Boxing as a mirror of American history

Paul Beston does a long piece on the history of boxing in America and suggests that the sport has become a sideshow. The one who could possibly rescue the sport is, unfortunately, not an American but Filipino.

Tyson’s behavior sullied boxing’s always precarious reputation, making the sport synonymous with freakishness. He would be the last in a long line of heavyweights to bear a symbolic connection to American social trends. For just as the blustery John L. Sullivan represented a growing nation coming into its strength, and the magnetic Dempsey the birth of mass-media celebrity and commercial culture, and the stoic Louis the hard years of depression and war, and the mercurial Ali the age of rebellion and change, so Tyson embodied the postmodern hoodlum—the gangsta from an urban landscape pulverized by fatherlessness and anomie. Remarkably, a middle-aged Tyson is now trying to remake his life, a feat that, given the obstacles, would outstrip anything that his illustrious predecessors achieved, in the ring or out.

But about Pacquiao, he writes:

Pacquiao is the kind of figure who could restore boxing to its former glory, if such a thing were possible. Boxing devotees yearn for him to participate in a “super fight” like those in which Sugar Ray Leonard fought in the 1980s. The opponent for such a battle is standing in plain sight: Floyd Mayweather, Jr., a brilliant defensive boxer who has never lost.

For the moment, Mayweather Jr is busy blocking head butts.

Palwankar Baloo

Ramachandra Guha’s A Corner of A Foreign Field started of as a biography of Palwankar Baloo (and his brothers). Guha calls him the first great Indian cricketer. The story of the Palwankar brothers and Baloo in particular reads like an epic – the stigma of an untouchable caste, the reluctance of the Brahmin Hindu teams to select him, the separation in the tents, the denial of captaincy (when he very clearly deserved it) and the redemption on the field.

His bowling stats seem to speak for themselves: 179 wickets in 33 matches, that’s almost 6 wickets per match -. 17 times 5 wickets in an innings.

In a tour of England in 1911, Baloo in 14 matches against first side county teams took a total of 114 wickets. Since then only Vinoo Mankad has taken more than 100 wickets in an English summer.

Guha is definitely a fine writer mirroring the cricket on the field with the socio-cultural metamorphosis outside the field. He compares the case of Baloo with that of D’Oliveira, that of West Indies who had white captains till Sir Frank Worrell came along and in particular  South Africa-Indian golfer Sewsunkar Sewgolan who after winning the Natal Open in the 60′s had to wait outside the clubhouse in the rain for the orderly to bring his medal and prizes.

Unfortunately, there is not much else available about the Palwankars though Guha does list out a number of notes and citations from various newspapers of those times including Tilak’s Mahratta. In particular, there is Vithal (Baloo’s younger brother and the first Dalit to captain the Hindus) who has written his autobiography Maze Krida-Jivan (My Sporting Life). But it is out of print. Only about 1000 copies were printed when it was published in 1948. One of those copies is with Guha. I wonder if he can share it.

1st September 1939 – WH Auden

The last great war began 70 years ago today when Germany launched its blitzkreig into Poland. In 1945, it was over. But is it? Cold war – a war without physical hostilities but was it peaceful? Stress free? Does anyone know how many countries have their armies in Africa? Iraq? Afghanistan? Albeit under garb of UN Peace Keeping Forces or Allied Forces, etc.

WH Auden writes (source: Poets.org)

On Fifty-second Street

Uncertain and afraid

As the clever hopes expire

Of a low dishonest decade:

Waves of anger and fear

Circulate over the bright

And darkened lands of the earth,

Obsessing our private lives;

The unmentionable odour of death

Offends the September night.

Accurate scholarship can

Unearth the whole offence

From Luther until now

That has driven a culture mad,

Find what occurred at Linz,

What huge imago made

A psychopathic god:

I and the public know

What all schoolchildren learn,

Those to whom evil is done

Do evil in return.

Exiled Thucydides knew

All that a speech can say

About Democracy,

And what dictators do,

The elderly rubbish they talk

To an apathetic grave;

Analysed all in his book,

The enlightenment driven away,

The habit-forming pain,

Mismanagement and grief:

We must suffer them all again.

Into this neutral air

Where blind skyscrapers use

Their full height to proclaim

The strength of Collective Man,

Each language pours its vain

Competitive excuse:

But who can live for long

In an euphoric dream;

Out of the mirror they stare,

Imperialism’s face

And the international wrong.

Faces along the bar

Cling to their average day:

The lights must never go out,

The music must always play,

All the conventions conspire

To make this fort assume

The furniture of home;

Lest we should see where we are,

Lost in a haunted wood,

Children afraid of the night

Who have never been happy or good.

