Category Archives: History

How to Spot a Pirate

Chief Nato spokesman James Appathurai is quoted in the BBC, saying it is hard to spot Somali pirates:

“There are a host of pirates, but they don’t identify themselves with eye-patches and hook hands so it isn’t immediately obvious that they are pirates.”

I think this has always been true. Pirates have never wanted to be identified early, since it makes their chase harder, but I have to think that the direction of their boat, along with machine guns, RPGs and masks, all make for a good giveaway.

Friend or foe? Black Beard never wore a patch or a hook.

Chagos Islanders Denied

The dispute over the ownership of Diego Garcia and the rest of the Chagos Archipelago is really a huge legal, human rights, security and geopolitical debate hiding in plain sight.

The United Kingdom claims it will retain control of islands that it prefers to calls its British Indian Ocean Territory (BIOT), while taking payments for “.io” domain registrations.

Do you have a stolen .io domain? Do you know the significance of that domain’s theft? What are you even doing on it?

BIOT appropriated the .io and the UK government ceded control to the private sector to manage and profit from what amounts to be gross human rights violations.

This domain in other words isn’t owned by the Chagos people it represents, and instead shifted into the hands of a private company called Internet Computer Bureau Ltd (ICB) formed specifically to take advantage over places like Chagos.

Mauritius aims in some sense to settle the domain issues by expanding its area over the islands as a more natural geographic power play, deprecating .io entirely.

Meanwhile the United States (directly implicated in the expulsion of Chagos islanders) has sights on keeping control of its military base (established after loss of control in Ethiopia, and the shift to satellites that made surveillance of the Middle-East easier than from the Horn of Africa highlands).

On top of all that, the simple fact remains many Chagossian diaspora who were forcibly removed decades ago sincerely want to return to their home and have sovereignty.

If you own an .io domain are you helping or hurting the Chagossian cause?

In that context, Reuters has very sad news:

Britain’s highest court ruled in favour of the British government Wednesday, blocking the return of hundreds of Chagos Island people to their homes in the south Indian Ocean after nearly 40 years of exile.

The decision by the House of Lords ends a years-long battle to secure the Chagos Islanders the right to return to their archipelago, from where they were forcibly removed in the 1960s and ’70s to make way for an American airbase on Diego Garcia.

By a ruling of 3-2, the lords backed a government appeal that argued that allowing the islanders to return could have a detrimental effect on defence and international security.

I wrote about this case in more detail back in March of 2007.


Update 2018 (ten years!): ICB sells itself for $70m to a giant US domain registrar Afilias, with no evidence any of that money or future money will go to the Chagossians.

Update 2015 (can’t believe it’s been seven years of this already!): the Chagos people have launched “The Dark Side of .io

Ann Boleyn

by R.P.Weston and Bert Lee, as performed by Stanley Holloway

In the Tower of London, large as life,
The ghost of Ann Boleyn walks, they declare.
Poor Ann Boleyn was once King Henry’s wife –
Until he made the Headsman bob her hair!
Ah yes! he did her wrong long years ago,
And she comes up at night to tell him so.

With her head tucked underneath her arm
She walks the Bloody Tower!
With her head tucked underneath her arm
At the Midnight hour –

She comes to haunt King Henry, she means giving him ‘what for’,
Gad Zooks, she’s going to tell him off for having spilt her gore.
And just in case the Headsman wants to give her an encore
She has her head tucked underneath her arm!

With her head tucked underneath her arm
She walks the Bloody Tower!
With her head tucked underneath her arm
At the Midnight hour.

Along the draughty corridors for miles and miles she goes,
She often catches cold, poor thing, it’s cold there when it blows,
And it’s awfully awkward for the Queen to have to blow her nose
With her head tucked underneath her arm!

Sometimes gay King Henry gives a spread
For all his pals and gals – a ghostly crew.
The headsman carves the joint and cuts the bread,
Then in comes Ann Boleyn to ‘queer’ the ‘do’;
She holds her head up with a wild war whoop,
And Henry cries ‘Don’t drop it in the soup!’

With her head tucked underneath her arm
She walks the Bloody Tower!
With her head tucked underneath her arm
At the Midnight hour.

The sentries think that it’s a football that she carries in,
And when they’ve had a few they shout ‘Is Ars’nal going to win?’
They think it’s Alec James, instead of poor old Ann Boleyn
With her head tucked underneath her arm!

With her head tucked underneath her arm
She walks the Bloody Tower!
With her head tucked underneath her arm
At the Midnight hour.

One night she caught King Henry, he was in the Canteen Bar.
Said he ‘Are you Jane Seymour, Ann Boleyn or Cath’rine Parr?
For how the sweet san fairy ann do I know who you are
With your head tucked underneath your arm!’

Siren

The odd thing about this writing by Amy Gerstler in Bitter Angel: Poems is how scary it sounds to someone who has sailed across an ocean.

I have a fish’s tail, so I’m not qualified to love you.
But I do. Pale as an August sky, pale as flour milled
a thousand times, pale as the icebergs I have never seen,
and twice as numb–my skin is such a contrast to the rough
rocks I lie on, that from far away it looks like I’m a baby
riding a dinosaur. The turn of centuries or the turn
of a page means the same to me, little or nothing.
I have teeth in places you’d never suspect. Come. Kiss me
and die soon. I slap my tail in the shallows–which is to say
I appreciate nature. You see my sisters and me perched
on rocks and tiny island here and there for miles:
untangling our hair with our fingers, eating seaweed.

Late at night, with a bright moon over dark shimmery waters and a light enough breeze to just echo the “slap” of a tail meant to “appreciate nature”… you definitely can hear that Siren song. It’s both the worst and best kind of pretty.

As John F. Kennedy published in 1964

When power leads man towards arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the areas of man’s concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of his existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses, for art establishes the basic human truths which must serve as the touchstones of our judgement.