← From Our Own Correspondent
From Our Own Correspondent
July 2, 2011
00:27:54
The Greek austerity bill may have been passed by the Athens parliament, but Justin if...
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This is from our own correspondent. We make an edition for the BBC World Service as well.
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But this is a download of the
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latest Radio 4 programme and here to introduce it as ever, Kate Ady.
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Today, a final chance for Greece to avoid third world status. Or has the week's drama in Athens been little more than ritual and role play? There's a family day out at the beach in Libya as nearby machine guns fire and rockets explode. The former Prime Minister of Thailand, at the centre of tomorrow's election even though he's now living in Dubai. And why the Indian capital Delhi, it's one of the world's biggest and most polluted cities, is a bird watchers paradise. This is the last chance for Greece. That was the message in an open letter to the English language Athens News yesterday. It was signed by a group of 19 leading economists who argued that Greece couldn't default on its debt without the life support offered by the European Union and the International Monetary Fund. They said Greece would face poverty and isolation for decades. Justin Rolatt was there earlier this week as MPs agreed the details of an austerity programme for the country. And rioters outside the parliament building in Athens showed their displeasure.
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Within two hours of arriving in Athens, I was in the midst of the riot. I was coughing and spluttering and my eyes in agony as another cloud of tear gas blew over me. I blame the taxi driver. He dropped me on the wrong side of Syntagma, the central square and the focus of the protests here. He insisted that with so many roads closed, the shortest way to my hotel would be to walk. Well, it might have been the shortest way, but it certainly wasn't the quickest. As I walked with Antonis, a PhD student I'd got talking to, I felt a tickle in my nose. I sneezed. That's the tear gas, he told me. He had just begun to explain that the protests were overwhelmingly peaceful when we heard a volley of explosions and turned a corner right into a raging river of protesters streaming away from a black knot of baton wielding riot policemen. I'd never been tear gassed before, but the white mist billowing down the street signaled the that was about to change. Tear gas isn't actually a gas, but a very fine powder. So as your eyes water to clear the irritant, more and more of the stuff sticks to your face. Wipe away the tears and you only rub more in and it is painful, very painful. It feels exactly like what it is, acid. Antonis, a typical Athenian student and therefore very experienced in these situations. Helped me stagger blindly away. I felt someone grab my hands. A creamy liquid was poured onto them. It is mallocs, an antidote to the gas. Wash your face and eyes with it, urged Antonis. I did as I was told and immediately the stinging pain began to ease. My vision began to return. Antonis led me down a side street and within a moment all was calm again. That vertiginous contrast, the vortex of violence on the square and peaceful normality just a few streets away, was to strike me again and again. The more time I spent in Athens, the more I realised the riots had an almost ritual quality. It isn't something you'd pick up watching the dramatic footage on the TV news, but both sides seemed to be acting out well rehearsed roles, so. So much so that walking away from Syntagma sometimes seemed like walking off a Hollywood film. Set in the pavement cafes on the sun dappled streets around the square, you'd see riot police in their space age Kevlar body armor sitting, enjoying a coffee and a cigarette. At the very next table there'd often be young protesters, their faces still smeared with the white residue of mallocks, the tear gas antidote. There was no obvious antagonism, but don't conclude that the protests are therefore a charade. The important thing is who was involved. And here malox, which is actually an indigestion remedy, comes in handy once again. You only daub the stuff on your face if you've been gassed. And there was an incredible range of people with the telltale white stigmata. Mostly young, yes, but lots of older people too, men and women. I spoke with a group of a dozen or so middle aged ladies who travelled from all around Greece to be in the square. I asked why take a walk around this city? Katharina told me, real venom in her voice. You will see families going through the rubbish looking for food. She looked me straight in the eye. This is a European country. How can this be happening in a European country? She and all the other protesters I spoke to, and many of the pundits and politicians, believe Greece has been bullied, blackmailed even into signing up to these cutbacks. When I asked one trade union leader how Greece would cope if the lenders cut off their cash, he laughed wickedly. They won't do that, he told me with confidence. They are terrified of what would happen if we go down. And he is probably right. Greece is a small country and bailing it out is relatively cheap. What the IMF and the EU are frightened of is contagion that dread word. They worry that the turmoil in Greece could spread into Portugal, into Ireland. And here's the doomsday scenario. On to Spain and Italy, whose debts are way bigger. If bailing out Greece means the world economy can avoid another crisis, you can be pretty certain the money will be found, regardless of what the country's politicians do or say. So Greece's government is going through the ritual obeisance of the austerity bill, which no one really expects will be implemented in full. And the ritual of violence being played out on the Athens streets is part of that. People do get hurt, but very few ever seem to be arrested. And the Greek government can point to the mayhem and say to its lenders, surely you can cut us some slack?
