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Peru's bribery scandal

A bribery scandal and escalating inequality has rocked Peruvian hopes for a new political era argues

Alan García, Peru’s President, is facing one of the most difficult moments of his long political career.

Last week, reports two senior members of his government and political party (APRA) had accepted bribes to award oil drilling concessions were made public; his cabinet has resigned; and the Lima Stock Exchange has plummeted as a result of the global economic crisis and national political uncertainty.

The recording of the conversation between the two has enjoyed a tour on radio shows and television programmes on a scale that has not been seen since the release of the first vladi-video in 2000.

That showed Vladimiro Montesinos - adviser to now ex-president Fujimori’s - bribing a congressman.

How ironic that García’s worst blow on his presidency mimics the fall of his former political enemy.

But the irony does not end here. García won a second presidential term despite being responsible for a government that brought the country to its knees in the late 1980s.

He must have thought that a government of managed inflation, peace and international integration would revise his place in history.

Indeed, his second government has experienced nothing but constant economic growth. Poverty levels have dropped since he came to power. Peru signed a highly publicised Free Trade Agreement (FTA) with the United States; it has maintained a stable development process amidst political chaos in the Andean region -in Bolivia, Venezuela and Ecuador; and has celebrated the achievement of investment grade rating earlier this year (before the financial crisis reached its current dramatic state).

All along, however, Mr. García has been a highly unpopular President – with approval ratings hovering around 20 per cent (and now standing at 19 per cent). The very same sources of his pride fuelled the opposition to his government: his support for a FTA that grates with popular movements; highly unequal growth; his unwillingness to explore alternative and more inclusive development models; and his cosiness with the corporate sector.

García’s predecessor, Alejandro Toledo, received the same treatment: unpopular despite economic growth.

But where Toledo faced disapproval largely based on racism, García’s unpopularity is entirely based on policies.

Corruption has changed the rules of the game for García. It is now also about the values that he represents. Association with him and his party, despite the economy, is becoming a liability for anyone with a reputation to protect.

García’s cabinet members have resigned and opposition is mounting. He is finding Peruvians had, after all, not entirely forgotten about his first government.

Across the board, what he is portraying as an isolated act of corruption, has been interpreted as the return to the mafia that ruled the country in the late 1980s when corruption was endemic; and that he had promised to keep at bay.

Few are willing to give his party another chance. García will have to be swift and Machiavellian in his next steps. Fortunately for him this is his second nature.

This crisis comes at a time when, ironically, the Peruvian government was showing signs of taking inequality seriously.

Specifically, the ministry of trade has been actively engaging with local researchers on how to implement the FTA in ways that would benefit the most exploited and vulnerable.

The Economic and Social Research Council (CIES) in Peru, supported by the Overseas Development Institute (ODI) in the UK, have been working closely with various policy actors on this issue.

And at the regional level, CIES has been working to more effectively improve policies by embedding evidence-based policy-making processes. In general, even the private sector is showing clear signs of concern regarding the increasing levels of inequality across the county.

With an optimistic mind, I see this as a sign of maturity. For the first time in ages, the source of unpopularity to a political leader in Peru is legitimate: it is based on disagreements over policies, and not politics; and on a newly-found zero tolerance for corruption.

If García is as good a politician as he is thought to be, he will address these issues openly and humbly.

He will recognise that the country is experiencing the beginnings of an eagerly awaited institutional change.

The appointment of Yehude Simons, president of the Lambayeque region in the northern coast and well known for his links to social movement and human rights organisations, has already been seen by political analysts as a move in the right direction.

If the new cabinet reflects a serious commitment to addressing raising inequality and corruption, he might very well survive and deliver us into the third consecutive democratically elected government in a decade. If he doesn’t, we will have missed yet another chance to grow up.

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An English hero for the ages: Ian Botham at 60

Botham blends his sportsmanship and deep-seated passion for cricket with a lust for life.

Begging W H Auden’s pardon, it is possible both to honour and to value the vertical man, and in the case of Ian Botham, who turned 60 on 24 November, it is our bounden duty. No sportsman has given Britons so much to enjoy in the past half-century and no sportsman is loved more. Two decades after he retired from first-class cricket, his reputation as one of life’s champions remains unassailable.

No mere cricketer is he, either. Botham is a philanthropist, having raised more than £12m for various charities, notably Leukaemia and Lymphoma Research. In December, 30 years after his first walk from John o’Groats to Land’s End, he will set off again, in South Africa, where England are on tour. And he really does walk, too, not amble. As somebody who accompanied him on one of his dozen walks said: “You can’t keep up with him. The man is a phenomenon.”

