Easter Island imagines its independence

World-famous Easter Island was annexed by Chili in 1888. One might imagine that the Polynesian inhabitants, known as Rapa Nui, might be happy to celebrate the 50th anniversary of their Chilean citizenship. On the contrary, these people would like to acquire their independence from their distant "owners" on the other side of the Pacific.

In fact, the islanders simply wish to recover their ancestral territories, home of the famous ancient statues known as moaïs.

This blog post was inspired by an article in Ouest-France by Léonie Place and Sylvain Clément. The blogger William Skyvington has taken the liberty of borrowing certain photos, created by these journalists, that are contained in the article in Ouest-France. Here is a link to the article:

http://www.ouest-france.fr/leditiondusoir/data/651/reader/reader.html?t=1450718022433?utm_source=neolane_of-eds_newsletter&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=lienarticle&utm_content=20151221#!preferred/1/package/651/pub/652/page/4

The blogger William Skyvington thanks Ouest-France and the above-mentioned journalists for having borrowed their work.

What indeed was happening here?

Try this link to a French media website that has picked up some kind of a US crime story: http://video.lefigaro.fr/figaro/video/usa-un-reporter-assiste-a-un-braquage-en-direct/4663241302001/

Crime stories and news reporting in the USA appear to be too complicated for me. Maybe I'm not very bright at this level. So, please let me know if you can figure out what indeed was happening there.

And here, if you're still interested, is another mystery TV interview from the USA: http://video.lefigaro.fr/figaro/video/bagarre-en-direct-entre-deux-journalistes-de-la-television-americaine/2359651042001/

Final days of the terrorist Abaaoud

Today, there's a short but superb article in the French newspaper Le Parisien describing the final few days of the terrorist Abdelhamid Abaaoud, hiding like a running bushranger on the northern outskirts of Paris before being disintegrated by guns of French police in the ancient suburban city of Saint-Denis. This is the first time that we have a chance of understanding how in fact the police found the evil fellow and finally destroyed him.

http://www.leparisien.fr/faits-divers/attentats-du-13-novembre-20-h-13-le-mardi-abaaoud-sort-de-son-buisson-20-12-2015-5388857.php

Recall the dates of events. The terrorist atrocities took place in Paris on Friday, 13 November 2015. By the end of the weekend, French police were convinced that the ring-leader was Abdelhamid Abaaoud, but they feared that he had probably fled already from France, just as stealthily as he had arrived.

No, he was still well and truly located in France, hiding in scrub in the Parisian suburb of Aubervilliers. That dull zone would be the terrorist's rough hideout for his final nights of earthly existence. On Monday, 16 November, a witness became aware of the terrorist's hiding-place, and told the police. The next day, on Tuesday afternoon, 17 November, the police had installed a camera in the area. Just after 8 o'clock in the evening, a young woman arrived at the spot, and started to use her phone. Police recognized instantly the angular profile of Abaaoud's cousin Hasna Aït Boulahcen. During the next five minutes, two men emerged from the bushes, one of whom was clearly Abdelhamid Abaaoud himself: the most wanted man in France.

The police received orders from their headquarters to follow the trio stealthily, without daring to intercept them. Clearly, Abaaoud was wearing a thick vest that surely contained explosives. So, the detectives stood by calmly while the fugitives hailed a taxi, to take them to the nearby suburb of Saint-Denis. There, the trio found their way, at 22 h 14, to the door of a sordid squat.

The rest is known history. For hours, during their last night on earth, the three terrorists were smothered constantly in a hail of police ammunition, and blown to bits. One wonders if they ever realized what had hit them. The next day, disfigured dust-covered bodily remnants of the terrorists could only be identified by means of their DNA.

No, we are no longer living together

In breakup photos, former partners can sometimes adopt the facial attitudes of great screen actors. Here, the viewer hardly needs to be informed about the vile thoughts that might be fleeting through the minds of Nicolas Sarkozy and Nathalie Kosciusko-Morizet. The actors' expressions are more powerful than words.

