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John Pilger: Britain, America and the war on democracy

From the Chagos Islands to Pakistan, innocent civilians are pawns to America, backed by Britain. In our compliant political culture, this deadly game seldom speaks its name.

Lisette Talate died the other day. I remember a wiry, fiercely intelligent woman who masked her grief with a determination that was a presence. She was the embodiment of people's resistance to the war on democracy. I first glimpsed her in a 1950s Colonial Office film about the Chagos Islanders, a tiny creole nation living midway between Africa and Asia in the Indian Ocean. The camera panned across thriving villages, a church, a school, a hospital, set in phenomenal natural beauty and peace. Lisette remembers the producer saying to her and her teenage friends, "Keep smiling, girls!"

Sitting in her kitchen in Mauritius many years later, she said: "I didn't have to be told to smile. I was a happy child, because my roots were deep in the islands, my paradise. My great-grandmother was born there; I made six children there. That's why they couldn't legally throw us out of our own homes; they had to terrify us into leaving or force us out. At first, they tried to starve us. The food ships stopped arriving, [then] they spread rumours we would be bombed, then they turned on our dogs."

In the early 1960s, the Labour government of Harold Wilson secretly agreed to a demand from Washington that the Chagos archipelago, a British colony, be "swept" and "sanitised" of its 2,500 inhabitants so that a military base could be built on the principal island, Diego Garcia. "They knew we were inseparable from our pets," said Lisette. "When the American soldiers arrived to build the base, they backed their big trucks against the brick shed where we prepared the coconuts; hundreds of our dogs had been rounded up and imprisoned there. Then they gassed them through tubes from the trucks' exhausts. You could hear them crying."

Lisette, her family and hundreds of the other islanders were forced on to a rusting steamer bound for Mauritius, a journey of a thousand miles. They were made to sleep in the hold on a cargo of fertiliser - bird shit. The weather was rough; everyone was ill; two of the women on board miscarried.

Dumped on the docks at Port Louis, Lisette's youngest children, Jollice and Regis, died within a week of each other. "They died of sadness," she said. "They had heard all the talk and seen the horror of what had happened to the dogs. They knew they were leaving their home for ever. The doctor in Mauritius said he could not treat sadness."

This act of mass kidnapping was carried out in high secrecy. In one official file, under the heading "Maintaining the Fiction", the Foreign Office legal adviser exhorts his colleagues to cover their actions by "reclassifying" the population as "floating" and to "make up the rules as we go along". Article 7 of the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court says the "deportation or forcible transfer of population" is a crime against humanity. That Britain had committed such a crime - in exchange for a $14m discount off a US Polaris nuclear submarine - was not on the agenda of a group of British "defence" correspondents flown to the Chagos by the Ministry of Defence when the US base was completed. "There is nothing in our files," said the MoD, "about inhabitants or an evacuation."

Today, Diego Garcia is crucial to America's and Britain's war on democracy. The heaviest bombing of Iraq and Afghanistan was launched from its vast airstrips, beyond which the islanders' abandoned cemetery and church stand like archaeological ruins. The terraced garden where Lisette laughed for the camera is now a fortress housing the "bunker-busting" bombs carried by bat-shaped B-2 aircraft to targets on two continents; an attack on Iran will start here. As if to complete the emblem of rampant, criminal power, the CIA added a Guantanamo-style prison for its "rendition" victims and called it Camp Justice.

Wipe-out

What was done to Lisette's paradise has an urgent and universal meaning, for it represents the violent, ruthless nature of a whole political culture behind its democratic façade, and the scale of our own indoctrination in its messianic assumptions, described by Harold Pinter as a "brilliant, even witty, highly successful act of hypnosis". Longer and bloodier than any other war since 1945, waged with demonic weapons and a gangsterism dressed as economic policy and sometimes known as globalisation, the war on democracy is unmentionable in western elite circles. As Pinter wrote, "It never happened . . . Even while it was happening it wasn't happening." Last July, the American historian William Blum published his updated "summary of the charming record of US foreign policy". Since the Second World War, the United States has:

1) Attempted to overthrow more than 50 governments, most of them democratically elected.
2) Attempted to suppress a populist or national movement in 20 countries.
3) Grossly interfered in democratic elections in at least 30 countries.
4) Dropped bombs on the people of more than 30 countries.
5) Attempted to assassinate more than 50 foreign leaders.

