Geo Magazine - Indian Edition - November 2010

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Mexico Carving out a new life in a world without men

K N O W L E D G E

Gallery of Life

From the first cell division to the rise of the mammals: 4 billion years of evolution

Uranium Hunters

Averting nuclear disaster

Free-diving

The ultimate extreme sport

Algeria

Gardens bloom in the sand

John F. Kennedy

The man behind the myth

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G GEOscope . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Architecture, marine biology, history, physics, nutrition, cell research, sociology, astronomy, mathematics and developmental biology .

COVER STORY Panorama . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 Using technology and scientific research to illustrate earth’s history .

4 Billion Years . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 From the first cells to dinosaurs and finally to the reign of mammals .

Success Formula . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56 Living organisms spread across the earth like wildfire .

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FEATURES

Gallery of Life

GEO offers an illustrated view of the great epochs of earth’s natural history . Art and science come together in this unprecedented attempt to show evolution in all its splendour .

Uranium Hunters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60 Saving the world from a potential nuclear catastrophe .

Free-diving . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72 Two athletes face-off over a daunting goal in the deep blue .

Algeria . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80

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The green islands between the 300mhigh sand dunes of the Sahara .

The emergence of the first cell is a fantastic process—and what takes place on earth over the next 4 billion years is nothing short of a miracle .

The Kennedys . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96 Reaching the top: an inside look at a clan of winners .

Mexico . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112 A new self-confidence spreads among the women of Oaxaca .

Scotland . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124 The Knoydart revolutionaries take a symbolic stand against foreign rule .

REGULARS

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Billions of years ago, inanimate molecules arranged themselves into a sensitive organism, a microscopic primordial cell . It was the first step in the invisible and highly complex process of evolution, which has been developing and transforming life ever since .

Letter from the editor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Letters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .10 GEOlino . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .142 World Citizen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144 Preview . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146

Cover image: GEO illustration

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NOV E M B E R CONTENTS

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Women Abandoned

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In Oaxaca, Mexico, being a wife means waiting endlessly for husbands, brothers and sons who work in the USA. But now, some of these women are taking their future into their own hands.

Beyond Human Limits Two athletes battle it out to set a highly dangerous world record: free-diving 100m deep into the ocean, without the help of any auxillary aids.

Gardens of the Desert The desert-oases of the Algerian Sahara illustrate the ancient tradition of coping with the scarcity of water. But the age-old skill of coaxing palm trees from sand dunes is fast disappearing.

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A Pop Star in the White House An in-depth look at one family’s ruthless ambitions and a man who spent his entire life trying to be more than just second-best: John F. Kennedy.

Saving the World

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GEO accompanied a team of uranium hunters on an almost-impossible mission: to track down the highly enriched nuclear materials and store them safely away from potential terrorists.

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G g Volume 4, Issue 11 EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Vinod Mehta PRESIDENT & PUBLISHER Maheshwer Peri EDITOR Kai Jabir Friese ASSOCIATE EDITOR Anita Roy ASSISTANT EDITOR Anees Saigal DESIGN CONSULTANT Ashish Rozario DESIGNER Gulshan Sharma PHOTO COORDINATOR Shruti Singh LIBRARY Alka Gupta

ASSISTANT GENERAL MANAGER Mukesh Lakhanpal ZONAL SALES MANAGERS Anindya Banerjee (West), G. Ramesh (South). Indranil Ganguly (East)

BUSINESS OFFICE ASSOCIATE PUBLISHER Alok Srivastava ADVERTISEMENTS GENERAL MANAGER Shishir Saxena GENERAL MANAGER (CORP) Kabir Khattar

ADMINISTRATION MANAGER Bobby Mathew

DELHI MANAGER Megha Mishra DEPUTY MANAGER Tulika Sachdeva MUMBAI ASSISTANT GENERAL MANAGER Santosh Nair KOLKATA GENERAL MANAGER Moushumi Ghosh BANGALORE REGIONAL MANAGER Anthony Joseph CHENNAI SENIOR MANAGER Shoba Rebecca HYDERABAD MANAGER Sunil M. CIRCULATION VICE PRESIDENT Niraj Rawlley NATIONAL HEAD Himanshu Pandey GENERAL MANAGER Arokia Raj