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And that was just in Rolat. The Libyan leader, Colonel Gaddafi, has threatened to carry out attacks in Europe unless NATO stops its air strikes. He said that Libyans would, as he put it, move into Europe like locusts to attack homes and officers. This week, more rockets launched by his forces have been landing in the rebel held city of Misrata, some hundred and twenty miles east of the capital, Tripoli. British Apache helicopters were reported to have gone into action, attacking two military vehicles at a checkpoint further down the coast. But Andrew Harding says people in Misurata ask if NATO could be doing more to protect them and their city.
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I'm crouching behind a ridge of sand on the long, meandering front line west of Misurata. An artillery shell comes whistling overhead. I'm told that if you can actually hear the whistle, it's not going to hit you. But my face is already in the sand as the shell explodes. Maybe 50 metres behind us, beside me, under a small tree, a group of young rebel fighters painted, barely look up from their rice and stew. They've been camped out in this olive grove for well over a month now and still haven't bothered to dig trenches around them. The war that seemed at one point to be such an unpredictable dynamic drama has settled into something close to a routine. I've met fathers driving out to the front to bring their sons home for the night, brothers taking turns on the battlefield sharing one gun. There are wounded friends to visit in hospital and the endless scavenging for ammunition and supplies. For the inhabitants of this besieged city, the stakes and the sacrifices could hardly be higher. And yet the rebellion here has retained its amateur DIY quality. I often go to see the local military commanders at their bunker in the city. The man responsible for coordinating things with NATO here is an unfailingly cheerful man called Fateh. Bashaga. We sit outside, sip tea and discuss the stalemate and why NATO isn't doing more. It's odd and useful to remember that until February, Fatih ran a business importing car tyres. There are some professional soldiers here. General Suleiman Mahmoud has just come in by boat. He's brought with him an immaculately clipped grey croissant shaped moustache and a keen interest in the military strategies of Erwin Rommel, the Desert Fox of World War II. General Mahmoud is a senior defector from Colonel Gaddafi's army. Thirteen years in the Republican Guard, he says with evident pride. While we are talking, gunfire erupts on the streets. Nearby the city is celebrating the news of an international arrest warrant for Colonel Gaddafi, his son and brother in law. General Mahmoud's moustache wrinkles with pleasure. Gaddafi is our Hitler, he declares, and he will end the same way. But when? Two weeks has become the stock answer here to almost any question about the conflict. When will the rebels liberate the next town? When will Tripoli fall? When will NATO finish the job? And when will Misrata's mobile phone system finally be fixed? But as the days stack up, the defiance in this isolated city is slowly curdling into frustration. The rockets don't help. They arrive here most nights up to a dozen at a time, crashing into the centre of Misrata, an area that everyone had assumed was finally out of reach of Colonel Gaddafi's heavy weapons. The bombardments are not nearly as devastating as they were in April and May and the population is remarkably stoical. But the death toll keeps rising and many people are starting to think that the rockets are now being launched from inside the city itself. I don't think they are, but the rumours are feeding fears about spies and fifth columnists. The spirit of unity for forged here during the past three months hasn't disappeared, but it is being tested. Foreign journalists are suddenly being restricted and suspected. The old hard learned habits of repression and control are bubbling to the surface, making me wonder what sort of democracy will finally emerge here. Still, there's always the beach. Most afternoons you can find a few families sitting on the sand, staring at the Mediterranean and trying to pretend that life is is vaguely normal. There are lots of rather drab beach resorts just west of the city. Most of them have been taken over by detachments of fighters. They come here to sleep or to weld protective sheets of steel onto the front of their pickups, or to swim. Just before sunset, I head down to the public beach to cool off and kick a ball around. Soon the heavy Machine guns start off further up the coast. That's followed for a good half hour. But by the distant but heavy boom of Grad rockets, a young bearded fighter named Walid walks out of the water and crouches down beside five German shepherd puppies that have been adopted by his rebel unit. The puppies want to sleep, but Walid is trying to make a joke about them being named after Gaddafi and his sons and how they deserve to be drowned. He's heading back to the front lines in the morning. I ask him when he thinks the war will end, when he doesn't miss a beat.
