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Year: 2006

Dangerous Waters and Port Security

VLCC - US Navy via Wkipedia - Public Domain

In this week of port security issues that have suddenly entered the news cycle, it seems fitting that I have been reading Dangerous Waters: Modern Piracy and Terror on the High Seas by John S Burnett, which I picked up after reading The Outlaw Sea. Burnett’s book suggests a host of issues that makes the security of our ports all the more important.

Burnett began his investigation into modern piracy after he was attacked on his sailboat by a group of Indonesian pirates in the South China Sea. Over the course of researching the issue, he spent time on a VLCC (very large crude carrier – one of the largest ship types) as well as with the Malaysian authorities who attempt to stop piracy, and then on a smaller refined products tanker traveling from Singapore to Ho Chi Minh City, through the most pirated waters in the world.

It’s a fascinating book that takes the reader into a world that few of us who aren’t involved in shipping or blue water sailing ever consider.

Burnett captures the fear of piracy that many crews live with on a daily basis as they practice and engage in antipiracy defenses that are too often inadequate. He relates the tales of survivors of pirate attacks and tells the stories of ships that simply disappeared sometimes never to be heard from again and other times to be found flying new flags and boasting new names.

Two common themes emerge throughout the book: stealing a ship is easy and it happens all the time. Whether the vessel is a private sailboat, the largest oil and chemical tankers, or a container ship full of random cargo, it is very easy to climb aboard while the ship is moving slowly through narrow channels or even when underway on the high seas. Whole ships are stolen, the crews killed and tossed overboard or marooned on small islands. The ships are repainted at sea, their names changed and with new papers forged and new flags hoisted these phantom ships can deliver illegal immigrants, stolen goods, guns, drugs, or even a weapon of mass destruction to nearly any port in the world. A tanker full of volatile cargo could easily become a weapon simply by pointing it at a target, or it could be an environmental catastrophe resulting when a crew is tied up while being robbed thus leaving no one to steer the ship.

The second issue Burnett addresses is the frequency of pirate attacks, particularly in the South China Sea and in the Straits of Malacca that separate Singapore and Malaysia from Indonesia. It is distressingly common for ships of all sizes to be robbed – a frightening prospect when one considers the kinds of dangerous cargo some ships carry – and in many cases for them to disappear completely with no trace of the cargo, the crew, or the ship itself. Burnett focuses on the Southeast Asia region where the problem is particularly acute since so much of the world’s shipping travels those lanes, but it is increasingly occurring along the African coast, the Middle East, the Caribbean, and South America.

A quick check of the Kuala Lumpur based International Maritime Bureau’s Piracy Reporting Center’s weekly piracy report reveals the fact that not much has changed since Burnett wrote in 2002. Attacks are still occurring with great frequency and little public awareness. Where this issue becomes one that affects everyone is in the connection between piracy and terror. Pirates are motivated by greed, terrorists by ideology, but the techniques for stealing a ship are the same and the implications of a suicide navy composed of a fleet of phantom ships is truly frightening to consider.

If Burnett is right in his assessment of the ease of taking a ship and the lack of coordinated response by the world’s naval powers, then port security and the security of shipping in general is tenuous at best. Piracy in all of its forms from opportunistic fishermen who see the chance to mug the crew of a slow-moving ship to crime syndicates out to steal cargo or terrorists seeking to wreak havoc will likely continue until someone sinks a cruise ship, blows up a chemical tanker or detonates a bomb hidden in a container ship in a busy port, or runs a VLCC aground in a major shipping lane.

All of this highlights the need for increased port security, but more importantly for better security in the world’s shipping lanes. Port security is important but I wonder if securing the world’s shipping lanes might not be more important. By next week, there will be something else in the news and all this will be forgotten probably until it’s too late.

Driving to Denver on a Foggy Morning in 1994

Hypnotized by wheels rumbling all through the night

Outside my car, North Texas, transformed, a foggy ocean—
deep, impenetrable, broken by ghosts of signs that manifest mysterious—
and vanish

Punk rock radio, blaring sonic wind, pushes outward—
a star core against the pressure of the fog—
infinite silence

Worlds unseen beyond the mist lead into other destinies: farm and field,
town and school; fast food off ramp and neon light—
Wichita Falls

I accelerate, but I am not moving

©2003

Foggy Morning

I’ve always loved driving through thick fog. There’s something soothing about the way everything seems so quiet even as large trucks float past. Buildings, ordinarily rooted to their familiar spots, appear to have moved farther from the road or to have disappeared altogether until I get a bit closer and outlines emerge only to be swallowed up again as I continue along the highway.

This morning, sipping my coffee and listening to NPR talk about email encryption when it felt like they should have been discussing werewolves and witches, I drove through the all encompassing fog, unable to see the exit signs. I took the one that seemed right and drove alone into a silent realm. It was the correct road, but a different world where I found myself waiting at the last stoplight before school.

