The hectagon of evil

I did not like history much when I was in school and did not particularly shine at the subject as a result. It seemed like a jumble of guys, none born in a year easy to remember, that constantly fought and bickered about all and nothing. The endless maps of the acient world with arrows showing how this old nation or that flooded over its neighbors. I cringe at the mere thought. The only parts that held any interest to me were the bits where the water wells seemed to have laced with drugs and people were doing things where sanity has no calling. As they say: History is more fun when it is horrid.

My soon to turn sixteen year old daughter attends the same junior college as I did at her age. She is now studying the same history text book as I did at that age. Leafing through it now it seems quite clear that the boring manner in which the development of society and the human race is set forth must have had a lot to do with my lack of fondness. The part about the Romans as an example has a picture of a Roman coin. Who chose that as being depictive of what the Romans stood for? Maybe to save space. One a single page they manage to cram in five emperors, their wives and various other key players. A photo of the Colosseum would have cut this figure down by at least one emperor, one wife and two key players.

My daughter told me her favourite in the history book is the sections on the Roman gods and the Greek gods. I found this odd but when she told me why I understood. Gods do not have a birth year so there is less to remember.

I have decided to keep my mouth shut and not tell her how in three years she will be forced to learn by heart what parties have been in power in Iceland year by year since the establishment of the republic. Then she will look fondly back to the page with the five roman emperors, the five wives and the numerous key players. Not to mention the gods that lived timelessly.

Teenagers are actually in some ways representatives of the old times, before Galileo to be exact. They do not conduct themselves in ways that imply that the earth revolves around the sun. Their view on the universe is that everything within it revolves around them. My daughter as an example expects my husband to read her history book in case she needs him to ask her questions from it in preparation for an exam. This way he will be sure to be on top of things and not have to read through the paragraphs over and over when trying to come up with a question. But it could be worse. So he read the book and knows his Romans. 

Dare I tell my daughter that her father and I will be away on her birthday in two weeks? Not really. Unless I can figure out a way of making it seem as if the trip has something to do with her and her studies. Which will be a cinch since I am going to Rome. I will tell her that her father really wants to get a hands on feel for the Romans so that he can ask really pointed questions come exam time in December.

In all honesty I am going there to promote a book: “Mi ricordo di te” – the one called: “I remember you” in English. Having never been to the eternal city, I can’t wait.

When the first Thóra book came out in Italy it was called “Circle de male” – loosely translated as: the circle of evil. I remember thinking how smart that was and how I had not thought of naming my series something with geometrical shapes. It would have saved me a lot of title worries – The circle of evil. The ellipse of evil. The triangle of evil. The rectangular of evil. The list is endless.

Yrsa - Wednesday

I Quit -- A Guest Post From James Thompson

We've been lucky to have Jim Thompson as a regular guest here on MURDER IS EVERYWHERE.

Jim, for those few of you who might not yet know it, is Finland's best and most popular representative in the field of Nordic Noir.

His first book, SNOW ANGELS was selected as one of BOOKLIST'S Best Crime Novel Debuts of the Year. His second, LUCIFER'S TEARS, was chosen as one of the Best Novels of the Year by Kirkus. And you still have time, if you haven't yet done so, to read the excellent HELSINKI WHITE before he launches this one:

HELSINKI BLOOD will be the fourth in the Inspector Kari Vaara series. It goes on sale, in North America, on the 21st of March and is already up for pre-order on Amazon.

You can do so, and read about it, by clicking this link: http://www.amazon.com/Helsinki-Blood-Inspector-Vaara-Novel/dp/039915888X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1352673639&sr=1-1&keywords=helsinki+blood

Here, and elsewhere, Jim has been doing a series of posts on the subject of Finnish racism.

But no more.

He just quit.

And he tells us why in the post below.

