The Tree

A long time ago, a great forest covered a distant land. One day a woodsman came walking along a path through the forest, whistling a tune and enjoying the summer sun. He carried an axe, resting it on his shoulder, and he walked easily, casting a professional eye over the trees as he walked past.

Suddenly he came across a very old, gnarled giant of a tree with an owl sitting on a nest in its branches. "Hello owl", he said. "Hello to yoooou toooo." said the owl and they smiled at each other.

"This tree doesn't look very well", said the woodsman.

"No, indeed. It's been ailing for quite a while" said the owl.

"Yes, I can see where disease has come into its limbs and has weakened them. This isn't good, owl."

"You're not wrong," said the owl.

There was an easy silence as the woodsman thought a little. Eventually he put his axe down on the ground and stretched his arms to waken the muscles. "You know, I think I could probably sort this tree out," said the woodsman.

"Hang on," said the owl quickly, "Sort it out how?"

"Well, it's simple see. This disease needs to be cut out of the tree if the tree's going to get better. And I reckon I'm just the man for the job - I can see where the disease is and I'll just lop off the bad bits."

"Whooooooaaa boy," said the owl. "Back up a little. The tree might be sick, sure. But that doesn't mean you're the man to cure it. I'm not sure that this tree needs the tender ministrations of a sharp blade at all. In fact, I reckon that's the last thing it needs."

"How so?"

"Well this tree was doing pretty well until woodsmen started messing with it a few years back. Giving it a little prune here and there - `for its own good' of course. One guy even tried the same trick you're talking about - cutting out this nasty disease with his axe. A fat lot of good that did - this tree hasn't ever properly recovered from that operation - the disease just got a whole lot worse. But at least we're surviving, and at least I've still got a nest for my babies."

"Well owl, that's as may be. You've clearly come across some bad woodsmen. But I'm different from that - I know what I'm doing. I know trees and I know this tree - I can fix it. I know I can."

"Thank you kindly for the offer," said the owl, "but we'll be just fine without your help. You go along now mister and good day to yoooouu."

The woodsman grimaced. "Owly, I've heard your comments but, with respect, I think you're wrong. And I'm going to prove it."

With that, he picked up his axe and walked purposefully to the tree. As the owl watched in consternation he examined a branch for sign of disease and then picked his mark and started chopping. In just a couple of minutes the branch was half cut through and soon, with a big creaking noise, it started splintering and dropping to the ground. A couple more hearty blows and the branch and tree were split asunder for ever.

"Now would you look at that!" said the woodsman. "This tree is going to be a whole lot healthier now. That branch was riddled with disease - if I'd just left it be the whole tree would have been brought down."

This time the owl didn't respond. She was flapping her wings in agitation and muttering soothing noises to her babies. The sound of chopping had aroused a chorus of frightened cries from the youngsters hiding unseen under their mother's soft belly.

The woodsman turned to the tree again and began examining the next branch. Finding evidence of more disease he started chopping away. He was confident that, with a few minutes work, this tree would be entirely freed of disease and the owl would be proven wrong.

Somehow though, it didn't work out that way. As he finished cutting off each branch he would look up and immediately spot more disease on the remaining branches. A few minutes quickly turned into a few hours of hard work.

He was so focussed on the task at hand that he barely noticed the owl getting more and more frantic. She alternated between whispering gently to her babies and trying desparately to quell her rising panic. Although it distressed her babies even more, she started to squawk wildly to try and attract the attention of any passing animals that might be able to help. But either they didn't hear her, or they were doing their best to stay out of harm's way, for no one came to her help.

Suddenly the owl launched herself from her nest and swooped down savagely on the head of the woodsman.

"Hey, what are you playing at?" he asked angrily. She'd taken him by surprise - he'd forgotten about her altogether, and she'd scratched his scalp.

"You're cutting my branch!" she screeched hysterically. "My babies are in a nest on that branch!"


She was right, he hadn't even realised. What's more it was the last branch left. As he looked around at his work, he realised that he'd chopped down all but a fraction of the once mighty tree. The main trunk still stood, and one long branch which supported the owl's nest.

"Why, you're right, owly. I see you're right." And he put down his axe and paused to wipe the sweat from his brow - cutting this tree had really taken it out of him. The owl flew back to her nest in relief. She'd stopped him just in time - she turned her attention to her crying babies - "It's all right now. Don't worry, Mummy's here..."

