Features

Saturday

Ed Smith

Ashes to Ashes

Australian cricket’s fearsome tradition of toughness may be coming to an end This is not wise. In fact, it is madness. For me, as a former professional cricketer, it is a hostage to fortune. For England, with the Ashes fast approaching, it could be worse: I am tempting fate and inviting revenge. It would be risky to whisper it at dinner, let alone spell it out in print. The timing is abysmal and I am not even sure I am right. But the idea will not leave me alone. A sneaking question keeps coming into my head: are Australia losing their cricketing edge? And I don’t just mean the Ashes. I mean the whole legend of the Aussie battler that has been constructed over decades of flinty toughness. Australia have lost their past four series. But it’s deeper than that.

Alistair Horne

A portrait of the Lady

Aung San Suu Kyi is free, but has the ruling junta won the battle for Burma’s future? Aung San Suu Kyi’s late husband, Michael Aris, was a good friend of mine at St Antony’s, Oxford. The gentlest of gentle academics, he helped establish a centre in Tibetan studies at Oxford, and converted to Buddhism. In 1972, he married Aung San Suu Kyi, whom he had met while they were both studying in Oxford. They had two young sons, Alexander and Kim, and for a while settled into the quiet life of north Oxford. But as we all know, in 1988, Suu Kyi returned to Burma to tend her ailing mother and soon found herself swept into politics.

Saturday

Jo Johnson

Generation jihad

Driving through Gaza City last weekend, in an armoured UN land cruiser, I ask our guide what the ubiquitous green flags symbolise. ‘Hamas,’ he replies. And the black ones? ‘Jihad.’ It is almost five years since Hamas won 74 out of 132 seats in the Palestinian Legislative Council election, in a massive rejection both of the corruption of Fatah politicians and of the peace process with Israel. Since then, under a land and sea blockade imposed ostensibly to protect Israel from rocket attack and Egypt from Islamist contagion, Gaza has sunk ever deeper into a mire of victimhood and fundamentalism. It’s an alarming thought: young Gazans — 60 per cent of the population is under 15 — are growing up in an environment tailor-made for radicalisation.

Tessa Keswick

Beijing Notebook | 13 November 2010

David Cameron should have enjoyed his trip this week. Autumn is a great time to be in Beijing. The sky is deep blue, the sun hot and the evenings cool. As the season progresses, the shadows thrown by the tall buildings lengthen and the north wind from Mongolia blows a little more urgently. The pollution in Beijing is much less bad than in other Chinese cities, and the new parks and landscaped gardens and flower beds are beautifully tended. Rem Koolhaas’s massive CCTV headquarters, Paul Andreu’s National Theatre ‘the Egg’, and Ai Weiwei’s Olympic Stadium add to the grandeur of this great northern capital. During the autumn holiday, half of China migrates from one side of the country to the other to visit their families.

Matthew Lynn

Bust and boom

Iceland is recovering from its financial shock – without the aid of a bank bailout It’s been a good week for the admittedly small band of people who get excited about the decisions made by central banks. In America, the Federal Reserve embarked on a second great round of printing money. In this country, the Bank of England abandoned any idea of controlling inflation, leaving interest rates at a three-century low despite having missed its inflation target for seven months. But by far the most interesting decision was made a long way to the north, in a country which people usually only pay attention to when its banks or volcanoes blow up, bringing either the financial or air traffic system grinding to a halt.

Aidan Hartley

White man’s burden

Suffering has had at least one benefit for white Zimbabweans, says the writer Peter Godwin – it has brought them closer to the rest of the population When Robert Mugabe dies — when the blood transfusions, the vitamin jabs, Botox and hate-filled rants come to an end — few Zimbabweans will miss him. Yet while reading Peter Godwin’s new book, The Fear, it strikes me that one group will have a reason not entirely to curse him: Zimbabwe’s whites. An unintended consequence of Mugabe’s persecution of his Caucasian citizens — a revelation in Godwin’s book that might hasten the 86-year-old despot’s death in one last carpet-chewing frenzy — is that he has massively improved their reputation.

Rod Liddle

Why not make the children of the unemployed work, too?

