From January 4, 2012: Welcoming the New Year!

Seems the one thing I've found myself attempting to write on the blog, is about birds:) Well, I'm still an amateur at birdwatching, but I've certainly moved a long way from identifying a bird as a...bird. It also helps (or drives me nuts sometimes), when the courtyard around my place seems to attract some pretty amazing ones. Now that it is fruiting and flowering season, its a hive of activity.

My first sighting for this season was the coppersmith barbet. Now this is where I know I've got used to my environment, knowing which birds are commonly found in the garden. So, one fine morning, while having breakfast, I found myself looking out of the window and realising that the bird perched on the branches of the mango tree was not the usual "resident". What struck me was the red crown, shining beautifully in the sunlight. Jumped off my seat, coffee in hand, and looked for my binoculars. But I couldn't get it in time and he flew off. It was much later in the morning (after I had moved my coffee drinking spot to the balcony) that I spotted him again. No mistake, it was a coppersmith barbet. I had spotted two at the Suan Rot Fai park near Chatujak Market last year. So, that made my day. And a few days later, I saw him flying from tree to tree around my place, and can also be found on the pole as I exit my apartment building in the mornings. And I finally also matched the call to the barbet (thanks to the birdinginmalaysia website, all photos here taken from that website).


Just FYI, the neighbours are Mr and Mrs. Scarlet Backed Flowerpecker, Mr. and Mrs. Streak Eared Bulbul, Mr. and Mrs. Black Naped Oriole, Herr Pied Fantail often seen splashing at the swimming pool, the unidentified Herr Warbler, Mr. and Mrs. Asian Koel and Mr. and Mrs. Oriental Magpie Robin. For the season, as the trees are fruiting, Mr. and Mrs. Asian Pied Starling have built a nest on the mango tree. And confirmed too, the common tailorbird. These days a pair of the yellow-vented bulbuls also make their appearance.

So, my list is slowly building here in Thailand. My colleagues and I had a great time in Jedkod nature park in the province of Saraburi, just 2 hours away from Bangkok, during the New Year holidays. A couple of things to note about the place:
▪ Many people make camp out there - families, friends etc (though some looked like they just moved their kitchens from the town to the forest - its interesting how sophisticated cooking was accomplished for a night out in the forest:))
▪ It appears, based on a completely unscientific methodology, that the proportion of Bangkok households that own camping gear, is higher than those in Kuala Lumpur
▪ The semi-evergreen forest is much easier than the dense rainforest, to spot birds (naturally)

The first afternoon when we arrived, I went for a walk to get a sense of the forest. I heard a humdrum of activity but it was almost impossible to spot any of them. It was also because of the number of people walking up and down the path as it led to the waterfall (dry this season). Later in the day, the whole lot of us went for a short trek at the downstream of the waterfall, I wasn't too hopeful as it was a cloudy day and it was a popular walk, so there were lots of people around. The walk was nice, wouldn't have been that easy during the wet season as we had to cross the river a few times, possible when the water levels are so low. On the way out, voila! in action, was a chestnut headed bee-eater that had just caught itself a dragon fly. It was there long enough for me to share with my colleague, to show that I was not crazy:)

The next morning, I walked the same route - I was on a mission. Before we left for the trip, I told my colleagues that I wished to see the Black Baza, the Asian Paradise Flycatcher and the Sultan Tit - among the 260-over species of birds spotted around the Khao Jai nature reserve, of which Jedkod lies towards the south west.

So, when the Black Baza was the first one I spotted on my morning walk, I was ecstatic! Its beautiful, not intimidating and generous enough to let me have a view. I was encouraged. As I stood observing the Baza, I began to hear noises from the shrubs, something was obviously foraging for food on the forest floor. It was also very noisy. I didn't have enough information to tell whether it was a bird or a mammal, though I had read that there were pheasants as well. Anyway, it wasn't too long before I caught sight of the noise-makers - it turned out to be the white-crested laughing thrush! And what a show! Both sightings were less than 100m away from the campsite, and I spent my first 15 minutes without moving too far from the madding crowd:)

The forest was a cacophony of sounds at that hour, and it was frustrating for an untrained person to even guess what was out there. But I guess that's part of the learning process - excited at every ruffling of feather or chirping - only to learn that its the hill myna or that flycatcher you can never ID because its way too small and moves too fast.