In total, the United States has carried out one or more of these actions in 69 countries. In almost all cases, Britain has been a collaborator. The "enemy" changes in name - from communism to Islamism - but mostly it is the rise of democracy independent of western power, or a society occupying strategically useful territory and deemed expendable, like the Chagos Islands.

The sheer scale of suffering, let alone criminality, is little known in the west, despite the presence of the world's most advanced communications, nominally freest journalism and most admired academy. That the most numerous victims of terrorism - western terrorism - are Muslims is unsayable, if it is known. That half a million Iraqi infants died in the 1990s as a result of the embargo imposed by Britain and America is of no interest. That extreme jihadism, which led to the 11 September 2001 attacks, was nurtured as a weapon of western policy (in "Operation Cyclone") is known to specialists, but otherwise suppressed.

While popular culture in Britain and America immerses the Second World War in an ethical bath for the victors, the holocausts arising from Anglo-American dominance of resource-rich regions are consigned to oblivion. Under the Indonesian tyrant Suharto, anointed "our man" by Margaret Thatcher, more than a million people were slaughtered in what the CIA described as "the worst mass murder of the second half of the 20th century". This estimate does not include the third of the population of East Timor who were starved or murdered with western connivance, British fighter-bombers and machine-guns.

These true stories are told in declassified files in the Public Record Office, yet represent an entire dimension of politics and the exercise of power excluded from public consideration. This has been achieved by a regime of uncoercive information control, from the evangelical mantra of advertising to soundbites on BBC news and now the ephemera of social media.

It is as if writers as watchdogs are extinct, or in thrall to a sociopathic zeitgeist, convinced they are too clever to be duped. Witness the stampede of sycophants eager to deify Christopher Hitchens, a war lover who longed to be allowed to justify the crimes of rapacious power. "For almost the first time in two centuries," wrote Terry Eagleton, "there is no eminent British poet, playwright or novelist prepared to question the foundations of the western way of life." No Orwell warns that we do not need to live in a totalitarian society to be corrupted by totalitarianism. No Shelley speaks for the poor, no Blake proffers a vision, no Wilde reminds us that "disobedience, in the eyes of anyone who has read history, is man's original virtue". And grievously no Pinter rages at the war machine, as in "American Football":

Hallelujah.
Praise the Lord for all good things . . .
We blew their balls into shards of dust,
Into shards of fucking dust . . .

Into shards of fucking dust go all the lives blown there by Barack Obama, the Hopey Changey of western violence. Whenever one of Obama's drones wipes out an entire family in a faraway tribal region of Pakistan, or Somalia, or Yemen, the American controllers sitting in front of their computer-game screens type in "Bugsplat". Obama likes drones and has joked about them with journalists. One of his first actions as president was to order a wave of Pre­dator drone attacks on Pakistan that killed 74 people. He has since killed thousands, mostly civilians; drones fire Hellfire missiles that suck the air out of the lungs of children and leave body parts festooned across scrubland.

Remember the tear-stained headlines as Brand Obama was elected: "Momentous, spine-tingling" (the Guardian). "The American future," Simon Schama wrote, "is all vision, numinous, unformed, light-headed with anticipation." The San Francisco Chronicle saw a spiritual "Lightworker . . . who can . . . usher in a new way of being on the planet". Beyond the drivel, as the great whistleblower Daniel Ellsberg had predicted, a military coup was taking place in Washington, and Obama was their man. Having seduced the anti-war movement into virtual silence, he has given America's corrupt military officer class unprecedented powers of state and engagement. These include the prospect of wars in Africa and opportunities for provocations against China, America's largest creditor and the new "enemy" in Asia. Under Obama, the old source of official paranoia, Russia, has been encircled with ballistic missiles and the Russian opposition infiltrated. Military and CIA assassination teams have been assigned to 120 countries; long-planned attacks on Syria and Iran beckon a world war. Israel, the exemplar of US violence and lawlessness by proxy, has just received its annual pocket money of $3bn together with Obama's permission to steal more Palestinian land.