PRODUCTION & SYSTEM SENIOR MANAGERS Deshraj Jaswal, Shashank Dixit, Sanjay Narang ACCOUNTS ASSISTANT GENERAL MANAGER Chetan Budhiraja SENIOR MANAGER Kuldeep Kothari

HEAD OFFICE AB-10 Safdarjung Enclave, New Delhi 110029, India

SUBSCRIPTION SERVICE [email protected]. Tel: 011-46867200 (Ext: 236, 237, 262), 26100722, 26100723. Fax: 011-26191420, 26177416 ADVERTISEMENT & MARKETING OFFICES Delhi: 011-46867200 Fax: 011-26191420 Mumbai: 022-67382222 Chennai: 044-28582251-52 Bangalore: 080-25582806-07 Hyderabad: 040-23371144 Cochin: 0484-2354867 Printed and published by Maheshwer Peri on behalf of Outlook Publishing (India) Private Limited. Edited by Kai Jabir Friese. Printed at International Print-o-pac Limited, C4-C11, Phase II Noida, and published from AB-10 Safdarjung Enclave, New Delhi 110029, INDIA.

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF: Martin Meister SENIOR EDITOR: Fred Langer PRODUCTION EDITOR: Torsten Schäfer ART DIRECTION: Sandra Kaiser / Annett Schuft PICTURE EDITOR: Maike Köhler ASSISTANT: Dörte Nohrden International Brands and Licenses Unit

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Daniel Gesse (QUEST), Bettina Beimesche (GALA), Karin Hunkeler (GEO), Sandrine Hygoulin (PARENTING) PICTURE EDITORS: Anke Sattler, Anja Wiemken GRAPHIC / WEBDESIGN: Alwin Lösche PROJECT ASSISTANT: Christiane Eitle Copyright © 2009 by G+J International Magazines GmbH, Hamburg

PAGEWISE PHOTO CREDITS Layout position: l. = left, r. = right, u. = up, m. = middle, d. = down COVER: Frank Parker/NHPA; Charles Kresb/Science Faction/Corbis; Chase Studio/Photo Researchers; Jochen Stuhrmann; Tim Wehrmann; Dorling Kindersley (2) (Mainphoto); Dana Romanoff/Reportage by Getty Images: r. u.; Justin Jin/Agentur Focus: l. d.; Dan Burton/www.underwaterimages.co.uk: l. m. d.; George Steinmetz: r. m. d.; Bettmann/Corbis: r. d. PAGE 3 Jochen und Franziska Stuhrmann f. Geo kompakt (3) PAGE 4 Dana Romanoff/Reportage by Getty Images: u.; George Steinmetz: m.; Frédéric Buyle: l. d.; Justin Jin/Agentur Focus: m. d.; Hy Peskin/Time Life Pictures/Getty Images: r. d. GEOSCOPE Håkan Ludwigson: 12/13, 16/17; Nam Y. Huh/AP: 14/15; Jeff Hunter/Getty Images: 18 l.; J. Musolf/Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nürnberg: 18 r.; Roger Ressmeyer/Corbis: 20 l.; Bettmann/Corbis: 20 r.; id-foto.de/fotolia: 22 u.; Dorling Kindersley/Getty Images: 22 d.; Friedrun Reinhold: 24 u.; fotolia: 24 d., 26 d.; Max- Planck- Institut für Entwicklungsbiologie/Jürgen Berger und Mahendra Sonawan: 26 u.; ESA-GOCE High Level Processing Facility: 28 u.; Scherl/SZ Photo: 28 d.; AFP: 30 (3x). THE GALLERY OF LIFE Jochen und Franziska Stuhrmann f. GEOkompakt: 32/33, 36/37, 40/41, 42/43, 48/49, 52/53; Tim Wehrmann f. GEOkompakt: 34/35, 38/39, 44/45, 46/47, 50/51, 54/55 THE URANIUM HUNTERS Justin Jin/Agentur Focus: 60-71 THE RAPTURE OF THE DEEP Dan Burton/www.waterimages.co.uk: 72/73, 76/77; Frédéric Buyle: 74/75; 78/79 THE GREEN ISLAND OF THE SAHARA George Steinmetz: 80-95 AMERICA'S FIRST FAMILY Bachrach/Hulton Archive/Getty Images: 96/97; Privatsammlung: 98 u.; Corbis: 98 d., 99, 100/101, 102; Fox Photos/Getty Images: 103; Tal/Rue ds Archives/Süddeutsche Zeitung Photo: 104/105; Yale Joel/Time Life Pictures/Getty Images: 106, 107; Hy Peskin/Time Life Pictures/Getty Images: 109. AWAKENING THE ABANDONED Dana Romanoff/Reportage by Getty Images: 112-123 THE KNOYDART REVOLUTIONARIES Murdo Macleod: 124-139 GEOLINO Zuma Press/action press: 142 (2x); Mario Weigt/Anzenberger: 143 u; Lukasz Sokol: 143 d. (2x) ONE IN... 6,697 BILLION Jürgen Schäfer: 144 PAGE 146 Xi Zhinong: l. u.; Basilica di San Marco: l. d.; L. Calcada/ESO/ STcl/NASA: r. u.; Bernhard Edmaier: m.; Elin Berge: r. m.; Anastasia Taylor- Lind/VII: r. d. MAPS Rainer Droste: 87, 123; Annett Schuft: 139; Stefanie Peters: 142, 143