I definitely heard the hornbills, but have no idea which ones they were. But good to note for myself. After about an hour and a half, as people started on the trek, I decided to head back, and that's when I saw the greater racket-tailed drongo! Hadn't expected that, even though we had seen the crow-billed drongos the evening before at the sunset point. The racket tail and the crown were unmistakable! I thought I had a good morning:)

After breakfast, I decided to go around the lake hoping to find a kingfisher or some other water birds. We had been entertained by the red wattled lapwigs by the lake, which appeared un-afraid of the people around the area. And it was also close to the campsite that I saw the lineated barbet - I first thought I had spotted a kingfisher but on closer look, I realised it was a barbet. Despite the noises close by, he remained on the tree for quite a while.

No kingfisher but I came across the black crested bulbul, in a group and putting up a very entertaining show by the water. This is where I also spotted the warbler, pruning itself, what a sight. And the grey wagtail amidst the playful bulbuls. Back at the site as we started packing up, I glanced up to the trees and saw the beautiful dollarbird and nearby were a few common ioras. It really didn't take much effort! A good place for amateurs like me to get used to identifying birds. For now, Jedkod is high on my list as a birdwatching place, easy to access, clean, good facilities, and plenty of birds willing to put up a show or two for the visitors, if we cared to watch them:)

So, mission was accomplished, I saw more than I expected - 20 out of the 262 on the list:) I'll get there someday, when I get less anxious about the tiny fellas. And part of the mission was to recruit new members, so now I have spread the word of, not God, but birds - to my new circle:)

Updated 28 January:
A new friendly neighbour: the Ashy Drongo - took a while to figure out, but I think this is the right one.

Back from the Danish summer, a new "machine"

Got a new machine for the house, well, for me: a cross trainer. Exactly the same as the one I have back in PJ. Felt that I needed to get myself a bit more work out:) Too much of sitting at the desk is not a good thing! Have officiated the machine that arrived yesterday, so need to have a bit of discipline to follow through, and not end up having the machine as a clothes hanger, as my colleague cheekily pointed out:)
So, I've just also got back from a week in Denmark, mainly to attend Kamma (my mother-in-law's) 80-years birthday party and of her partner's 90-year birthday. Amazing! They don't look their age and I'm glad that they are doing fine. I don't really know people who've lived as long and with a good quality of life as they both do. One can aspire to live like that:)
Not much thought processes happening, since I'm trying to focus back on work and also following more and more negative developments regarding press freedom, seems each government in the region is trying to outdo the other in being worse!
And my internet connection seems to have found its way back into my living room, albeit still extremely slow and unstable. But maybe I should take the opportunity to post more on the blog more regularly:)

Ciao!

Poem dedicated to Najib and his mafia

Clay - by Elia Abu Madi

(Translated by Mahmoud Abbas Masoud)

At one time, Mr. Clay forgot that he was no more than mud
So, he walked insolently, bragged and boasted.
Body covered with fine silk,
He glorified himself in a self-admiring manner,
Purse full, he became haughty and rebellious!

Brother, turn not your face away from me;
I am not a charcoal, nor are you a bright star.
You did not make the silk you are wearing,
Nor the jewels with which you adorn yourself.
You cannot eat gold when hungry,
Nor drink strung pearls when thirsty.

In your fine attire, you suffer and rejoice,
Just like me in my tattered clothes.
You entertain hopes during the day,
Have dreams and visions at night.
My heart, too, has sweet dreams,
Just like yours, for it is not made of stone

Are all my wishes made of dust,
While yours fashioned of pure gold?
Or are all my wishes doomed to vanish
While yours are destined for immortality?

Nay! My wishes and yours, alike, come and go,
Like any others, for nothing is everlasting.
You, who so bent on exhibiting self-esteem,
When struck by disease, don’t you complain and groan?
Don’t you sigh and moan?