The lady (often referred to by her initials as NKM) has told us that she learned through an AFP (Agence France Presse) message that the boss had removed her from the direction of the Républicains, where she was replaced by Laurent Wauquiez (who won the recent election in our local Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes region).

Now, a survey has just informed us that two out of three French people consider that Sarko screwed things up when he decided rapidly to kick out NKM. It's quite possible that the offended lady might end up replacing Sarko as the right-wind presidential candidate in 2017. It's a little too early to say so... but not too early to imagine this possibility.

Mother Teresa never told us she specialized in neurology

Talented people shouldn't keep quiet about their extraordinary medical skills, which could save lives. Why didn't Mother Teresa, glorified for taking care of sufferers in Calcutta, ever tell us she could intervene successfully in the case of a man with cancerous tumors in his brain ?

The lady was beatified (?) in 2003. And she will be canonized (?) in Rome on September 4 next year. Meanwhile, countless innocent folk have succumbed to brain tumors in spite of the alleged knowledge of the humble lady named Agnes Gonxha Bojaxhiu, who's only starting to be applauded as a great cancer specialist (?) now that she's dead.

Why do otherwise intelligent human beings persist in inventing impossible legends, and then disseminating them as if they were true?

Watching the sky

I spent a most pleasant hour or so this afternoon watching a web news presentation of the launching by the European Space Agency of a pair of Galileo navigation satellites. Everything went over perfectly, and the live webcast was both simple (none of the typical American jazz) and perfectly clear.

I had the impression that we were tuned in to a very private low-key affair, in the style of a televised sporting match.

Their graphic presentations were highly understandable, even for people (like me) who are unaccustomed to such French-language space-technology shows. Incidentally, it was an excellent companion show to the climate-change broadcasts last week.

Finally, we saw a group of skilled technologists and colleagues who watched enthusiastically the marvelous moment when the two satellites sent back messages confirming that they had been placed in perfect orbits, and were now fully operational.

It's fabulous, all this recent news about France being a winner (in the context of Europe, of course, as far as these satellites are concerned).

Same eyes, nose and mouth as our cousin ?

Don't take me seriously. I'm joking, while cynically evoking suggestions that might be made harmlessly by members of my family. Some people place a lot of emphasis upon the presence of comparable physical traits that I'm generally incapable, personally, of detecting to any recognizable extent whatsoever. A late aunt was even convinced that the sinuous form of certain hands in our family (her own hands in particular) was a clear proof that we descended from the Vikings. Although I never dared to tell her so, I found that belief utter hogwash.

Bodily and indeed psychological resemblances do in fact flow down from parents to their biological offspring, and are often displayed most strikingly in sporting achievements. But an observer needs to be wary of drawing conclusions. Two complementary questions spring into mind as soon as a researcher becomes interested in his/her genealogical origins:

• When we've assembled more-or-less factual data concerning interesting characteristics of one of our eight great-grandparents (who are often the most ancient ancestors about whom we've obtained relatively in-depth information), can we then assume that some living members of the researcher's present-day generations might be likely to express those same ancestral characteristics?

• Inversely, when we've found exceptional physical or psychological characteristics in a particular living member of the researcher's present-day generations, is it thinkable that our family-history research might enable us to identify a particular great-grandparent who could be looked upon as the biological source of those characteristics?

Questions of this kind arise, of course, when a family-history researcher happens to run into various disturbing ancestors. In my maternal-oriented book A Little Bit of Irish, I ran into ancestors in the bushranger domain, and I was tempted to wonder whether some of that behavior might have "rubbed off" onto members of recent generations. In the accompanying paternal-oriented book, They Sought the Last of Lands, I was particularly troubled by the crazy case of my English great-grandfather William Skyvington [1868-1959], and I couldn't help but wonder if I might have inherited a dangerous dose of his nutty fruitcake genes.

Let me drag into the picture my most-admired source of scientific wisdom: Richard Dawkins.

I would like to evoke his literary masterpiece of 2004, The Ancestor's Tale, which might be described as a time-reversed variation of The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan (1678).