Cara - Tuesday

I Quit

When I started writing a series of articles discussing the feelings of disenfranchised immigrants, I was so naïve that I thought raising public awareness was a good thing, that it would be viewed as I intended, an attempt at fulfilling a social responsibility. I had no idea it would generate such anger. But it did, and so, in an attempt to be fair and objective, I presented the other side of the coin, the views of “critics of immigration.”

A coordinated attack was launched against me on their website, Homma Forum. This despite the fact that I agree with many of their policies concerning Finland’s relationship to the international community. I simply dislike racist rhetoric. The discussion concerning me has been viewed by well over 4000 readers. I had no idea so many people would be interested in me. Hmmm. Should I be flattered?

I was heartened today to see that the latest posts focus on my novels, rather than attacking me personally. A rather lengthy commentary was published that discussed two of my novels. The verdict: I am possibly the worst writer ever born. I’m more than fine with that. The man exercised his right to free speech and is entitled to hate my work as much as he likes. In fact, I was thrilled. It appears that most people on that site who are rambling on about how much my writing sucks have never read any of my novels. At least the man took the trouble to read my work before voicing an opinion about it. I respect that.

I do wish that readers would recognize that I’m a noir writer, and the events and attitudes expressed in my novels are genre appropriate, that writing noir set in Finland doesn’t mean that I view Finland as a violent, corrupt, and dangerous place to live, any more than James Ellroy’s noir writing means that he hates America and in particular, Los Angeles. Folks, it’s fiction. After fifteen years here, Finland is my home, I’m happy here. The culture suits my personality better than anywhere I lived in America ever did. But that’s neither here nor there, and I’m digressing.

My mistake was believing that the public at large is interested in the welfare of all—that an objective examination of the situation from differing viewpoints might be valued. That was idealistic bullshit. I made a mistake and learned a lesson. It isn’t wanted or valued. To not take a side is to be the enemy of all. I offered Perussuomalaiset/Basic Finns a guest blog, and because I’m a man of my word, if they wish, I will honor it, without comment from me.

I view no one as an enemy and don’t want there to be a perception that I do, and so I will write no more about this subject. My views aren’t wanted or needed. There will be no thoughtful discourse. Minds are made up and hate from both sides will reign for another generation. If it makes you happy, go ahead and hate your brains out. You’ll see no more essays about it from me.

I quit. 

Child Labor In Brazil

Child labor, in North America and Western Europe, is largely a thing of the past.

But it is alive and flourishing in many other places around the world.

Here in Brazil there is legislation against it.

Kids aren't supposed to enter the labor force until they’re eighteen years old.

But, according to the most recent statistics, more than one million of them between the ages of ten and fourteen already have.

In recent years, the federal government has been doing its level best to crack down. But it’s difficult to get the laws to “stick” in the more poverty-stricken regions of Brazil’s north and northeast.

In the semi-arid regions of Bahia, for example, more than 800,000 kids, some under the age of five, are to be found working on small landholdings.

The presence of federal agents, in such regions, is thin on the ground.

Schools are few and far-between.

Transportation is lacking.

But the problem is also a cultural one: child labor is encouraged by parents, and supported by the community.

Complaints to the authorities are rare. And, when they come, the people who made them are often ostracized by their neighbors.

More monitoring is needed, more subsidies to the poor, more education directed toward the caregivers of the exploited children.

Things are changing. But all too slowly.

Thereby condemning at least another generation of kids to a life in which their lack-of-education is bound to result in the perpetuation of grinding poverty.

Visiting some of these regions, seeing some of these kids, is enough to make a grown man cry.

And I have.

Leighton - Monday

World News Roundup

And now (rim shot) the news of the world, largely true and condensed for 21st-century attention spans.

– The U.S. election is still over.  It will remain over for seventy-two hours, at which point the next four-year news cycle will kick in again.

– A snake with tentacles has been born at the Washington, DC zoo.  Scientists rank this as the worst evolutionary development since the birth of Pat Robertson.