The light hangs above a lonely crossroads such as the one where Robert Johnson might have made his famous deal with the devil. I sat waiting for the light to change when a large shape appeared and grew out of the fog. The shape grew familiar, forming into a school bus that passed in slow motion. I watched the kids drift by, their faces blank. One little girl stuck her tongue out at me, and then they were gone, swallowed by the fog. I nearly choked on my coffee from laughing.

Quiet Please, State-Mandated High Stakes Standardized Testing in Progress

Yesterday was English/Language Arts Testing Day for Texas high school students. The other tests occur in April, but ELA is sooner so that the essays can be graded.

Watching the kids test – and as per regulations unable to read, write, or do anything other than stare at a room full of miserable kids for three hours – I had plenty of time for thinking about standardized high stakes testing. It ain’t good.

I’ve seen too many very bright, literate kids struggle mightily with these tests because their thinking is not standard or their writing is not formulaic. I’ve seen kids who are clearly bound for advanced university work risk graduation because they get caught up on one particular subject. The greatest injustice I’ve seen is reflected in the eyes of Hispanic kids, new to the US, who must, if they are to graduate, pass the test in a new language. I’ve had brilliant students fail math, science, writing, the whole shebang, because they are not yet brilliant in English.

Of course, kids who haven’t opened a book since first grade or done a shred of homework (and have still somehow made it to eleventh grade) will usually fail and rightly so. Sadly, these kids have made choices and have been enabled by a system that passes them along out of fear of parents (who can’t officially be blamed) and politicians (who pass out blame so officially) who make it the teachers’ fault, the schools’ fault. The result is that districts work ever harder to focus on these few days of testing, these meaningless snapshots that tell us so little that we didn’t already know.

Where does that leave us? Students learn nothing from standardized testing. Those who excel in school, who love learning, have it beaten out of them by a yearlong time suck. Those who do poorly in school have all their negative impressions about the purpose of school reinforced by the test that ultimately just verifies what their professional teachers already knew after the first round of assignments came in. Schools are rated and ranked based on their collective performance on these tests that cater to mediocrity, standardized thinking, formulaic writing and rote memorization. It leaves us with the mistaken belief that we are improving our schools when in fact we are discouraging the very thing we should be fostering: love of learning.

Learning should be fun, exciting, and leave a person filled with wonder when looking out at the natural world or the works and story of humanity. We should be teaching kids to ask questions rather than spit out answers. Slavish devotion to test data kills all that. Schools adjust their curricula to match the test, which, let’s remember, is a minimum skills test. What happens when the mandated focus of public schools is minimum skills, when you shoot for a target so low? Sadly, you hit it. Every single time.

The Education of Greyhound Phoebe, Chapter the Second

in which Phoebe learns ‘leave it’ and questions the canigogical value of ‘sit’

After a week of doing ‘watch me’ homework, Phoebe went back to class to demonstrate her newfound talent and fill her pointy little head with more knowledge. The lessons for this week were ‘leave it’ and ‘sit.’

The teacher taught ‘leave it’ by placing treats on the floor near the dogs and then shooing them away when they went for the treats. The reward for not eating the treats was a treat from her hand. She worked with each dog individually while all the pupils looked on. Each dog grasped the lesson more quickly than the previous one, but Phoebe – ever the observer – picked it up the quickest, earning accolades and extra treats. Next we went for a walk so as to apply our newfound knowledge. Phoebe was quite good at ignoring whatever she was asked to ignore.

After the walk came ‘sit,’ a command that greys sometimes have trouble with since their racetrack training often teaches them not to sit. The teacher knew Phoebe would resist it so she said she’d work with Phoebe last in the hopes that she would get it by watching the others. Most of the others grasped it very quickly. Phoebe watched, knowing that treats were being given out, but unsure of what to do. Finally while the teacher was working with another pup, Phoebe sat. It was the first time I’d ever seen that dog sit. The teacher was thrilled and gave Phoebe a bevy of treats. Despite the treats, though, Phoebe saw no relevance for ‘sit’ in her life and suggested that she would never need to know ‘sit’ in the real world, so just as her owner once saw no relevance or need to know algebra, she declined to sit a second time.

The last ten minutes were devoted to recess. The other dogs played while Phoebe went around and introduced herself to the humans who are all very intrigued by the inherently gregarious and gentle nature of greyhounds. I was asked by one woman if greyhounds like to play, and I told her that they love to play, but they often only know one game: catch me if you can.

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Visit Phoebe’s friends at the Carnival of the Dogs!

[saveagrey]

Cuatro

I’ve been tagged. Lenwood has tagged me with the popular Four Things tag. I’ve never done a meme or tag post before, so I figured why not?

Jobs (teachers do)

  • Animal tamer
  • Police officer
  • Bureaucratic functionary
  • Judge

Movies (I worked on)

TV Shows (I worked on)

Lived

Vacations

Web Sites

  • Attics
  • Old piles of wood
  • Gardens
  • Basements

Food

  • Green chiles
  • Red chiles
  • Chipolte chiles
  • Habanero chiles

Rather Be

  • Aquaman
  • Batman
  • Spiderman
  • Green Lantern

Tagging (Since Gypsy Scholar has already tagged everybody in the whole world, I must look beyond…)

Treading Water

I don’t write autobiography or memoir, but I often use real events as a start point for my fiction. I’m sure most writers do. Sometimes memories come floating along without context, without rational explanation, they’re just there, triggered by a smell, a sight, a feeling, the minutiae of life. These pictures appear vivid, bright as day, begging to be recorded and then they’re gone like waves receding from shore.