Of all postwar sportsmen, only Bobby Charlton and, at a pinch, Henry Cooper come close to matching Botham’s enduring popularity. But Charlton, a shy man who was scarred by the Munich plane crash of 1958 (and may never have recovered from its emotional effects), has never comfortably occupied a public stage; and Cooper, being a boxer, had a solitary role. Botham, by contrast, spoke for England. Whenever he picked up his bat, or had a ball in his hand, he left spectators in no doubt.

Others have also spoken for England. Bobby Moore and Martin Johnson, captains respectively of England’s World Cup-winning football and rugby teams, were great players but did not reach out to people as naturally as Botham. Nick Faldo, Lester Piggott, Sebastian Coe and, to bring us up to date, Lewis Hamilton have beaten the best in the world, but they lacked those qualities that Botham displayed so freely. That is not to mark them down. They were, and are, champions. But Botham was born under a different star.

It was John Arlott, the great cricket commentator, who first spotted his uniqueness. Covering a match at Taunton in 1974, he asked the young colt to carry his bags up the rickety staircase to the press box, where Arlott, wearing his oenophile’s hat, pulled out a bottle of red wine and invited Botham to drink. Forty years later Botham is a discriminating wine drinker – and maker. Along with his friend and fellow England great Bob Willis, and their Australian wine­making pal Geoff Merrill, he has put his name to a notable Shiraz, “BMW”.

Arlott, with his nose for talent and good company, saw something in the young Botham that Brian Close, his captain at Somerset, was beginning to bring out. Later, Mike Brearley, as England captain, drew out something even more remarkable. As Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote, you’ve got to be carefully taught. And Botham, a fine team man as well as a supreme individual performer, has never withheld praise from those who enabled him to find his voice.

If sport reveals character, then cricket is the game that reveals it most clearly. In no other sport is the individual performance rooted so firmly in a team context. Every over brings a contest of skill and intelligence between batsman and bowler but only a team can win the match. “A cricketer,” as Arlott said, “is showing you something of himself all the time.”

Cricket also reveals national character more than any other sport. Football may be the most popular game in the world but cricket, and cricketers, tell us far more about England and Englishness. It is instructive, in this regard, to hear what Philippe Auclair, a French journalist and author long resident in London, has to say about Botham: “He is essentially an 18th-century Englishman.” In one! It’s not difficult to sense a kinship with Tom Jones, Fielding’s embodiment of 18th-century life, who began his journey, as readers may recall, in Somerset.

A country boy who played for Worcestershire after leaving Somerset, and who lives by choice in North Yorkshire, Botham is an old-fashioned Englishman. Although nobody has yet found him listening to the parson’s sermon, he is conservative with a small and upper-case C, a robust monarchist, handy with rod and gun, and happiest with a beaker in front of him. He represents (though he would never claim to be a representative) all those people who understand instinctively what England means, not in a narrow way, but through something that is in the blood.

Above all, he will be remembered for ever as the hero of 1981. Even now it takes some believing that Botham bowled and batted with such striking success that the Australians, who were one up after two Tests, were crushed. Some of us who were actually at Headingley for the famous third Test – thousands who claim to have been there were not – recall the odds of 500-1 on an England victory going up on the electronic scoreboard that Saturday evening.

Botham made 149 not out as England, following on, beat the Aussies by 18 runs. For three hours the country seemed to stop. In the next Test, at Edgbaston, Botham took five wickets for one run as Australia fell under his spell. Then, at Old Trafford, on a dank Saturday afternoon, he played the most memorable innings of his life and one of the greatest innings ever played by an Englishman: 118 magnificent, joyful runs. Joy: that’s the word. Botham brought joy into people’s lives.

Yet it was the final Test at the Oval, which ended in a draw, that brought from him a performance no less remarkable than those from before. He bowled 89 overs in that match, flat out, continuing to run in when others withdrew with injury. That was the team man coming to the fore. Little wonder his comrades thought the world of him.

Modest, loyal, respectful to opponents, grateful to all who have lent him a hand, and supported throughout a turbulent life by Kath, his rock of a wife, and their three children, this is a cricketing hero to rank with W G Grace, Jack Hobbs, Wally Hammond and Fred Trueman. A feature in the lives of all who saw him, and a very English hero. 

This article first appeared in the 26 November 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Terror vs the State