Richard Dawkins is not at all the sort of person who makes a point of rambling on (like me) about his personal ancestors. It's not for want of expert knowledge about genealogical research that Dawkins remains underspoken about his ancestors; it's surely because he realizes (as I'm certain to realize sooner or later, if I become a little wiser) that we're likely to make silly blunders as soon as we dare to describe our personal ancestors as if we knew all about them. Here's how Dawkins speaks politely about his recent ancestors:

I remember my four grandparents clearly, but of my eight great-grandparents I know a handful of fragmentary anecdotes. One great-grandfather habitually sang a certain nonsense rhyme (which I can sing), but only while lacing his boots. Another was greedy for cream, and would knock the chess board over when losing. A third was a country doctor. That is about my limit. How have eight entire lives been so reduced? How, when the chain of informants connecting us back to the eyewitness seems so short, and human conversation so rich, could all those thousands of personal details that made up the lifetimes of eight human individuals be so fast forgotten?

Dawkins talks a little of a group of distinguished human beings: our Tasmanians. I referred to these exceptional people, who played a rather special role in the history of human beings, in an earlier blog post: http://skyvington.blogspot.fr/2010/03/tasmanians.html

I strongly recommend this Dawkins tale to readers who would be interested in discovering the great writer in a pleasant readable context that is relatively free of difficult scientific technicalities, while steering totally clear of religious themes.

French lady Christine Lagarde up for trial

French celebrity Christine Lagarde is to be brought to trial for the possible role she appears to have played in enabling the payment of huge indemnities to the French business man Bernard Tapie.

Charles Darwin [1809-1882] "relatively little known in France"

In view of my total enthusiasm for the work in evolutionary biology of my hero Richard Dawkins, it's surprising that I should be equally enthusiastic about living in France, where Charles Darwin [1809-1882], founder of the theory of evolution, is designated, rightly or wrongly, as "relatively little known". I prefer to think it's a journalistic slip of the pen. In any case, there's a presentation at the Cité des Sciences in Paris, until the end of July 2016,  of this illustrious Englishman Darwin and his research work.

Prize-winning architect's houses in France

Once upon a time, in France (and probably elsewhere throughout the world), a so-called "architect's house" was nice to admire, like a specimen in a museum, but hardly the kind of construction that ordinary folk might look upon as a place to live in. These days however, I'm convinced that attitudes are evolving rapidly, and that more and more individuals, intending to have a new house designed and built for themselves, believe that it's a good idea to call upon the imagination and skills of exceptional architects.

This blog post reflects information from the Figaro magazine on four exceptional private-home projects designed in several corners of France: Brittany, Auvergne, Normandy and Nantes.

This small dwelling (69 cubic metres) in the Breton département of Morbihan was described as a "destructured cube":

It includes a nice little trick. Individual bedrooms are created in the form of autonomous wooden boxes, which can be rapidly rolled from one spot in the dwelling to another... including the external patio.

This house in Auvergne (looking out onto ancient volcano peaks) is a mathematical theorem in pure elegant simplicity:

The third winning house, in Normandy, is a simple wooden box for living:

The final house, in Nantes, offers occupants the chance (if they wish to do so) of showing off its central lit-up swimming pool to people outside:

Visit the article to obtain the names of the architects:
http://immobilier.lefigaro.fr/article/voici-les-plus-belles-maisons-d-architectes-de-france_482560c4-91f4-11e5-9e69-3bdd6484fd6d/

Aussie pig cries

I’ve always been intrigued by the fact that linguists, when expected to indicate in words the noises made by various animals, seem to be incapable of getting their act together. Here, for example, is the start of a multi-language list established in French for the curious ways in which various languages designate the noises made by pigs:

Cochon (grogner)

• Allemand, gruik gruik

• Anglais, oink oink

• Bulgare, грух - грух

• Coréen, ggul ggul (꿀꿀)

• Danois, øf øf

• Espagnol, oinc oinc

• Français, groin groin

• Finnois, röh röh, nöf nöf

• Hongrois, röf röf

• Italien, oink oink

In several languages (English, French, Spanish and Italian), we seem to encounter the familiar oi diphthong, from Ancient Greek.

