An unnecessary tragedy
So the man shot by the police at Stockwell tube station (near where my brothers live) on Friday was Brazilian. When the news came out we were assured he was a bomb suspect which has steadily been downgraded to an innocent civilian. Worse, I was under the impression he had been shot running away when it now transpires he was bundled to the ground, held down and then shot - five times.
Something is seriously amiss when that happens. I've been trying to think how it might have happened that he got shot. He walked out of the same block of flat under surveillance by the police. But why would it only be people linked to the bombings who would live there? He had a bulky jacket on. But in Brazil it only needs to be 17 degrees and the coats go on. He was followed and became agitated. That's understandable - whenever I'm in Brazil I'm always looking over my shoulder. It's one of those things you do. And apparently the police followed him onto a bus. Excuse me? If they were suspicious why on earth was he allowed to get on there?
Then we have the police shouting a warning. But were they plain-clothed? If so how can we differentiate them from people who might want to do you harm? That might explain why he ran away yet was legally allowed to live here. Yet even if he ran, jumped over the ticket barrier and jumped on the train, surely if he was held down there was absolutely no reason to shoot him?
Looking through some of the messages which have been going around the Brazilian community over the last few days it's clear that there's a lot of anger. There's concern that 'morenos' (dark people) are being targeted by the police, regardless of race or faith. While there is recognition that the police are under extreme pressure at the moment, there's additional frustration that following this tragedy the community has no political voice. As one member said, rather than listening to what Brazilians in the UK think about this incident the first commentators on the scene are Asian Muslims. Yet what the case shows is how concerned all of us who don't fit the national stereotype - white and blond or ginger-haired - may face in this time of high tension.
I have other less-tragic experience of this differentiation. Last week at the rock festival in Tin Pan Alley the police came looking for a barman who had thrown a drunk out and who fell on top of me and two girls sitting by the kerb. One of the girls tried to give a description of the man responsible, calling him 'foreign looking'. But as I mentioned to a friend the other day, he may well have been British-born of Greek parents. But because he didn't look 'English' he had to be 'foreign'.
One final observation: another friend and I were speaking about this shooting on Friday, before any of the details had come out. We both agreed that there would probably be public acceptance for this kind of action, but one mistake would make the whole fight against terrorism that much harder. And there was a case to be made against ID cards in this respect; you could just imagine a 'foreign-looking' illegal immigrant being stopped by the police, running away and the same shoot-to-kill policy being applied. And that has to be unacceptable.
There was a demonstration by the Brazilian community at Scotland Yard yesterday afternoon. There will be another at Stockwell tube station today at 6pm.
Update: There's now conflicting accounts about whether de Menezes's visa had expired. That may well explain why he ran away from the police. But this doesn't change those points I made above regarding ID cards.
I dislike the undertone of all this, which is that if he was here illegally, his death has less meaning than if his papers were in order.
No it bloody doesn't.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Friday, July 22, 2005
Further incidences
Once again, bomb scares and threats throughout London. Along with two others, his time there was one at Warren Street (near the Institute where I was yesterday) and on the number 26 bus on Hackney Road - from what I can tell from the photos, it was close to where I go past on my way to capoeira.
Grim.
We were at lunch in SOAS when the reports first started coming through. But not knowing how serious they were, I was unsure whether I should call people and unduly alarm them. Then when I decided to call it was impossible to get through; the phone network was down once again, creating yet more chaos for people. Thank God for email then - that was still working and most foreign friends were reassured (usually it's those abroad who worry the most since London presumably seems smaller from that perspective). The only positive aspect of these events is that I copy everyone into the email, and so I'm now talking more frequently to people that I have failed to keep in touch with for awhile.
The police advice was for everyone to stay where they were and not move. But that's a bit difficult if the tube lines are down. I walked over to UCL to hand in my application for a position there and found a constant stream of people walking up Gordon Square, pulling suitcases and trying to get people on their mobile phones. As with two weeks ago everyone seemed remarkably calm and the silence resulting from an absence of traffic was eerie.
The contrast with my personal experience later in the afternoon couldn't be more telling. A few of us went for a pint in a nearby pub. The cricket was on the TV and England were failing to capitalise on their first inning success against the Australians. You could also have forgotten anything had happened at lunch time. But getting home in the evening I saw the news bulletins were full of the day's events.
