← From Our Own Correspondent
From Our Own Correspondent
Feb 10 2011
00:28:22
The generals in Cairo watch and wait as the demonstrations continue: Jon Leyne their...
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Transcript12 lines
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You are listening to a download from the BBC. This is from our own correspondent. You can hear the version of the programme broadcast on the BBC World Service and presented by Alan Johnston by going to the from our own correspondent website or indeed to that of the BBC World Service. But here's the edition which goes out on BBC Radio 4. It's introduced by Kate Ady today, Ed.
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Egypt's all powerful military bide their time as huge demonstrations continue in Cairo. We listen in as they discuss the Egyptian succession on the dance floor in Vienna. The Russian mother at the centre of an Internet baby care row comes out fighting and reporters are humiliated. TV executives humbled as Indians decide they prefer their news fair, honest and free of corruption. The Egyptian Foreign Minister Ahmed Abul Gaith has publicly rejected what he called American attempts to impose its will on the government in Cairo. He said he was amazed at Washington's calls for an immediate lifting of the state of emergency that has been in place in Egypt for decades. President Obama's spokesman Robert Gibbs has responded by saying the genie was out of the bottle and protests would only get bigger unless the pace of reform quickened. This morning, thousands of protesters are again gathering in central Cairo demanding that the Egyptian President Hosni Barbarak leave office immediately. John Lyne says it's still far from clear what the future holds for Egypt, its rulers and its people.
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The policeman shoved me aside as he rushed to chase a group of protesters. Then he turned back for a moment. Excuse me, he said. Earlier, as the confrontation brewed on that first air protests, another officer told me of his admiration for London. Taxes suggested I get a cappuccino and prepare to stand back and enjoy the show. If this is a revolution we are living through, at times it has been a very Egyptian one. Over the first weekend of unrest, I made a dash back to London for a family celebration. As I returned from the airport, it was like a scene from one of those movies in which some awful plague has struck most of the population, utterly changing a once familiar landscape. Cairo's usually traffic choked streets were empty. A main battle tank guarded the airport gates, the another the presidential palace. But then suddenly we ran into a series of unofficial roadblocks. Ordinary Egyptians had come out to protect their homes after a weekend of vandalism widely blamed on prisoners who had escaped or possibly deliberately been set free from jails around the capital. These remarkable events have brought Egyptians together in many different ways. After the vandal struck, many local people set up neighbourhood watch committees, sitting outside their apartment blocks all night, round fires or braziers neighbours who have not spoken in years rekindled old friendships. As I walk home each night, I have a chance to take a sounding about the day's developments, a sort of informal vox pop. We're just having fun, said one of my neighbours the other evening. You very quickly get used to a new normality. In the old days, that is just over two weeks ago, demonstrations featuring 200 people, nay 20 people, used to be enough to make the front page of the papers here. Now, any less than about 200,000 people in Tahrir Square and there's a big yawn from the news desk in London. Of course, it's not all been played according to the laws of cricket. The protesters have faced water cannon, tear gas, petrol bombs, gunfire, even a camel charge. Initially it came from the riot police, then from so called government supporters, more like hired thugs, most would say. The opposition have now been assured by both the army and by President Mubarak that they will not be attacked in Tahrir Square. But there are still many reports of activists being arrested or simply disappearing when they are away from the demonstrations. All of this is about a lot more than one stubborn old man clinging to power. It's about a vast, wealthy military establishment that rules this country with support and indeed financing from the United States. Often you hear stories about them from several well connected Egyptians. I've heard the same story. The tale of the new shopping mall under development on the outskirts of Cairo, for which the military are reported to have made the laughably outrageous demand for $40 million payment for the use of military airspace. Who knows the truth of it? Yet the military have so far preserved their reputation as a unifying force above politics and representing the will of the nation. During this crisis, the military have managed to convince Egyptians they are neutral, even sympathetic to the protesters, while their tanks protect the president and the state broadcaster notorious for its inflammatory propaganda. You have to give the generals credit for some very adept footwork. But can it last? What if President Mubarak does finally go off on that extended medical trip to Germany, seen as one of the face saving ways out of the immediate crisis. Will the protesters anger then focus on the power behind the throne? Already the military have had to come out from behind the shadows to the front line, literally directing traffic in place of the absent police. Outside one of the biggest protests at Tahrir Square, a mother, young child in tow, approached me. Was it safe to go in? She asked me. She had been watching at home but had been too nervous until now to attend. I suspect there are many more Egyptians like her finally shedding their fear, apathy, or sheer sense of disbelief about what's actually going on, ready to make the protests even bigger. That's bad news for the government, and it's an earthquake for the Middle east and the world if the people here do finally take control of their own futures.