This magazine is published under license from G+J International Magazines GmbH. All rights to the licensed material are owned by G+J International Magazines GmbH. Reproduction whether in whole or in part without permission of G+J International Magazines GmbH is prohibited. The name of GEO and the logo thereof are registered trademarks of or in trust of G+J International Magazines GmbH.

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EDI TO R I AL

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The first biology lesson for your Precambrian Board exams.

OMETIMES, READING GEO is like being back in school— without teachers or classmates or reports, thank goodness. I guess all I really mean is, I learn a lot. Scanning this month’s cover story though, my mind lit up with the gratitude of a schoolboy chancing upon the answers to tomorrow’s exam. Not that anyone is likely to quiz me on the geologic timescale any time soon. But you never know—and not knowing my Cambrian from my Devonian always left me feeling a little Cretaceous. (Just kidding, kids—that’s not the adjectival form of cretin). Anyway, you can try me now. Go on, make my Quatenary day! Having rediscovered my inner swot I’ve read way beyond the assigned text, so brace yourselves. You should know, firstly, that our pictorial reconstruction of the last 4 billion years presents a mix of Supereons (such as the Precambrian), Eras (the Cenozoic) and Periods (the Quarternary). It lacks any Eons (such as the Phanerozoic which is represented by all its periods) or Epochs (like the ongoing Holocene). And did you know that the Quatenary only became official when the International Union of Geological Sciences ratified it last June? Which makes it a one-year-old, 2.5-million-year period. The mind googles. Yup, I learned a lot. I even expanded my already formidable vocabulary with the addition of ‘congulate’ (which means ball-like) and ‘testaceous’ (which, much to my disappointment, does not).

