Being Bob Geldof

I expect most of you know as much, more or less, about contemporary Cambodian history as I do. Back during the tragic days of the highly misguided US intervention in the Vietnamese civil war, its neighbour Cambodia was busy exploring the potential of its own form of Communism under the leadership of Saloth Sar (Pol Pot) fighting a covert civil war against Prince Sihanouk initially and then the US backed Lon Nol. The history of the rise to power of Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge reads more like a complicated game of chess than regular revolution. Along the way the country also  found itself on the receiving end of mass illegal US bombing designed to teach the “commies” the might of B52 bombers in the air.

The only profits of these and similar actions collaboratively between the US, Soviet Union and China fell directly into the bank accounts of munitions manufacturers who, thanks to the “arms length” character of their murderous trade, could never

 be brought to trial for war crimes. Nor, it would seem, could Batman or Robin, aka Nixon and Kissinger, despite their heartless determination to bomb the Vietnamese Communists and their supporters “back into the stone age”. They meant it. Can you imagine? So it was that the once neutral nation of Cambodia became embroiled in one of the messiest conflicts of the last century. No one would suggest that their internal leadership was blameless but, regardless, the character of the US government/Military action contributed significantly to the ensuing destabilisation of the order within the fragile power structure and opened the door for the insanity that came with Pol Pot and his, UN backed, Khmer Rouge’s socially genocidal form of communism. 

To add insult to injury the story of the wholesale planting of land mines and its consequences is one of the most tragic imaginable, especially when you get to meet so many of its living survivors in your travels.

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I am now on a Bangkok Airways flight from Phnom Penh to Bangkok sitting in seat 5D ( the Canon seat!) behind an equally tall guy who keeps flexing backwards and crushing my bones as I contemplate the very different scene I’ve just left that my daughter Daisy inhabits back in Battambang in Cambodia. She works tirelessly as the sponsorship co-ordinator for one of the many Non Government Organisations that are dedicated to bringing social advantage and justice  to neglected parts of the 3rd world. The Cambodian Childrens’ Trust is dedicated to helping the people, children and young adults, of this beautiful country recover and move forward positively from the trauma of more than two generations of conflict, civil war and neglect by the 1st world, with its only natural resources being their power of spirit, their resilience, intelligence and their smiles.

 Cambodia would be much smaller on the map of today’s world if it weren’t for the efforts of a small handful of leaders of these dedicated NGOs, notably, but far from exclusively: Sebastien Marot and Friends International; the US celebrity connection of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt and their Maddox Jolie-Pitt Foundation; and CCT set up by the irrepressibly feisty Tara Winkler, who conscripted Daisy out of a small cafe in Bondi Junction, Sydney, just over a year ago. The common thread of visionary NGOs now is in creating and nurturing an understanding of sustainable development, helping the people and the nation, wherever in the world, to grow and flourish on its own in the long term and assist in creating sustainable systems that avoid dependance on Aid. By nature this encourages not only a sense of responsibility but also a genuine sense of pride.

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What motivates these people? I can only really offer a guess at the answer to that, but to my mind it would begin with heartache; an overwhelming desire to appease personal heartache at coming face to face with severely disadvantaged children, primarily, in a nation that has been left adrift in a state of horrendous shell shock, wondering collectively what they did to deserve being abandoned without mothers, fathers, sisters or brothers. Most of us in the fortunate world are oblivious to how this must feel, to be orphaned by wars, to have our human potential discarded while we are left to drown, desperately gasping for nurture and hope. For us it is completely outside our scope of imagination. 

But this is real and the crimes of over forty years ago are still claiming victims. Many young adult Cambodians that I’ve met in the last twelve months of visiting Daisy are a genuine inspiration. They’re smart, wise, motivated  and spiritually beautiful while their stories are heartrending and speak volumes to the human capacity for survival. But alongside them are the young children who, thanks to these organisations, are given some of the nurture they crave through the tireless love and effort of compassionate fellow Cambodians and the international volunteers who believe in the power of collecting raindrops in the ocean.

