In 2000, the United Nations established eight Millennium Development Goals, a series of targets designed to tackle poverty, hunger and the spread of HIV/AIDS. The world’s countries and development agencies agreed to meet these goals by 2015. We’re almost half-way there, and throughout continental Africa, things are no better.

I’ve said it a thousand times on here and in other media. We ignore Africa. We ignore it at our peril, but we ignore it and it is our greatest shame. One man who has not ignored it is Stephen Lewis, United Nations Special Envoy to Africa for HIV and AIDS. Truly one of the greatest and most decent men on the planet — father in law of Naomi Klein and father of Avi Lewis (with whom I spoke last year regard his film The Take, an interview I will post someday soon), former Canadian ambassador to the UN, Canadian of the year and one of Time magazine’s 100 most influential people in the world, there are few people as qualified to speak on the west’s failings in Africa as he. He has recently published a book, Race Against Time: Searching for Hope in AIDS-ravaged Africa, which examines the complicity of the United Nations and the G8 in Africa’s plight, and surveys the situation from his meetings with Rwandan orphans to his frustrations at the highest levels of global bureaucracy. Promises? The West has those by the sackful. But we’ve been making and breaking them for far too long.

There’s a tendency to think of Africa as hopelessly, endemically sick, moribund almost, and there’s often an assumption that this is purely a legacy of colonialism and everything that’s happened since. This is not an interview focussing on the worst ravages of corruption that tear Africa apart. If you want that, I recommend the first part of Allan Little’s extraordinary Faultlines series for the BBC World Service. Lewis is a man who, despite all he has seen since his early visits in his youth, insists on searching for the hope in the continent.

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In your book you talk of the visits to Africa in your youth, your real romance with the continent. It was a very, very different place then…

I was in Africa in the immediate post-colonial period when there were very high expectations, enormous enthusiasm, great excitement. You break through the basis of slavery and all of the neo-colonial angry, nasty, manipulative, controlling impulses and suddenly you’re out into the light of day with all of the possibilities stretching out before you. The place was alive with music and enthusiasm and hope, and it was pretty depressing to see the decline of the continent over the subsequent number of years.

Simple question, then. What happened?

A combination of things. I think that the colonial powers continued unexpectedly to manipulate Africa from a distance, to use African leaders as their pawns. There’s no questions that Africa got caught in the cold war and sawed off between east and west, as it was availed by the communist bloc on the one hand and the western bloc on the other. I think that the international financial institutions — the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund — engaged in an imposition of constraints on the African economies, they imposed conditions, they made it very difficult, particularly in the social sectors. All in all, it was rough for Africa, and as a result, in this manipulative orgy, you had a number of African leaders who themselves became corrupt and totalitarian, and that made things even worse.

So now you have a continent that’s being simultaneously ravaged by AIDS on the one hand and criminal governance on the other. They’re interlinked problems. It seems that you have a continent that is dying.

I don’t agree with the analysis. I don’t think AIDS and criminality are intertwined. I think what is intertwined is AIDS and poverty. Terrible and desperate and almost incomprehensible poverty. The relative aspects of corruption, there are countries which are obviously corrupt, but there are 53 countries in sub-Saharan Africa and the great majority of them are increasingly re-elected in democratic traditions and they’re working very, very hard to quell corruption.

My god, I’m on a continent where in the United States, corruption is dealt with before grand juries almost on a daily basis. In my own country of Canada, the last election was fought on an issue of corruption and the government was defeated on an issue of corruption. One shouldn’t be too smug and self-righteous about it. Africa is a continent which is desperately poor, which has a lot of disease, it has incidental conflict, not unlike other continents, but it also has, at the grassroots level, a tremendous resilience and generosity of spirit and sophistication and if Africa had the resources which are constantly promised it and forever betrayed in the delivery, Africa could break the back of the AIDS pandemic and Africa could come out of the economic doldrums.