When your sweetheart forsakes you,
Don’t you sorely miss her when remembering her?
Like me, you smile for favorable circumstances
And frown when visited by calamitous events.

Are my tears bitter like gall,
While yours are nectar-sweet?
Is my weeping a humiliation
While yours is victory?
Are my smiles waterless like a desert mirage,

While yours are shimmering jewels

One firmament spreads over both of us,
A scene that amazes and dazzles my sight,
While your eyes unmindful, lacking awareness of it.
One single moon gazes upon us,
As she gazes upon a shack and magnificent edifice.

If she seems bright to your eyes,
I do not see her dark from the crack of my shanty.
The same stars you see, I also behold,
When faint or gloriously ablaze.
With all your riches, you are no closer to them than me,
Nor am I any distant from them, despite my wretchedness

Like me, from dust you came, and to dust you shall return,
Why then so much pride and aloofness?
You were a child when I was a child,
You will grow old; I, too, will advance in age
And become toothless.

I neither know where I came from,
I possess no knowledge of my past
Nor do I know what the future holds for me.
If you do know, say it

Otherwise, why should you fancy yourself unique

You live in a stately palace, well-protected by armed guards

And fenced all-around with high walls,
Prevent, if you will, the night from spreading over it,
Stop the fog from thickly gathering above it.

Notice how the light enters freely
without ever asking for your permission!
So why should it be chased away?
One single resting place is your final lot,
Do you know how many lots and spots
Your decaying corpse will provide
For grazing worms and hungry maggots?

You have closed the doors of your palace in my face
When chased by storms and threatened by inclement weather,
Yet you made accommodations
And generously provided for your dogs and cats.
Thus, I heard life laughing at me for my begging
And mocking you for your miserly denial

You who have a charmingly beautiful garden,
With water, birds, flowers, and fragrant shrubs,
Rebuke then the wind for swaying, bending
And upsetting the trees in your garden.

And stop, if you can, the water in the pond,
Order it not to make swishing sounds
Unless in your presence, under your watchful eye.
When the bird sings on the tall tree,
It cares not, whether you or I
Listen to its melodies.
Flowers deride not my poverty,
Nor coax and flatter your riches.

Do you consider the river to be exclusively yours?

Nay! It is rather a pathway for the soft breeze
It is a source of water for the birds to drink.
It belongs to the luminaries
To bathe in its cool water, in the summer nights.

You assume it is yours,
Yet, does it meander and flow into the veins of trees
By your command?
It was here long before you came to this world,
It will still be here long after you have departed this life.
It will ever remain, alternating between ebb and flow

Do you think the meadow belongs to you?
Behold the bees unhesitatingly sip nectar from its flowers.
I see how the ants so laboriously built colonies in its soil!

According to their law and logic, you are an intruder,
A thief, who has usurped their rights, disturbed their harmony.
Even if you owned all the fields of the world,
You will never be happier than the butterfly of the field

Do you consider yourself beautiful?
Well, you are no lovelier, nor more generous
Than a rose, that exudes its fragrance.
Do you deem yourself mighty, with sword in your hand?
Then it is odd that a mosquito should extract nourishment
From your cheeks!
Do you think you are rich?

In vain would you enjoy your costly attire
Had it not been for the silkworm that made it possible for you
To revel in your fine apparel.

Do you think you are strong?
If so, command sleep not to overtake you;
Order the dark to turn away from your eyelids.

Ask gray hair not to approach and appear in your head,
Bid freshness to remain forever in your cheeks.
Do you think you are knowledgeable?

Then tell me where does imagination come from?
In which vale or valley is it born?

What is the Life that appears and disappears?
What is the Time that people praise and blame

O Clay! You are neither purer than, nor superior to
The dirt you walk on, which someday will enclose you.

No matter how sturdily built a palace you dwell in,
In time, it will surely be completely torn down.
It doesn't matter how finely sewn a robe you wear,
Someday it will be tattered and become ragged.