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Further consideration might lead you to wonder how these types of organisations operate, how they manage, daily, to wheel out not just the love but the physical features of aid: food, housing, education and health support? They’re certainly not funded by governments, that’s what defines a Non Government Organisation and if the truth be known, cynically, many governments across the globe take advantage of them to abrogate certain of their crucial responsibilities to their own most disadvantaged people. But, that said ( and it’s a personal opinion based on a ‘gut feeling’ not data), many of those governments are almost certainly struggling to come to terms with their responsibilities and priorities as the political parents to their people. 

So NGOs survive on the generosity of individuals, sponsorships and occasionally on larger donations from individuals or corporate organisations who understand the value of nurturing a nation from the ground base of its people. But this is not a rich man’s sport. Sure there are sharks in the NGO pool and some give the concept of individual aid a bad name but they should never be allowed to blur our image of aid organisations. Please remember that my beautiful daughter is now a leading light in this world, working for just enough to eat cheaply and to keep a roof over her head with occasional running water. Her profit, along with that of her colleagues, is found in her heart and is derived from seeing results.

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I’m certain that a large proportion of you who have been bothered to read this far already give to the global charities, drop change at airports and have your own ways generally to appease constantly challenged consciences. It’s a tough road for all of us: who to say yes to, who to say “not today” to. On our own first world streets there’ s enough sadness already. But our world has not suffered the kinds of dreaded pain that has been inflicted on the people of countries like Cambodia. Our world has sustainable infrastructure that even the least fortunate can access with relative ease in most cases and generally without fear. 

My inspiration to write this is not just my daughter but all the people I’ve met over the years who give so generously of their lives to people often not even empowered to cry for help,  along with my belief that we all need to look carefully at  the height of our financial support bar for charitable organisations. Is it really high enough? Is there more we can do? Do we devote enough time to understanding the absolute inequality that is spread across this small globe of ours? Am I starting to sound like Bob Geldof? If only I was as informed, eloquent and proactive as he is.

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Thanks Daisy and all at CCT for being so inspirational. You rock; as do the people who inspire you all.

And your time starts now......

It’s a funny old thing, time. I’ve got a sneaky feeling that we’d all be a whole lot better off if it had never been conceived. I wouldn’t be concerned about how long it was taking me to write this blog to start with.

Last night I was getting undressed for my shower and I found that I was taking my shoes off with my feet as I was unbuttoning my trousers. As the nature of this craziness revealed itself I figured I was trying to save time. Let’s face it, that’s a concept we take into our lives at a very early age. But why for goodness sake? Time is what you make of it. It’s not the destination, it’s the journey etc

What have we done to time?

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I still remember sitting in the backseat of my grandfather’s Morris Minor as my grandmother asked him what the hurry was ( and he was probably only doing 40 mph ), that we’d get there “in good time” all the same. This was a woman who’d grown up walking the pigs to market.

The first time I flew to Australia it took me 36 hours to get there and six months to recover. Now I can do the return flight in four days if necessary while working almost as if I was still on the ground. It’s bizarre but, in so many ways now, really quite normal.

In the meantime, while pondering on what we’ve done to time, it might be worth talking about what time’s done to us. From where I sit it feels as if it’s trying to see how fast it can get us going before we all spontaneously burst into flame or spin off the face of this planetoid. Faster planes, trains, automobiles, computers, phones, email, text, FaceBook, Twitter are all testing our reaction speeds; a contract can be won or lost depending on the speed at which you respond and become ‘engaged’ in the spirit of a project. It’s pretty bloody scary and it takes a rare individual to step back and ask for some time out.  This style of behaviour has eaten into our leisure time. Almost without exception we take our phones everywhere and feel nervous without them. We’ve allowed ourselves to be ‘on call’ at any time. It’s mental.

Almost as mental as me talking about time as if it was a physical entity, the master of everything. Of course it’s not. That’s just how we’ve allowed time to become. 

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Can you imagine if they were to build the Sistine Chapel now and Michelangelo was offered the commission to paint the ceiling? If he came back to them and said it was going to take four years to paint, they’d just hang up the phone there and then. It just wouldn’t work. Who’s got that sort of time? For a painting?