– India has announced that it is accepting applications for the world's least desirable job.  The new employees will be paid a handful of rupees an hour to come up behind people who are defecating in public and hit a pan with a stick to direct attention at what everyone within view is trying not to look at.  The campaign is designed to reduce public defecation, which is apparently not already sufficiently embarrassing.

– The family of the former head of the Communist Chinese Party was revealed by the New York Times to have amassed a fortune in the area of 2.7 billion dollars, proving that George Orwell was correct when he wrote, in Animal Farm, “Some animals are more equal than others.”

– The Chinese Communist Party announced for the seventh year in a row that rooting out corruption was a prime objective.

– The two major American political parties spent, during the election that is still over, approximately the same amount the family of  the former head of the Chinese Communist Party amassed during his years in power.  An international commission has been formed to decide which country got the better deal for the money.

– Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez have broken up.  That's it, that's the item in its entirety.

– Karl Rove, the political genius behind George W. Bush, proved that denial is not a river in Egypt when he claimed, live on Fox (of course) that the Democrats had not actually won the election.

– The Republican party made the strongest case yet for greater stress on basic math in the American school system by losing, by less than a million votes, an election in which they essentially wrote off the largest group of American voters (women), the fastest-growing group of American voters (Latinos) and the (possibly) most committed group of American voters (Blacks) and decided instead to appeal exclusively to old white men.

– Puerto Rico turned down a chance to become an independent country and expressed interest yet again in becoming a state.  A popular movement promptly arose with the objective of trading Puerto Rico for Florida, plus two outfielders.

Ugly as well as useless

– The Governor of Bangkok, who spent more than 1.3 billion Baht to create a new futsal (sort of indoor soccer) stadium for a world match, failed to get the stadium open in time for the tournament, created a building that did not meet the World Futsal League's safety standards, and then sued the League.  Orwell is alive and well in Thailand, too.

– And finally, on a more somber note, scientists at London's Kew Botanical Gardens announced last week that global warming trends could bring about the extinction of the wild Arabica coffee plant as soon as 2080.  The Arabica plant, in hundreds of varieties, is the source of all the world's really good coffee, which is to say almost all the coffee served everywhere but at Denny's. On the bright side, most currently mature coffee drinkers will be dead by then.

More news . . . as it happens.

Tim -- Sunday

With Stormy Apologies to Shakespeare

I quit, I surrender.  First Superstorm Sandy, now Nor’Easter Athena.  And I take no consolation whatsoever in this latest assault on my farm coming from a natural disaster named after a Greek god (That’s the little lady’s satellite photo above). 

The new storm is predicted to bring on a heavy wet snow, perfect for bringing down additional trees and power lines and extending the current power outage in my rural, northwestern corner of New Jersey for another two weeks.  To make matters worse, my trusty chainsaw is broken.  God knows how I’ll end up clearing the road of fallen trees so that the propane truck can make deliveries needed to fuel my generator.

Elmer Fudd at work.

All of which is my way of saying that for the time being my mind is consumed with the non-writing aspects of life.  Even the edits to my new book are taking a back seat to Athena.

But there is a bizarre serendipity to it all:  In thinking about this week’s blog I remembered something I’d written as a lark about a year ago about why to write a blog, never thinking I’d “publish” it.  It’s a parody of Hamlet’s self-questioning To be, or not to be soliloquy that asks his famous “whether” question in its second line.  Ironic, I thought, how my weather had me thinking about his.

Laurence Olivier as Hamlet, with friend

Whether/weather everywhere and not a stop to think. [Sorry, Sammy, but I just couldn’t pass up that line.] 

Yes, folks, cabin fever has set in.  Now suffer along with me if you dare…

JEFFREY: To blog, or not to blog--that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

In despair at most blogs’ outrageous fortune

Or to take pens against our shared troubles

And by exposing end them. To fly, to leap--

To soar—or do we creep away to end

The headache, and the thousand natural blocks

That publish is heir to. 'Tis a consternation

Devoutly to be wished on others.  Weep--

Perchance even scream: But at the very nub

Of a possible death to the dream of some

Is why we suffer at this mortal toil.