Let no hate and enmity enter your heart,
I have turned mine into a temple of love.
I am more deserving of your love
Than clothes that will wear out and rot
And money that will be spent or lost.

Yellow

This is the best I could get for changing the colour of the blog.

Nothing to do with royalty as some people may think or assume from previous and other "associations" - its the colour of the movement for free and fair elections in Malaysia. Now called the Bersih 2.0 - clean up the dirt of the current political regime and its stooges in the name of Election Commission and the police. More than 100 people have been arrested, and 6 now under the draconian Emergency Ordinance from the Socialist Party of Malaysia for trying to bring down the government in collaboration with foreign powers. Bullshit. But bringing down the BN - well, yes, because its corrupt, its abusive and it has no respect for human rights and human dignity.

Everyone who is taking up the yellow cause is a peace-loving Malaysian, wanting only the best for the nation. Ignore the propaganda by the government about the violence, no, reject it for it is they who are legitimising violence and abuse.

I cannot join my friends this July 9 but I take my hats off to them - and shoes - all yellow - that they persevere. They have seen the nasty insides of the lock ups and detentions once too often in the name of defending democratic and human rights. Truly the heart aches for the nation.

In 2007, days after the first Bersih march when we submitted a memorandum to Parliament, our DAP friend captured this and said it was the darkest day of Malaysian Parliament. One of the 7 arrested challenged it in court and won. Outside Parliament 29 were arrested. But those arrests don't come close to what has happened in the last week, only showing how much more authoritarian the state has become.

Getting down to starting the PhD

I think I've found the theme for my PhD research – and it has been a long search. Ironically, not surprisingly, I feel I've been drawn back to my undergraduate work to look at the media within the political economy context and the critical/cultural paradigms. I've just been reading a book that appealed to me because it addressed the issues I am interested in, and I thought: hmmm...I've seen that train of thought – ok, theoretical framework – somewhere. Blimey! I think I meant to use this framework way back in 1995 without realising it! So, someone (Professor Simon Cottle to be specific) has just inpired me to revisit the framework and I think this is it:)

What he talks about is mediatized culture – which basically refers to how the media do not simply report or represent diverse situations of conflict, but actively enact and perform them. It seems his work came out in the early 90s but somehow not to my library, I don't remember quoting him in my research. I'd like to think we kinda thought about the same thing around the same time:)

But I'm also looking forward to revisiting some of the good old folks - Peter Golding and gang - for the thesis.

Ok, what is this mediatized conflict all about? From wars to protests and racial killings, moral panic to environmental threats, the media not only present the information but they actually create them.

For my undergraduate thesis, I wrote on the Social Control in the Newsroom: An analysis of the 1995 general elections by the News Straits Times. In that research, I tried to show how political and ownership control filtered to the newsroom and why journalists did what they did in terms of the reporting. I tried to show the link by showing the ownership trend, reading the content and attempting to understanding behaviour of the journalists.

Why this topic?

Because unfortunately, racism will not go out of fashion, judging from the present developments. Take the most recent case of the 1Melayu 1Bumi being sold by the newspaper Utusan – by its editor Zaini Hassan. That the Chinese in Malaysia are ganging up to take over the country from the Malays. So the Malays need to stick together. Not just stick together but to fight for the rights of the “race”. What does that entail? Going to war? Taking the parangs and attacking all the Chinese? Denying them economic activities? Apartheid? And now the Chinese, formerly Communists, want to create a Christian state. Absurdity at its peak. But why do such ridiculous postulations get the kind of coverage it gets in the Malay media? At the same time, we know that the other vernacular media are also not doing justice to the situation. Ethnic interests and reporting tend to not only define the content but to set the agenda. That it is also widespread gives it a kind of timelessness, which is not something to be happy about.

Missing are questions about class relations, why journalists and editors do what they do – what are the latent meaning or values that the media represent?

I hope I can make a contribution to the discourse on media and identities.

Now down to working out the details in an academic format:)

Saying goodbye

I think today's the day that I say goodbye.