Kai Friese Editor

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LE T T E R S

WHEN I READ THE SEPTEMBER 2010 issue of GEO, I regretted not having subscribing to the magazine earlier. Every article was brimming with information on a wide range of subjects. It was surprising to find out that the Census of Marine Life, which will end this month, had its origins, in a way, back in 1872—with the researchers aboard HMS Challenger (‘Drifters of the Deep’). The photographs of the deep-sea creatures and of ancient Greece were fabulous, while the tale of Sunderban’s honey gatherers was heartstopping (‘Death in the Jungle’). I could almost sense the tigers nearby. I think the Berbers of Morocco still have a long way to go before they receive basic amenities. But the article (‘Far From the Future’) was so superbly written that I now have a great urge to visit the village of Tilfitinne. Lastly, in reference to the story about children’s rights (‘Lost Childhood’), we must come together for the welfare of suffering children across the world. We should all take an oath to support at least one such child. NIRAJ MEHTA Bharuch

THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME valuable space in the Letters page of GEO’s July 2010 issue. GEO is one of my favourite magazines, and I regularly read it at my local library. As a photographer and artist, the photos are naturally the

ALIENS OF THE DEEP, September 2010 most appealing aspect of the magazine for me. Every one of the world-class images helps the reader move that much closer towards understanding nature. CHANDAN D.N. GAONKAR Goa

THE INFORMATIVE ARTICLE ON cryonics (‘Icemen,’ October 2010) by Erwin Koch and Murray Bellard was entertaining and thoughtprovoking. If its hypothesis proves to be true, cryonics will negate religious beliefs and affect philosophies of life and death that have evolved over centuries of civilisation. The article also threw up many questions. What is expected to happen to our cognitive functions? Will we be able to preserve our memories? Will the newly re-born have to learn to adapt to future environments or will they step directly into society with their perceptions intact? Will the body be able to live out a relative lifespan

in its reincarnation? And how will the engineers know when the body has regained consciousness? Thinking of this experiment as a period of ‘hibernation’—which implies a state that has a natural purpose—is misleading. Even if it turns out to be viable, life is not something that should be manipulated in a laboratory. It is a philosophical matter that lies beyond the realm of science. ARUN T.P. Thalassery

I RECENTLY HAPPENED TO COME across your May 2009 issue, which contained a story by Disha Mullick, ‘Far Horizon,’ about photographer Milan Moudgill’s trips to Manasarovar and Mount Kailash. Wonderful article! UPDESH KAUR Email

MY DECISION TO SUBSCRIBE TO GEO was motivated by the appealing free gift of a

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rucksack. It’s been a year now and the gift remains unopened, even while I continue to enjoy GEO. The magazine actually doesn’t need any marketing to attract subscribers. I was disappointed to read about the UNICEF’s failed drive towards the betterment of children’s lives (‘Lost Childhood,’ September 2010). On the other hand, it was amusing to read ‘What Keeps Us Together’ (October 2010). Love and relationships are beyond scientific verdict— for example, in India, where choosing a life-partner is not always dictated by love, healthy and successful marriages continue to thrive. Ultimately, no amount of research can diagnose the true nature of the heart. SIDDHARTHA New Delhi

Write to [email protected] or GEO, AB-17 Safdarjang Enclave, New Delhi 110029

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T H E FASCINATING WORLD OF KNOWLEDGE

GEOscope

Open Invitation The Za-Koenji Public Theatre in Tokyo, designed by Japanese architect Toyo Ito, almost resembles a children’s playhouse. Glass-panelled openings brightly dot the steel cladding of the theatre, while a pastel-coloured staircase winds up six floors, past an auditorium and theatre halls, finally leading to an archive and a café. This cultural centre, which is run by a non-profit organisation, is the new attraction of the capital’s Sugianami district. It hopes to follow in the tradition of the agora of the city-states of ancient Greece: a central space that is used for public assemblies.

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GEOscope

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A Skyline Etched in Steel A warped reflection of Chicago’s skyline sweeps across the polished stainless steel of Cloud Gate. This public artwork by Indian-born British artist Anish Kapoor has won the admiration not only of art lovers but also of the American Welding Society, because there are no visible seams joining the 168 metal plates that make up this 100-tonne sculpture. The sculpture’s flawless surface resembles liquid mercury, and its shape has earned it the nickname ‘The Bean.’

