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Writing off Iraq

This month the White Review published my non fiction piece Every Night is like a Disco: Iraq, 2003, which only took me 11 years to write. I had it in notes, in my head, for that whole time; I always intended to write something, especially after Granta published Fly Away Home: Iraq, 1998. So why did it take so long?

I’d been writing about my working life ever since I started, cribbing from my notes, emails, reports, and anything else I could get my hands on. I’d published a couple of pieces in small magazines, and was thinking (optimistically) about pitching a full-length book, to be titled “Life in the Colony”.

After Iraq – well, after Iraq, three things happened. One was that I was filled with remorse – an attentuated strand of survivor’s guilt – and I felt that I would be trading on the lives of others. I hadn’t earned that right, not by a long shot, and the best thing to do would be to shut up. This feeling continues today, and publishing Disco was quite difficult for me.

Second was that I was angry at the humanitarian sector, and particularly the United Nations, for the abject failure of judgement that was Iraq. After working in Afghanistan, I didn’t expect much from the US and UK governments, but I had hoped that the UN had learned something. They hadn’t, and I’m not sure they’ve learned it now.

Third was that there was a snowstorm of books after Iraq, often from people who’d been in far worse situations than I, or had done far better research and reporting. Iraq became a coin in the reputational currency of the Beltway and beyond, to be traded for power and (often) sex; and I didn’t want any part of that. Aid memoirs? I felt like I needed to grow up.

The memory wouldn’t go away. It was a turning point in how I approached my work, in how I viewed the entire sector. It represented something more for me than just another story in the collection, and I never forgot those people along the airport road. Here was Iraq under a microscope; or more likely Iraq under a magnifying glass, burnt by the sun.

So this summer I sat down and wrote it in a couple of days. Long gestation, quick birth; I guess it had been writing itself in the back of my head. It was an awkward child – too long for short stories, too short for longform. I had a vague idea that The White Review, whose tastes trend extremely catholic, might want to publish it, maybe? And they did.

Now it’s out, I feel a sense of relief. I can get on with writing other things, maybe even from that same period: I have half a piece from Liberia, that same year, “A Day Late and a Dollar Short”, but who knows if I’ll ever finish it? That’s the problem with writing: you can make all the plans you want, but sometimes the words follow their own schedule.

PS13_Budapest_CircularEconomy

Your Berlin is a Wonderland

Thanks to the Wonderland crew, I spent last week in Berlin touring a cross-section of the city’s most Berlin-ish urban developments. Berlin isn’t the city it was – the relentless teeth of global capital and recession angst have really started to bite in the last few years – but it retains some core values that didn’t fall with the Wall.

Those “core values” include a measured pragmatism that acknowledges that financial benefit isn’t necessarily a social good. The urban landscape (London, I’m looking at you) is increasingly scarred by borderline psychopaths who want to re-shape the city into a playground for themselves and others like them. Berlin has a stronger immune system than that.

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A good example of this is a financing policy in which tenders are not granted to the lowest bid; instead a cost is set by the authorities and the most interesting proposal given the tender. Finding the money for “interesting” proposals is another thing entirely, of course – the bizarre role of Swiss pension funds in supporting alternative culture should not be under-stated.

Now obviously I’m a sucker for socially-conscious + environmentally-friendly buildings – the reason I was at Wonderlab was to represent Pametnija Zgrada – but I also retain my core personality trait of being impossible to please. My question is a simple one: does it work? That is: does it live in the real world, rather than in an urbanist’s wet dream?

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The Berlin answer is: yes, but only just. Nearly all the projects we visited had benefited from investment that covered site acquisition at reasonable interest rates, so they could start making profit quickly. The inevitable & painful dilemma: alternative cultural approaches are being subsidised by extremely mainstream financial tools (and not just pension funds).

I liked all of the projects, especially ExRotaprint, which seems to get the balance Goldilocks right. Yet it was clear that these types of project don’t necessarily translate well to other contexts – definitely not to other countries (like Serbia) but probably not even to other cities in Germany. We can take inspiration from them, but probably not replicate them.

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We spent the rest of our days exchanging experiences between exchanging experiences between projects, a crazy-quilt mix of different approaches to the same problem: the disconnect between people and place. As the world goes urban, this isn’t just an excuse for architects to hold workshops, but the concrete problem that’s going to shape the century.

This is mirrored by the online problem of privacy; to a large extent these twin problems are urban problems. One thing that was noticeable by its absence, then, was any discussion about the smart city – yet Berlin is geared to be a tech hub, and all of the workshop participants were all heavy technology users. I guess that discussion will have to wait until next time.

SITES VISITED

We were hosted by DAZ, whose internet leaves a lot to be desired, but whose hospitality was excellent.

DAZ-flyer

(Apologies for the fully intentional John Mayer reference in title.)

Picture accompanying The Humanitarian Future

Danas Mirabilis

And so it came to pass that Aeon and Nature both published one of my pieces on the same day.

The Humanitarian Future was difficult. The original article was trying to be three things: a potted history of the modern humanitarian sector, an outline of what needs to change for ‘humanitarianism’ to survive in the now-times, and a brief personal account of my work. My editor Brigid Hains took one look at that and realised it wasn’t going to work. The final version doesn’t capture everything that I wanted to say, but, contrary to what the internet wants you to believe, it doesn’t have to. This is a small part of a wider discussion, across many platforms and in many fora. Go read.