Yet you can imagine that if this happens more often it will come to be seen as a regular event - and people will emphasise the cricket rather than the disruptions caused by these failed bombings.
Once again, bomb scares and threats throughout London. Along with two others, his time there was one at Warren Street (near the Institute where I was yesterday) and on the number 26 bus on Hackney Road - from what I can tell from the photos, it was close to where I go past on my way to capoeira.
Grim.
We were at lunch in SOAS when the reports first started coming through. But not knowing how serious they were, I was unsure whether I should call people and unduly alarm them. Then when I decided to call it was impossible to get through; the phone network was down once again, creating yet more chaos for people. Thank God for email then - that was still working and most foreign friends were reassured (usually it's those abroad who worry the most since London presumably seems smaller from that perspective). The only positive aspect of these events is that I copy everyone into the email, and so I'm now talking more frequently to people that I have failed to keep in touch with for awhile.
The police advice was for everyone to stay where they were and not move. But that's a bit difficult if the tube lines are down. I walked over to UCL to hand in my application for a position there and found a constant stream of people walking up Gordon Square, pulling suitcases and trying to get people on their mobile phones. As with two weeks ago everyone seemed remarkably calm and the silence resulting from an absence of traffic was eerie.
The contrast with my personal experience later in the afternoon couldn't be more telling. A few of us went for a pint in a nearby pub. The cricket was on the TV and England were failing to capitalise on their first inning success against the Australians. You could also have forgotten anything had happened at lunch time. But getting home in the evening I saw the news bulletins were full of the day's events.
Yet you can imagine that if this happens more often it will come to be seen as a regular event - and people will emphasise the cricket rather than the disruptions caused by these failed bombings.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Not quite what I was expecting...
Yesterday I found myself in Mohammed's grotto. No reason to go into the details - a phone call which I was awaiting today has yet to be received and the longer it remains silent the more I suspect that my visit to Knightsbridge was a fleeting one.
Apparently my visit overlapped with my parents, although we didn't know we had been there until the evening. My mother was being apologetic - "we wanted to do something cultural and we ended up in Harrods".
But she needn't have felt guilty. As I pointed out, al-Fayed has got his own cultural icons there. I actually went down to the 'lower ground floor' and discovered the most kitch, over-the-top tribute-display-contraption with Princess Diana's and Dodi al-Fayed's photos in them. Apparently this is al-Fayed keeping his son's memory alive. Tourists were happily snapping away.
It may not be to everyone's taste. But it looks like Harrod's basement is now on London's cultural map...
Yesterday I found myself in Mohammed's grotto. No reason to go into the details - a phone call which I was awaiting today has yet to be received and the longer it remains silent the more I suspect that my visit to Knightsbridge was a fleeting one.
Apparently my visit overlapped with my parents, although we didn't know we had been there until the evening. My mother was being apologetic - "we wanted to do something cultural and we ended up in Harrods".
But she needn't have felt guilty. As I pointed out, al-Fayed has got his own cultural icons there. I actually went down to the 'lower ground floor' and discovered the most kitch, over-the-top tribute-display-contraption with Princess Diana's and Dodi al-Fayed's photos in them. Apparently this is al-Fayed keeping his son's memory alive. Tourists were happily snapping away.
It may not be to everyone's taste. But it looks like Harrod's basement is now on London's cultural map...
Monday, July 18, 2005
London activity
There was plenty going on in town during the heatwave yesterday - and all minutes from each other. In Trafalgar Square there was an Indian festival taking place, although hari krishna music seemed to be the order of the day. Up in Leicester Square the area had been turned over by media types to announce the premiere of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. From the screens on the north side it was apparent that director Tim Burton was meeting and greeting; I can't imagine how much noisier it would have been when Johnny Depp made his appearance there.
Further up Charing Cross Road a street had been closed. Tin Pan Alley was hosting its annual rock festival so I hung around for awhile, listening to one of the bands (nothing special). The only downside was a drunk being thrown out of a bar and onto me. But if you go to a music gig you have to expect the unexpected I suppose.