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Two weeks Andrew Harding in Libya. The final political rallies have taken place in Thailand before tomorrow's election. It pits the outgoing Prime Minister, Apisit Wejcati Wa against an opposition candidate aiming to become the country's first female holder of the office. She's Yinluk Shinawat, a sister of the former Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawat, who was ousted by the military five years ago and now lives in Dubai. Her party, with its red shirted supporters, has been ahead in opinion polls, but its opponents say she wants to secure the return of Mr. Thaksin, a move which could lead to political instability. Rachel Harvey says that even from his self imposed exile, the former leader remains a powerful and divisive influence on Thai politics.
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There are some people in this world who seem to have boundless energy and unshakeable confidence. Thaksin Shinawat is one of them. In fact, he was so eager to start our interview he appeared early. I heard a voice from above. Ah, hello. Welcome. I looked up and there he was, standing at the top of a double staircase, leaning over the banister, grinning at me. Thaksin Shinawat, the man who arguably changed Thai politics forever. Whether that change was good or bad depends on which side of Thailand's bitter social divide you're standing. To his supporters, Mr. Thaksin is a hero, a champion of the urban and rural working classes. His opponents among the ultra royalist yellow shirts and upper ranks of the military say Mr. Taxin was and still is a dangerously manipulative figure who threatened to undermine the authority of the monarchy. A serious accusation in Thailand, which is strenuously denied by Mr. Taxsin. I've seen you so much on TV in so many countries, Mr. Taxin told me as he shook my hand. I very happy to meet you in person. Er, likewise on both counts, I replied, prompting a chuckle from my host. Thaksin Shinawatra has been a bit of a nomad during his self imposed Exile. But Dubai is now his base. His Arabian home is spacious seven bedrooms, he tells me, and it sits within an exclusive gated community overlooking a lake and a golf course. There are luxury cars in the driveway and a private jet on permanent standby. The one place he'd most like to go is Thailand, but for now, that's impossible. Mr. Thaksin fled his homeland to avoid a two year jail sentence imposed on him for abusing his power whilst in office. The charges were brought after he was deposed in a military coup. His critics say his premiership was marred by authoritarianism and corruption. Mr. Thaksin says the case against him was politically motivated. Thailand has been rocked by political turbulence ever since the 2006 coup. Rival groups of colour coded pro and anti taxin demonstrators staging mass protests which have sometimes turned violent. More than 90 people died last year during confrontations between the security forces and red shirted anti government, largely pro tax in activists. There are deep divisions within Thailand and Thaksin Shinawat is right at the centre of them. A slew of polls suggest his party, now led by his youngest sister Yingluck, is on course to win the most seats in the forthcoming general election. Many people think it's Thaksin himself masterminding it all. From his Dubai headquarters, he's at pains to downplay his role. I give advice to my sister and some executive members, he told me to. They call me, they consult me from time to time because of my years in office and my experience as party leader. But it's not about me. It's about the country and the people. Political spin from a political master. But it doesn't quite ring true. When he talks in detail about party policy, Mr. Taxin slips into using the personal pronoun. I and me pepper his answers. Do you accept, I ask him, that your involvement behind the scenes makes your critics nervous. Why nervous? He asks, throwing up his hands in mock disbelief. I'm useful to the country. Mr. Thaksin's party has floated the idea of an amnesty to help promote reconciliation in Thailand if they were to win the election. His opponents say it's a ruse to whitewash the former leader's crimes and allow him to return home a free man and possibly to take over as Prime Minister once more. Predictably, the man himself dismisses that notion. My youngest sister is likely to be the Prime Minister. Why would I want to go back as Prime Minister? He does miss home, though he clearly isn't short of Thai food. I've got three freezers full, he told me. My friends keep sending me stuff. His eyes light up. I have the perfect thing for this heat. One of his staff appears from the kitchen with three bowls of a Thai herbal jelly covered in crushed ice. A little bit of Thailand in the desert of Dubai. I love my country, Mr. Thaksin says, and I want to go home, but not because I just want to do something for myself. Again, the familiar refrain, it's not about me. But back in Thailand, each day of the election campaign confirms that it is about him. It's about Thaksin Shinawat and the coup and the military. It's a battle between those who love him and those who hate him. And from everything he told me in Dubai and everything he was careful not to say, Mr. Taxin is up for the fight.