Let us pause. There's the respect

That is the balm to a long writing life.

For who would bear the ups and downs of time,

Th' reviewer's wrong and downright contumely,

The pangs of edited work, the pub delay,

The insolence of the press, and its spurns

Showing patient merit worthy of a saint,

When he or she might quiet exit take

To make a living?  Who would deadlines bear,

To grunt and sweat a solitary life,

But that the dread of giving no more breadth

To all those undiscovered thoughts that churn

Our traveling minds, and puzzle our will,

Would make us far more ill by half

Than denying readers what they know not of?

Dedication makes writers of us all,

And a simpler life of remuneration

Is sacrificed to one of words and thought.

Any enterprise giving pitch and moment

To our words, even if currently awry,

We can’t lose in the name of no action.  

So now fair Colleagues, bring on opinions

That our blog be long remembered.

Jeff—Saturday

The Devil Takes Many Forms

I've resisted blogging about the Jimmy Savile scandal in the UK, even though if you follow me on Twitter you'll know it's occupied my thoughts for some time. However, this week I was approached by a tabloid journalist because he thought my tweets suggested I have some inside information about it all - I don't - and the case is taking so many fascinating and ridiculous turns, and provokes so many questions, I feel my head is about to explode so I need to set it down somewhere, so I hope you'll indulge me.

First of all, a quick precis for those in other countries who might not be aware of what's gone on. Jimmy Savile was a DJ and television presenter. He has was wrestler, a dancehall owner and DJ, who rose to national prominence in the 1960s even though it was clear he had little interest in the music he was playing. He was that dreaded thing: a 'personality.' He looked weird, dressed strangely - gold lame tracksuits, lots of jewellery - had a funny way of speaking with lots of catchphrases ('Now then, now then guys and gals', 'As it happens...'), chomped on a cigar which was rarely lit, and carried an aura of 'otherness' which he played to the max. He is perhaps most famous, at least for my generation, for hosting a ludicrously popular programme called 'Jim'll Fix It' which ran on the BBC for the best part of 20 years. Children wrote in asking for their dreams to be made real and Jim fixed it for them. My sister wrote in on our behalf when I was four, asking that be whisked away on an adventure with Peter Pan. Jim didn't fix it; though given what's been revealed I'm surprised he didn't turn up at our door dressed as Peter and take us to Never Never Land aka Scarborough, where Peter lived in a caravan.

Savile was also famous for his charitable works, most famously as patron of Stoke Mandeville hospital, and he was knighted for his services. He ran marathons until he was well into his 80s to raise money, and he was closely, um, involved in several prisons, hospitals and care homes. His fundraising and profile brought him close to senior politicians and royalty. He used to spend the odd Christmas or night at Chequers with Mrs Thatcher and he was such a good friend of Prince Charles that he tried to broker a reconciliation when his relationship with Princess Diana was breaking down. He died in 2011. Last month it was reported that he was a paedophile who had abused hundreds of children, mainly young women, aged between 13 and 15, many of them in the same institutions for whom he was also raising funds. The BBC suppressed a report into his abuse after he died and has come under intense criticism for it, but now stories of Savile's abuse and the appalling extent of it are in every newspaper every day.

What a shock, you must think? To have such a saintly man exposed as probably one of the most prolific child abusers in British history? To discover that a man who was famous for hosting a kids show that made children's dreams came true, was actually destroying the lives of thousands of vulnerable kids. What a terrible, awful surprise eh?