But suddenly she felt a shudder run through the nest. She looked up and saw the woodsman was cutting the branch. "Twaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrkkkkkkkk" she screeched in wild panic. "What are you doing? My babies!"

The woodsman didn't look up from his work. But between blows he gasped out a few sentences. "Owly, I don't expect you to understand.... But if I leave this branch all my work will be for nothing.... And this tree will still be here, diseased and uncured.... This branch is harbouring a disease that will kill this tree and it's my duty to cut it out..."

But the owl wasn' t listening. She was flapping frantically, trying vainly to protect her babies from the shudders running through the nest. Her mind whirred in panic but there was nothing she could do. She could feel the branch weakening with every brow. Oh God, oh God. Suddenly the branch collapsed a little. The whole nest dropped with it and she felt her stomach in her throat. Her babies were thrown around in the nest; their feeble cries were filled with terror. It would take just one more blow, she knew, and the branch would fall. As she watched the woodsman pull back his arm, she leaned down and gently picked up one of her babies in her mouth. As the axe hit the branch, she spread her wings and took flight.

As she beat her powerful wings she heard the branch hit the ground. Her heart jerked in her chest and a burning sadness spread through her whole body. But she flew on, her baby in her mouth - the only baby left - whom she had to save. The forest was wide and there were many trees but who would have her? She had only one nest and it was gone now. There were hard days and nights ahead, this much she knew.

The woodsman stood by the remaining tree trunk. The great tree which had stood for many years was now little more than a stump in the ground. Great branches lay strewn around on the ground - though diseased they were still great solid pieces of wood. This had been a great labour. He was tired now and it was time to go home and rest.

* * * * *

The next day the woodsman returned to the tree stump. This time he travelled on a cart that was pulled by two weary looking horses. He tethered the horses in the shade of a nearby tree and picked the axe out of the cart. He spent the rest of the day cutting the branches of the tree into logs and loading them onto the cart. It was hard graft and by the end of the day his hands were full of splinters.

Once the axe slipped and came mighty close to cutting off his foot. But it missed and the scare seemed to renew his focus. He chopped twice as hard after that and the tree was soon completely carved up and loaded onto the cart. As darkness fell he climbed on the cart and clicked the horses into a walk. It was beautifully cool now after the sweat of hard work in the heat of the day.

As he pulled out of the clearing a distant bird call sounded through the forest. It was an owl, he thought. The call sounded repeatedly as he left the clearing where the tree had once stood - it was a strange call. Oddly strident and clear, but full of a deep emotion that he could not quite name. What was that bird screeching for, he wondered? He'd forgotten all about the owl that had lived in the tree, so he had no inkling of the sadness that filled that call.

When he got back to his house, he greeted his wife with a kiss. "The man from the timber company came by earlier," she said. "He was keen to speak with you."
"Yes, I'll bet he was. Come and see this." He led her outside and showed her the cart full of logs. "Good solid logs these," he said. "And rare too. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw this tree yesterday."

"Why, this is wonderful, " said his wife. " But there are strange markings on its bark. Has it got some kind of disease?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. This is good timber, that's all that matters. We're going to get a mighty good price - the timber company are going to love this. We're set, baby, we're set!"

He kissed her and they went inside. It had been a long couple of days.

A Circle of Good People

The text of this post is taken from here. The post describes a movement here in Tamil Nadu which very much fits into Negri and Hardt's Project of the Multitude (see my earlier post). Alternative structures to that of government are being set up. These structures are not just protest structures, they are creative and productive. And in creating these structures, ordinary people are weakening the influence and relevance of the corporation-government nexus. Nice one!

Ennangalin Sangamam (Confluence of Thought) is the off-shoot of a highly localised earlier movement called Nalloor Vattam (meaning circle of good people). This movement was first formalised and legitimised by the right-wing RSS in the early-’80s in an attempt to build a movement of grassroots groups across Tamil Nadu. However, in the process, they ended up networking a large number of neighbourhood people and institutions who did not necessarily subscribe to the RSS political and social views.