GEOscope GEO

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An Icon of a Museum The brief given by the Israeli municipality of Holon to architect Ron Arad was straightforward: design a museum that can be featured on a national postage stamp. And so Arad created a structure that looks more like a sculpture than a functional building: five ribbons of steel sweep boldly around two white exhibition galleries, serving both as support as well as shade. Holon, which lies south of Tel Aviv and has a population of 170,000, now has a striking motif for its future stamps. 11/10 g 17

GEOscope Not only a feast for the eyes: coral babies love reef noises

P O P U L A R FA L L AC Y

Flat Earth

It was a 17th-century fabrication that scholars ever believed the earth to be a flat disc.

The Call of Home Coral larvae ‘hear’ their way back to the reef. Once a year, many millions of coral polyps—those tiny builders and residents of reefs—produce and release their ova and sperm cells. These drift around in the currents of the open sea, connecting with one another purely by chance. The fertilised eggs develop into tiny coral larvae covered with fine hair—larvae that have to quickly find a rock or a place on a reef where they can settle down. So how do these coral ‘babies’ know where to head? Researchers from Bristol, UK and Curaçao, Dutch Antilles, have made a surprising discovery: although they possess no ears, the larvae can ‘hear’ the location of the closest reef. The researchers set up a tank for the larvae and used loudspeakers to broadcast sound effects that are typical of a coral reef: grunting fish, crackling crab pincers, snapping shrimps. Almost as soon as the sounds began, the larvae oriented themselves by the noise and made a beeline for the loudspeakers. One of the researchers, Steve Simpson, has a theory to explain this phenomenon: “At close quarters, the sound waves stir up water molecules, and this is registered by the cilia or fine hair on the body of the larvae, giving them a sense of direction.” This finding also suggests a possible downside of the auditory effect: manmade sounds in coral reef environments could be isolating these ecosystems from their own offspring, as the gentle noises of the reef are often drowned out in the din produced by boats and offshore drilling.

Although the earliest surviving globe was made in 1492, serious scholars of the planets had realised centuries before that the earth was not a flat disc. In his book on astronomy, Liber de Sphaera, published around 1230, Johannes de Sacrobosco described the earth as a spherical ball. And much earlier, in the 8th century, a monk named Beda had categorically called it a “rotunda.” He based his claim on the works of the Greek philosopher Aristotle (4th century BC), whose countryman Eratosthenes had made a nearly accurate calculation of the earth’s circumference being between 6,000 and 8,000km—the actual figure is 6,350km. The Roman historian Pliny also noted empirical grounds for the spherical theory: the lower part of a ship at the horizon seemed to ‘sink’ into the sea, and the earth’s shadow on the moon was always circular, which would not be possible if the earth were flat.

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The earth was always believed to be round.

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Left, a laser beam to the moon and back measures continental drift. Below, Theodore Maiman used a ruby to produce the first laser beam.

The Perfect Wave Great strides are being made in the field of laser technology which may soon result in revelations about the very creation of the universe. The word ‘laser’ stands for Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation. The foundation for this stimulated emission originated with Albert Einstein, who established that photons excite atoms or molecules of a suitable material to emit more photons, thus producing an artificial amplification of light. This basic principle has remained unchanged since the day in May 1960 when Theodore Harold Maiman and his assistant, Irnee D’Haenens, produced the world’s first laser beam at Hughes Research Laboratory in California, USA, with a light amplifier that generated waves of a predetermined wavelength with an absolutely parallel wave pattern. The aura of science-fiction that surrounded the blazing beam since its invention 50 years ago is now a thing of the past. From metalworks to eye-surgery to warfare, lasers have become commonplace. Still, even today, the laser can still throw up totally new discoveries. The latest example: the LISA Project (Laser Interferometer Space Antenna) will greatly increase our understanding

of the creation of the universe. By 2020, NASA and ESA will jointly send three identical spacecraft into orbit around the sun, forming the vertices of an equilateral triangle 5,000,000km apart. The spacecrafts will play a kind of intergalactic laser ping-pong: an infrared laser beam will be aimed from one spacecraft to another, be reflected and then sent back. The objective: the smallest of fluctuations in the separation between the spacecrafts will change the properties of the laser light. Such fluctuations, if they can be detected, would be caused by gravitational waves. It is believed that particularly intense gravitational waves were emitted 13.7 billion years ago, when the Big Bang created space, time and matter. So far, however, the existence of these waves has not been proven. Now, by crossing the path of the astral triangle, they could cause a fractional distortion in the 5,000,000km-separation. Scientists expect the fluctuation to be no more than 1 picometer (one-trillionth of a metre); a miniscule change that can only be detected by a laser interferometer.