Continue reading "Stephen Lewis: Beyond AIDS and genocide, the search for hope in Africa" »

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When Scott Ritter, the United Nation’s Chief Weapons Inspector in Iraq, resigned in 1998, minor shockwaves rippled through the international community. A man who had been at the center of much controversy in the country, and whom the Iraqis claimed at the time was behind obstructive and intimidating tactics at the behest of the American government, had resigned in frustration at American interference in the United Nations process, claiming that UNSCOM was being used by the CIA as a front for invasion plans.

In the desert sands of Iraq, Ritter saw corruption on both sides, and an inevitable explosion of that corruption in the future. In the ensuing years, he has published a book, Iraq Confidential: The Untold Story of the Intelligence Conspiracy to Undermine the UN and Overthrow Saddam Hussein and released a film, In Shifting Sands, which then UN chair of UNSCOM Richard Butler denounced as “propaganda”. He has been one of the most outspoken critics of the war in Iraq, and one of the most uniquely placed, as an American once deeply entrenched in the United Nations, to comment on the fundamental decline of that body in recent years.

His moral standpoint since 1998 is not without controversy, and his Wikipedia entry certainly outlines some mucky conspiracy theories that explain the shift in stance from military hawk to outspoken activist — it is not for this blog to repeat those, but one must always question the motivations for those who speak from positions of authority, even if you agree with what they say. In the context of a 15 minute radio interview, I did not do nearly enough of that here, but Ritter’s fight is generally a brave and respectable one. Ritter has often done a good enough job of answering his critics when called unamerican, as the media and political machines of the state turned against him and worked to discredit his views. In these most interesting times, when dissenting voices are dealt with through fear and paranoia, Ritter has remained steadfast. Sure, he may have sold a few books in doing so, but I have no doubt he was on a decent salary before his decision to resign.
In person, the former Marine is an intimidating presence with a booming voice and a precise, well-worn line in anger. It’s a long way from the deserts of Iraq to a community radio studio on the far side of Australia, but Ritter’s rage has not simmered.

You were a weapons inspector in Iraq for several years, at some point there was a turning point when you decided things weren’t as they ought to be.

It’s not that there was a turning point per se, as a weapons inspector from 1991 to 1998, I was fully cogniscent of not only the difficulty of our task but also the inherent contradiction in the policy of certain nations, namely the United States, when it came to supporting our tasks. Our job was a job of disarmament, getting rid of Iraq’s weapons of mass destruction in accordance with Security Council mandate.

The United States is a member of the Security Council. They voted in favour of this mandate, and yet the United States had a policy that embraced regime change as opposed to disarmament, so there was always this conflict taking place between the weapons inspection process and the policy of the United States. I rode it out, so to speak, for seven years, in belief that if we could accomplish our mission, we could trump America’s policy imperatives. By 1998, it became obvious that the United States would not allow the weapons inspection process to proceed with its full integrity, void of the corruption of American influence, and so I resigned.

Continue reading "The Anger of a Desert Storm: Scott Ritter and the myth of WMD" »