So, out of the darkness, light may come: The Nalloor Vattam now functions in most parts of Tamil Nadu as an apolitical organisation more concentrated on volunteering for a need in the neighbourhood and less inclined towards any political activity. Moving still further from its RSS origins, the Ennangalin Sangamam is the embodiment of a simple idea: Create a space in which these neighbourhood volunteers can come together and share their stories.

This year's Ennangalin Sangamam took place on Sunday, January 6, 2008 at Pattabiram on the outskirts of Chennai. This was the third year the group gathered and it has grown each year. The first year had about 100 participants, the second 152 and this year there were more than 500, some of whom had travelled nearly 500 kilometres to be in attendance. A directory of contacts was published at this year's Sangamam and it contains more than 300 names.

The only qualification that is needed to attend the Ennangalin Sangamam is a willingness to talk and listen. There is no formal registration or payment of fees -- the whole event is designed to sit within the context of volunteerism. The organisers themselves are volunteers, who have taken it upon themselves to create this space and allow the stories to be told.

And everyone had a story to tell. Two of the participants had taken it upon themselves to promote eye donations in their local community. They had convinced more than 100 people to donate their eyes after death, thereby bringing sight to many who had been blind. Another man had taken it upon himself to tell the stories of disabled people. He had spent time talking with different people with different disabilities, written down their stories and published them. His aim was inspiration -- to let the reader hear what can be done against the odds.

Another man worked in an HR consultancy company which focussed on finding employment for the physically challenged. He himself suffered from muscular dystrophy as well as a number of other ailments. He had first encountered the company when he himself had gone there to get help to find work. While there he had used his English skills to translate a conversation for a parent of a deaf woman. The manager of the HR company was impressed and hired him as a consultant there and then.

One speaker particularly impressed the audience as he told of his work facilitating better education facilities for long-term serving prisoners in the Madurai central prison. As he described the social stigma which is suffered by a prisoner's family he broke down with emotion. The suffering of the prisoner's family is immense and the burden is particularly heavy for the prisoner's children who, though innocent of any wrongdoing, often lose out on a fair education.

Many other groups provided support to disabled people -- either through housing, or by the provision of crutches or tricycles for mobility, or through education and work opportunities. A significant number worked on education related issues -- enabling children to go to school and supporting them in their school work. Another group of people were involved in `annadaana'; they volunteer to source, cook and serve free food to abandoned invalids, small village schools and other marginal sections in semi-urban and urban environments. The common thread that united all these groups was a belief that people should be given every opportunity to live a fulfilled life. And, more than a belief, they have a will that converts to action -- concrete outcomes for the improvement of people in their community.

There were hundreds of other stories like this that were shared throughout the day. Some people got up on the podium and told the whole group, many stories were shared over a rice meal (provided free by another set of volunteers) or while drinking tea.

So many stories, so what? Storytelling creates connections. The people gathered in this room were acutely aware that the work they did was important but also that it wasn't enough; that they couldn't do it all on their own. There was a sense that too many people in India are let down by the society in which they live – opportunities are denied and potential is unfulfilled.

What is needed is a web of hope that can run through society and which will help to support people in time of need. The Sangamam helps to spin that web. By hearing other people's stories, people gain inspiration and energy to continue their good work. By telling their own story people receive affirmation for what they have undertaken – it is a morale-booster. People gain knowledge and ideas that they can apply to their own context. Practical support structures are forged through conversation, collaborations are initiated.

All of this interaction is driven from below, from people who are at the coal face, not from ministers and officials at the top of some dubious tree. It was a pleasant change for me to go to a function which didn't involve a mandatory two-hour wait for some (invariably very late) minister to turn up, to be lauded and garlanded, and then to spend too long singing his own praises and describing his commitment to good works. Instead of this hubris, there was an impressive humility on display – this was a gathering of peers, not of passive spectators.

One false note was struck however. For some reason the organisers of the Sangamam saw fit to give an ex-government employee an hour of the gathering's time to promote the white elephant cause of "river linking". And so the stories stopped and the virtues of this idea were outlined (a process often enjoyed by the politicians of Tamil Nadu). The irony of course is that river linking is inherently a grand, centralised and government-driven plan and, as such, is very much at odds with the typical modus operandi of the Sangamam participants. Fortunately this session occurred immediately after a good lunch and so was largely ignored by the participants as they interacted with each other or rested.