There was plenty going on in town during the heatwave yesterday - and all minutes from each other. In Trafalgar Square there was an Indian festival taking place, although hari krishna music seemed to be the order of the day. Up in Leicester Square the area had been turned over by media types to announce the premiere of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. From the screens on the north side it was apparent that director Tim Burton was meeting and greeting; I can't imagine how much noisier it would have been when Johnny Depp made his appearance there.
Further up Charing Cross Road a street had been closed. Tin Pan Alley was hosting its annual rock festival so I hung around for awhile, listening to one of the bands (nothing special). The only downside was a drunk being thrown out of a bar and onto me. But if you go to a music gig you have to expect the unexpected I suppose.
An oasis of tranquility
I am firmly convinced that when the revolution comes one place in London will be passed over. On Saturday I was with friends having a picnic in Holland Park and playing with some of the kids there. Nearby other sun worshippers had laid out their rugs to place their food - some with candles, others with a vase of flowers as ornaments. Meanwhile behind a wall the strains of the latest offering from the opera theatre was making its way over to us.
I am firmly convinced that when the revolution comes one place in London will be passed over. On Saturday I was with friends having a picnic in Holland Park and playing with some of the kids there. Nearby other sun worshippers had laid out their rugs to place their food - some with candles, others with a vase of flowers as ornaments. Meanwhile behind a wall the strains of the latest offering from the opera theatre was making its way over to us.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Buses
More drama this morning. I was at the front of a the top deck on a number 8 bus at the end of Bethnal Green Road when a truck drove dangerously close to us at the lights. The bus driver honked his horn, warning the driver - probably inexperienced - to get out of the way. Instead he panicked and maintained a steady course, whacking the bus on the side.
We all trooped off while the drivers started comparing notes and taking details - although I think the truck driver just wished he could drive away.
More drama this morning. I was at the front of a the top deck on a number 8 bus at the end of Bethnal Green Road when a truck drove dangerously close to us at the lights. The bus driver honked his horn, warning the driver - probably inexperienced - to get out of the way. Instead he panicked and maintained a steady course, whacking the bus on the side.
We all trooped off while the drivers started comparing notes and taking details - although I think the truck driver just wished he could drive away.
Unreal
A week on and it's odd how easily the unreal becomes the norm. Yesterday I was using the computer room in the Institute for Historical Research when an old man with a marshall armband entered the room. Apparently a suspect package had been found in Russell Square (now open, although traffic continues to be diverted) and the police were debating whether to carry out a controlled explosion.
Walking through the Square this morning I saw a big pile of flowers with various dedications to those who died. Judging by the dates on the notes they have been arriving all week.
A week on and it's odd how easily the unreal becomes the norm. Yesterday I was using the computer room in the Institute for Historical Research when an old man with a marshall armband entered the room. Apparently a suspect package had been found in Russell Square (now open, although traffic continues to be diverted) and the police were debating whether to carry out a controlled explosion.
Walking through the Square this morning I saw a big pile of flowers with various dedications to those who died. Judging by the dates on the notes they have been arriving all week.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Latest article
Contrary to the email which I received last month, it seems the Liberator collective did use my article on the forthcoming Lib Dem policy review. The latest edition has dropped through my letter box, but it's not yet up on the web. Anyway, keep an eye out for it on the left side of the home page here.
In hindsight there may be too much name dropping in it and a few too many ideas for one article. Maybe I might persuade them to let me address specific themes over a given period?!
No, that would be too self-aggrandising!
Contrary to the email which I received last month, it seems the Liberator collective did use my article on the forthcoming Lib Dem policy review. The latest edition has dropped through my letter box, but it's not yet up on the web. Anyway, keep an eye out for it on the left side of the home page here.
In hindsight there may be too much name dropping in it and a few too many ideas for one article. Maybe I might persuade them to let me address specific themes over a given period?!
No, that would be too self-aggrandising!
Intense
Last Monday I was in Rio and the Linha Vermelha, the main road between the city and the airport was closed for several hours on account of a shootout between police and drug traffickers in one of the nearby favelas. Which made getting to the airport a speedier proposition on Tuesday because, according to my taxi driver, people were scared to take the road.
Then to get back to London just as the Olympic victory is announced and hear the Red Arrows fly over my flat just as the radio announcer is describing them, followed by the chaos of Thursday and the difficulty in contacting friends and family after the bombings - two of which occurred in places I use virtually every day - Russell Square tube and Tavistock Square.