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In the pocket of my recollection that’s reserved for my childhood cinematic memories, it’s amazing how stubbornly and consistently a gurning white-haired loon can be found running about causing havoc. For me, and probably for a generation, Steve Martin was the movies. Whether it was the over-stressed dad of Parenthood or the useless not really wannabe hero of The Three Amigos, or perhaps when I was a little older the highly strung fireman of Roxanne or the jerk of The Jerk, he’s there, causing mayhem. A few years ago a flatmate introduced me to some of his extremely coked-up standup from the early 80s, and it is unwatchably brilliant, particularly his frenetic banjo solos.
Strange, then, to see the current incarnation of Steve Martin, coming off of a decade of flops (nothing after the criminally underrated LA Story has been worth watching) as a fake-tanned highbrow ‘witty’ writer of novellas, a man who writes for The New Yorker instead of Mad magazine. Shopgirl is a sombre character study, an attempt to tell a story more about emotion than action. It is generally the tale of an older man (Martin) who whisks a much younger girl (Claire Danes) off her sales assistant feet, and how insistent disconnection and distance can sometimes really mess with what love might be. Truth told, it’s mostly an indulgent ego piece for Martin, and would fail miserably were it not for the ever-amazing Claire Danes, and the boy who plays her competing love interest and comic relief, Jason Schwartzman.
If Martin is an idol of my childhood, Jason Schwartzman is the idol of my geeky early twenties. His turn as Max Fischer in Wes Anderson’s Rushmore gave him a place in the hearts of geeks and freaks the world over. The son of Talia Shire, and a cousin to the Coppola family, he is Hollywood royalty once removed, but exists in almost purely indie spheres. He’s worked with David O. Russell and Sofia Coppola, and was the drummer in Phantom Planet, and is thus kinda responsible for the theme tune to The OC.
Shopgirl is probably Schwartzman’s highest profile role to date. It’s not often you get to interview somebody whose poster has been gracing your wall for what seems like forever, but the inner geek in me soldiered on. Possibly the most genuinely nice movie guy I have ever interviewed—and I’ve had a few—he revealed that even in the giddy heights Hollywood, the 80s oeuvre of Martin meant just as much in the Shire/Schwartzman/Coppola households as it did in mine.
I guess you must have grown up in the same 80s that I did, in which Steve Martin is a massive memory of your childhood?
More than a memory. I did, I grew up in the eighties and my family, what we would do every weekend is go see films, and that’s how we would bond and spend time together. Because we were all kids, the only movies we were allowed to go see were comedies, and Steve Martin was basically in all of them. Not only did he bring me joy and my family joy in the theatre, but I’ve got so many great memories of the drive home from the movie doing lines from the film and making each other laugh, and renting the movies, and watching them on Saturday nights with my brothers.
These are the great memories. I remember, from Three Amigos, me and my two older brothers, we had that whole little dance memorised, and we would come and do that for our parents while they were eating dinner, we would do it in our boxer shorts or whatever and make them laugh. Those are just priceless memories, and to me that’s what moviemaking’s about, it’s almost less about the movie and more about the car ride home, and a family trying to make each other laugh.

Continue reading "Counter Service: Jason Schwartzman talks Shopgirl" »

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Originally published in Black+White

As silver jubilees go, this one was something of a fizzer. In the 50 years since former milkshake-mixer salesman Ray Kroc had witnessed the future flipping on a sizzling hot San Bernardino grill, the company had never met anything quite so thorny as these two activists that now seemed permanently embedded in their side.

For the figures standing outside the McDonald’s store in Central London where their journey has began some two decades earlier, 2005 had finally brought vindication. After 20 long years grilling the burger giant. Helen Steel, a trained electrician, bar-worker and former gardener, and Dave Morris, an unemployed single father and former postman, had just pulled off what has been called the greatest legal and public relations victory against corporate power in living memory.

When McDonald’s first set their clownish eyes on the gardener and the postman, shiny new golden arches were towering over street corners in Thailand, Luxembourg, Bermuda, Venezuela, Italy, Mexico, and Aruba. McBlimp, the world’s largest airship, was flying high over New York City. The counters beneath the arches marked off 55 billion served. Ronald McDonald was more recognisable than Father Christmas.

In 1985, Britain was rumbling with political discontent. Margaret Thatcher was at the height of her powers, the Falklands were not yet forgotten, and the miners were just going back to work after the violent strikes of the past year. Morris was among a group of about 20 activists with London Greenpeace (no relation to the international organisation) who were looking to address growing concern with exploitation of people and planet by multinational corporations.