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John Line in Cairo One of the leading voices for political reform in Egypt and a likely challenger for the country's presidency is the Nobel Peace Prize winner Mohammed ElBaradei. This former Cairo law student has worked at the country's Foreign Ministry and as its representative at the United Nations. But in recent years he's been based in Vienna. He joined the International Atomic Energy agency there in 1984 and later became its director general. He finally left the IAEA in 2009. But as Bethany Bell's been finding out, he's not been forgotten in this city of dancing and diplomacy.
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The magnificent ceremonial apartments of Vienna's Hofburg palace were full. In the main ballroom, decorated with crystal chandeliers and frescoes glorifying the long dead Habsburg emperors, women in silken gowns and men in black tie crowded around the edge of the shining parquet dance floor. The orchestra struck up that most Viennese of tunes, the radetzky march, and seven United nations security guards carrying the flag of the UN's nuclear agency, the IAEA marched across the hall. The annual International Atomic Energy Agency Staff Association Ball had begun. Now some might find the idea of a ball for atomic scientists, nuclear inspectors and diplomats dedicated to uncovering, among other things, the facts about Iran's nuclear program are touch incongruous. But this is Vienna, where even the city's rubbish collectors hold a ball. You know how important ball season is in Vienna, one diplomat told me. Ours just adds a bit of international flair. And of course, we're a charity ball. Anyone can buy a ticket. This year's IAEA ball began with an apology by the master of ceremonies. An Egyptian band that was supposed to have performed at the opening had been unable to travel to Vienna because of the unrest in Egypt. High on the minds of many guests was the absence of Another Egyptian, Mohammed ElBaradei, the former director General of the IAEA and now one of the leaders of the opposition in Cairo. For over a decade, he served as patron of the IAEA ball, presiding over his staff as they danced the night away at the Hofburg Palace. He always wore perfectly tailored suits, one of his former colleagues told me. He'd do his duty and open the ball, bit reluctantly, because he's A shy man, and as far as I'm aware, he never learnt to waltz. The same cannot be said about the IAEA's new director general, the Japanese diplomat Yukiya Amano. During his time in Vienna, he has been taking dance classes. He and his wife, resplendent in a pale blue kimono, danced the first waltz before the floor was finally open to the general public. An in house camera team followed the couple throughout the evening. As they moved about the palace, one of the ball guests looked on disapprovingly. You know, all this ceremony can go to your head a bit, he told me. Look at ElBaradei, who's gone off to try and be Pharaoh in Egypt. It's so opportunistic. But others disagreed. Muhammad is a man of conviction, one told me. He believes that winning the Nobel Peace Prize comes with a price. He didn't have to go back to Egypt. He could have stayed here in comfort. But he has a real sense of responsibility. I followed Mr. Amano and his entourage into another ballroom, the Kleinere Dutensaal. This white and gold baroque hall was the site of some of the lavish balls and parties given during the Congress of Vienna, which took place from 1814 to 1815. Monarchs and diplomats gathered here to redraw the map of Europe after the Napoleonic wars, and during breaks in the protracted negotiations, they waltzed the Congress dances, wrote one aristocrat, but it does not progress. Vienna's heyday as a capital of one of the great world powers is long gone, but the city nurtures its old traditions, partly for its tourists and foreign guests, but in great part because the Viennese themselves enjoy them. And the balls still serve as a place for gossip and and the exchange of introductions and information. On the floor of the redoutenzaal, Mr. Amano and his wife swayed and twirled in time to the music. In another corner, a young man not from Austria laughingly apologized to his dance partner for treading on her foot. Just how much real diplomacy actually goes on at a ball like this? I asked a passing bureaucrat. He smiled. It's all about fostering personal relationships, he said. And when in Vienna, why not do as the Viennese do?