The windiest militant trash

Important Persons shout

Is not so crude as our wish:

What mad Nijinsky wrote

About Diaghilev

Is true of the normal heart;

For the error bred in the bone

Of each woman and each man

Craves what it cannot have,

Not universal love

But to be loved alone.

From the conservative dark

Into the ethical life

The dense commuters come,

Repeating their morning vow;

“I will be true to the wife,

I’ll concentrate more on my work,”

And helpless governors wake

To resume their compulsory game:

Who can release them now,

Who can reach the deaf,

Who can speak for the dumb?

All I have is a voice

To undo the folded lie,

The romantic lie in the brain

Of the sensual man-in-the-street

And the lie of Authority

Whose buildings grope the sky:

There is no such thing as the State

And no one exists alone;

Hunger allows no choice

To the citizen or the police;

We must love one another or die.

Defenceless under the night

Our world in stupor lies;

Yet, dotted everywhere,

Ironic points of light

Flash out wherever the Just

Exchange their messages:

May I, composed like them

Of Eros and of dust,

Beleaguered by the same

Negation and despair,

Show an affirming flam

I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.

Accurate scholarship can
Unearth the whole offence
From Luther until now
That has driven a culture mad,
Find what occurred at Linz,
What huge imago made
A psychopathic god:
I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return.

Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
About Democracy,
And what dictators do,
The elderly rubbish they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again.

Into this neutral air
Where blind skyscrapers use
Their full height to proclaim
The strength of Collective Man,
Each language pours its vain
Competitive excuse:
But who can live for long
In an euphoric dream;
Out of the mirror they stare,
Imperialism’s face
And the international wrong.

Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.

The windiest militant trash
Important Persons shout
Is not so crude as our wish:
What mad Nijinsky wrote
About Diaghilev
Is true of the normal heart;
For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man
Craves what it cannot have,
Not universal love
But to be loved alone.

From the conservative dark
Into the ethical life
The dense commuters come,
Repeating their morning vow;
“I will be true to the wife,
I’ll concentrate more on my work,”
And helpless governors wake
To resume their compulsory game:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach the deaf,
Who can speak for the dumb?

All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.

Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.

The emphasis in the last stanza is mine, my favourite verse of the poem.

Australia – The Movie and some history

Baz Lurhman’s Australia was a long film. Romeo + Juliet and Moulin Rouge had us all tuned into some really good entertaining treatment of two love stories. Here in Australia, the length of the film gets multiplied by the sheer lack of entertaining features (as I was wont to expect from a Baz Luhrman film). Instead, it was a three hour long saga that had various plot elements that seemed to be a recreation of Gone With The Wind. It was all there - 

1. Large property in the outback
2. Lady of the house comes into ownership due to sudden events (death of her husband)
3. Racism
4. War
5. Love between two strangers
6. Brave rescues
7. Redemption
8. Reunion (This wasn’t there in Gone With The Wind)

There were a few things about the film that seemed to be truly good – the Aborigine kid actor Brandon Walters who acts as Nullah; the cinematography by Australian Mandy Walker and a couple of neat scenes. 

As a history buff, there were two points of interest in this film – The Stolen Generation and The Japanese Raids on Darwin during the Second World War.

The Stolen Generation

The Stolen Generation has been a cause of much repentence amongst most Australians over the last many years. Between 1869 and 1969, Aboriginal (or Indigenous Australians or Aboriginal Australian and Torres Strait Island Peoples) children were forcibly taken away from their parents and raised in missionaries or charities or as foster-children in white families. They were kept here till the age of 18 after which they were returned to their original families. There was three main rationale behind these programmes (mandated by laws passed by the Australian Federal and State parliaments)

1. Child Protection – it was believed that children would be best taken care off by the state in order to protect them from disease
2. Preventing extinction of the race – with population of the indigenous Australians declining, it was felt that by raising the children by the state, they would be more healthy and hence more capable of development
3. Protecting white race purity – this was a third view point which had a minority support group.

Cathy Freeman lit the Olympic torch at the 2000 Sydney Olympics. Cathy, an Aboriginal Australian, was the grandchild of one such Stolen child. Midnight Oil, the cult Aussie band, demonstrated the national regret when they performed at the closing ceremony of the Olympic Games wearing black sweatshirts with the word “Sorry”. 

There was of course a national apology by the Australian PM Kevin Rudd and an unanimous resolution by the Federal Parliament.

Japanese raids on Darwin

The next big point of interest is the advent of Second World War in Australia. This was the raid on Darwin by Japanese bombers on February 19, 1942. Called the Pearl Harbour of Australia, this raid in two waves attacked Australia at its weakest and most vulnerable point – completely underprepared and underequipped.

