Doing evil thru good

Where is your charitable donation going? Panorama- a BBC documentary news show had some interesting answers.

Last night’s program was on the link between Palestinian terrorists Hamas and Islamic charities – in particular Interpal. This charity is proscribed in the US, but lauded in the UK – registered with the Charity Commission – the voluntary sector’s regulatory body.

Interpal does raise money to do “good”. They fund clinics, food distribution to the poor, cultural societies, youth groups and orphanages. Unfortunately, they use the youth groups, schools and orphanages to indoctrinate the kids of Palestine with the Islamist death cult ideology of Hamas and the Muslim Brotherhood. Panorama showed some chilling footage of cute little girls from an Interpal funded youth group singing songs about offering up their blood for Islam. And one little darling who sang “if you tire of the fight, put the Kalashnikov in my hands.” Hamas use those social welfare funds and networks funded by Interpal to turn observant Muslims, and those who might just want to help folks in Palestine into witting or unwitting supporters of terror. I don’t think there’s any proof that Interpal monies buy weapons – but they certainly help deliver the people who use them.

This isn’t a new strategy. Guerilla groups give food to the local villagers in hopes of creating social bonds strong enough to provide aid and comfort to the insurgency when they’re in trouble. Soup kitchens and missionary societies provide a meal and a warm dry place in hopes of winning souls. Sometimes charity is performed for its own sake and sometimes to win support to a cause that might be benign or evil.

But we need to be aware of the links. I give money to the Salvation Army because I respect what they do, not because I agree with what they fundamentally believe. If they began work toward creating unrest in the Middle East or wiping out someone’s country, not only would I stop donating, I would hope that they would be outlawed. Interpal contributes to doing just that, and yet they continue in the UK.

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The American government might be annoyed at the British Charity Commission for not proscribing Interpal. But we’re not blameless in the charity for terror stakes. For many years, Americans raised money that was funnelled straight into IRA coffers. I’ve had Brits confront me directly over Noraid money that provided at the very least aid and succor to those who blew up people and property in Northern Ireland and England. I always said “Well, I never gave them any money,” or “I think that was mostly people from up North who gave money to Noraid – really nothing to do with me.”

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I was once set up on a quasi-blind date many years ago in Knoxville with someone who could not have been more wholly inappropriate. Over dinner he said he thought he’d seen me around or met me somewhere.

“Was it at Rock for the Zapatistas?” he asked. [A fund raiser for the poor in Chiapas and the Zapatista movement itself]

“No, I wasn’t there. I don’t give money to terrorists.” I said.

And it all went down hill from there. They say that one man’s terrorist is another’s freedom fighter. But if you can’t agree which is which, I reckon you don’t have a firm foundation for a romantic relationship.

We saw a snake

Once upon a time, when I was fresh off the boat, I went walking with the Vol-in-Law through a field of waist high grass near his boyhood home outside Belfast. It was damp and dewy. And I was feeling distinctly nervous.

I said: “I don’t like this. This seems really snake-y.”

He looked at me incredulously. “Uh…St Patrick? There are no snakes in Ireland.”

“Oh, yeah,” said I.

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There aren’t many snakes in England. I can’t remember ever seeing one. But yesterday we saw one on our way out of Richmond Deer Park, slithering across the shaded sidewalk. The Vol-in-Law said it was a huge snake, that covered the road with its rising coils. I’m not so sure. I tried to get its picture, but it didn’t like flash. It slithered under a fence and into someone’s garden where no doubt it’s eating pests and vermin.

snake!

Camera shopping

So, I’ve finally decided which camera I want: the Cannon S3 IS – based on much reading of reviews and the clincher: anonymous comment on my previous post.
(Not so anonymous really, I know who it is – since he linked to the photos he’s taken with that model). I’ve known the guy for almost 20 years, and he’s a fantastic photographer.

After checking prices online, I went to Tottenham Court Road after work yesterday to go get me one – despite the fact it tops the budget I agreed with the Vol-in-Law.

Tottenham Court Road is the place to go for electronics in Central London. It’s shop after warren-like shop of digitalia and electronica. And the souk-like atmosphere encourages bargaining. But no one could or would match even the price of Amazon (one guy came close, but he was sold out). I’m not the toughest negotiator at the best of times, but I really wasn’t on form.

I walked out camera-less.

I did catch some interesting interchanges between staff and other customers. One woman wanted to return a camera two months after purchase and after some use because it didn’t take good pictures in low light. Apparently they all came out blurry. She was quite upset and was waving pictures around – which I never did get a good look at. She was insistent that they had sold her the wrong camera – and maybe they had. Clearly she wanted a camera that would automatically read both her mind and the prevailing light conditions – and return a super sharp, beautifully composed shot of the subject she wanted. I waited around to see if they had that camera in stock – but no luck.

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This morning an email arrived from my photographer friend – with more raving about the S3. He said one of the benefits was its fast speed which he said prevented a non-snapping travel companion from getting bored or annoyed with you. He reeled off 1000 shots and his wife “barely complained”.

The Vol-in-Law was intrigued. In my film days, I often took a long time to compose shots – not wanting to waste a single frame (I did some great photos though) and even though I’m faster now with the digital the shutter lag means that I miss great shots of animals and annoy any posing human subjects.

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Moral equivalence

One of my co-workers is quite upset about the whole Lebanon thing and keeps drawing my attention to articles and editorials calling for Bush and Blair to call for an Israeli ceasefire.

I shrug. I don’t engage. She was complaining yesterday about a story that US planes carrying bombs to Israel and stopping to refuel in Britain. What did I think of the US re-arming Israel?

I shrug. Well, Syria and Iran are rearming Hezbollah – I say, drawing some kind of moral equivalence.

