal. US Navy ships hovered offshore and giant military transporter planes brought in armored vehicles. There were rumors of snipers on rooftops and CIA types snooping around town. The message that Mr. Obama, and, to be frank, most American presidents bring when they come to Africa is sensible enough. Reinforcing democracy through strengthening institutions, building up the economy with sound policies, and by tackling corruption. Corruption's bad, right? Well, it depends who you talk to. I met more than one Senegalese who complained that President Macky Sall's drive to clean up public finances meant it was less money sloshing around to do business with. It's the kind of reflection that has policymakers pulling their hair out. But Africans know that the idea of wealth trickling down to the poor is a myth, and that when the economy is booming, it's usually the same old bunch making all the money. So a superficially clean economy might be ethically sound, but it's the more familiar, corrupt mess that sees a bit of gravy splash off the train and get spread around a bit. Senegal was glad to be chosen as one of the three countries on President Obama's African tour. Recognition means something, but as one businessman told me, it's great that he's come, but we don't need him to tell us that we have a good democracy here. We know we have. We built it. It's a shame and something that President Obama would no doubt deplore that some of Dakar's poorest inhabitants got the worst deal from his visit. On one of the main drags in town, down which the motorcade was set to travel, the pavements were eerily empty. All the street vendors have been cleared away. Everything must look right for President Obama, commented my colleague Riley. I'm not sure that any American talk of tackling the scourge of poverty meant scooping it up off the pavement and dumping it somewhere out of sight. On the day of the visit, disaster struck an expectant Senegalese public. One of the Colossus wrestlers had pulled out of the weekend match due to injury, a whacking great black eye that entirely robbed him of vision on one side. With the big fight cancelled, President Obama and his aides could relax in the knowledge that they were indeed the biggest show in town.
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Presenter/Narrator
Casper Leighton in Dhaka There are extraordinary scenes down by the harbour in the southern French port city of Marseille the other day. They're well used to seeing fish offloaded there, of course, and being sold noisily to the restaurants selling their famous bouillabaisse. But farm animals are a less common sight on this occasion, though, as Marseille celebrated its status as European City of culture, they were specially recreating what's known as the Trans hu mals. This is the ancient annual pilgrimage of animals and humans from winter to summer pastures, and, as Anna Magnusson tells us, it proved to be a memorable occasion.
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Anna Magnusson
The sky was overcast down at the old Port in Marseilles. People had gathered on both sides of the road, seven or eight deep families, couples, scampering children and tourists. Others were peering out of windows and leaning over balconies. From their vantage point, they would spot it first, the thing we'd all come to see. We were waiting, thousands of us, thick like locusts, across the concourse of this ancient port, which has been redeveloped for Marseille's year as European Capital of Culture. Over the sea of Heads, I spotted a bunch of pink unicorns and green horses bobbing on the end of a string. The helium balloon man was working the crowd. Beyond the balloons, something else was moving. My friend beside me stood on tiptoe and whispered excitedly, there she is. Look, they're coming. From a distance, the woman in the long black dress looked like a slender giant moving gracefully through the crowd, high above their heads. As she came nearer, we saw she was standing on a huge black stallion, flanked by two more. Their thin reins were pinned to a hook at her waist, but she barely touched them. The horses moved with her, and she with them. They walked down the middle of the street and turned an elegant circle for the crowd. Everyone clapped, and a man beside me murmured in delight. Ah, c' est magnifique. Bravo, bravo. Who is she? I asked my friend. She's Camille. She said she's an artist and performer with horses. She organized this whole event. This was what we'd come to see. Camille the horsewoman, leading an extraordinary procession to celebrate a rural tradition, the trans huments, the movement of livestock to summer grazing in the high meadows, which has happened for centuries across Europe. In old times, the sheep were herded along trails to the hills. Nowadays, most of them are loaded onto double decker lorries and zoomed along the motorway. But you can still see long lines of animals doing the shorter stages of the journey on foot. And the annual Fete de la Transouments is a common sight in Provencal villages. It's more than waving off the sheep for the summer. It's a celebration of local produce and a rural way of life. Here at the Old Port, we welcomed a special transomance for Marseille 2013. The sheep came first, 3,000 of them, pale brown and sturdy, streaming past us with bells jangling and kept in formation by a few dogs and shepherds. As they trotted past, people smiled and applauded, and even baed in appreciation. Everyone was holding up cameras or phones to get pictures, but nobody pushed or shoved, and there wasn't a safety barrier in sight. We humans simply formed a delighted guard of honour for the animals. Only once did I catch my breath when, just in time, a small boy on the edge of the crowd skipped out of the way of a massive horse. A woman behind me tutted. I'm not sure whether it was aimed at the boy or the rider. The horses were the stars, a thousand of them, including the white Camargue horses of the region, herded by cowboys wearing flat brimmed hats. Even more than the sheep, the cattle, the mules and donkeys and goats, it was the horses that delighted. My friend, who's lived in Provence for seven years and grew up in rural Kentucky with horses, hounds and hens, had tears in her eyes. There was something immensely moving about being that close to a mass of powerful, beautiful animals, something primitive and natural about the strong stench of horse and sheep mixing with the smell of the human crowd. And then, of course, there was all the lovely dung left behind on the road. Who's got rose bushes? Someone shouted, and everyone laughed. As soon as the procession passed and the human herds dispersed in search of lunch, the street cleaners were out in force. It wasn't a real transoumance we saw that day. It was a spectacle, a marvellous piece of theatre, really. It reminded us, in the heart of cosmopolitan 21st century Marseille, of our ties to animals and the land. And it did it with glorious French style. A beautiful woman on three black horses, leading thousands of animals past, cheering spectators. And it felt like art. I won't forget it.
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Presenter/Narrator
And with that, from Anna Magnusson in the south of France, we've reached the end of another edition. Two more next week on Thursday and Saturday. Until then, goodbye.