I suppose I am past the point in life where, as Gore Vidal put it, litigation takes the place of sex. I have consulted lawyers at least 12 times so far this year, which easily exceeds the amount of times I have engaged in mutual sexual activity. Even on my birthday I rang a lawyer and did not have sex. As it happens sex was on offer, as a special treat — along with the cake with its 50 bloody candles, each one lit with malevolent glee by my wife — but I had somehow wrenched my knee out of joint and any form of movement caused excruciating pain and a sinister, strangely synthetic popping noise from within the wrecked joint. You cannot have sex under those conditions; you cannot have sex while hopping. Or at least you can, but only with a kangaroo.

Douglas Murray

Costs in space

‘Hello. Is that the European Union? This is Earth.’ It’s a conversation that could have happened at any time in recent years, but if the EU’s planned global satellite system ever actually takes off it might yet become reality. The plans for ‘Project Galileo’ were dreamt up in the late 1990s. They are intended as a rival to the Global Positioning System satellites, or GPS, used by almost all of today’s satnav devices. GPS worked well — but it was owned by the United States. This did not please Jacques Chirac, then French president, who thought a rival satnav project would make a fine grand projet. Lift-off for Galileo has taken a while, with hopes for a speedy launch repeatedly thwarted.

Melanie McDonagh

Bad sex awards

Every year, every month, there are more of them, the Women of the Year awards when female journalists are invited to join other women for a celebration of our sex at some London hotel. The other week it was the Harper’s Bazaar magazine’s Women of the Year awards, followed closely by the Cosmopolitan magazine’s Ultimate Women of the Year awards, not forgetting the Bounty Celebrity Mum of the Year award (which Samantha Cameron just narrowly missed). Then there’s the Veuve Clicquot Women in Business Awards, the Glamour magazine awards (this year’s winner: Cheryl Cole), the Asian Women of Achievement Awards and the Barclays Women of the Year — won, I need hardly say, by Annie Lennox.

Fraser Nelson

Osborne’s tax exiles

Earlier this year, officials in the Indian driving licence department received an extraordinary application. It was from Lakshmi Mittal, the richest man in Britain, who wanted to know — given the circumstances — if it would possible for him to be posted the documentation rather than sit a driving test. They refused, and the steel magnate duly turned up for his fingerprints a few days later. The Indian press were delighted, and not just to see a billionaire humbled. A driving licence application looked very much like the first step back to residency. India’s richest exile might just be the latest to flee London. If he did, it would be a symptom of what could be a much wider problem.

Saturday

Andrew Neil

The New Republicans

After the Tea Party’s election success, the American right has a mandate to fight for a smaller state ‘I am not a witch.’ Now that’s not something you hear very often from a politician. But Christine O’Donnell, Tea Party darling and Republican candidate in Delaware for the US Senate, felt the need to say these words in a campaign commercial, after a youthful dalliance with witchcraft was revealed. The denial was somewhat undermined by the all-black outfit and smoky background. But the Democrats and their cheerleaders in the US media had a field day. These Tea Party folks? Strange, barking, dangerous. Who’d vote for them?

Peter Oborne

Tartan Taleban

On a freezing January morning two years ago, I joined a US army assault in an al-Qa’eda-controlled village in northern Iraq. We were dropped by helicopter half a mile from the village not long after midnight and shivered till dawn, when the soldiers launched their assault. They met with no resistance and by late afternoon had completed their searches and were mostly asleep. I sat in the garden of the makeshift company HQ — the largest house in the village, commandeered from a reluctant sheikh. Above me a US soldier was on sentry duty, while at the bottom of the garden women were cleaning clothes in a stream. There was just enough warmth from the winter sun, so I took out my book, Sir Walter Scott’s Chronicles of the Canongate.

Theodore Dalrymple

Common people

When I returned recently from Paris, everyone asked about the strikes, the riots, the violence and the chaos. All I had seen was a queue at one petrol station and a notice of closure at another: otherwise, it was all oysters and Sancerre. My questioners were disappointed. It was as if the travails of France were the salvation of England. Much more pertinent to our national predicament is something that strikes me each time I return from France: the extreme vulgarity of the English by comparison with the French. It is as if the English had adopted vulgarity as a totalitarian ideology, a communism of culture rather than of the economy. This vulgarity is insolent, militant and triumphant, will brook no competition and tolerate no dissent.