Lasers could also alter our understanding of the sequence of chemical reactions. So far, science has only ‘assumed’ the details of what happens when two molecules meet and produce a new material. From 2014 onwards, when the European X-ray laser project, XFEL, starts operations, it will be possible to film such processes by using a laser that generates flashes of X-ray light based on accelerated electrons. On account of the extremely short-wave lengths and the rapid succession of its laser flashes, chemical processes that take place in less than one-billionth of a second can be recorded step-by-step. Of more practical use is a new laser technology being developed by Princeton University, USA, which can be used to see through barriers such as frosted glass. Even when laser beams get scattered by an obstacle, the information about the structure they collide with is not totally lost. Physicists have now succeeded in reconstructing a sharp picture from the diffused light. So, lasers could soon have another routine application: as ‘fog eyes’ for vehicles.

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GEOscope Why the Breast Beats the Bottle Mom’s milk seems to switch on the right genes in a baby’s body.

Breast milk: a switch for the immune system?

Is it really true that breast milk is better for a baby than infant formula from a bottle? Apparently, it is. “For the first time, we can see that breast milk induces genetic pathways that are quite different from those in formula-fed infants,” says Sharon Donovan of Illinois University, USA. The researcher has studied the effects of breast milk and breast-milk substitutes on the intestinal cells of 22 infants. Nutrition has a so-called ‘epigenetic effect’ here: it switches on certain genes responsible for metabolism that would otherwise remain dormant. And although infant formula-makers are trying to develop a product as similar as possible to breast milk, enormous differences between the two continue to exist. “Natural milk expresses hundreds of genes in completely differently ways than formula milk.” This is more than just a one-time effect: billions of cells are regenerated in the intestine every few days, and these have to be re-stimulated each time. Many of the genes that are activated by a mother’s breast milk help to build up the immune system of her child.

Hair for Hearing Researchers create hair cells from stem cells, offering hope for the deaf.

One day, sign language may become redundant.

There are about 30,000 superfine hair cells within the inner ear, which detect sound waves and convey them to the brain as audio impulses. If these cells get damaged or are underdeveloped, the individual suffers a loss of hearing. So far, this kind of impairment was considered incurable. Now, however, researchers working with Stefan Heller of Stanford University, USA, have succeeded in developing a large number of synthetic, functioning hair cells. Undifferentiated stem cells from a mouse were used as a base material for the experiment. The development of the cells was monitored using biotechnical processes. Researchers were surprised to find that, even in the petri dish, the hair cells responded the same way they would inside the ear. In the future, Heller hopes to be able to use his experiment to help the deaf by placing a ‘carpet’ of cultured hair cells inside the impaired inner ear.

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TIGER COUNTRY? Amazingly, the country with the largest population of tigers in the world is the USA. Fewer than 400 live in zoos and between 7,000 and 10,000 are privately owned. Of the 50 American states, only 18 have a ban on keeping big cats as pets. Conservationists estimate that there are more tigers in private homes in Texas alone than there are in the jungles of India. According to the WWF, the number of tigers in the wild has dropped by 95 per cent over the last century, and is now somewhere between 3,200 and 5,000 animals.