No. While the extent of Savile's evil continues to surprise and there are elements of the story that stretch credulity - which I'll come to - the simple fact is that there have been rumours about Savile going back to the 1950s. My parents worked in TV and tales of Savile's predilections were legion: one of them, which I used to delight in appalling people with, was that the reason he volunteered as a night porter at Leeds General Infirmary was that it granted him access to the morgue and he was a necrophiliac. It turns out that rumour was almost certainly true and has been reported in the mainstream press. There were also stories about him having a caravan in Scarborough where he would take underage girls. Again, these rumours were true. In Leeds, where I grew up, he was viewed as a sort of Bling Bogeyman, a showbiz monster, a Child-Snatcher in crap trainers, but the world seemed to love him - he was a friend of Prince Charles and Mrs Thatch and a knight of the realm! -  even if you would struggle to find someone who didn't think he was a creepy weirdo.

So, Savile's behaviour was such an open secret that 19-year-old no-nothing numpties like me were spreading stories about him. He also featured in songs by The Smiths ('The Leeds side-streets that you slip down...the provincial towns that you jog round...Hang the blessed DJ') and Half Man Half Biscuit:

Down at Stoke Mandeville I bumped into Mr IQ

I said “Hey albino, this is not 1972

Stub out your King Edward and get that small boy off your knee

And melt down your rings and things and get yourself off my TV”

Jim could you fix it for me

To come down and suck out your kidneys?

I’ve got this young brother, you see

Who wants to stay alive to watch Bilko. ”

That was written in the 1980s. Ever since Savile's death countless celebs and TV folk who worked with him or knew him have crawled out to say they knew there was something dodgy about Jimmy, and tell lurid tales involving him and young girls. It's a disgrace that none of them came forward at the time. Savile, they say, was seen as untouchable: he knew a lot of powerful people, he could hire expensive lawyers who were able to use Britain's libel laws to keep stories out of the newspapers, and he was a nasty piece of work, who knew some nasty folk, and people were wary of crossing him. So theres rumours built and built, and Jimmy carried on abusing and abusing. Evil things happen when good men do nothing and so on.

But this is where the story gets truly sinister. If the stories about Savile were so rife that idiots like me were telling their friends at uni about them, and obscure indie bands of the 1980s were putting them into song, then how the hell did Savile get to be so friendly with so many senior Tory politicians in the 1980s? Why was he friends with Prince Charles? We can say nothing was proven, the newspapers were scared, but we also know how ruthless politicians are, particularly successful ones. They make friends according to how it will affect their perception and popularity, and if an adviser or someone tells them that even the faintest of scandal has attached itself to someone they know then that person is cut dead, for fear of what emerge. I can't for a second believe that no one at Tory Party HQ in the 1980s was not aware of the rumours and allegations that surrounded Savile. So why was he allowed to move in those circles and why were they so eager to greet him? There were no votes in it.

Even worse, he was not just allowed to gladhand with the great and the good. The great and the good gave him the keys to the asylum. Literally. Broadmoor is a psychiatric hospital. It's high-security because many of the inmates are violent criminals, and in other wings there were other patients, many of whom were mentally-ill teenage girls and boys. Savile was 'entertainments manager' there for many years, a self-appointed role. In the 1980s he was appointed by the Tory Government to be part of  taskforce invesitigating reforms of Broadmoor, even though he had no knowledge of expertise in the field of psychiatry. One of Savile's friends was appointed to a senior job on the board of the hospital, and later resigned in rather murky circumstances. Meanwhile Savile  - he was referred to as 'Dr Savile' by some even though he was no doctor - had his own flat just outside the grounds and his own set of keys so he could come and go as he pleased. Our press have been more interested in kicking the BBC for canning their report into Savile's behaviour than they have in finding out why and how Savile was given access to so many troubled young people by the actions or inaction of leading politicians and prominent health and prison officials. 