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Rachel Harvey the Brazilian authorities are being urged to take action to prevent further destruction of the huge Amazon rainforest. They're said to be alarmed by new satellite pictures which apparently show the forest shrinking fast. Environmentalists say the trees are being cleared by farmers who want the land for cattle and soya production. The government of President Dilma Rousseff stands accused of dithering over laws which would give the area greater protection. Robin Lustig's travelled into the forest to investigate.
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This is the story of two men who live deep in the Amazon rainforest. They've never met, nor are they ever likely to. I met both of them during a five day road trip into the Amazon, heading north along one of the world's most notorious highways. BR163 is known as the Soya highway, and it cuts right through the Brazilian state of Mato Grosso. It's opened up huge swathes of the rainforest to the cultivation of soya and, according to many critics, to the steady destruction of the forest. The first man I'd like you to meet is Valdemar Vieira Nevis. He's what's known as an Amazon settler. And the way many people see it, it's the Amazon settlers who are the biggest threat to the survival of the rainforest, and they burn down trees to clear more land for their cattle. And the fewer trees there are, the greater the risk to global weather patterns. Valdemar sees it rather differently. He's a small, wiry man, 64 years old, with sharp features and a deep sense of grievance. I know everyone thinks we are villains, he says, but what people don't understand is how hard we have to work to scratch out a living. We were talking in a small clearing in the forest. He's lived there for 12 years, ever since the government offered him the opportunity to start a new life as an Amazon settler. He was living in the far north east of Brazil with no land and not much hope. So, like tens of thousands of other settlers, he took the opportunity and did what the government wanted him to do. Made a new home for himself in the forest and cleared the trees. Brazil's laws on deforestation are extremely strict in. In theory, no one who farms in the rainforest is allowed to cultivate more than 20% of the land he owns. The rest has to be left untouched as a way of preserving the forest and protecting the environment. But sometimes, says Valdemar, people do feel they have to break the law. What else can you do if there's no other way to survive? People say we're destroying the forest. He says, we're not, we're protecting it. We depend on it. But we have to find a way so that both we and the forest can survive. To find the second man I want you to meet, you have to drive for six hours through the forest along a dirt track. When you reach the Xingu river, one of the widest and mightiest of the Amazon's tributaries, you wait for a flat bottomed barge to ferry you across. There are no bridges across the Xingu. On the other side, in another clearing, is Chief Rauni of the Cayapo people. He's one of the most impressive and most important of Brazil's indigenous leaders. For more than 20 years, he's waged an unceasing campaign against the government's plan to build a huge dam across the Xingu, the Bellomonte. If it is built, it'll be the third biggest in the world. And Chief Rouni says it will destroy his people's way of life. Let me try to describe him. He's about 80 years old. He told me he doesn't know his exact age. And when he greeted me, he was bare chested, wearing nothing but a bright red pair of shorts. But to be honest, it wasn't the shorts I first noticed. It was his lower lip, hugely distended by the insertion of a large wooden disc about 8-10 cm across. It was hard not to stare. We spoke with the help of two translators, One from English into Portuguese and another from Portuguese into Caiapo. But the chief's message was clear enough. I don't like what's happening to the forest, he said. My father taught me that if you destroy the trees, the winds will get stronger and the soil will burn up. That's why we must preserve them. When the Portuguese came across the big sea. They started to destroy the trees and to destroy us. We will not let it happen again. He told me he's ready to travel to the capital, Brasilia. I want to look the president in the eye, he said as he jabbed his finger at my chest. I and I want her to look me in the eye. They must listen to what I tell them. They must listen. And as he has done for so many years, Chief Rouni swore to fight to his last breath to stop the building of the Bellomonte Dam. But the Brazilian government has just given the final go ahead to the project. It looks more than ever as if Rouni has lost his fight.