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Discovery of the Super Hormone Biochemist Jiří Friml from the Czech Republic receives the 2010 Körber European Science Award. Until a few years ago, not much was known about physiological processes in plants. Now, Jiří Friml of the University of Ghent, Belgium, has made some groundbreaking contributions to the subject and has been conferred the Körber European Science Award, worth 750,000 euros, by the foundation of the same name in Hamburg, Germany. Friml’s greatest achievement is in

deciphering the growth hormone, auxin. Auxin regulates almost all developmental processes in plants, and its distribution determines which part of a plant forms leaves and which forms roots. Friml has also discovered how auxin reaches its intended destination: via transporter proteins, which move it from cell to cell. This information will help in directing the growth of crops.

Separating Earth and Moon Contrary to popular wisdom, two researchers say that the explosion of a natural nuclear reactor could have catapulted the moon from the young earth. There is a general consensus among planetary scientists on how the moon appeared in the sky. A heavenly body the size of Mars collided into the still-glowing earth 4.5 billion years ago, which caused the matter that now forms the moon to be hurled into space. On the basis of this theory, scholars have hoped to find extraterrestrial material in samples of moon-rock. But on the contrary, rocks from the earth’s satellite have been found to be incredibly similar to those from the earth itself. Now, however, two scientists from South Africa and the Netherlands have come up with a completely different theory. They say the ‘kick’ that triggered the separation did not come from an external source but, rather, from the nuclear explosion of a natural reactor, which used uranium and thorium atoms buried deep in earth’s innards. Rob de Meijer of the University of the Western Cape, South Africa, and Wim van Westrenen from Amsterdam, Holland, have put forward an astonishing hypothesis: fission energy of ten quadrillion Hiroshima bombs was needed to create the pair—earth and moon—with their present properties. This energy could well have been available on earth, even without cosmic intervention, from a ‘geologic reactor’ measuring 240km across. According to this hypothesis, the geo-reactor exploded because the heat generated during natural nuclear fission— about 100 billion°C—could not be dissipated fast enough. The separation was reinforced by the centrifugal force operating on the rotating earth. This theory has the advantage of explaining, for the first time, the common angular momentum of earth and moon without the necessity of making additional assumptions. The collision theory can do this only by assuming the earth rotated ‘the wrong way around’ before the collision.

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The question of origin is still mired in controversy: how was the moon created?

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GEOscope Unsuspected Potential The larvae of Zebra fish mature into beings that can teach us much about life. Like fruit flies, Zebra fish (Danio rerio) are ideally suited to the study of developmental biology. They are quick to multiply and are, as vertebrates, quite closely related to man. Moreover, genes in this species can be individually switched on and off, which helps us identify their functions. In addition, Zebra fish possess the amazing property of regeneration: a broken fin, for instance, simply grows back again. But even the transition from larvae (greatly magnified in this image) to fish is fascinating: contrary to what you might think at first glance, the larvae’s two indentations framed by cilia are not the eyes of the future fish—but, rather, its nostrils. The large protrusions on the side will develop into optical organs.

Leonardo’s Billiards A mathematician has worked out which pool shot is the hardest—and, in the process, has discovered the ‘golden ratio’ for billiards.

The art of pocketing the ball.

There are some things that pool players know, even without Rick Mabry’s mathematical calculations. The further the object ball is from the white cue ball, the greater the deviation from the optimal line and the harder the shot. And, less obviously: it is easier to land the object ball into the pocket when it is near the cue ball but far from the

pocket, rather than when it is near the pocket but far from the cue ball. But the professor of mathematics from Louisiana State University, USA, had not expected one outcome of his pool-formula: the discovery of billiards’ golden ratio—1.61803. For an amateur or a poor player who rarely manages to shoot the ball at the correct angle, Mabry’s calculations show that the difficulty of the shot is the greatest when the distance between the cue ball and the pocket is 1.618 times the distance between the object ball and the pocket. This configuration maximises the effect of the error. It is an incredible discovery—for it is well known that the golden ratio

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(1.618...) plays an important role in aesthetics. For instance, it is found in the ideal body proportions of Leonardo da Vinci’s artworks. And it is also hidden in the growth process: a tree whose branches increase from three to five within a particular span of time, grows eight branches after another span of time of exactly the same duration: i.e. 1.6 times more branches. The more branches there are, the more precisely the ratio of 1.618 is achieved. But Mabry himself does not know what the golden ratio has to do with improving one’s skill. After two beers, the researcher admits that his pool skills are zero. Perhaps he should try after 1.618 beers instead?