Surveillance state

Obama's most "historic" achievement is to bring the war on democracy home to America. On New Year's Eve, he signed the National Defence Authorisation Act, a law that grants the Pentagon the legal right to kidnap both foreigners and US citizens secretly and indefinitely detain, interrogate and torture, or even kill them. They need only "associate" with those "belligerent" to the US. There will be no protection of law, no trial, no legal representation. This is the first explicit legislation to abolish habeas corpus (the right to due process of law) and, in effect, repeal the Bill of Rights of 1789.

On 5 January, in an extraordinary speech at the Pentagon, Obama said the military would not only be ready to "secure territory and populations" overseas but to fight in the "homeland" and "support [the] civil authorities". In other words, US troops are to be deployed on the streets of American cities when the inev­itable civil unrest takes hold.

America is now a land of epidemic poverty and barbaric prisons - the consequence of a "market" extremism that, under Obama, has prompted the transfer of $14trn in public money to criminal enterprises in Wall Street. The victims are mostly young, jobless, homeless, incarcerated African Americans, betrayed by the first black president. The historic corollary of a perpetual war state, this is not fascism, not yet, but neither is it democracy in any recognisable form, regardless of the placebo politics that will consume the news until November. The presidential campaign, says the Washington Post, will feature "a clash of phil­osophies rooted in distinctly different views of the economy". This is patently false. The circumscribed task of journalism on both sides of the Atlantic is to create the pretence of political choice where there is none.

The same shadow is across Britain and much of Europe, where social democracy, an article of faith two generations ago, has fallen to the central bank dictators. In David Cameron's "big society", the theft of £84bn in jobs and services exceeds even the amount of tax "legally" avoided by piratical corporations. Blame rests not with the far right, but with a cowardly liberal political culture that has allowed this to happen and which, as Hywel Williams wrote following the 9/11 attacks, "can itself be a form of self-righteous fanaticism". Tony Blair is one such fanatic. In its managerial indifference to the freedoms that it claimed to hold dear, bourgeois Blairite Britain created a surveillance state with 3,000 new criminal offences and laws: more than for the whole of the previous century. The police clearly believe they have an impunity to kill. At the demand of the CIA, cases like that of Binyam Mohamed, an innocent British resident tortured and then held for five years in Guantanamo Bay, will be dealt with in secret courts in Britain in order to "protect the intelligence agencies" - the torturers.

This invisible state allowed the Blair government to fight the Chagos Islanders as they rose from their despair in exile and demanded justice in the streets of Port Louis and London. "Only when you take direct action, face to face, even break laws, are you ever noticed," Lisette said. "And the smaller you are, the greater your example to others." Such is the eloquent answer to those who still ask, "What can I do?"

I last saw Lisette's tiny figure standing in driving rain next to her comrades outside the Houses of Parliament. What struck me was the enduring courage of their resistance. It is this refusal to give up that rotten power fears, above all, knowing it is the seed beneath the snow.

John Pilger, renowned investigative journalist and documentary film-maker, is one of only two to have twice won British journalism's top award; his documentaries have won academy awards in both the UK and the US. In a New Statesman survey of the 50 heroes of our time, Pilger came fourth behind Aung San Suu Kyi and Nelson Mandela. "John Pilger," wrote Harold Pinter, "unearths, with steely attention facts, the filthy truth. I salute him."

This article first appeared in the 23 January 2012 issue of the New Statesman, Has the Arab Spring been hijacked?