I could go on til the end of time with examples of how chronically we’ve enslaved ourselves to this purely abstract concept. Ultimately it’s little more than an illusion, a creation of our need to measure and set standards. As a photographer I enjoy using this sense of illusion by introducing either a sense of narrative, or temporal motion, into images with extended open shutter, sometimes with the added element of in-camera stitching. It shows that time is nothing but life in motion. This could be seen to be in conflict with the photojournalist precept of capturing the moment or the ‘decisive moment’ as determined by Cartier-Bresson. In actuality there is still a decisive moment in every act of an artist but that’s for another time, not now.

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I guess my point is that from where I’m sitting it seems like we as a species are going down a path of imminent burn out at a pace determined by an ever shrinking concept of available time. We’ve all heard the expression ‘Time is Money’; ever thought “what the?” when someone has suggested “buying more time”? Time’s not for sale. Time isn’t a commodity. But we do love to personify Time, it seems so physical. Bowie, as Aladdin Sane, turned time into a faded vaudeville star: “Time, he’s waiting in the wings, he speaks of senseless things, his script is you and me boy”

Somehow we’ve all got to learn to chill out a bit more. Start a chain of response to those behind you calling for Faster Faster that says Chill A Bit Chill A Bit.

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I'm a blue sky kind of guy

Despite the many hazards and pitfalls of life in the 21st century one of our most powerful tools as human beings is still our potential for optimism.

So, let’s start with the big statement: Life is great. 

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For the past few years now I’ve led a semi nomadic life. Work, primarily, keeps me on the move. It seems enviable to many and in the greater scheme of things I am a lucky guy, for sure. It’s really not that glamorous but why bother pointing to the jet lag, living out of a suitcase, the freelance, hand-to-mouth, often nail biting nature of my work or the weeks separated from my loved ones and the loneliness that is packed in my luggage, ( oh, I just did!  I had to... ) because on the other side of that picture is the ever changing scenery and the many opportunities to meet new people, enjoy their company and learn from them. Yup, I’m lucky.

It’s Hemingway who’s credited with coining the expression “you make your own luck”  and I believe it, as I also believe, in essence, what followed: “and you know what makes a good loser? Practice.” Despite some definitely dodgy moments and bad decisions along the way I’ve done my best to avoid taking the second route. Of course all our lives are different and only if you lived in a box would you be stupid enough not to see that the kind of luck I’m talking about doesn’t come from the supermarket and for many others it’s a whole lot harder to find the materials let alone the tools for making their own luck.

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In my case, my mother was a great leveler. Born between two world wars and starting life as a mother in a pre-consumerist age she made sure I was appreciative of how lucky I was. Not in a bad or a hard way; just so I never got smug and grew up grounded. She continues to be an inspiration at 90. A couple of months ago she had a fall at home (recently widowed and living alone) and has since lost not only the sight in one eye but also her independence by having to move to a care home. Despite the course of her life in recent times she’s still a supreme optimist, with a beautiful laugh and smile, determined to enjoy every minute as much as her circumstances allow. She would still say she was lucky, if asked.

The fatalistic catch cry of Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse 5 is “So it goes”. I'm only pondering on it because it’s the flip side of Hemingway’s assertion.  It's like that "It was meant to happen" schtick. Convenient post rationalisation. I wonder: is it possible to be an optimistic fatalist? Maybe like a star sign, Optimist with Fatalist rising? After all life is full of uncertainties. Personally I’d say I’m more an Optimist on the cusp of Idealist. Ultimately we’ve got to go with what fits us. Blind optimists, Willy Loman style, optimism at the expense of reason, are probably missing the point. To me it’s more about hope vs hopeless. See Optimism as a force not as a smoke screen. Treat a problem as a positive challenge that can be learnt from, resolved and potentially turned to advantage. It’s fun. Practice. 

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In the Radiohead song 'Optimistic' Tom Yorke sings: “Try the best you can, the best you can is good enough.” Makes sense. So, don’t let the bastards get you down. Life is great.