If Donald Trump had been captain of the Titanic when it hit the iceberg, he would have locked himself in his cabin and refused to go down with the ship.
But then, under a Donald Trump Presidency, that is unlikely to happen because there will be no icebergs. They will all have melted.
The same man who made a heartfelt speech about the Sarin gas attack in Syria (“Babies! Little babies!”) is prepared to condemn generations of babies to death from the effects of CFC gas, just so that he can keep a campaign promise that he should never have made in the first place.
So let us make America great again, by turning the clock back and supporting industries that the rest of the world is leaving behind, while steadfastly ignoring the 21st Century equivalent of the opportunities that made America great in the first place. Nice work Mr President.
We cannot, and should not, ignore what happened in Paris on 13 November and in Beirut the day before. It is in our nature to strive to make sense of what we experience, even when we know instinctively that the experience itself makes no sense. But before we allow ourselves to be consumed by our sense of outrage and injustice, we should give a thought to the bigger picture. While these atrocities were planned and executed by a small number of individuals, think of the millions of others throughout the world who give of their time, their skill and their material wealth day after day to help others, to give others better lives and better prospects – to give them comfort and bring them hope. I’m talking of doctors and nurses, teachers and aid-workers, engineers and scientists, and the list goes on. Can the few criminals who wreaked such destruction in Paris and Beirut over the past week possibly deserve more attention, more recognition, than the millions of selfless people who toil unheralded, out of the limelight and away from the cameras, for the betterment of Mankind?
We must mourn those whose lives have been taken so brutally and callously; we must care for the injured and comfort those who have lost family and friends in these despicable attacks; we must reflect on what has happened and do more to reduce the likelihood of it happening again; but we must not allow the aggressors to paint the whole world as an evil place for that is their world, not ours.
I left Scotland almost 50 years ago. I haven’t visited Scotland in more than 40 years. But I claim dual allegiance: to Australia, where I live; and to Scotland, where I was born. That is why my avatar (above) comprises the Scottish saltire and a silhouette of the Sydney Opera House. That is why my handle is XpatScot. If I had any doubts about my affinities, they were dispelled recently, when the Commonwealth Games were hosted in Glasgow. I can claim no credit for that, but I cannot deny the pride I felt – by association – when I saw the spirit in which my countrymen and women staged the games.
When it came to the question of Scottish independence, I was not eligible to vote nor did I feel qualified to have an opinion. It was rightfully a decision for those who live in Scotland now and would be directly affected by the decision taken. But regardless of the outcome, I am proud to know that Scots showed the world how geopolitical change can and should be decided. The Scots did not take arms against the English (this time). The separatists did not seek the support of other nations to force their will on those of their countrymen who did not share their view. And those who sought to establish an independent Scottish state did not resort to terrorism to prosecute their case.
The Scots held a referendum – one person, one vote – and once the people had spoken, the leader of the losing side took to the podium and exhorted his countrymen and women to work together to build a unified Scotland.
Today, I am more proud than ever to have links of birth and heritage to Scotland.
Alba gu bràth
These older Australians had just attended a matinee performance at the Sydney Opera House and presumably were making their way to the transport hub where they would find trains and buses and ferries waiting to carry them home.
I had spent the afternoon alone in the city, trying to find subjects to photograph, but with little success. I was tired, feeling somewhat despondent, so I stopped at an outdoor café before heading home.
It was late afternoon and the sun was already low, its rays reflecting off the windows of the tall building behind me and creating little spotlights on the street ahead. And it was in one of those random spotlights that I caught this scene, just a simple gesture that, at that precise moment, for some reason struck me as particularly poignant. But then, sometimes, the eye sees what the heart feels.
I’ve split my old Verisimilitude website into two, retaining the writing here and moving much of the photographic content to a new site which is still under construction. And since the old title related primarily to the photographs, I am re-branding this site as “A Pocketful of Mumbles“. The title comes from a song called The Boxer, by Simon and Garfunkle. I think it’s appropriate:
I am just a poor boy
Though my story’s seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocket full of mumbles such are promises
All lies and jests
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest
‘So what have you been doing all these years,’ I asked, delighted that she had even remembered me.
‘I died,’ she said, with show-stopping intensity.
Is a photograph that requires explanation necessarily a failure? I’d love to hear your opinion on this subject. Let me tell you about an experience I had recently that might illustrate the issue as I see it. (…more)