Was it money? He was very wealthy; reportedly worth £40 million at the height of his fame, and left an estate of approximately £4million when he died. At one point he owned 13 houses or flats and a fleet of cars, despite bragging that he charged the BBC the minimum for his services - £6.50 an hour - so the accountants would never think he was too expensive and consider getting rid of him. So where did his money come from? He admitted using his charity events to make himself money, but £40 million? He also admitted that he was paid in houses and cars because 'the taxman can't work out what's a quarter of the car.' But if the BBC were paying him minimum, as he admitted, and they were his main employer for most of his life, then who was giving him houses and cars? Could they all have come from personal appearances, nightclubs and opening record shops? Nothing adds up. There have been dark murmurings on the wilder shores of the Internet about Savile being involved in institutional abuse at children's care homes in North Wales and the Channel Islands, and the involvement of senior political figures, but we're in the realm of conspiracy theories. However, the question needs to be answered about what Savile actually did to earn his prominence, and I suspect the houses and cars leave a trail to whatever it might be. Did he also donate any of this money to the Tory party? 

Finally, and most surreally of all, there's the growing evidence of a link between Savile and the Yorkshire Ripper, a notorious serial killer I wrote about here. I have read a lot about the Ripper over the years, but I missed the connection between him and Savile. The first seemed slightly tenuous. Sutcliffe's  third victim Irene Richardson was found very near Savile's flat in Leeds. A simple coincidence surely? Then someone brought up this picture:

It shows Sutcliffe, an inmate at Broadmoor (!) shaking hands with boxer Frank Bruno. In the background, a certain cigar chomping Mr Savile. The accompanying story talked of how Savile had 'befriended' Sutcliffe at the hospital. Why? Savile's thing was children. Sutcliffe murdered prostitutes. All very strange, but still we're in the realms of coincidence. Jimmy was a weirdo and it seems that over time at Broadmoor, when he wasn't abusing the kids there, he came across Sutcliffe. Except that's not the case. I found an extract from a book written about Sutcliffe, in which he's interviewed and speaks about his friendship with Savile. How he would come to his cell and joke about them being two 'Yorkie Puds.' But this was not in Broadmoor, it was in Parkhurst before he was moved to Broadmoor (a place he was desperate to move to because he was being given such a hard time by other prisoners in Parkhurst, including attempts to kill him.) This begs many questions: what was Savile doing in a high-security prison like Parkhurst in the first place? Why did he seek out Britain's most notorious murderer shortly after he had been sentenced, or had Savile and Sutcliffe known each other before the latter was arrested? Did Savile play any part in Sutcliffe's desired move to Broadmoor, given his influence there? Who else did Savile encounter in Parkhurst? This week it was revealed that Savile was questioned as part of the Ripper inquiry. No surprise there, so were thousands of men (including my dad) and one of the victims was found outside his house. Then it turned out the police had taken a cast of Savile's teeth because two of the Ripper's victims had been bitten during the attack, so there was a bit more to this than mere routine. The newspapers have finally taken up this line of inquiry and are looking into the nature of Savile and Sutcliffe's friendship. It may well be a ghoulish sideshow to more serious allegations, or it might not. But again, if he was visiting high-security prisons and making friends with Britain's most notorious criminals - he claimed to know Ian Brady, one of the Moors Murderers who abused and killed young children in Manchester in the 1960s - then this would have been recorded and known. Likewise at Broadmoor. Either his links visits to Sutcliffe were suppressed by prison authorities - in which case why? - or they were were known and the prominent people who courted and befriended Savile were prepared to turn a blind eye once again. In which case - why?

With all these questions, it's hard not to be sucked into a web of bizarre theories and conspiracies. My first instinct is to recoil from wild allegations out there that involve paedophile rings at heart of power, or Satanism, Zionism, Freemasons, the Illuminati and people who are really lizards or whatever. However, there is something at extremely dark at the heart of the Savile case. It may be no more than complicity and complacency of power, but that in itself is enough. The focus needs to move away from the BBC and to those institutions and people who granted Savile the access to sate his appetites. It's one thing to allow Savile to present TV programmes, quite another to allow him free rein to to prey on his victims in places where they were supposed to be protected.