Of course, I don’t think there’s any kind of moral equivalence. Israel is a recognised (by most), democratic state defending itself against terrorist agression.

Do I think Israel is over-doing it? Yes. Do I think Bush is egging them on in some kind of proxy war with Syria and Iran? Yes.

But so long as Israel is besieged by death-cult Islamists like Hezbollah or Hamas, I’m not going to criticize. The Lebanese government (which includes members of Hezbollah) is weak and has allowed a terror state within a state to continue and flourish. I don’t think the massive bombing of all of Lebanon is the right way to deal with it, but I’m not sure what is.
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The Lido

After our disastrous attempt to visit the pool on Tuesday, the Vol-in-Law and I met the Texan and her housemate at the Tooting Bec Lido yesterday evening.

What’s a lido, you may ask. (You may also ask what’s a Tooting or a Bec, for which I have no satisfying answer). A lido is an outdoor pool. In a country where it often rains, is chilly and overcast indoor pools outnumber their outdoor cousins – and so the al fresco versions have their own special name – the Lido. (Opinions differ as to whether they are pronounced LEE-do or LIE-do).

Opinions concur that the Tooting Bec Lido is a special lido. It’s set amid mature trees in a park, it’s 100 years old this year and is Europe’s largest outdoor swimming pool. And it is big. It’s about the size of an American football field -not including the kiddie pool. Usually my experience of municipal pools involves dodging unsupervised children and staying out of the way of the faster, more serious swimmers. But the lido was so big that even though it was well attended on a sultry July evening there was plenty of elbow room.

While there was plenty of room – it lacked some of the modern amenities one might expect – like lockers. We all had to leave our valuables (e.g. camera, cell phone, wallet, keys, passport, smokes) by the side of the pool and hope for the best. But hey, London is known for the honesty of its citizenry. But we swam, I forgot about the possibility of trying to negotiate my way home without dry clothes or travelcard and a good time was had by all.

One other strange thing about the lido. It seemed to have special buoyancy laws. The Texan, ViL and I all found it more diffilcult than usual to keep afloat. And I have more than enough body fat to be a floater rather than a sinker, but we were all plunging like stones. Weird.

Tooting Bec Lido isn’t really near any stations, so it’s a little hard to get to without a car. I walked from Streatham, the Texan from Tooting Bec, and the ViL caught the 57 bus. Which is how we all got home again. It was a long walk even to the bus stop and the road took us through a council estate – for American readers – that’s a housing project. But it wasn’t bad. In fact, the estate boasted a Montessori day care centre with “organic catering”, and the delivery van I saw parked up on the road (a common site on estates) claimed to haul mainly saffron, truffles, olive oil and the like.

Tooting Bec Lido

Posted in Tooting. 1 Comment »

Parking for trick cyclists only

parking for trick cyclists only

bad blogger

Who is the bad blogger? Blogger the software – or the lazy blogger Vol Abroad?

Actually I’m not as bad as you might think. I’ve been mobile blogging during my commute, but some of the posts fail to materialise.

Bad blogger.

Shirking from home

I was working at home yesterday – and it was beastly hot. The ViL decided that I should take a long lunch and visit the local pool. It took me a moment or two to get over the guilt of leaving my PC, and we got our towels and goggles and the pound coin for the lockers and put on our swimsuits.

We braved the heat of the car and when we arrived at the leisure centre I managed to snag a shady-ish parking spot. We ran up to the entry, if not exactly like excited kids, then certainly with a degree of anticipation.

And do you know what we saw? A notice on the door informing us that the pool was shut for a month from that very day.

Talk about bad karma.
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Consumer conundrum

I’m in the market for a new camera. My current camera a Pentax Optio S30 was a gift from my dad – and I’ve used it for a year and a half, and I’m ready to move on.

I love the macro mode of this camera – and some of the program settings are pretty good. But otherwise I’m not thrilled. The shutter lag is long – and for some reason, I just can’t get the white balance right on a sunny day. Maybe I need to play around with the ev compensation more, but there’s only so much fiddling I want to do. Not only that, but it seems like I can’t get a good image even on the puny 3X zoom – never mind the camera shake.

But…shopping for a new one. The options are bewildering. I don’t think I want to go for a full SLR job, because I love the portability of my camera (though it’s certainly not the smallest). I’m tempted by the compacts with nice zoom – i.e. 10X or 12X, but you clearly need an image stabiliser with those or it’s way too shaky.

My husband is a pretty smart fellow, but he’s not into photography at all. And I can’t seem to engage him in the procurement process. As soon as we get near a camera store, he starts to get all whiny. He did go out with my twice camera shopping in the last week – but was no help. I bought nothing on either occasion, but he bought some electronics for himself on the first trip and two pairs of shoes on the second trip.

I’ve been doing some Internet shopping for the camera again tonight and started to tell him how it went when I stopped myself.

“I’m not supposed to talk about the camera anymore, am I?”
“That’s right,” he said.

Home of Country Music

At the Texan’s party, some fellow Texan’s took to bragging – as they are known to do. Texas is the home of country music, they said.

Now, I don’t want to disrespect the many fine artists from Texas. But really. And I’ll even admit to be discouraged by an overslick “Nashville sound” – but not in mixed company.

One fellow took it in mind to dis Dolly. Even the Texan warned him off “You really don’t want to go there,” she said.

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Ms C – from Texas and Tennessee – therefore a dual national, has a little dog called Amos Moses.

Those not steeped inthe genre of novelty country music songs, may be unfamiliar with the character Amos Moses. Amos was an illegal allegator hunter, with one arm and a big appetite. He was linked with the disappearance of Louisiana law enforcement official.

I kinda wanted to laugh at her for naming her pet after a slightly goofy country song. But then again my pet might have been born just a plain black cat, but Fancy is her name.
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