Picture: MILES COLE
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Ruth Davidson: “Brexit could deliver a hit we can’t recover from”

The Scottish Tory leader has revitalised the party north of the border. Is she now destined to occupy the hottest seat of all?

Ruth Davidson has had a good summer. At the age of 38, she has finally bought her first house. It’s a two-bedroom mid-terrace in an Edinburgh suburb that she will share with her Irish fiancée, Jen, and their cocker spaniel, a failed gun dog called Wilson (“It’s just as well he’s handsome because, by God, he’s stupid,” she tells me). The hyperactive leader of the Scottish Conservatives is eager to put down roots. “I’ve always moved for work,” she says. “I worked out that since I left home to go to uni at 17, I’d had more than 20 flats. This is the first time I’ve had a home. It’s nice.”

On 29 August, her opposite number in the Labour Party, the well-liked Kezia Dugdale, resigned. Her replacement is likely to drag the Scottish party in a more Corbynite direction on issues such as nationalisation, taxation and public spending. This will put pressure on the SNP – now the party of choice for many disaffected Labour lefties – to do the same. That would leave space in the centre ground that Davidson’s Tories will be more than happy to fill.

“If I’m perfectly honest, I am by nature a centrist,” she says. “I’m fairly hard-core on some justice and fiscal policies. I’m a proper Tory there. But in terms of social policy and things like that, I’m absolutely a centrist. But it’s because I think it’s right. It brings people with you and, if you’re looking towards [forming a] government in a way that as a party in Scotland, five to ten years ago, we could never have conceived, it’s about bringing people with you and making the arguments for being bold and radical.”

This sounds familiar. Is the great young hope of British Conservatism a much more youthful, female version of Tony Blair? That won’t go down well in the Shires or the leader columns of the Daily Mail. “No! I didn’t go to Fettes, I don’t own… rental properties around the world, I don’t holiday with pop stars, so I don’t consider myself to be a Tory Tony Blair. There’s some things I think he did very well. I think in terms of foreign policy, his idea of humanitarian interventionism that he used in Sierra Leone and in Kosovo was bang on. It was the right thing to do and it saved lives. However, I’m probably the only Tory leader who has been on one protest march in their life and that was against the Iraq War in 2003, so there are things I don’t agree with him on. Actually, I joined the Territorial Army about a month later because I wanted to serve in some way – though not in Iraq.”

Ruth Elizabeth Davidson grew up in a Presbyterian family in Selkirk, where her father worked in a wool mill and she attended a comprehensive school. After a career in broadcast journalism, she entered politics and became leader of the Scottish Tories in 2011; she has since revitalised the party in one of the great contemporary political feats. With Davidson at the helm, a party that was wiped out in the 1997 election (it won none of Scotland’s 72 Westminster seats) and that had shown only a flicker of life since then has supplanted Labour as the official opposition at Holyrood. In June’s general election, the Tories won 13 seats (out of 59) in Scotland, an increase of 12. Between the 2015 and 2017 general elections, the Scottish Tories put on more than 320,000 votes; in the May local elections, they more than doubled their share of Scottish council seats to 276.

There is a good chance that in 2021, when the next Holyrood elections are held, Davidson will find herself leading Scotland’s largest party and becoming first minister. Already she regularly attends Theresa May’s political cabinet in London and is spoken of at Westminster as a future prime minister – some would parachute her into No 10 tomorrow if they could. Members of her small back-room team say that they are besieged by media interview requests and invitations from around the world. Everyone wants a piece of Ruth Davidson’s magic.

***

When we meet in her small office on the Conservative floor of the Scottish Parliament, I sense the low hum of military-style planning, even though Holyrood is still in recess. After ten days in Ireland, Davidson is rested and recharged. “I think along with almost every other person involved in politics [or] journalism about politics, and the voters, I went into the summer absolutely knackered. But I’m ready to go again. We’ve had a really good 18 months. We’ve had three elections where we’ve come from third to second each time, we’ve more than doubled our number of MSPs, more than doubled our number of councillors. We’ve gone 13 times our number of MPs, though that maybe talks more about the base level than anything else…”

It’s certainly true that the old joke about there being more giant pandas in Scotland (there are two) than Tory MPs (there was one) has run its course. “The pandas are going to have to do a lot of listening to Barry White music to catch up with us now.”