It would be a shame if the Ennangalin Sangamam were to be hijacked by political agendas. There is a sense in which the Sangamam is necessary precisely because the other structures of civil society are not performing as they should. Provision for the disadvantaged has dropped so far down the agenda of government that alternative structures need to arise that will meet the need of people in the margins. But these alternative structures will not work if they are simply mirror images of the dysfunctional mainstream political system. Instead our hope lies in a different way of doing things– not by decree from above, but by sharing with those below; not blinded by grand and glorious schemes but immersed in the small, daily struggles of local people.

Murray Brown

My friend, Murray Brown, died in November 2007. When I heard the news I wrote his wife a letter. I am posting a copy of some of what I wrote here, as a tribute to a good man.

I have very warm memories of Murray. He is someone that I admired greatly and someone whose friendship was very important to me at some key moments in my life. Despite our difference in years I felt very close to Murray - he did not hide behind his seniority in years or his priestly status. He was very warm and big hearted and that is what enabled me to be his friend.

After I heard the news this morning I went and phoned Matt, to console and be consoled. I then spent some time pouring out some memories to Katie, my partner - memories of Murray. She did not have the privilege of meeting him - something that I now very much regret. But it was good to be able to share with her memories of someone whom I consider to be simply a good man.

In trying to describe Murray to Katie, I found myself using the word `naive'. I mean that in a completely positive way. He was naive because he eschewed the faux worldliness of the cynic; he lived with a genuine, heart-felt, unapologetic commitment to his ideals and he delighted in it! I remember SCM discussions when his hearty laughter filled the room, with his delight at new ideas and lively discussion, as well as his pleasure in the company of those around him. And, in turn, it was a pleasure for me to be in his company.

Murray also shared himself and his pain very willingly. I remember very vividly his descriptions of his struggles with mental health problems; in particular he described to me how one day he had reached such a low that he could do little else but crawl around the back lawn picking out weeds. That image showed a unique vulnerability which touched my heart; Murray's willingness to share that image also showed a deep and abiding strength of character.

In the weeks before I went out bush, after leaving SCM, I met with Murray as a kind of preparation. During our meeting, he introduced me to the writings of Thich Nhat Hanh. He gave me a copy of "The Miracle of Mindfulness", a book that changed my life perhaps more than any other. In turn, it has changed the life of Katie, when I bought her a copy some years later. Katie's father has subsequently received much comfort from Thich Nhat Hanh. I've no doubt that Murray's loving actions will ripple out for many years to come, changing people's lives for the better.

I don't want to turn this letter into a hagiography of Murray - I'm sure he would detest that more than any one else, but my memories and loving feelings are strong and very real. I remember an SCM discussion about men, in which Murrary participated, when we concluded that the best we could ever hope to be was a "wise old fool". This was the path of largest heart, of greatest love. Murray walked that path, I think, and I hope that I too will follow in his footsteps as I grow older.

Pool reflections

I spent the afternoon today by the side of a pool in a resort in Kerala, India. I was there by invitation of some family members and they were my companions. Various other tourists from the UK and Italy and elsewhere also spent the afternoon by the pool. It cost 200 Rupees for the privilege unless you were staying at the resort in which case it was free.

It was a very nice pool - cool and blue. There were murals on the high wall which enclosed the pool and sun beds and green lawn. The sky was a brilliant egg shell blue. Coconut palms leaned over the wall and shaded the sunbathers; the hot season is just under way in India and that cool shade was delicious.

THERE WERE NO INDIANS.

The entire experience was an exercise in keeping India at bay. The heat of the day, the chaos of the town, the dirt and grime of, well, everywhere; but above all the annoying presence of Indians. 90% of Indians don't have 200 Rupees spare for pool side lazing. The other 10% weren't around today. Perhaps they turn up now and then, but at least you can be sure that they won't be the annoying type who are forever asking for money.

Let us call a spade a spade. This is racist tourism. This place has been set up and deliberately priced to exclude poor people. Which means, since we are in India, excluding Indians. It could not be more obvious if they had a sign at the front saying LOCALS AREN'T WELCOME.

Such places are an attempt to distill all the tropical exoticness of the location - the sun, the sky, the palms - and remove the humans and all the inconvenience that comes with them.