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Bethany Bell Austria, with its Freedom Party, is just one of a number of European countries with a prominent populist party demanding attention and winning votes. These parties blame the economic crisis on old political elites and are critical of what they see as too much immigration. Chris Bowlby has been finding out that while their politicians have become adept at modern campaigning techniques, they Also use ancient symbols to argue their case.
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It's midday on the Stefansplatz in Vienna. The sound of bells suddenly surrounds the cathedral and the elegant buildings lining the square. Nearby, pigeons flutter in alarm while tourists look up appreciatively at the cathedral's tower. Peaceful enjoyment, you might think, of a great European scene. But if the Austrian Freedom Party has its way, this is a place and a sound that should symbolize resistance to Islamic threat. In the Viennese elections last autumn, in which the Freedom party won nearly 26% of the vote, one of its slogans was pummerin instead of muezzin. The pummerin is the cathedral's biggest bell, sounded on special occasions. Audible all over the city, the muezzin's call to prayer stands for what the Freedom Party sees as the threat of a growing Muslim population in Austria by building large mosques and drowning out traditional sounds. And the links between this bell and fear of Islam reverberate far back in Austrian memory. This year marks the 300th anniversary of the original Pomerin bell, made from melted down Turkish munitions. It was cast to commemorate resistance against Ottoman Turks in the great 17th century siege of Vienna. As far as the Freedom Party's concerned, Austria is besieged again today, not by military force, but by Turkish immigrants who won't integrate and who threaten to Islamify Austrian society. The figures make such claims seem hard to sustain. Austria's Muslim population is projected to remain under 10% of the country's total in the next two decades. But the psychoanalysts for which Vienna's famed would tell you that angst is about much more than facts and figures. Populist politicians know that questioning the future of familiar sounds and landscape is an ideal way to attract attention. So Freedom Party posters and online images focus on mosques and minarets looming over churches. Mosques are presented as centres of an alternative culture separated from mainstream society, encouraging ideas hostile to the West. I watched Freedom Party leader Heinz Christian Stracher in in full flow at a party rally. His rank and file were wreathed in cigarette smoke and beery fumes. But on stage, Mr. Stracher, a former dental technician, was smilingly slick and telegenic. His torrential rhetoric, all 90 minutes of it, flowed from angst about Islam to other favourite themes the wickedness of global finance, the undemocratic nature of the eu, or the corruption of mainstream Austrian politicians. Afterwards, I asked him whether images of church versus mosque weren't a very crude way of discussing integration. Oh, they're just meant to start a debate, he replied. Subtler analysis comes later, he assured me. Mr. Stracher, eyeing the possibility of a place in the Austrian government, is out to improve his international reputation, hoping he won't be ostracized, as was his predecessor, Joerg Heide, a decade ago. He's confident his kind of symbols and rhetoric is resonating across Europe, too. The Swiss have voted to ban minarets. The Dutch debate about Islam is vociferous. In Denmark, meanwhile, I met Yvette Espersen, British born publicist for the Danish People's Party, which has had a major influence on Danish politics. She's married to a senior figure in the party and enjoys an apartment right amongst the historic buildings of the Danish parliament, but delights in playing the cheeky outsider. Wielding her iPad, she showed me her images of Danish churches with minarets superimposed and to dramatise what she sees as the dangers posed by Turkish membership of the European Union. Journalists can't resist us, she told me, gleefully contrasting her provocative images with the bland fare served up by other parties. And even in Germany, anti mosque campaigners believe they could prosper In Cologne, a campaign against the building of a large new mosque created a group which won seats in the city parliament. The group uses images of Cologne Cathedral as its constant backdrop and symbol, it insists, of what must remain the city's predominantly Christian culture. That's all been a shock for Eileen Janik Shenay, a local born social therapist I met at a Muslim women's center where she advises Turkish families on their relationship with German society. I love Cologne, she told me. When I go away. In return, I'm always happy when I see the cathedral. So what about its adoption by the anti Mosque campaign? I love the mosque and the cathedral, she replied. I feel always like a Turkish German woman. But the whole dispute has revealed, she added, that majority and minority populations need to be more open buildings, everyone's realizing can be shared symbols or rival images. Just as cathedral bells can offer a reassuring note or sound the alarm. European politics is changing. Or as we're fond of saying, the landscape's altering. And landscape, its history, its look, its sound is caught up in that debate, touching ancient nerves in striking new ways.