Yet Davidson is far from satisfied. “I don’t want this to have been a peak. This is a platform for us to build on. In the five-and-a-half years I’ve been leader, between referendums and elections, I’ve fought eight national campaigns. Scotland is tired of politicians shouting at each other with no end product, and we need to use this period – which is the first we’ve had in years with no imminent election – to reduce the temperature in Scotland and in the political discourse. We need to use it to do some of the heavy intellectual lifting that’s not been done in this place [Holyrood]. We need to start asking questions about long-term solutions in important policy areas.”

The 20th anniversary of the referendum that licensed Tony Blair’s creation of the Scottish Parliament falls on 11 September and is inevitably inspiring some reflection and soul-searching north of the border. Not many would claim that the institution’s first two decades have been a shining example of policy innovation and political daring. “Are we as a country more dynamic, braver, more advanced, better educated, with better health than 20 years ago? I’m not so sure,” says Davidson. “Honestly, I think it’s been timid. I think devolution was designed to be more ambitious than what previously existed, and I’m not sure that ambition has been realised within this building at Holyrood.”

If given the opportunity, she wants to make good on the parliament’s potential. She accuses her SNP rivals of big talk but little action: “They’ve been very good at saying whatever issue of the week they’re getting hammered on is their top priority and that they’re going to have a commission, or there’s going to be a review. At some point, you actually have to start making tough decisions.”

The day after our interview, Davidson unveiled proposals for a series of new towns in Scotland and for 25,000 homes to be built annually. On education, she wants to encourage innovation by giving head teachers autonomy over budgets. She aspires to boost the status of the teaching profession, allow high- and low-performing schools in the same localities to “buddy up”, and encourage different types of school to open, including technical and state-funded schools that opt out of local authority control.

Davidson wants to introduce Teach First, which fast-tracks high-performing graduates into the teaching profession, to Scotland. “We used to pride ourselves at being the best in the world at education. Well, let’s have a bit of humility and let’s look at what’s happening in the world that’s better than what we’re doing.

“I understand that the SNP were trying to keep a broad collective together because they were working towards the goal of independence, but it’s not good enough that an entire generation’s life chances have been thwarted because you’ve been afraid to take on the teaching unions, or you’ve been afraid to make the changes that perhaps parents wouldn’t understand and you’d have to explain to them.”

Measures to tie the NHS and social care together will receive proper attention in the next few years, she says, as will the economy. “Part of centrism is about understanding the need for private industry, private enterprise, free trade, the idea that you can lift all boats. Inequality in the UK is at its lowest level for 36 years, but it doesn’t feel like that to people out there. They see these millionaire footballers or Russian oligarchs in London with their gold-plated Bentleys while they’re struggling and that disconnect is really tough.”

The ambition is clear, although the dissimulation and cant of the conventional political interview are replaced by a refreshing frankness. “We’re getting ready to change from a strong opposition to looking like an alternative government of Scotland,” she says. “We don’t look like that now. We know that. We’ve got a lot of work to do, but we’re up for it. I have to make sure I’ve got the team, the vision, the policies, the ideas, and that we’ve got the tone right – the civility that we can bring back into politics in Scotland, because it’s been at fever pitch for a really long time.”

She continues: “We have people who are serious, thoughtful, who probably ten years ago wouldn’t have changed career to do politics. But this big, cataclysmic referendum [in 2014] happened where people said, ‘The Scotland I want is worth fighting for.’ Whether you were for Yes or No, it dominated so much that a lot of people who would have just sat on the sofa and shouted at Question Time decided to get off their backsides and do something about it.”