Because, dammit, India - and Indians - can be pretty inconvenient. The roads are bad, the rubbish isn't collected so reliably, the food is spicy, the water's dodgy, the towns are noisy, and it's always so crowded. So many people!

Of course money has always been used in every country to avoid inconvenience. Rich people back in England can avoid many of the travails that bedevil your average Joe. The difference is that in this place the line dividing rich and poor follows pretty close to the line dividing foreigner from lcoal. So, to all intents and purposes, we have an apartheid set-up with white-only zones (except for the Indians who mix the drinks).

This kind of tourism stinks and this kind of resort stinks. Harsh words but I hold them to be true. The people around that pool were decent, ordinary people many of them were the same poor folk who, back in England, can't afford to avoid the everyday inconveniences that don't register with the rich. They were enjoying the novelty of feeling rich.

Unfortunately `feeling rich' is a novelty we have no right to enjoy - for it necessitates that others must feel poor.

This pool provided a reflection. A reflection of the state of the world - where millions are born, live and die in poverty. When we sun ourselves by the pool's blue waters we are openly enjoying the fruits of a world wracked by inequality, injustice and oppression. No wonder the glare of the sun this afternoon was so bright that most people had to shut their eyes.

* * * * * *

P.S. Arundhati Roy's An Ordinary Person's Guide to Empire provides an alternative view of India to that experienced at the pool side:

47% of India's children below three suffer from malnutrition, 46% are stunted. Utsa Patsaik's study reveals that about 40% of the rural population in India has the same food grain absorption level as sub-Saharan Africa. Today, an average rural family eats about 100kg less food in a year than it did in the early 1990's. The last 5 years have seen the most violent increase in rural-urban income inequalities since independence. (p222, written in 2004)

What a load of rubbish

Last week-end I took my beloved on a romantic trip to Chennai's main landfill site. As we approached the site the sweet smell of shit filled the air and a haze of smoke blocked out the sun. We coughed our way inside, through fumes erupting from piles of rotting refuse, waving away buzzing flies and mosquitoes. A mangy, pussy-eyed old dog sat at the side of a jet-black stream scratching its behind, while various people meandered around the site doing I don't know what. Sorting the rubbish? Scavenging? Contracting some kind of hideous skin rash? All of the above and more.

Outside the dump a group of local residents had gathered to express their protest at the state of affairs. The dump is huge (400 acres) and illegal and its right on the doorstep of a large number of poor families. These poor buggers have been housed courtesy of the Slum Clearance Board. This institution is supposed to move destitute people from squalid homes in slums and put them in decent housing elsewhere. But times change, and now the process seems to have reversed. The residents here used to live elsewhere in the city but had to move due to highways being built, or other developments. So now they live in squalid accommodation next to a massive pile of shit.

Actually shit is the least of their worries. It's the carcinogens in the air that really bother them (air samples from the yard taken on January 22, 2007 and analysed by Colombia Laboratory Services in California revealed the presence of 33 noxious gases, five of which are carcinogenic). And the prospect of contracting malaria from the monster clouds of mosqitoes that roam these parts.

This wasn't what the World Bank had in mind, I'm sure, when they funded these apartment blocks. No, Kodungaiyur dump yard won't appear on the front cover of their annual report. Just another unfortunate by-product of the long march to a globalised tomorrow.

More coverage:
www.hindu.com/2008/01/28/stories/2008012858830500.htm
www.hindu.com/2008/02/04/stories/2008020460040300.htm
www.hindu.com/2008/02/04/stories/2008020460150400.htm

The dump

Protesting Indian-style. Nice masks.

Thanks World Bank! Shame about the view!

It'll take more than a massive pile of human waste to keep this lot down. I hope.

Agent Orange

Last night I attended a screening of the film "The Last Ghost of War", followed by a discussion with Dr Simone Nhu-Mai of the Vietnam Agent Orange Victims Association (VAVA). The film and discussion highlighted the horrific legacy that continues to be felt in Vietnam (in addition to Laos and Cambodia, as well as among war veterans from the US, Australia, Canada, New Zealand and South Korea) due to the spraying of herbicides, including the defoliant Agent Orange.