Ed Howker

Cameron’s clearances

James Cummings could never refuse a drink. Even after his boss — a Watford publican — threatened him with the sack he couldn’t lay off the bottle. He’d worked his way through the profits of a family business, two houses and a marriage by then. He eventually awoke in a tunnel under the Elephant and Castle three weeks after he was sacked from the pub. That was the winter before last. Now, having recovered sufficiently to rent a flat, fight his addiction and get some qualifications, James is doing everything we expect of those on unemployment benefit. He is teetotal and has avoided debt; he does voluntary work with other addicts and is applying for jobs.

Peter Robins

Wheels within wheels

I have seen only one actual fight in a London cycle lane. It was at St George’s Circus, south of Blackfriars Bridge, on an afternoon late last summer. Two young women were attacking each other over a prone Boris bike, with a third attempting to pull them apart. It seems likely that one had ridden the bike into the other, but I did not interrupt them to check. One learns quickly not to intervene in bike rage incidents. During my first year as a London cyclist, when I was less good at staying quiet, I was spat at, hit with an egg and, just the once, punched in the face by a man who had run uphill in front of me. Keep your head down and pedal, that’s the best thing. London, you see, is a city officially in the throes of a bicycle revolution.

Celia Haddon

Legitimate question

My father believed – wrongly – that I wasn’t his child. If only there had been DNA tests to reassure him In this magazine two weeks ago, Melanie McDonagh suggested that DNA testing is tough on children whose apparent fathers turn out not to be anything of the kind. In particular, she had sympathy for the child whose TV presenter ‘father’ discovered that for years he had been paying child support for somebody else’s offspring. No doubt she has a point, but what of the children whose true fathers doubt their paternity? For me, DNA testing would have been a blessing. My father doubted I was his child, though I didn’t know it. I just knew that he didn’t seem to care for me very much. ‘The cuckoo in the nest’ is what he called me.

Rod Liddle

My sympathies are with the Meedhuffushi One

It is time we started a campaign to free the Meedhuffushi One, a victim of government persecution. Hussein Didi was arrested and faces prosecution for the crime of having officiated at a hotel ‘wedding’ ceremony on the tiny island of Meedhuffushi in the Maldives. You may have read about his unorthodox benediction to the Swiss couple who paid £830 to have their right to fornicate endorsed fraudulently while they sipped cocktails out of a coconut shell in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Or you may have watched the video online. Either way, it is worth reacquainting ourselves with some of the details, especially those not reported in the press.

Daniel McCarthy

Mr Tea

The last time Republicans retook control of Congress, in 1994, the face of the revolution belonged to the party’s leader in the House of Representatives, Newt Gingrich. This year the standard-bearer is a less obvious figure: Rand Paul, the newly elected junior senator from Kentucky. Not only is Rand not part of the leadership, he is the son of Ron Paul, a maverick former presidential candidate who is considered a pariah within his own party. But this is an outsider’s hour in American politics, and the younger Paul is everywhere hailed as the paragon of the Tea Party revolt. That revolt has been directed as much against the Republican establishment as against Barack Obama and the Democrats.

Saturday

Gideon Rachman

Playing with fire

In a couple of weeks’ time, David Cameron and George Osborne will arrive in China and witness at first hand an economic boom that is shaking the world. The British duo will doubtless receive a polite and outwardly respectful reception. But, as I discovered on a visit to Shanghai last week, Chinese diplomats and academics have noted the deep cuts in British spending — and they are drawing the obvious conclusions about the relative fortunes of the two nations. As one of my colleagues in China put it to me, ‘Nobody spots blood in the water faster than the Chinese.’ The contrast between the boom in China and the gloom in Britain is part of a bigger story of the shift in economic and political power from the West to the East.

Simon Jenkins

Who do you Trust?

Visitors to Thomas Hardy’s birthplace in Dorset, a small thatched cottage built by Hardy’s great-grandfather, used to be met by a bare house and a guide book. Now they are greeted by a fire in the grate and a curator at the parlour table, dispensing tea and cakes and chatting about the author’s childhood. Those irritated at such intrusion can walk through the house and enjoy the garden undisturbed. Most are entranced. When I arrived at the National Trust as chairman two years ago, I received two clear messages. One was to relieve its 330 houses open to the public from the ‘dead hand’ of the Trust’s house style, and the other was to cut the suffocation of its centralised bureaucracy.