re:considering

So, most of the western world thinks Greece is something amazing. The cradle of democracy and whatnot. And did I mention philosophy? Or the Olympics? Or…

The first time I went to Greece, back in the late 80’s, I had read up on ancient history and was ready to get filled with awe. My most vivid memory is however one of dissapointment. The archeological museum in Athens was a horror. Stacks of pottery chards, old coins and other finds but no story. Just cabinet upon cabinet with historically disjointed finds, organised perhaps to make sense to a scholar but not to me. Then in the markets and shops you could buy cheap imitations of whatever style of Greek pottery you’d like, and miniatures of famous statues or ruins/temples, or cheap touristy stuff.

Somewhere along the road I decided Greece was a country firmly grounded in it’s history, and with as little to do with the now or the future as was conceivably possible.

Repeat visits have only made to confirm this view, with this recent week spent on Crete no exception. If your plot of land looks gorgeous, just look away when you pass your neighbour’s garbage dump and you won’t need see it. Oh, wait, garbage is a natural by-product of civilisation, important for future archeologists, so let’s make their work easier and just leave it out in the open, OK?

On the outskirts of a village I several times passed by a ‘pasture’ for sheep, only the ‘pasture’ mainly consisted of litter, rusty old litter. One part was fenced off and there, on on the worst dump in the whole plot, there lived a dog.

In the beautiful if touristified old harbour of Chania there floated so much garbage I didn’t even want to snap a picture.

The beach west of Platanias, which is west of Chania, was so dirty it wasn’t even a pleasure to walk there, and by the turnabout outside an up-scale beach hotel that we walked past there was so many used condoms and condom wraps it was impossible to ignore them.

And of course the olives or the lemons don’t get toxic by the rusty old cars leaking oil into the soil, or the rusty paint tins, and perhaps the small animals dying in the discarded bottles was vermin anyway. But in my view a civilised country can afford efficient handling of it’s waste.

The tourist industry is a huge source of income in Greece. And perhaps this is the market talking – it simply doesn’t matter if the place is clean – people go there either to see the ruins or to relax completely and the ruin people are so awed with the ruins they don’t care for the rest while the relaxation people only care for cheap food and booze and a decent amount of sun. Don’t make for a high demand on general development.

It’s a sad situation.

I grew up thinking of artefacts as something as humans left behind them, remnants of our activities. Then I got involved in the software, or computer, business, as a consultant, where artefact means something else – a by-product of our activities, but in another not so archaeological, way. Mainly they’re documents, of different kinds. Anyway, the other day I sorted out some old stuff, among other things an old bowl which has stood on my desk at home for a looong time. How long I realised when I found this item, at the bottom -

Remember? If you had an Apple computer you had one of these, preferably on the lid, to be handy when the mechanism for ejecting the floppy disc clicked.

This, for me, is a true artefact, and not from very long ago.

One of the interesting aspects of reading texts that deal with human history is what these texts tells us about our own time (or the time when they were originally written). Currently I’m reading Gender in the Early Medieval World. It consists of a number of essays written during the early 2000’s by different scholars, and they cover different aspects and themes.

The ‘world’ means, in this context, Europe proper and the Middle East. As the term ‘medieval’ generally is applied to the nations and cultures that succeeded the Roman empire this is an accurate term but to me the ‘world’ is rather larger than that, so that I think the editors show their Eurocentric world view.

Our present values also show through in the implicitly – maybe even unconsciously – made judgements on gender roles during the times discussed. Not that I disagree. But a value judgement is a value judgement, no more no less, and just as we perceive times past our time will in turn be looked down upon – there are no moral absolutes, just as there is no fixed path to civilisation, or an apex of said.

So, halfway through the book I feel like I’m watching a meta-philosophical argument trying to repair damages done by previous generations; putting salve and plasters on an academic agenda which has previously excluded the impact of the hidden society – e.g. those not male and politically and economically empowered – on the evolving cultures, societies and nations.

This willingness to see history as something more than an enumeration of years and important kings, masters and wars is interesting. When this approach was discussed in the 1970’s it was perceived as a Marxist agenda, and thus suspect. Or – this is at least what I remember from my years in compulsory school (from ages 7-15, at the time).

Just let’s hope that academia in general is ready for a more, let’s say, holistic approach to their topics. It is certainly long overdue.
If they manage academia might at last be of some relevance to the civil society.
(Not that this is what some of them remotely wants, but that is a whole another discussion.)

After having it warm shelf space for some time I’m finally reading The Dark Heart of Italy, by Tobias Jones, and halfway through the section labelled The mother of all slaughters, which discusses political terrorism in Italy during the 60’s through early 80’s, I can’t help but think of another book – Tigana, by Canadian author of literary fantasy Guy Gavriel Kay.

Why? Because the strategies employed in Tigana by Alessan and Baerd in their attempt to liberate their country is exactly the same as used by the fascist movement during Italy’s anni di piombo – the years of lead – when so many people died in terrorist attacks aiming at destabilizing the state.
Or, at least that’s my interpretation. I’m sure Italians have another opinion on it, this in itself depending on political heritage.

Anyhow, it is striking how Kay manages to hide the fact that the protagonists of Tigana are engaged in systematic terrorism behind a veil of sympathy for the cause, for the underdog, for the repressed people. Interestingly enough the setting is very Italian, not only the general geography and culture but the political stage with city states and a very end-of-wwII set-up with two warring conquerors /the Allies with the Italian king on one side and the Germans with Il Duce on the other/.

To me, reading The Dark Heart of Italy is like being given the final pieces of the jigsaw, the key to understanding Tigana. If this is how Kay intended his piece of fiction to be read I have to wonder about his political leanings, about his objectives. But possibly he’s just another romantic academic, exploring histories to which he himself has no emotional connection – only curiosity.

Consider Newgrange.

Consider the Egyptian pyramids, or the Mesoamerican ones.

Consider the plumbing of ancient Rome, or the engineering of the Andalusian Moors. And a lot of more peoples, just like them.
Throughout the ages.

Each of them presumably thought of themselves as the height of civilisation. Just as we do.

How far ahead of them are we, in reality?

Should a single nation foot the bill for research in a propulsion technology that can take us to the stars?

And – when we get there. Will we have changed? Or will we still be bickering narrow minded humans thinking ourselves superior to all and everyone, including ourselves?

At the moment, I’m not very hopeful.