For more on this and the other connections and madness surrounding the Savile case I urge you to go to this terrific blog, which emerged, as Archie says, after we shared a few lighthearted tweets. He knows his stuff, and seems to be the sort of guy who would ordinarily steer a million miles from conspiracy theories and wild speculation, but sees that facts emerging here are stranger than anything a novelist could possibly imagine.

cheers

Dan - Friday

... and Statistics

There is an old saying that there are “lies, damn lies, and statistics”.  There is also the chestnut about a politician using statistics “the way a drunk uses a street light – more for support than illumination”.  Of course the problem is not with the numbers (assuming they are accurate) but with their interpretation.  

One of my favorite examples is the story of the Fever trees.  This tree is actually a species of acacia with yellow pom-pom flowers and attractive greenish-yellow colored bark.  It got its name because in the days of the exploration of the hinterland of South Africa, it was noticed that people who camped under the trees often came down with a bad fever.  What’s more, sometimes their skin took on a yellowish tinge (caused by liver complications) which reminded people of the tree bark.  Once that connection was noticed, people started avoiding the trees and – although the fever still occurred – it did seem somewhat less prevalent.  Needless to say, the trees did not cause of the fever.  What was happening was that cause was being confused with effect.  Indeed there was a correlation: the trees love to grow along water courses.  The mosquitoes that carry the yellow fever virus also like to be near the water where they breed.  So the water was the connection.  People who camped near water – a sensible thing to do to have a ready supply – were as much at risk as those who camped under the shade of the trees.

This is a long introduction to what I really want to discuss.  The South African census of 2011 was released by Statistics South Africa last month.  The context is that we need to be careful about how we interpret the data.  I promise I won’t make this long!

Here are two deductions from the census data:  

1     1      If you are white, you are more than four times as likely to have a higher education qualification (i.e. post-secondary school) than if you are black, 

2     2  Nearly two-thirds of the people with higher education qualifications are black.

Here’s another pair (money translated to US dollars).

3   Over the ten years since the last census, white households increased their average income by $20,000 per annum, while blacks increased theirs by only $4,500,

4.       Over the ten years since the last census, black households have increased their income by 50% on average, while white income on average has stayed the same.

It seems to me that statements 1 and 3 might convince a casual reader that the government has done little to improve the lot of black people in South Africa, and has merely allowed itself to be co-opted by the wealthy white group.  On the other hand, statements 2 and 4 might convince the same casual reader that the government has done well and is strongly supporting black empowerment.

Yet these four statements are all supported by the census data. Here is the data:

• ·         36.5% of whites have a higher education qualification
• ·         8.3% of blacks have a higher education qualification
• ·         There are some 52 million people in South Africa and 80% of them are black. So using the bullet points above, 2 million blacks have higher education qualifications.  The total number of people with higher education is 3.6 million.

·         In the income figures, it depends on whether you take the real value of money into account.  Over the ten years, incomes would have had to grow at around 80% in order to keep up with inflation.  White incomes grew by about that amount so stayed flat in real terms.  Black incomes increased by 50% (in real terms) BUT they started from a very low base.  In real terms they grew from about $5,000 to $7,500.

There’s comfort in the census that a lot has been achieved, as the positive take on the above figures suggests.  Also 91% of households now have water on tap (80% in 1996) and 85% have access to electricity (58% in 1996).  The percentage of people in formal housing has also increased from 65% to 78%.  This last fact is much more dramatic when expressed in terms of the actual numbers of people: in 1996 26,4 million people had formal housing.  Now the number is 40 million. (And the number of people per household has decreased by 1 on average.)

Much has been done well.  So why the dreadful events at Marikana?  Here is another statistic. Something like 60% of working age people are employed in the formal or informal economies. About 50% of 20 to 30 year olds are employed. That’s a lot of unemployed people.  The government mooted a plan to subsidize the employment of new school leavers.  But the trade union movement blocked it.  The same movement that was shunned by the miners at Marikana.

Thanks for bearing with me.

Michael - Thursday