Nineteen million gallons of herbicide were sprayed on Vietnam between 1962 and 1971 in an operation code-named Ranch Hand, with the first spraying being personally authorised by President Kennedy. Agent Orange was the most commonly used of these herbicides which were sprayed by American forces in an attempt to destroy the jungle cover of their enemy, the Viet Cong.

And very effective it was too. Unfortunately the production process of one of the key ingredients of Agent Orange - 2,4,5-trichlorophenoxyacetic acid or 245T - was such that it was routinely contaminated with one of the most poisonous substances known to humanity - 2,3,7,8-tetrachlorodibenzo-p-dioxin or dioxin.

Effects of Exposure

Estimates suggest that between 2.1 and 4.8 million Vietnamese people were directly exposed to herbicides in the course of the war. But that's only the start of it: Many areas in Vietnam remain heavily contaminated by dioxin; people are daily exposed to this dioxin residue through breast milk, cow milk, and the consumption of contaminated meat and fish.

It is this dioxin residue that gave the film its name: "The Last Ghost of War". And it is a ghost with a horrible appetite: The effects of dioxin are numerous. The National Toxicology Program in the US has classified TCDD to be a human carcinogen. Dioxin has been scientifically associated with an array of human diseases including soft-tissue sarcoma, Non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, Hodgkin's disease and chronic lymphocytic leukemia. There has also been a suggested association with a number of diseases in the children of those exposed to it, particularly spina bifida. A good summary of the current state of received medical wisdom in this area can be found at the Institute of Medicine's website.

The nature of medical literature is, though, inherently conservative – it might be hard to scientifically prove that dioxin causes certain illnesses, but that doesn’t mean to say doctors would recommend you hang about while spraying is going on. Indeed the film presented an array of images which suggested that the effect of herbicide spraying has been wide-spread and devastating. Studies of those exposed to herbicides in Vietnam - veterans and civilians - encountered, in addition to the cancers listed above, numerous examples of children born with severe birth defects. Severe mental and physical disability is a (relatively) common occurence in the descendants of those exposed to the spraying. Inevitably the suffering of these children, and of their families, is immense and little or no financial support is available to them.

Prior knowledge

A tragic consequence of war, then. But in fact it's more than that. There is significant evidence to suggest that the chemical companies who produced 245T were aware of the awful consequences of exposure to dioxin.

In 1949 there was an accident at a chemicals plant in Nitro, West Virginia. This plant was owned by Monsanto who produced 245T there. The accident resulted in a number of workers coming into contact with 245T (and, consequently, with dioxin); these workers suffered immediate severe health effects in the form of chloracne – a severe skin condition – as well as longer term conditions including multiple tumours and nervous conditions.

Several studies were conducted of workers involved in the accident. Two of these were conducted for Monsanto and discovered no evidence of long term health problems, aside from chloracne. However one study was conducted independently of Monsanto and, instead, found a number of serious ongoing symptoms. Monsanto has subsequently been the subject of criminal investigation for falsifying its studies of dioxin exposure.

This was not the only incident of exposure to dioxin however – a number of such incidents occurred (see pp27-34 of this VAVA briefing) – at the plants of a number of chemical companies. These companies shared their findings with each other. For instance a Monsanto memo refers to information gathered from Dow:
“According to them [Dow] it is the most toxic compound they have ever experienced. It is presumably toxic by skin contact, as well as by inhalation. According to Dow is it 100 times as toxic as parathion. It is, likewise, capable of causing incapacitating chloracne.”

Another Monsanto memo from 1965 suggests that “very conceivably, [dioxin] can be a potent carcinogen.” A1968.

The government was also aware of the potential risks (although they may not have had the specific knowledge of the chemical companies). Dr. James R. Clary, a former government scientist wrote the following in a letter to Senator Tom Daschle:

“When we (military scientists) initiated the herbicide program in the 1960's, we were aware of the potential for damage due to dioxin contamination in the herbicide. We were even aware that the ‘military’ formulation had a higher dioxin concentration than the ‘civilian’ version due to the lower cost and speed of manufacture. However, because the material was to be used on the ‘enemy’, none of us were overly concerned.”