Hoi polloi (Ancient Greek: οἱ πολλοί, hoi polloi, "the many") is an expression from Greek that means the many or, in the strictest sense, the majority. 

These days, we've all heard that cultivated youths from Cronulla and other Australian places have got into the habit of using this diphthong in their war cries.

Ozzy ozzy ozzy, oi oi oi.

Are they in fact suggesting that they might be the majority? I don't think so. I've always imagined immediately, whenever our youths pronounce these words, that they're in fact celebrating their relationship with pigs. That sounds to me like a good explanation.

Lessons in diplomacy gleaned from a brilliant French politician and a French journalist

I've often been intrigued, over the years, by the gigantic differences between typical political skills here in France and the corresponding situation back in my native Australia. Indeed, it's a vast question, which I've never been able to understand. In a nutshell, the majority of professional politicians here in France (those who regularly get elected, for years on end) are inevitably brilliant and highly competent, particularly in their speeches and media interviews. Even an individual whose political views might offend you personally is often capable of expressing himself or herself so skillfully, with a maximum of personal charm, that it's often hard to figure out why he/she displeases you to such an extent from a political viewpoint.

In Australia, on the other hand, I've always found that most well-known political leaders (for example John Howard, Kevin Rudd, Julia Gillard and Tony Abbott) appear to be totally incapable of expressing themselves clearly and intelligently. In the case of Abbott, I even ended up imagining from time to time (for example, in the case of his notorious shirtfront threat to Vladimir Putin) that we were faced with an appalling kind of village idiot...

Now, let me drop that Aussie situation, because I truly don't understand why the political scene in my native hand has become degraded to such an extent (like many other aspects of Down Under existence). Let me return to a land that I know, understand and appreciate much better: France. And let me talk, not of brilliant French politicians in general, but of one individual who has been in the limelight for the last few weeks: our Minister of External Affairs Laurent Fabius.

Towards the end of COP21 discussions, various non-governmental organizations dared to designate certain United Nations sessions influenced by Fabius and his team as a "diplomatic ehef d'oeuvre" (masterpiece in diplomacy).

Laurent Fabius alongside the chief French negotiator, Laurence Tubiana, Saturday 12 December 2015, at Bourget 

Now, a French journalist at Le Monde, Marie-Adélaïde Scigacz, has analyzed the general behavior of Fabius at COP21 and attempted to extract four major lessons in successful diplomacy.

http://www.francetvinfo.fr/meteo/climat/cop21/laurent-fabius-ou-comment-reussir-sa-cop21-en-quatre-lecons-de-diplomatie_1221931.html

What I've done here, in my blog post, is to translate roughly the headings of the four lessons... but I haven't had time enough, or been able, to attempt to translate the actual French text for each of these four lessons. I leave that up to the directors of political science classes in Australia, who should contact directly the excellent journalist Marie-Adélaïde Scigacz (to whom I apologize for my lazy approach).

Lesson n°1 : Neutralize trolls by giving them jobs with responsabilities.

L'Arabie saoudite et le Venezuela ne sont pas arrivés à Paris avec les meilleures intentions. Et pour cause, le chef de la délégation saoudienne était le ministre du Pétrole, chargé de s'assurer que l'accord sur le climat n'empêcherait pas le royaume de vivre de son or noir. Et le second, rechignant jusqu'au bout à communiquer ses engagements en matière de réductions de gaz à effet de serre, a milité d'arrache pied pour faire retirer un alinéa sur la tarification du carbone. Comment Laurent Fabius a-t-il "neutralisé les emmerdeurs", pour reprendre le terme employé par Libération ? "En les nommant facilitateurs dans les négociations : la Pologne et l’Arabie saoudite sur la riposte, le Venezuela sur le préambule de l’accord", détaille le quotidien. Composé pour moitié de pays en développement, les facilitateurs ont animé les débats les plus durs, lorsqu'un blocage apparaissait sur un point. Quitte à les choisir parmi les représentants de pays pétroliers ou charbonniers. Pour justifier cette technique bien connue des instituteurs, un proche collaborateur du ministre des Affaires étrangères, cité par Reuters, relevait que "[la négociation], c'est aussi beaucoup de psychologie". En quittant Le Bourget, la négociatrice vénézuélienne, Claudia Salerno, déclarait : "Le monde devrait remercier [Laurent Fabius] pour [son] travail acharné et [sa] patience." Et d'annoncer la publication des engagements vénézuéliens.