It remains the biggest attack on Australian soil though Japan never really occupied any Australian territory (in the main continent). The raids were executed by a combination of the Kate torpedo bombers and the Val dive bombers escorted by Zero fighters. The second wave was executed by Nell and Betty land-based bombers.

Naval commander Mitsui Fuchida who led the first wave later in his memoirs writes that it was a significant waste of time as there was nothing of any value at Darwin – a small port installation, an even smaller airfield with minimal facilities. 

Closing up on the movie – well, a movie buff is a movie buff – so one can watch it. And the movie will definitely do well in the awards marquees across the world. The only issue – its a big too heavy on the sugar and teary stuff.

Pearl Harbor – no more conspiracy theory

December 7 marks 67 years of the Pearl Harbor (am using the American spellings, after all, it is a proper name). While the number of survivors are dwindling with age, one of the oldest ongoing conspiracy theories seems to have been finally put to rest.

The Hindu reports that historians have concluded that US did not have advance information about the attacks. The conspiracy theory was that US (and FDR as president) were aware of the impending attacks but chose to keep it down so that they could then get the nation to support them in the war efforts on the side of the Aliies.

However, in what seems to be another indictment of intelligence failure, the report lists out the bureaucratic intelligence system in the country for not being able to make any call on the Pearl Harbor attack.

The news article says,

“The problem with the conspiracy theory is it diverted attention from the real substantive problems, the major issue being the intelligence system was so bureaucratised,”

Madurai

The Hairy Bikers were in Madurai enjoying what they called a “packed lunch”. I had a couple of days of work in Madurai and as is wont mixed pleasure with work to make the most of the travel.

When approaching the Meenakshi Temple, one saw this

From Meenakshi Temple Madurai

 Note the film posters contrasting with the Chennai Khadi Vastralaya. 

The gopurams of the temple were covered, possibly to protect against the rain.

From Meenakshi Temple Madurai

 For more details, click on the Madurai page in my Travelogs

Sam Bahadur

Our good friend Gulshan Singh’s birthday, June 27, became a big day in Indian history with the passing of Sam Bahadur. The page on Sam Manekshaw on Wikipedia while quite detailed does not write anything on his association with the Gurkhas.

The Bharat Rakshak website has more details

Lt. Gen (Retd) Depinder Singh, his former military assistant, writes this story in his memoirs

He was officiating as Army Chief in 1967 when the Chinese had their first clash with the Indian Army since 1962. This occurred at the 14,000 foot high pass, Natu La, in Sikkim where the Chinese learnt to their cost that the Indian Army of 1967 was a different kettle of fish from that of 1962. He was summoned to a meeting of the Cabinet where, as he recalled later, everyone present at the meeting was vying with the others to present to the Prime Minister his grasp of the situation and offering one suggestion after another as to what should be done. After hearing most of the speakers, the Prime Minister enquired whether the officiating army chief, until then a silent spectator, had something to say. “I am afraid they are enacting Hamlet without the Prince,” he said. “I will now tell you exactly what has happened, and how I intend to deal with the situation.” He then proceeded to do so.

Field Marshal Sam Hormusji Framji Jamshedji Manekshaw MC

Apr 3, 1914 – June 27, 2008

Thich Quang Duc, June 11 1963

On this day, in Saigon, Thich Quang Duc self-immolated himself. This photograph taken by Malcolm Browne of Associated Press was awarded the World Press Photo of the year award.

David Halberstarm who filed his report with the New York Times writes

I was to see that sight again, but once was enough. Flames were coming from a human being; his body was slowly withering and shriveling up, his head blackening and charring. In the air was the smell of burning flesh; human beings burn surprisingly quickly. Behind me I could hear the sobbing of the Vietnamese who were now gathering. I was too shocked to cry, too confused to take notes or ask questions, too bewildered to even think…. As he burned he never moved a muscle, never uttered a sound, his outward composure in sharp contrast to the wailing people around him. (1965: 211)

Bridge on the River Kwai

Just two and half hours bus ride from Bangkok in Kanchanaburi municipality, the famous Bridge on the River Kwai is a monument to the Second World War. For those who are WW2 buffs, this town is a must for a complete low down on the South East Asian war sector starting with the fall of Singapore right upto the Japanese advance into the North-eastern hills of India. (Remember Imphal).

The Kanchanaburi War Cemetery is the final resting place for many of the Allied soldiers who were engaged in the War in this sector including a plaque for 11 Indians.

There is a museum next to the War Cemetery called the Death Rail Museum giving the history and facts about the Siam-Burma Railway built by the Japanese.

If you have loads of time, you can stay over at Kanchanaburi and explore the place. If you trek and follow the railway line towards Burma, you will come across more sites of interest. We did a morning-in-evening-back trip as we didn’t have much time