As of Monday morning Tavistock Square and the Institute remains closed.
Then the temperature climbed at the weekend here, bringing out the hot and sunny weather and making it possible to walk around the city at 10pm with nothing more than a T-shirt.
What a week.
Last Monday I was in Rio and the Linha Vermelha, the main road between the city and the airport was closed for several hours on account of a shootout between police and drug traffickers in one of the nearby favelas. Which made getting to the airport a speedier proposition on Tuesday because, according to my taxi driver, people were scared to take the road.
Then to get back to London just as the Olympic victory is announced and hear the Red Arrows fly over my flat just as the radio announcer is describing them, followed by the chaos of Thursday and the difficulty in contacting friends and family after the bombings - two of which occurred in places I use virtually every day - Russell Square tube and Tavistock Square.
As of Monday morning Tavistock Square and the Institute remains closed.
Then the temperature climbed at the weekend here, bringing out the hot and sunny weather and making it possible to walk around the city at 10pm with nothing more than a T-shirt.
What a week.
Friday, July 08, 2005
I'm OK. I was at home all morning and much of the afternoon yesterday, so missed any of the events which happened in Liverpool Street and central London. It didn't seem real to me until I started to see on the news that Russell Square tube station had been closed and that a bus had been blown up in Tavistock Square - on the opposite side of the Institute.
I tried to call people but found it almost impossible - the lines were down and when they weren't I could get through. Even then, it still seemed all rather distant from me.
After I had to to drive down to Wimbledon because the tube system (and most of the buses into central London) had been knocked out, it still seemed incredibly far away - aside from the horrendous traffic jams and the constant wailing sirens as ambulances and police (many in unmarked cars) sped past.
Only today did I start to sense the full gravity of the situation. The tube was more than half empty at 9 this morning and there was an uneasy quiet. Virtually everyone had a newspaper which was carrying details of the events of yesterday which can't have been good for confidence: photos full of carnage, injured people, bucked carriages and seats.
Having done some reading at the LSE I walked up towards Russell Square - for some strange reason I assumed only the immediate vicinity of the bomb site would be cordoned off. Maybe it was because much of the tube service had returned with some few exceptions.
But Southampton Row was almost empty of cars while the whole of Russell Square itself was cordoned off, forcing the public to walk around the pavements. As for Tavistock Square, it was completely closed off, with a vast tarpaulin sheet blocking the view of the BMA building in front of which the bus had been destroyed. The entire area was a crime scene and presumably will remain so until Monday. Constantly I came back home to type this up - and get on with the other work which I need to make a start on.
Just as yesterday when the transport system was at a standstill and there were thousands of people walking the streets home, there doesn't seem to be a sense of urgency or panic. Instead there just seems to be steely resolve that life goes on. But there are signs which show that things aren't the same. Along Southampton Road afixed to the side of phone boxes was a poster carrying a photocopied picture of a man and a request from his friends for information about his whereabouts.
It was then, after I saw this, that I realised there must be many more such cases around the city. And that just like New York, Madrid, Iraq and Bali, London has now played host to the same awful experience of terrorism without warning.
We've been hearing for years that this was going to one day happen here. But acceptance still doesn't prepare you when it does finally occur.
I tried to call people but found it almost impossible - the lines were down and when they weren't I could get through. Even then, it still seemed all rather distant from me.
After I had to to drive down to Wimbledon because the tube system (and most of the buses into central London) had been knocked out, it still seemed incredibly far away - aside from the horrendous traffic jams and the constant wailing sirens as ambulances and police (many in unmarked cars) sped past.
Only today did I start to sense the full gravity of the situation. The tube was more than half empty at 9 this morning and there was an uneasy quiet. Virtually everyone had a newspaper which was carrying details of the events of yesterday which can't have been good for confidence: photos full of carnage, injured people, bucked carriages and seats.
Having done some reading at the LSE I walked up towards Russell Square - for some strange reason I assumed only the immediate vicinity of the bomb site would be cordoned off. Maybe it was because much of the tube service had returned with some few exceptions.
But Southampton Row was almost empty of cars while the whole of Russell Square itself was cordoned off, forcing the public to walk around the pavements. As for Tavistock Square, it was completely closed off, with a vast tarpaulin sheet blocking the view of the BMA building in front of which the bus had been destroyed. The entire area was a crime scene and presumably will remain so until Monday. Constantly I came back home to type this up - and get on with the other work which I need to make a start on.