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Chris Bowlby and you can HEAR the documentary he's made in Austria and Germany here on Radio 4 next Tuesday afternoon. European women bring up their children in over sanitized conditions. That, at least is one opinion which has emerged in the row which has blown up over an Internet video. The film shows a Russian woman holding a baby by the wrists, then by the ankles, and then swinging it round and round. Now, this is not, apparently, a shocking case of child abuse, but simply a rather different exercise routine. Steve Rosenberg says it's not illegal in Russia, and its practitioners don't know what all the fuss is about.
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Victoria Corazin is like any mother anywhere in the world. All she wants is to give her baby the best possible start in life. I met Victoria and baby Pavel in their tiny apartment on the edge of Moscow. I want Pavel to be strong, she told me, and healthy. And when he grows up, I want him to be an open and a sociable kind of person. Victoria says that's why she's turned Dr. Oleg Teuton for help. Oleg is a psychotherapist, but when he pays house calls these days, the services he offers are more physical than emotional. I looked on as Dr. Oleg held Victoria's baby gently by the legs so that little Pavel was dangling upside down. Then he swung him from side to side like a pendulum. After that, Pavel, just like the game of cup and ball, Oleg swung the baby up towards him and caught him in his chest. Pavel was just 17 days old. These exercises are known as dynamic baby gymnastics. They've been practiced in Russia for more than 20 years. And although the whole procedure looks shocking to anyone who's never seen it before, in Russia, this is legal and widespread. Oleg is one of hundreds of practitioners across the country, and he believes that what he's doing, if performed properly, is of benefit to babies after the stress of birth. Oleg explained to me these exercises help babies relax and adapt to their new surroundings. They improve their coordination and assist their development. With her baby swinging upside down in the living room, Victoria was understandably nervous, and she was in no rush to try this herself. It is a bit frightening, she admitted. If I did it, I'd be scared I'd dislocate the baby's arm or leg. But the specialist, he knows what he's doing. I first heard about dynamic baby gymnastics a few weeks ago when a dramatic video clip appeared online. It showed a Russian woman swinging a baby around her head and her shoulders in a postnatal workout. The video went viral and stunned the blogosphere. The woman in the clip, midwife Yelena Volkiner, was vilified in comments posted online, mostly by people outside Russia. She was accused of child abuse, of putting the infant at risk of injury. YouTube eventually blocked the video on the grounds it was simply too shocking. That's when I began to research the subject. I soon discovered that this procedure is common not only in Russia, but In Ukraine too, and in other parts of the former Soviet Union. But just how dangerous is it? That's not easy to establish. There's been no official research in Russia into dynamic baby gymnastics. There are no statistics. I haven't uncovered any documented cases of babies being injured as a result of this. Certainly the infants I've seen doing these exercises didn't appear distressed. For more information, I called the Russian Health Ministry and the Moscow City Health Department. But neither organization would comment because although it is legal, dynamic baby gymnastics is not an officially recognized treatment. It doesn't have the stamp of approval of mainstream Russian medicine. I contacted the Russian Presidential Ombudsman for Children's Rights. After all, with accusations of child abuse swirling around, surely the Ombudsman would have something to say on the matter. But he too declined to be interviewed. So I turned to the medical world and consulted several doctors. All of them told me that, in their view, dynamic baby gymnastics exposed small children to unnecessary risk. One Russian pediatrician said she believed that from swinging babies upside down, there was a danger of brain hemorrhage and spinal damage. An American doctor working in Russia highlighted the most obvious risk that a baby could bump into someone's arm or leg, or even an item of furniture. I would never recommend it, he concluded, and I would strongly discourage it. Even Dr. Oleg himself conceded that dynamic baby gymnastics could be dangerous if performed by an inexperienced instructor or by a mother who's taught herself to do it. But does it badly? He assured me that what he does is safe. And what about Yelena Forkine, the woman in that controversial video? I managed to contact her by telephone in Egypt, where she is now living. Yelena told me she was disappointed that YouTube had removed the clip, and she criticized the reaction to the video. Outside of Russia, people in Europe are used to raising their children in over sanitized conditions, she complained. They're scared of everything, perhaps. Certainly, having witnessed these exercises, I know I couldn't bring myself to do them with my own children. Personally, though, I would rather be scared than sorry.