Lesson n°2 : Make friends with key actors.

Une semaine avant l'ouverture de la COP21, Laurent Fabius était en Afrique du Sud. A Pretoria, où il a rencontré le président Jacob Zuma, il a rappelé à juste titre le poids de cet "acteur majeur" des négociations climatiques. Fer de lance de l'économie africaine, gros producteurs et exportateur de charbon – une énergie fossile très polluante –, le pays est également le porte-parole du "G77 + Chine", un groupe qui fédère 134 Etats en développement, dont l'Inde, le Brésil et la Chine, comme son nom l'indique. Bref, Afrique du Sud = interlocuteur à chouchouter. Attentive aux représentants sud-africains pendant les réunions ministérielles préparatoires à la COP, la délégation française leur a aussi adressé un clin d'œil appuyé pendant ces négociations de Paris, grâce au choix d'un mot : "indaba". Le terme, qui vient du zoulou, désigne une réunion en petit comité, soit les chefs négociateurs et deux membres de leur équipe, explique Le Monde (article payant).  Pourquoi cette expression, utilisée pour la première fois à la COP17 de Durban, en Afrique du Sud, en 2011, a-t-elle été préféré à un vocable plus conventionnel (au hasard, par "réunion en petit comité", par exemple ) ? Justement, pour rendre hommage au travail effectué à Durban, explique Le Monde. Il y avait été décidé d'aboutir à un accord sur le climat d'ici 2015, soit un premier pas vers la COP21. Un geste en apparence anecdotique, mais qui en dit long sur l'attention portée par les diplomates français aux acteurs-clés.

Lesson n°3 : Create advantageous alliances.

Les négociations sur le climat sont inévitablement marquées par les divergences entre pays riches – souvent des pollueurs historiques, moins impactés par les effets du réchauffement climatique et excédés à l'idée de devoir régler la facture – et pays pauvres – très touchés, bien que moins responsables et désireux de se développer enfin, quitte à puiser dans leurs ressources en énergie fossile. Le défi consistait donc à former une alliance composée d'Etats issus de ces deux catégories, en leur trouvant des intérêts communs. Ainsi est née la "High Ambition Coalition" (en français, "la coalition des ambitieux"). Cette alliance, qui représente plus de 100 pays sur les 195 présents à la COP21 (dont l'Union européenne dans son ensemble, mais aussi les Etats-Unis ou les îles Marshall), s'est formée dans le secret ces six derniers mois, explique The Guardian (en anglais), "autour de verres informels, en marge du sommet climatique à Paris, en juillet", à l'initiative du ministre des îles Marshall, Tony de Brum. Maintenue secrète pendant tout le début du sommet, cette super-coalition a attendu le huitième jour de COP21 pour prendre la parole, défendant un accord ambitieux, avant d'envoyer ses membres tenter de convaincre les Etats récalcitrants, désormais en minorité. Un coup d'éclat payant.

Lesson n°4 : At the last minute, close the mouths of the undecided.