Just as yesterday when the transport system was at a standstill and there were thousands of people walking the streets home, there doesn't seem to be a sense of urgency or panic. Instead there just seems to be steely resolve that life goes on. But there are signs which show that things aren't the same. Along Southampton Road afixed to the side of phone boxes was a poster carrying a photocopied picture of a man and a request from his friends for information about his whereabouts.
It was then, after I saw this, that I realised there must be many more such cases around the city. And that just like New York, Madrid, Iraq and Bali, London has now played host to the same awful experience of terrorism without warning.
We've been hearing for years that this was going to one day happen here. But acceptance still doesn't prepare you when it does finally occur.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
A tale of two cities
I think I know why Paris didn't get the 2012 Olympics. Forget Chirac's remarks about British food. No, I suspect the IOC delegates were worried that the athletes would get lost.
As someone who had to experience the joys of Charles de Gaulle airport for himself this morning, I speak from personal knowledge. Being met off the plane by a chap bearing a sign for Rome and assuring me that the bus he was touting for was also going to take me to the London-bound plane, I duly stepped on. Only to discover when we arrived that I was at the wrong terminal. With less than 30 minutes before departure I and several other passengers then had to wait for another bus to turn up, which took a leisurely circuit of the airport and its environs.
Unhelpfully there was no announcement to say which terminal we were approaching, or indeed any signs or posters on the terminal itself. And inside the terminal there were two escalators, leading in opposite directions to different gate numbers - and no computer screen to inform us which escalator to take.
And to think that for the last few years London's Olympic bid team has been trying to live up to the image of Paris as having a far better infrastructure.
Don't make me laugh.
I think I know why Paris didn't get the 2012 Olympics. Forget Chirac's remarks about British food. No, I suspect the IOC delegates were worried that the athletes would get lost.
As someone who had to experience the joys of Charles de Gaulle airport for himself this morning, I speak from personal knowledge. Being met off the plane by a chap bearing a sign for Rome and assuring me that the bus he was touting for was also going to take me to the London-bound plane, I duly stepped on. Only to discover when we arrived that I was at the wrong terminal. With less than 30 minutes before departure I and several other passengers then had to wait for another bus to turn up, which took a leisurely circuit of the airport and its environs.
Unhelpfully there was no announcement to say which terminal we were approaching, or indeed any signs or posters on the terminal itself. And inside the terminal there were two escalators, leading in opposite directions to different gate numbers - and no computer screen to inform us which escalator to take.
And to think that for the last few years London's Olympic bid team has been trying to live up to the image of Paris as having a far better infrastructure.
Don't make me laugh.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Last day
This time tomorrow I'll be back in the hurly burly of London life. It's been a month and time is pressing to return to normality and two months of writing ahead of me! No that writing the dissertation won't be enjoyable - but doing fieldwork is infinitely more preferable.
Silence over the last few days can be explained by various visits to friends and family. Hopefully normal service will now be resumed.
This time tomorrow I'll be back in the hurly burly of London life. It's been a month and time is pressing to return to normality and two months of writing ahead of me! No that writing the dissertation won't be enjoyable - but doing fieldwork is infinitely more preferable.
Silence over the last few days can be explained by various visits to friends and family. Hopefully normal service will now be resumed.
Friday, July 01, 2005
Brass neck
I had to laugh really. With pages 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5 of the Folha de Sao Paulo taken up with the post office scandal/corruption story, I found yet anothger case of dubious public office activity in Brazil. But this time it was the bare cheek of the people involved.
Apparently in a town not far from Rio, Itaboari, the mayor passed a law through the council that ties his salary to the tax take, at 0.5%. This means that he earns around R$30,000 a month (over GBP6000). This apparently is in contravention of the constitution which states that no public office salary can be more than that for a Supreme Court minister, set at just over R$17,000 (nearly GBP4000). The president only gets R$8900 a month (nearly GBP2000).
When the Folha tried to contact the mayor they were told he was away on a fishing trip with friends until the end of next week - and both mobile phones failed to work.
