Farewell to a man of ideas Leading article …

My brother Kenny

Biography
Lorn Macintyre
The national institution they buried with his mobile phone

Life of George
My intimate examination

The night I nearly drowned

The sea
Mike MacKenzie
Saving the coastguard service


Alan Fisher
A new future for the Middle East?

Bob Smith
The new kid

A man without enemies

Person of the Week
Sir Alec Cairncross
Profile by Barbara Millar

Lazy read

The Richard Wild series


The Midgie
Now we know where the money comes from

03.02.11
No. 362

Alan Fisher

In the way change swept across Eastern Europe in the late 1980s, regimes across the Arab world are now shaking to their very foundations.
     Hosni Mubarak is still president of Egypt but he has set his departure date. That may be brought forward. The concern is, if his authoritarian rule and police state can be challenged and even brought down, there are few countries in the region that are safe.
     When Mohamed Bou’azizi set himself alight in Tunisia on 17 December, he became an important symbol for change. Others set themselves on fire in Egypt, Alegia, Mauritania, Saudi Arabia and Yemen. Demonstrations like we’ve never seen before have taken place in Algeria, Jordan and Yemen.
     The president in Yemen has said that he won’t seek re-election. The king in Jordan has fired his government and President Mubarak’s plans to create a dynasty and hand the presidency and the country to his son have evaporated. This is happening in a region already wracked with enough issues: the Palestinian peace process, problems in Lebanon and Iran’s nuclear ambitions.
     In the non-oil states like Morocco, Algeria, Jordan and Yemen, there is a growing young population but there is no work. Education is limited to a few well-off, which simply re-enforces the existing inequality. Some of the countries named have announced changes in the last few days. Subsidies are being offered, taxes are being cut. But it may prove to be too little too late.
     And in the oil rich countries? People are generally better off but there is an anger among many in places like Libya and Saudi Arabia and Kuwait that there is no such thing as true democracy. Muammar Gaddafi, expressing support for the ousted Ben Ali of Tunisia and King Abdullah in Saudi, is unlikely to give them a boost in the opinion polls if there was such a thing in their countries.
     The United States and the West have been caught in a terrible dilemma in their reactions to what is going on in Egypt. Egypt is a strong and important ally. Washington pours in more than $1bn a year in aid to win friends and influence people. It needs an ally in Cairo to do anything in the region.      What is happening appears to be a popular grassroots demon-stration, organic in its growth from the ground up. However, the idea that somehow this could become a radical Islamist takeover in Egypt would be Obama’s worst nightmare and cause sleepless nights in Israel too.
     So America is caught between supporting the millions on the streets calling for change and promoting true democracy and its strategic interest in a region when street-level anti-American and anti-Israeli sentiment finds no voice through authoritarian rulers.
     Egypt is strategically important and has exerted extensive political, cultural and social influence throughout the region. A new genuinely democratic and representative Egypt could become a template for the region. The revolution currently underway could be a new beginning for the Middle East.

Alan Fisher is an Al Jazeera correspondent

www.bobsmithart.com

The sea

The night I nearly drowned

Mike MacKenzie

One dark night towards the end of September 1977 along with two friends I answered cries of distress coming from a yacht moored in Easdale Sound. We commandeered the only boat available in the harbour, the old ferry, an over-sized rowing boat with a seagull outboard, and set out on the short distance to the yacht to render assistance.
A blustering southerly wind had got up and the sea was choppy but we were unperturbed.

     Dougie and I had worked every summer since we were 11 years old as salmon fishermen and were accomplished boatmen. Sandra, Dougie’s fiancée, came with us, as unconcerned and confident in our abilities as we were. Such confidence is the preserve of 19 year olds.
     Halfway to the yacht our engine cut out. The wind suddenly freshened and the waves rose but still we were unconcerned as we searched for the rowlocks in the dark. The boat drifted northwards. Realising that soon we would lose the comparative shelter of the Sound we gave up trying to find the rowlocks and began instead to lash the oars with rope as makeshift rowlocks. Before we could accomplish this it became apparent that we were going to drift onto the rocks at the north end of the Sound. I unlashed my oar to fend the boat off, bracing the heavy oar against the rock, putting my weight into it. Just at that moment a huge wave materialised out of the darkness and washed my two companions out of the boat.
     The backwash from the wave pulled the boat off the rocks. I glimpsed two faces far below me in the gulf opening up between the sea and the base of the rocks as the wave sucked back. The boat was swamped and I could do nothing for them. Another large wave swept over the boat. I lost the oar and my balance and fell to my knees clutching a thwart. The gunwales of the boat were sunk to the waterline. Each successive wave washed over the boat and I was able to breathe only between waves. I had a dim awareness of the boat drifting further out to sea and of the waves getting bigger.
     Time passed and I got cold and weak. At some point I managed to grab a life hoop and pulled it over one shoulder like a bandolier. My fingers were laced together under the thwart. I breathed between enormous waves washing violently over me. Each one threatened to tear me out of the boat. At one point I saw the lights of Oban far to the north and became aware that I was drifting on a north-westerly course. Consciousness began to fade and only a tiny voice from somewhere inside urged me to hang on.
     Eventually, the dark bulk of the island of Insh loomed out of the darkness. Huge waves crashed ashore. The boat was caught up by one of these and rolled over. I half swam and was half washed ashore on a small rock just off the island. I scrambled up the rock finding a depression on top and fell into it. Looking back towards the boat I saw it smashed to kindling in minutes before I lost consciousness.

On the banks of the Thames there seems to be little appreciation of the work done by our coastguard and search and rescue services. Local knowledge and the connection with the sea going community are vital if lives are to be saved.

     When I regained consciousness I saw parachute flares in the sky. I was sure my companions were lost and that no one would yet have missed us. I imagined that some other poor soul had got into trouble. Later I found out that against all odds my friends had got safely ashore and raised the alarm. The coastguard mobilised the Oban lifeboat and a local fishing boat, the Bathsheba. The lifeboat turned back in atrocious conditions just south of Kerrera. The crew were wise because the storm had veered into the west and conditions were impossible.
     The brave little Bathsheba battled out to Insh. I watched their lights approach, sure they were going to founder in the enormous seas. The coastguard and the crew of the Bathsheba with the benefit of local knowledge calculated that I would have drifted towards Insh and restricted their search to this area. The fishing boat searched the coast of the two-mile-long island again and again, sweeping it with their searchlight. Eventually they saw me. The Sea-King from RAF Leuchars couldn’t launch for several hours because the winds were too high. They winched me off my rock at 9am the next morning.
     I was cold but unharmed and in no doubt that I owed my life to the courage of the crew of the fishing boat, to their local knowledge and that of Oban coastguard. I became firm friends with Michael Caine, the skipper of the fishing boat. Sadly he and his crewman died a few years later when his boat sank a few miles west of Easdale. A pall hung over our community for many weeks afterwards.
     On the banks of the Thames there seems to be little appreciation of the work done by our coastguard and search and rescue services. Local knowledge and the connection with the sea going community are vital if lives are to be saved. No amount of computers or clever technology can replace this. Some years ago we lost the Oban coastguard station and are dependent now on Clyde coastguard. In a vicious cost-cutting exercise several coastguard stations are proposed for closure along with cuts to RAF search and rescue services. We who live on Scotland’s coastline will count the cost of this in lives lost at sea. 

Mike Mackenzie was born in Oban but moved to Glasgow when he was very young. Although he was brought up in Glasgow he retained a strong connection with Argyll and spent school and university holidays working as a salmon fisherman around Easdale and Mull.