“Treading Water” came about as a sort of experiment in capturing these memories. I wanted to take a collection of scenes and connect them not so much through narrative, but rather through context, jumping from one to another the way the mind wanders in those wonderful moments of quiet reflection.

I decided to use scenes that take place near the ocean. I started writing the memories as they came without knowing how or if I would connect them. Eventually a story of two people standing on a beach watching the waves roll in emerged, and it became the frame for the scenes I ultimately decided to include.

I think it plays out sort of like a short film or a prose poem.

Here’s the link: “Treading Water”

Enjoy.

Cowboy Junkies at One World Theatre

There are certain bands that just grabbed my attention the first time I heard them. The Cowboy Junkies have done that twice. The first was their beautiful spooky version of the Velvet Underground classic “Sweet Jane” that appeared in the otherwise tedious Natural Born Killers. Margo Timmins’ ethereal voice floating above the music was stunning and perfect for that particular scene. I didn’t know who the band was, only that it was the best part of the film.

I heard them again in the late ’90s when “Common Disaster” started getting play on KGSR. This time it was Michael Timmins’ guitar that hooked me. I love the gently distorted riff that shimmers in the background, fading away behind sister Margo’s haunting voice. That time I caught the name and bought the album, Lay It Down.

Trying to describe the Cowboy Junkies sound is difficult; there are many influences that converge creating an uncanny mixture of blues, country, low-fi alt rock, and folk. The end result is a quiet intensity and interplay between Margo’s vocals and Michael’s guitar.

I had no idea what to expect at last night’s show at One World Theatre in Bee Caves. I imagined that the show would be mainly Margo with her brothers backing her up, but what I heard went far beyond what I expected. The focus of the music moved back and forth from Margo’s vocals to Michael’s dynamic guitar work. I knew she would sound great, taking the audience on a journey of “heartbreak and misery” as she jokingly referred to the band’s music at one point.

I was surprised and pleased with how much of the show was dedicated to the musicians. I love listening to quiet, gently ebbing and well-controlled guitar feedback and Michael Timmins is very good at this. He can of course bang out rockin’ and bluesy solos, but creating and controlling noise in such a way that it adds to the color and overall feel of the song, surrounding it and giving it shape is something I love to hear live. The overall effect of the show was a feeling of being in a smoky lounge late in the night of a David Lynch film.

The set was a mix of old and new. They played several tunes from their latest album Early 21st Century Blues, a collection mainly of covers from influences such as Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen. A favorite moment of mine came when singing “Miles from Our Home” one of their hits, if the Junkies can be said to really have hits, Margo seemed to forget the words and had to refer back to a notebook. She kept going but with a wonderfully sheepish smile and a wink to the audience.

They ended their set with the closing track from the new album, a beautiful rendition of U2’s “One” an amazing song that takes me back to my Dallas year, cruising the plastic nightime highways with airplanes swarming over DFW like robot fireflies. It’s a song that has always filled me with a sense of melancholy and yet at the same time hope. It seemed perfect to hear the Junkies play it and was a great end to a captivating set.

Google in China

This morning NPR reported that Google, Yahoo, and MSN were testifying before Congress about their dealings with China, in particular the way in which they seem to helping the Chinese government quell dissent. Check out San Bei Ji for an interesting example of a censored Google search.

On its face this appears pretty hypocritical when one considers that information companies would probably not enjoy the success they’ve had if they didn’t originate in societies where the free flow of information and free speech were not so highly valued. Of course a company’s main responsibility is to the shareholder, but does that mean that there is no place for higher values?

Last week’s rioting Islamists demanded limits to free speech in western societies. The rioting was terrible and hopefully counterproductive to their twisted cause, but ultimately the demands are laughable. Too many people have fought too hard throughout history for the right of free speech. Rent-a-mob rioters won’t change that.

We see the lack of respect for free speech in our society, however, when western companies accept government censorship, denial of human rights, and oppression as the cost of doing business. I know there are fortunes for western companies to make in China, but is greed really a suitable justification for denying the very principles of free speech that allow internet companies to exist in the first place?

Google’s position appears to be that this is what must be done to do business in China and that the end result will be a freer flow of information and a freer China. Perhaps they’re right. Engagement with China seems to have opened it up somewhat and I do support more engagement with Cuba for that very reason.

I hope Google’s theory is right in the long run, but it sure doesn’t make the western capitalist model of society look very good when people see western companies aiding oppressive governments to turn a profit.

That’s the sort of thing that angers people and drives them to riot in the streets or to join terrorist cells.

To abuse Voltaire: I may not agree with what you have to say, but I’ll defend to the death your right to say it unless I can profit by keeping you quiet.