If only these people were as good at taking care of matters as they are with lining their pockets then Brazil would have nothing to worry about. But it's the sheer arrogance and contempt for ethics which in a way you almost have to admire (as an addition, Jefferson's allegations don't make him innocent - he freely admits to having engaged in dodgy accounting of his party's election campaigns, using it as his justification to speak with some authority on the matter).
I had to laugh really. With pages 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5 of the Folha de Sao Paulo taken up with the post office scandal/corruption story, I found yet anothger case of dubious public office activity in Brazil. But this time it was the bare cheek of the people involved.
Apparently in a town not far from Rio, Itaboari, the mayor passed a law through the council that ties his salary to the tax take, at 0.5%. This means that he earns around R$30,000 a month (over GBP6000). This apparently is in contravention of the constitution which states that no public office salary can be more than that for a Supreme Court minister, set at just over R$17,000 (nearly GBP4000). The president only gets R$8900 a month (nearly GBP2000).
When the Folha tried to contact the mayor they were told he was away on a fishing trip with friends until the end of next week - and both mobile phones failed to work.
If only these people were as good at taking care of matters as they are with lining their pockets then Brazil would have nothing to worry about. But it's the sheer arrogance and contempt for ethics which in a way you almost have to admire (as an addition, Jefferson's allegations don't make him innocent - he freely admits to having engaged in dodgy accounting of his party's election campaigns, using it as his justification to speak with some authority on the matter).
Grim viewing
The cousins I've been staying in with Porto Alegre have been riveted by the scandals emanating from Brasilia this month. And Roberto Jefferson, who I've written about the other week, was back before the cameras last night, this time giving evidence of corruption and misuse of public funds by the PT and its allies in the parliamentary inquiry on the Post Office here.
We went out to dinner at around 8 and came back two and half hours later, to find he was still giving evidence. When I went to bed at around 12.30-1am he was still before the committee (which was made up of the last ew congressmen who had yet to be called).
Jefferson looked like he had been put straight by a few heavies - his left cheek was bandaged up, following a 'domestic incident' in which a cupboard apparently fell on him. All the way through he was puttin an icepack on his cheek while hovering behind him we could make out the surgically gloved hands of the congressional doctors.
As for the questioning, there was plenty of discussion about his involvement in the legislation to allow civil unions between homosexuals and his theatrical qualities, but of substantial questions, very little.
Enlightening in a rather depressing way, really.
The cousins I've been staying in with Porto Alegre have been riveted by the scandals emanating from Brasilia this month. And Roberto Jefferson, who I've written about the other week, was back before the cameras last night, this time giving evidence of corruption and misuse of public funds by the PT and its allies in the parliamentary inquiry on the Post Office here.
We went out to dinner at around 8 and came back two and half hours later, to find he was still giving evidence. When I went to bed at around 12.30-1am he was still before the committee (which was made up of the last ew congressmen who had yet to be called).
Jefferson looked like he had been put straight by a few heavies - his left cheek was bandaged up, following a 'domestic incident' in which a cupboard apparently fell on him. All the way through he was puttin an icepack on his cheek while hovering behind him we could make out the surgically gloved hands of the congressional doctors.
As for the questioning, there was plenty of discussion about his involvement in the legislation to allow civil unions between homosexuals and his theatrical qualities, but of substantial questions, very little.
Enlightening in a rather depressing way, really.
Unlikely
Another Esther Grossi tale, this time from another second cousin who I met for the first time yesterday - and who lives around the corner from this famous lady.
Apparently when my second cousin's eldest son was a boy, he used to be terrified when he saw Esther Grossi cycling around the neighbourhood (at the time without the coloured hair). Apparently he was convinced that she would kidnap him!
You look at her now and you can't imagine that she would get away with it. 'Excuse me officer, but did you see a woman with pink, green and blue hair go past with a small child?'
Another Esther Grossi tale, this time from another second cousin who I met for the first time yesterday - and who lives around the corner from this famous lady.
Apparently when my second cousin's eldest son was a boy, he used to be terrified when he saw Esther Grossi cycling around the neighbourhood (at the time without the coloured hair). Apparently he was convinced that she would kidnap him!
You look at her now and you can't imagine that she would get away with it. 'Excuse me officer, but did you see a woman with pink, green and blue hair go past with a small child?'