Clary’s reference to a military formulation is important: The production process of 245T was known to result in contamination with dioxin; however the level of contamination varied considerably. During the period in which they were supplying the US military with 245T the chemical companies took the specific decision to produce 245T for the lowest possible cost – and hence, tragically, with a large level of dioxin contamination. (see pp35-37 of the VAVA briefing)

The Law

In 1979 a class action was launched on behalf of 2.4 million American Vietnam veterans. Veterans are not legally able to pursue the US government for redress, hence the target of their law suit was the chemical companies who produced the herbicides for use by the US military. These companies were Dow, Monsanto, Diamond Shamrock Corporation, Hercules Inc., Uniroyal inc., T-H Agricultural & Nutrition Company, and Thompson Chemical Corporation.

In 1985 these companies finally settled out of court. They created a $180 million fund to compensate veterans whose medical problems fit specific rigid conditions. In particular, anyone suffering an illness following 1994, which was very likely considering the illnesses associated to Agent Orange could take 20-30 years to develop in some instances, did not qualify to receive payment under the settlement terms. In addition, a lump sum payment was provided for the Agent Orange families of veterans that died from diseases that may or may not have been related to Agent Orange, and quickly the $180 million fund was depleted by 1994. Just 50,000 Agent Orange members received a small compensation. (source)

In 1991 the US government passed the Agent Orange Act which officially recognised that Agent Orange caused certain specific diseases including various types of cancers; veterans are therefore eligible for support from the Department of Veterans’ Affairs. In 2006, US Congress passed legislation providing health care, monthly disability compensation, and vocational rehabilitation to the children of Vietnam veterans suffering from the serious birth defect spina bifida.

A number of different veterans groups have taken the manufacturers of Agent Orange to court. In 2006 South Korean veterans won compensation from Dow Chemical and Monsanto; their victory came on appeal, and the amount of compensation was a relatively small $62 million – they had initially sued for $5 billion in damages. US veterans who missed out on compensation from the 1985 settlement fund have also attempted to gain legal redress, but have largely unsuccessful - this door now seems permanently closed. A Canadian class action is currently underway.

Of course the largest group of affected people is the Vietnamese residents of the area sprayed in the war. In 2004 the Vietnam Association for Victims of Agent Orange (VAVA), along with a number of individual Vietnamese victims of the spraying filed a law suit under American law. The law suit is against 37 companies who produced herbicides for use by the American military in Vietnam (the US government could not be sued as it claimed sovereign immunity). The claim was dismissed in 2005 by Judge Weinstein, although an appeal of this decision is pending (the briefing document for the appeal is here).

So what now?

Clearly the people of Vietnam are in great need - the last ghost of war continues to lay a heavy burden on the shoulders of some very poor people. Help is needed to diagnose and treat medical disorders resulting from herbicide spraying. Families with disabled children need help to care for their children properly. Funds are needed to clean "hot spots" - areas which are known to be heavily contaminated with dioxin. Finally more studies are required of the medical effects of dioxin exposure on the Vietnamese population.

To make these things happen, funding and other support is required. So far the Vietnamese people have been unsuccessful (so far) in their attempts to gain compensation through US law – neither the US government, nor the chemical companies involved, have paid a single cent of compensation to the people of Vietnam.

At a government level, a Fawlty Towers-style diplomacy seems to be in operation: “Don’t mention the war!” To be fair the Vietnamese government is in a very difficult position – Vietnam was the target of a US-led trade embargo which was only lifted in 1994. This embargo caused severe hardship to the people of Vietnam. Since 1994, the Vietnamese government has pursued a policy of friendship with the United States – so, although it is seen to be supportive of the law suits brought by Vietnamese victims, it is not in a position to demand redress for crimes committed during the war.

Thus the onus for action is left with the people. Dr Nhu-Mai asked that people show solidarity with the Vietnamese victims of Agent Orange, in whatever way they can. Grassroots groups in Vietnam have expressed their solidarity very practically, through a number of peace villages which care for children with disabilities thought to be caused by Agent Orange; one of these peace villages was started by a US Vietnam veteran.

In India, a natural avenue for solidarity is through the Bhopal Campaign, a group which helped to organise last night's event. This group is seeking redress for the death, injury and long-term illness caused by the 1984 explosion in Bhopal, India at a Union Carbide factory. Dow Chemicals, a former manufacturer of Agent Orange, took over Union Carbide in 1999. Dow is therefore held responsible for tragedy by victims in both India and Vietnam.