In Scotland’s predominantly leftist political culture, there are those for whom a Tory – centrist or otherwise – can never be anything more than a stone-hearted friend of the moneyed elites. Davidson’s electoral success and personal popularity are all the more luminous when contrasted with the miscalculations and missteps that have gored the reputations of several senior London colleagues, including the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary.

Davidson says she isn’t worried about cross-contamination, but an indication of how Westminster decisions can trip her up came earlier this year when the UK government announced plans to restrict child tax credits to the first two children. An exemption was announced for women whose third child was a result of rape, but campaigners were furious that victims would be expected to prove their circumstances to the DWP.

Davidson defended the so-called “rape clause” and found herself in a difficult spot. “It was said I looked uncomfortable talking about it – well, yes. But do I want to make sure people who have had children in the very worst circumstances have the financial support that they need? Yes, I do. Nobody was putting forward a better way of doing this.”

Were her opponents in Scotland using the issue to tarnish her reputation? “Look, I’m not going to say that. But it’s interesting that even Jeremy Corbyn didn’t think it was an issue on the campaign trail.”

***

Davidson was a staunch Remainer. She aggressively debated Tory Leaver colleagues during the referendum campaign – most notably roughing up Boris Johnson, for whom she has little time, at a debate at Wembley Arena in London. She accepts that Brexit “is going to happen. You’ve got no major political party likely to be in government advocating that it doesn’t happen and no electoral event that would give them the mandate to stop it before it happens.”

Yet she is far from uncritical of the government’s performance. Of the fraught beginning to the Brexit negotiations, she says, “I think one of the things the UK government didn’t do that they should have done was pitch-roll this: remind the British public that when it comes to European negotiations – and we’ve had several decades of them – we are told no until five past midnight and then suddenly a deal gets done in the wee small hours of the morning. I don’t think the country was prepared for this period that we’re currently in. People in a room talking and then walking out and up to a bank of microphones and saying entirely different things while standing next to each other is part of what negotiation is. I think the UK government has not just an obligation but a duty to negotiate as hard as they can on behalf of the country.”

What is her biggest concern about the impact of Brexit? She pauses. “Interesting question… My real fear is that if there’s a short-term economic hit, we don’t bounce back from it.”

Would she like a prolonged transition period during which Britain maintains access to the single market? “I’m for free trade and want to make sure that people from Scotland and the UK have access to – and the greatest ability to operate within – the single market, which I believe are the exact words the Prime Minister used in her Lancaster House speech back in January. The mechanism for how we get to that I’m less aerated about, as long as that’s where we get to.”

We have reached, at last, a mention of the invisible Prime Minister, in office but not in power, counting down the days until her colleagues decide to free her from the burden of empty leadership. I say that it’s brave of Theresa May to get on with the job each day. It can’t be fun. “She’s absolutely straight down the line,” Davidson says. “She’s not a game player. And the kind of clichés that you hear about her, about her believing in service and public duty, are absolutely true. Everything that she said about being there for the long haul, as long as the party and the country want her – she will get up and she will put in a shift.”

Could Davidson end up occupying that hottest of seats? David Cameron once told me that he “never put a limit on her abilities and ambitions. She has got what it takes in politics. She’s got oomph, she’s got spirit, she’s got brains.”

One friend who has watched her astonishing progress concedes that even Davidson has been surprised by her success. “She has had to get her head around how good she is and how much potential she has – that she can play on the biggest of stages. Each time we think she’s reached a plateau, she climbs the next one. I genuinely think she could do just about anything she wants to, and maybe she’s starting to believe that.”

For Ruth Davidson, the next plateau is in sight. “When 2021 comes around, people will be looking for a first minister, and the option they’re going to have is Nicola Sturgeon again or me,” she says. It’s a remarkable statement, given recent history, to come from the lips of a Scottish Tory leader – but she means it, and we should take her seriously.

Chris Deerin is the New Statesman's contributing editor (Scotland). 

This article first appeared in the 23 January 2012 issue of the New Statesman, Has the Arab Spring been hijacked?