A la fin des négociations, samedi 12 décembre, le texte – un accord de compromis, aux objectifs peu contraignants – convient globalement aux quelque 10 000 représentants des 195 pays. A l'exception du Nicaragua, qui estime que l'accord ne protège pas suffisamment les pays les plus vulnérables. "Profitant d'un retard technique, le Nicaragua a annoncé qu'il voulait s'exprimer, faisant craindre un nouveau retard, voire même un échec du processus. Et ce, le dernier jour", a expliqué le Financial Times (article payant, en anglais). Alors que l'Inde, la Chine, les Etats-Unis ou encore l'Europe et les pays pétroliers étaient parvenus à s'entendre, pas question pour Laurent Fabius de prendre le risque de voir la main levée du Nicaragua faire capoter l'accord. Il a "interrompu sa conversation avec la délégation nicaraguayenne, est monté sur scène et, s'exprimant le plus vite possible, a déclaré : 'L'accord de Paris est accepté !'", raconte le quotidien britannique.

These people give me goose pimples

There are certainly huge crowds of excited onlookers (including many kids) who get a kick out of standing around in a crowd on a dark wintry evening and watching a team of human goblins using ropes to descend from the top of an ancient stone tower.

Personally, that kind of entertainment gives me goose pimples... and it's not only because of the cold. To my mind, this kind of show is totally lacking in drama and poetry. The human insects swing around like pendulums on boring trajectories. The only goal for the blob of soft flesh with gesticulating arms and legs is to reach the end of the planned act without falling to the ground and breaking a neck. Big deal!

Yesterday, a 24-year-old local fellow who was rehearsing for their Christmas show at the famous belfry in Douai did in fact fall to the ground, over a distance of 20 meters, and kill himself. Admittedly, that kind of catastrophe is very rare in this domain, where the participants are highly-trained experts who don't usually take silly risks.

Maybe it's a mistake for me to get goose pimples, just as it was a mistake for our would-be Santa Claus to fall off the chimney before delivering his Christmas presents.

Nothing better than a pair of socks for a Christmas gift

The article doesn't make it clear, but I have the impression we're talking about socks for a gentleman, rather than a lady. And you want to take the piss out of him, OK?

http://www.gizmag.com/bristol-urine-socks-electricity/40882/

If you're running away from the cops, it's unwise to jump into a swamp full of alligators

I would have imagined that, in the Everglades of Florida, most people were aware of that golden rule.

A local TV journalist concluded that 22-year-old Matthew Riggins, who dived into the swamp but never emerged from the waters, was clearly "at the wrong place, at the wrong time".  Yes, that sounds like an honest conclusion. Would the poor fellow be eligible for a Darwin Award?

Law-enforcement officers of this swamp area known as Barefoot Bay (apparently the reptiles don't like boots) captured the alligator and cut his belly apart. But Matthew Riggins was in a pretty bad state by then. To be honest, these swamp creatures (I'm talking of alligators, not humans swimming from the law) don't really cause a lot of damage: no more than 22 deaths since 1948. That's an average of one human swimmer every three years. So, the animals are not really what we might refer to as a Big Danger.

Extreme right-wing is a flop in France

Like countless French people, I would have been immensely sad if the extreme right-wing Front National had succeeded in taking advantage of the terrorist turmoil in France. On the contrary, the extremists have not won a single region... and so much the better.

I was thrilled to see that, in Brittany, the Socialist defence chief Jean-Yves Le Drian has won a huge victory. In my Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes corner of the world (which includes quite a few big cities), we lost to the ordinary right-wing, but that's neither here nor there.

I feel wonderfully relieved, particularly after the splendid achievements of the Socialists in the climate-change arena. So, I'll go to bed early and dream sweet dreams.

Here's an image of Marine Le Pen that pleases me greatly (I'm not sure why):

She looks like a punch-drunk wrestler in the ropes.

Regardless of the outcome, I'm proud to have voted

The region in which I live is now known as Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes, and today's election is a so-called triangular, involving three candidates.

Needless to say (for those who know me), I was happy to vote for the political party that gave us yesterday's marvelous climate-change hopes for the future, not to mention their determination to hunt down and destroy the Daech terrorists.

Son of a Syrian refugee at Calais

On a nondescript concrete embankment at Calais (France), the street artist Banksy has presented an image of the offspring of a refugee, who carries a small computer.

It's Steve Jobs, who never spoke much about his biological father from Syria.