Its an unexplainable moment. Well, not really. Its explainable. Walking down the road, feeling light-hearted and resolving that I need to let him go. And I don't think its one of those moments that passes by just to be replaced by the same attachment. There was a feeling that its this point onwards that I actually move forward.

Its not easy, when clarity or the realisation comes. There's nothing tangible but its heavy nevertheless.

There comes a time, and maybe that time has come.

Farvel min kaereste!

Another book

I recently found this interesting book, a bit more difficult to read, but fulfilling nevertheless. The book, The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse, is by Louise Erdrich, an enrolled member of the Turtle Mountain Chippewa, Pembina Band.

It starts off with the confessions of a Father Damien Modeste to the Pope, through letters, of secrets and stories in the little town. Right from the opening chapter, the reader is told that Father Damien is actually a woman, whose circumstances in life led her to take on the cloth and become priest in the town of Little No Horse.

It is the story of Agnes deWitt of Wisconsin who became Sister Cecilia at a convent, and had to leave when she fell in love with Chopin on the piano (literally), and is led from one situation to another until a great flood leads her to the corpse of Father Damien whom she had met before and who was on his way to “save” the Ojibwe in a remote reservation. Her life takes on a turn when she takes on Damien's clothes and assumes the role of the priest in the reservation.

“Between the two, where was the real self? It came to her that both Sister Cecilia and then Agnes were as heavily manufactured of gesture and pose as was Father Damien. And within this, what sifting of identity was she? What mote? What nothing?....

“Father Damien was both a robber and a priest. For what is it to entertain a daily deception? Wasn't he robbing all who looked upon him? Stealing their trust? Shameful perhaps, but Agnes was surprised to find that the thought only gave her satisfaction. She felt no guilt, and so concluded that if God sent none she would not invent any. She decided to miss Agnes as she would a beloved sister, to make of Father Damien her creation. He would be loving, protective, remote, and immensely disciplined. He would be Agnes's twin, her masterwork, her brother.”

Did she deceive? She did. But people also saw what they wanted to see. We are filled with expectations when we meet people, that they are to us what we want them to be. Call it neurolingustic programming, or whatever, there was a role to be played, and she played it.

The past always comes back to haunt, but Agnes is able to fit in as Damien – for 80 years, she lives as the priest in Little No Horse and does wonders. At some point in her time as a priest, she is visited by another priest (Father Wekkle) who discovers her identity and they end up having a sexual affair. Years later, this priest is on the verge of death and comes to seek out Agnes. The thing that bothers her the most is the feeling that he patronizes her, even in his weak state, as though she is less of something because she is a woman.

“Had he patronized her way back then? Had she noticed? Or had he learned this? Did she patronize women too, now that she'd made herself so thoroughly into a priest?”

Would people change they way they behaved towards you if the information they had about you changed? Here is a box that is often used. Women. Less smart. Less intellectual. And there are many other boxes as well.

Through the chapters, the priest is caught in many dilemmas, which she obediently refers to the Pope, and doesn't get any responses. I guess she's relevant to the folks and that's the essence of it. What is really “service to the people” if not what is meaningful to the people? You can argue that sometimes people don't know what they need – an argument I would use to say that political education is important and needed because you need to exercise your choices wisely in politics – but I think with religion and spirituality, it takes on a different spin and I'm less tolerant to that.

The investigator from Vatican who comes to town to investigate the case of the miracle involving another member of the church concludes at the end that it is Father Damien who was the more saintly. Even where the characters knew her real identity, they kept it to themselves, and to some extent, protected it.

Maybe what was important was who she became and not who she was.

It was bit tough with the book to follow some of the characters, but I like the development of the story. You think that by revealing the identity of Damien in the first chapter that the mystery of the story is taken away, but no. The sub-plots are as interesting as the main story. Anyway, I like one of the lines in the end, where the character who has taken care of Damien (Marie Kashpaw), and ironically is the one who assists in his death, pulls out a crumpled paper where she had written one of Damien's sermons: “What is the whole of our existence but the sound of an appalling love?” Amazing.