The two maintain that the real target was never McDonald’s itself. It is the system that is sick, explains Morris on the line from his home in Tottenham, North London:

“London Greenpeace brought together the views of a whole range of different movements that weren’t necessarily working together-the labour movement, environmentalists, animal welfare campaigners, nutritionists—in one leaflet focussing on McDonald’s as a symbol, not just calling for reforms of McDonald’s but as a symbol of a wider system, McWorld, and what it’s doing to our lives and our planet.”

The six-page leaflet, What’s Wrong With McDonald’s?, seemed harmless enough. It was rather poorly written and made claims that many would say were nothing new. Amongst other points, it stated that junk food makes you fat and may cause heart disease, that their advertising exploited children, that beef was sourced from cruel slaughterhouses, packaging caused litter and damage to the environment and that staff suffered from low wages and a lack of unionisation. It was produced to coincide with an international day of action against the company in October.

Continue reading "Bun Fight" »

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Originally published in The West Australian

Since the release of Shane Meadows’ debut TwentyFourSeven in 1997, when the director was a mere 24 years old, British critics have anointed him as the natural successor to Mike Leigh. The harsh black and white tale of misspent youth and boxing clubs in Nottinghamshire, told with a wicked sense of humour, had him earmarked for greatness.

The film’s complete commercial failure, soul destroying for any other director, now sees Meadows edging his way back onto cinema screens two years on with A Room for Romeo Brass, a glorious and hilarious paean to the simplicity of youth and the bond shared with best mates.

“At the time that it happens, you’re walking around with a dark cloud over your head wondering why people won’t watch a black and white film,” Meadows says. “But what actually came out of the other side is that I never would have made Romeo Brass had it succeeded enormously.

“It would have sent me over the edge mentally, I probably would have ended up growing my hair out, dying it blonde and calling myself Shane Warhol,” he laughs.
Meadows and co-writer Paul Fraser stumbled upon Romeo Brass almost by accident, after toying with some more novel ideas to follow TwentyFourSeven.
“I went away to write a Western about group of guys from the Midlands who went over to the Wild West in the Gold Rush — people from Derby and Stoke on Trent,” he says.

“Paul Fraser and I, with the critical acclaim that we got from TwentyFourSeven, had a bit of a free reign to go away and write a new film. We were sat there one night trying to write this Western idea, and just talking about our childhood and how amazing it was that these two kids who had lived next door to each other and grown up together ended up working in the film business.”

Romeo Brass emerged as a largely autobiographical tale of the two writers’ childhood friendship, and the cruel things that kids do in the name of friendship, played out by the thinly veiled characters of Romeo (Andrew Shim) and Knocks (Ben Marshall).

“One day Paul had a friend back from school,” Meadows says, recalling one of the pair’s more surreal misadventures. “When your mate brings home somebody else, suddenly they don’t want to hang around with you, because they’ve got their new friend. They were playing badminton in their front garden, and wouldn’t let me join in.

“I went in the house and I watched The Outlaw Josey Wales, because me and my dad always had loads of Westerns on the shelf that we’d recorded off telly. When I saw the plight that Josey Wales had been through when the American rebels had burned his house down, I decided that I’d been treated in the same way. I got my air rifle, went outside and said eif you don’t let me play, I’m going to shoot you’. He said ewell go on then, I bet you daren’t’, and I shot him straight in the stomach.”

Having been banned from seeing Fraser for almost a year by his irate mother, Meadows eventually fell in with the wrong crowd (represented in the film through Paddy Considine’s deliciously surreal and menacing Morell) and felt a painful shove into adulthood. It was Fraser’s unquestioning decision to forgive Meadows for all he had done wrong that inspired the film.

“When you grow older, you forget, and you lose the mentality that you have at that age. We realised that if we didn’t tell a story about this now, it would probably pass off, and if we ever made a film about childhood, it would be the kind of ‘golden haze’ movie that I didn’t want anything to do with,” he says.

“I wanted to tell a story of truth, because childhood is painful and difficult, and it’s funny. It’s a very organic process being a kid.”

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