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And that's Robin Lustig. India's capital, Delhi becomes more populous every year. Already more than 16 million people live there. New high rise apartments and mega malls continue to spring up everywhere you look. And the city's restless boundaries spread even deeper into the countryside. So it's surprising to hear that the place is also home to more birds than nearly any other capital city in the world. Apparently a stunning 450 species nest there. Some miniature and jewel coloured, others clawed and deadly, as Anu Anand has been finding out.
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Meet 6am at the Banyan Tree Bund, said the bird watcher's email. May you always hear the whisper of wings. The following Sunday before dawn, I found myself in search of the elusive Banyan tree bund or raised embankment and Delhi's secret bird life. We skirted along one of the city's most polluted industrial areas towards the river. I scanned the horizon looking for trees in the distance, but all I could see was cheap office parks and and a desolate Ferris wheel etched against the gray sky. We passed car body workshops, plastic manufacturers and roadside welding shops. It resembled the set of a post apocalyptic Hollywood movie. How could this place host more than 400 species of avian life? It's true that Delhi is home to several exotic urban birds. I always wake to the sounds of pigeons and crows. Green parakeets chatter in our guava tree, their crimson beaks biting at unripe fruit. At dusk you can hear peacocks, those majestic winged divas ululating in the most undiva like manner. And one of Delhi's most distinctive sounds is the tremulous shriek of black kites riding the warm air currents. These eagle like birds of prey circle and swoop, sometimes flying close enough to hear the powerful pumping of their wings. Still, I found it hard to believe that Delhi, one of the world's most polluted and populated cities, could top the list of bird habitats. As we neared the Yamuna river, we slowed down looking for signs of a banyan tree or an embankment. The river's stench, even filtered through the car's air conditioning system, was unbearable, the result of 3 billion liters of untreated sewage pouring into it every day. Its black stagnant water convinced me we were on the wrong track. But suddenly the taxi driver spotted an arch etched with the fading words Bird Sanctuary. Then up ahead, I saw a large banyan tree, its aerial roots hopelessly tangled as they reached for the ground. We'd reached our cryptic destination. Nikhil Devassar, whose one line emails had led me here, stood beneath the tree sporting a camera with a megaphone sized lens. A so called twitcher. He's willing to jump on a plane at a moment's notice to catch a glimpse of a rare bird. His India list currently stands at 860 species. We'd barely said hello when he pointed beyond a forest of reeds to podgy black cormorants nestled among the water hyacinths. We also spotted purple swamp hens and rusty black kookels whose eerie lowing seemed to surround us. In early summer, the Yamuna is packed with long legged sandpipers, pond herons and lesser whistling teals. Ducks to you and me. Until two years ago, hundreds of pink flamingos cut a breathtaking sight as they foraged in the shallow waters. But global warming and the fast melting of glaciers have pushed the water levels too high. As Nikhil spoke, one eye attached to his lens and other bird paparazzi joined us. Two teenage boys and several women, all sporting binoculars and a portly grizzled veteran introduced as the white crested thrush, a reference to his billowing mane. We stayed well away from the water, so toxic it's fit only for industrial cooling. Yet somehow birds still survive, feed and breed here. Nikhil says the river, even in its poor poisoned state, guides species as they migrate down from the mighty Himalayan mountains or up from the Deccan Plateau. It is an avian compass, directing some species east away from the harsh winters of Central Asia and others west towards Africa. Whatever their destination, Delhi is a common stop. And yet the white crested thrush lawyer Anand Arya told me the city is destroying its last few bird caravanserai with stunning efficiency. He described his court battles to protect local habitats. But the signs of defeat surrounded us. Mr. Arya pointed to a new park where 9,000 trees had been cut down to make room for political statues. An athlete's village and a Disney style temple complex loomed ahead on the floodplain. Sadly, no studies have been done to tell us how the pollution is affecting birds long term. He says we do have a lot of species, but their numbers are down by 90%. Mr. Arya told me songbirds exposed to seriously polluted environments sing more, but they also die early. As we walked under throbbing high tension power lines running right through the sanctuary, he said the light is often brightest just before it goes out.
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And with that, from Anu Anand, birdwatching by the Yamuna river in Delhi, we've reached the end of another edition. Two new programmes next week on Thursday and of course, on Saturday. Join us, won't you? Goodbye.