The tiger waiting on the shore, by contrast, was easy. I had been enjoying the Nature Futures podcast for a few months, and wondered if they had an open submissions policy. They did, so I wrote the story in less than a day, and sent it off with no expectations. Editor Colin Sullivan accepted it immediately, and it’s printed more or less as I originally wrote it. Writers’ lesson for the day: you never know where you might find a platform for your work. The story is a science fiction / horror / family drama – a bit more obscure than most of the stories that Nature publishes, and it fills me with a feeling I can’t quite describe.

Sounds of Savamala cover art

What Savamala Sounds

I drove overnight from Belgrade to Herceg Novi, and then I fell off the map for about two weeks. Before we started driving, I went to the launch of the Savamala Soundwalk, the project put together by Kolektiv ImproveE2.0 and Zvučna mapa Beograda. Yeah, yeah, street team Belgrade, keeping it real, etc, etc.

The team had so much interesting material this year, they decided to release two Soundwalks. Broadly speaking, the artists on “Sounds of” focused on the field recordings themselves, twisting and turning the cityscape; meanwhile the artists on “Sounds for” used thosee recordings as inspirations for a range of compositions.

If I had to pick some favourites, I’d go for Andagainandagain’s Walking to Geozavod building, and Igor Miskovic’s Dockyard Echoes on Sounds of; and Zartzinfekt’s Route 2, and Jasna Jovićević’s Route 5 on Sounds for. (Jay Zr’s Bridge Over Tromboned Water wins best title, obviously.) But I change my opinion on a daily basis, so my opinion is worth nothing.

Both sets are fantastic, and I’m not just saying that because my track Sedmina was included on “Sounds of” under my pointless pseudonym of The Black Mountain Installation. The ideal way to experience these is to listen while walking along the actual routes recorded, since each track is the same duration as the walk it was inspired by. IT’S MAGIC.

New Track – Sedmina

I composed a track for this year’s Zvučne šetnje Savamalom (Savamala Soundwalk, if you don’t speak Serbian), made out of sounds sampled from a walk along Karađorđeva (with some additional samples from Freesound). “Sedmina” means “Seventh”, but it also means something else.

Paul Currion In performance at UK Parobrod, March 2014

No Place To Run No Place To

One of the biggest mistakes you can make as a writer is to sit around waiting for other people to recognize your genius. There are two reasons for this: first, you’re not a genius; and second, people are idiots. (You may notice that these two are basically the same point.)

My resolution this year was to write, but also to perform. I’ve always envied visual artists who can take over a space and force themselves into the public consciousness; on the other hand, visual art can easily become wallpaper in a way that performance usually doesn’t.

In March and May, we staged two updates of Jekyll and Hyde at UK Parobrod: my paranoid drone fantasy, No Place To Run No Place To, and Marija Pavlovic’s gothic satire Čudni slučaj gospođe Džekil i doktorke Hajd. NATURALLY IT WAS A TRIUMPH ON EVERY LEVEL.

Originally I wanted Pete Chaffey to play the role of the drone pilot, and Željko Maksimović to play the psychopathic doctor. Unfortunately Pete was playing golf in South Africa working, so I was forced to don the white coat – my first time on stage in 20 years.

Feedback from the audience was great, although obviously nobody rushes up to tell you how much you sucked. We recorded some video, but… let’s just say, it’s not the best video ever. You can download the story script of No Place To Run No Place To in PDF.

Flyer for Uze mi rec iz usta

This photo is actually from BiH, but you get the idea.

A Resilient Serbia?

Earlier this year I gave a talk called “A Resilient Serbia?” at the 2014 Mikser Festival. The concept of “resilience” hasn’t really entered the culture in Serbia, so this was intended to be an introduction to resilience in the context of national recovery after the massive floods that struck the region in May.

So the talk – to a packed room, cough cough – was a quick tour through the post-flood situation in Serbia, the basic idea of resilience, and how we might use that idea in approaching the recovery and reconstruction of flood-affected communities. The response was generally positive, but (surprise!) government plans are unlikely to pick up on these ideas.

Unfortunately Mikser didn’t record any of the festival talks, which was a shame – there were some really interesting speakers. You can download a PDF file of my presentation and speaking notes from this link: A Resilient Serbia?

Talking about a Resilient Serbia

Short story – The Small Print

The short story “The Small Print” was shortlisted for SFX magazine’s The Writing Dead competition. There’s no print version, but you can read it exclusively below. I tag this one as “John Grisham with zombie subcontractors”, but feel free to disagree.


I started working at the Where Value Corporation on the same day that my first wife died. I didn’t think anything of it at the time: we hadn’t spoken directly to each other for nearly two years, and even our lawyers were sick of the sight of us.

With hindsight, I should have paid more attention to the fact that my lawyer was sick of the sight of me. I pointed out that a potent cocktail of emotional distress and legal ennui may have influenced my decision to sign on with the corporation.

“I can show you a copy of your contract,” my boss offered, “although obviously I’m under no obligation.”

“Perhaps you could read it out to me,” I suggested, “although obviously you’re under no obligation.”

As he read it out to me, my mind wandered.

*

My first day on the job, the day my wife died, the day my lawyer screwed me in the most lawyerly way you can imagine – well, that day was not so bad. Where Value is a great company to work for (up to a point, but we’ll get to that point a bit later): the work is rewarding, the perks are amazing, the buffet is satisfying. I was rewarded, I was amazed, I was sated.

“Glad to have you working with us,” my boss told me repeatedly, in that first week, and he meant it.

“Glad to be working with you all, Glenn,” I told him, and it was true. I thrived at Where Value: recruited into the Hypothetical Matter department, researching potential applications of dark fluid, promoted to the Chaplygin Modelling unit. I started dating my co-worker Crystal Haight, who was considerably more attractive and intelligent than my dead wife, and played non-Euclidean Ultimate Frisbee for the department in the company league.

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