At an end
Last two interviews yesterday, first with the teachers' union, the second with the parents-teachers association in Rio Grande do Sul. Some qualified support from the first interviewee and a more pessimistic view of the PT from the latter, who claim this was due to their organisation being apolitical and autonomous in their dealings with Olivio's government.
I may have to make a few calls on Monday to clarify some matters with previous informants, but now it seems as if the fieldwork part is over.
And now on to the writing...
Last two interviews yesterday, first with the teachers' union, the second with the parents-teachers association in Rio Grande do Sul. Some qualified support from the first interviewee and a more pessimistic view of the PT from the latter, who claim this was due to their organisation being apolitical and autonomous in their dealings with Olivio's government.
I may have to make a few calls on Monday to clarify some matters with previous informants, but now it seems as if the fieldwork part is over.
And now on to the writing...
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Distracting
Two interviews yesterday, the second of which took place in the fashionable area of Mont´serrat. I went to the house of Esther Grozzi, a 60-odd year old woman who has been education secretary for Porto Alegre in the first PT administration (1989-92), a member of Congress and now runs a institute tackling illiteracy.
While it wasn´t one of my best interviews, she made a few useful points for the purposes of my research. But it was rather distracting listening to her quoting Gramsci and Brecht while I stared at her hair which was coloured pink, green and blue.
It was like discussing school choices with Carmen Miranda...
Two interviews yesterday, the second of which took place in the fashionable area of Mont´serrat. I went to the house of Esther Grozzi, a 60-odd year old woman who has been education secretary for Porto Alegre in the first PT administration (1989-92), a member of Congress and now runs a institute tackling illiteracy.
While it wasn´t one of my best interviews, she made a few useful points for the purposes of my research. But it was rather distracting listening to her quoting Gramsci and Brecht while I stared at her hair which was coloured pink, green and blue.
It was like discussing school choices with Carmen Miranda...
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Grungy viewing
Watched a local documentary about the female penal system here in Porto Alegre at the Casa da Cultura in town this evening. Hardly cheery stuff, but it was the only thing on at the time. A Cacera e A Rua follows three women from the closed to the semi-open system which operates in the state. One tries to make it work while another absconds and the third remains in the closed prison, at risk from other inmates, since she is accused of killing her own child.
It´s a pretty grim side of Porto Alegre which is shown, but compared to the prison scenes which many Brazilian men experience (e.g. Bus 174, Carandiru), the system down here looks far more humane. There may be overcrowding but the sense of underlying menace (except for the girl accused of child murder) is comparatively absent while the half-way houses look more like extremely run down dormitories (and an improvement on the shack that one of the girls escapes to).
Watched a local documentary about the female penal system here in Porto Alegre at the Casa da Cultura in town this evening. Hardly cheery stuff, but it was the only thing on at the time. A Cacera e A Rua follows three women from the closed to the semi-open system which operates in the state. One tries to make it work while another absconds and the third remains in the closed prison, at risk from other inmates, since she is accused of killing her own child.
It´s a pretty grim side of Porto Alegre which is shown, but compared to the prison scenes which many Brazilian men experience (e.g. Bus 174, Carandiru), the system down here looks far more humane. There may be overcrowding but the sense of underlying menace (except for the girl accused of child murder) is comparatively absent while the half-way houses look more like extremely run down dormitories (and an improvement on the shack that one of the girls escapes to).
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Odd place for a gig
Was passing the Mercado Publica last night when I noticed something going on the top level. I went upthere to find a musician, Karine Cunha, launching her latest album, Fluida. So sat through some of the performance with a beer on the table in front of me. Quite good, although since I was sitting further back than the rest and at a different bar I had a cacophony of music, what with her tunes mingling with those of the samba/pagode act inside my bar.
Also I could hear the sound of cleaners hosing down the back of the market. I have to wonder why she chose that particular spot...
Was passing the Mercado Publica last night when I noticed something going on the top level. I went upthere to find a musician, Karine Cunha, launching her latest album, Fluida. So sat through some of the performance with a beer on the table in front of me. Quite good, although since I was sitting further back than the rest and at a different bar I had a cacophony of music, what with her tunes mingling with those of the samba/pagode act inside my bar.
Also I could hear the sound of cleaners hosing down the back of the market. I have to wonder why she chose that particular spot...
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