Further information can be found at a number of sites: The full briefing of VAVA's appeal to the US court contains a plethora of fact and argument. The Alvin L. Young Collection on Agent Orange has an enormous number of primary documents relating to this issue. In addition there are a number of different groups seeking to provide solidarity in different ways, in particular Collectif Vietnam Dioxine, VAVA and the Vietnam Agent Orange Relief and Responsibility Campaign.

Christmas cheer

Every Wednesday I participate in a meditation group. We always start with a guided meditation from Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese Buddhist monk. We read pairs of sentences at intervals of five minutes or so, and reflect on them using our breathing to access the deeper meaning of the words.

Last Wednesday was Boxing Day and it so happened that some of the sentences very much resonated with me. In particular, these:

Experiencing the pain of fear in me, I breath in.
Smiling to the pain of fear in me, I breath out.

Experiencing the feeling of insecurity in me, I breath in.
Smiling to the feeling of insecurity in me, I breath out.

Experiencing the feeling of sadness in me, I breath in.
Smiling to the feeling of insecurity in me, I breath out.

Experiencing the feeling of joy in me, I breath in.
Smiling to the feeling of joy in me, I breath out.

The idea of these reflections (it seems to me) is to look deeply and truly at our selves and our experience, and to come to terms with every aspect of our current state. This process is a truthful process, for we see ourselves as we are. It is also a liberating process because, by smiling, we are freeing ourselves from the domination that our pain and other feelings can have over us. As Thich Nhat Hanh writes in his explanation of this exercise: “We must learn to recognize, acknowledge, and welcome each [feeling], and after that to look into its emotion… Mindfulness allows us to be calm throughout the appearance and disappearance of feelings.”

This could not be more out of sync with the usual Western experience of the Christmas period. Throughout this period we are bombarded with images of Christmas cheer: of people eating and drinking and making merry together; of families gathering together in warm homes and opening presents; of herald angels singing, merry gentlemen (let nothing them dismay!) and joy to the world.

And yet we all know that these images correspond very poorly to the average experience. For many people Christmas is a time of loneliness, of family arguments, of drunken foolishness and regrets. In short, Christmas is like every other time of year – inducing a mixture of every human feeling. And yet so strong are the media images that, despite knowing better, we too often fall for the propaganda and feel obliged to put on a happy face.

The result is that we flee in terror from feelings of fear, insecurity, sadness and anger, while we grasp desperately at any hint of joy, almost fearing its departure before it has properly arrived. Our family times can seem a pastiche of jolly scenarios, between which we lurch in desperate fear that the whole shebang might soon be exposed as a sham.

Oh to be free of the obligation to be happy – how much happier we would be! But Christmas is just the worst of it. Media propaganda is routinely couched in terms of happiness: We need to be cool, to be young, to be in a big happy beautiful gang, to go to parties and stay up late, to have a beautiful (wo)man on our arm.

You might be thinking, “oh but tell me something I don’t know.” And too true, the vacuity of media images is apparent to anybody who takes the time to stop and think about them. But even if we do this (and many don’t), we are not necessarily free of their power. I had a salutory lesson in this some years ago when I left the city of Perth and went to live in an aboriginal community in the desert in Australia. My lesson was in the question of beauty - when I first arrived out bush, it did not even occur to me that there was physical beauty to be found in the people around me. So deeply was the notion of what is beautiful implanted into me that I could not see what was before me. After six months of living free of a media obsessed with skinny, hairless teenagers in bikinis, the scales had started to fall from my eyes – and life became a whole lot more spicy.

Our (often inadvertent) consumption of images of the mass media prevents us from seeing the world around us clearly. We don’t just run in fear from our own emotions, we also cling to notions which are destroying us – and, in the process, we miss out on true joy and true beauty. Thich Nhat Hanh suggests that we meditate in this way:

Experiencing the feeling of attachment in me, I breathe in.
Smiling to the feeling of attachment in me, I breath out.

In a world saturated with misleading images, it is vital that we meditate regularly in this way. For, if we do not, we will inevitably find ourselves attached to a myriad of notions that stunt our growth and that severely limit the depth and meaning of our experience. We need to look deeply into ourselves to see where these notions are rooted and, as we smile at them, to watch them weaken.