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Steve Rosenberg in Moscow. India's free press is said to be one of the reasons why democracy has survived in that country. It has acted as a watchdog, exposing corruption and other wrongdoing. Yet in recent years, its reputation has taken a bit of a battering. After the last general election, the Press Council of India was called in to investigate reports that some candidates had paid newspapers and television channels to publish favourable stories. Mark Tully, who covered that election, has been finding out what Indians think about
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their media today, bumping along Potholed cart tracks. Standing in the back of an open jeep alongside a candidate driving to an election meeting, I asked him whether he had been asked to pay for coverage. The candidate replied forcefully, I was asked to pay for what the journalists call packages. That's a deal guaranteeing you a certain amount of coverage. It's all set out in detail. I didn't buy a package, so they haven't covered my campaign. In the office of a candidate in a different constituency, I found a member of his staff writing a report for a paper. When I asked whether the paper had been paid, he said, of course. What do you think? One of India's best known crusading journalists, P. Sainath, wrote, the political class did not, as some imagine, go out and seduce the media. The media went out and sought package deals with them, whereby they forked out huge sums of money. The revelations about paid news have cast the proprietors and managers in the role of villains. But journalists themselves have not been above suspicion. The Income Tax Department tapped conversations of a political lobbyist which seemed to indicate that some journalists were involved in undue lobbying of politicians. Most newspaper and television channels did not report the tapped conversations, which led to the accusation that journalists were very keen to expose the misdeeds of others, but not so keen on bringing questions about their own community to the public's attention. One of the members of the Press Council's team said, the common man still has faith in the media, but the credibility is fast eroding. The popularity of a satirical film last year indicates how fast it is eroding. The main character in Pipli Live is a farmer who can't repay his debt. The bank is about to take over his land. His brothers persuade him that the only way out is to join the thousands of indebted farmers who have committed suicide in India over recent years. If he does that, the family will be able to claim compensation. When news that the farmer is considering committing suicide reaches a national television channel, the Delhi press corps descends on Pipli. The will he? Won't he commit suicide? Story becomes national breaking news, with live coverage dominating the television bulletins. The farmer flees from the press and is accidentally burnt alive. Politicians and civil servants come out badly from Pipli Live, but there's no doubt that the main target of the film's scorn is the television reporters and their frantic efforts to outdo each other in sensationalising the story. But there are other villains too, the television executives who urge their journalists on to ever more incredible feats of fantasy in order to scoop their rivals and get the best audience figures and consequently the most lucrative advertiser. Now, a few weeks ago, I came across a remarkable Hindi newspaper in Ranchi, the capital of Jharkhand, a small, backward central Indian state, which has shown that business considerations and advertising need not drive journalism. The editor of the paper, a short and stocky middle aged man called Harevansh, came to Ranchi to take over a local newspaper called Prabhat Khaba, or Morning News, which was on its Deathbed. That was 20 years ago. Now the paper has the largest circulation in Jharkhand, in spite of competition from national papers with plenty of money to spend on obliterating their small opponents. Hariban said to me, we report on issues which matter to people and we have shown that a newspaper doesn't have to be seen as a product of the infotainment industry. One reason for Prabhat Kabba's popularity is its courage in taking on the government. When villagers died of starvation in one of the districts of Jharkhand, Prabhat Khaba was the only paper to carry the story. The rest of the press were intimidated by government threats to charge them with publishing what it called misleading facts. The day after I met Harivanch, I was passing through a village outside Ranchi when I noticed someone reading Prabhat Kabba. I stopped to ask him why he had chosen that paper. He replied, because it reports on what matters to us living here. The other papers just give the news as the local contractor wants it given. Perhaps the glee with which Indians have watched the humiliation of journalists in Pipli Live, and the answer that Jharkhand villager gave me show that the media moguls have got it wrong. Maybe Indians want information, not infotainment. And they certainly want to know when the news they're getting has been paid for.
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Humiliated journalists, villainous television executives. Whatever next? Mark Tully, bringing this edition to a close. I'll be here on Saturday morning with more dispatchers from around the world. I hope you'll join us. Goodbye.