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GEOscope Gravitating Forces

Sea levels are different across the world. For instance, there is a deepsea trench off India (blue areas on the map) where the level is 120m deeper than the global average. This is due to the pull of gravity—since gravity on the other side of the Indian trench is greater, it pulls the mass of water towards itself. North of Australia and in the North Atlantic, where the force of gravity is maximum (orange areas), the mass of water surges up considerably.

This has been revealed by new data from the European Space Agency’s GOCE satellite, which shows scientists how widely the earth’s gravitational field varies across the planet. The variations have other effects, too: since gravity off the coast of India is 0.3 per mil less than the average, a person who weighs 70kg in Europe will weigh 21 grams less in South India. In other words, his weight force will be less even when his mass remains the same.

Keeping Cool Why fat people seldom become thin and thin people seldom become fat. Some people seem to put on weight just by looking at a piece of cake, while others devour mountains of pasta and still remain the same size. A research team from the University of Giessen, Germany, has now established that this effect is not merely a matter of genes, but has to do with the body as well. About 70 per cent of the energy that a person Becoming thin is very gains from food is used by the body to maintain its temperature; in other difficult for some.

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words, food energy is transformed into heat. The less heat we lose to the surroundings through our skin, the less the amount we need to eat. This fact is critical for one’s figure: in fat people, the ratio of skin surface to body mass is about 50 per cent less than the same ratio in thin people. Because of their—relatively speaking—larger skin surface, thin people lose more heat energy per unit of body mass than fat people.

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GEOscope

A Breath of Foul Air India is still exceptionally polluted. Germinating new life.

Air pollution causes premature deaths and serious illness, and countries worldwide are striving to limit pollutants. But India continues to have “exceptionally high” levels of ‘organochlorides’ like DDT (Dichloro-Diphenyl-Trichloroethane), according to a recent report in the Journal of Environmental Monitoring (Sept 2010). Samplers deployed on seven continents from 2005 to 2008 indicated that the concentration of the pesticide ‘gamma HFC’ (hexachlorocyclohexane, also known as Lindane) is 0.3 nanograms at Cape Grim, Australia, but is 800 nanograms in Delhi, India.

Traffic fumes contribute to poor air quality.

Ornithological Wonders

Posthumous Recognition

A haven for birdwatchers in Gujarat, India.

The Indian pioneer of reproductive technology finally gets his due. Robert Edwards, the IVF pioneer, recently won the Nobel Prize for Medicine, 2010. But could it have equally gone to Subhash Mukhopadhyay, an unsung IVF expert who battled ridicule from his peers and bureaucratic scorn in west Bengal in the 1970s? He is now widely credited with independently creating India’s first test tube baby, Durga, just 10 weeks after Louise Brown—the world’s first such baby—was born in July 1978. Mukhopadhyay faced an uphill battle because he allegedly did not scientifically document his work. Since December that year, state authorities prevented Mukhopadhyay from presenting his work at scientific conferences and stopped him from visiting Kyoto University, where he had been invited to present his work. Worse, they transferred him in June 1981 to an ophthalmology institute. A depressed Mukhopadhyay committed suicide a few months later. It was more than two decades after his death, in 2005, that the Indian Council of Medical Research recognised him as the creator of India’s first test tube baby.

The Khijadiya Bird Sanctuary in northwestern Gujarat is a paradise for waterfowl, waders and terrestrial birds, and this month, for the first time, plays host to the Global Bird Watchers’ Conference. Located at the watershed of Ruparel and Kallindi rivers, Khijadiya has a unique ecosystem in which freshwater and marine habitats lie adjacent to each other. Ornithologists flock to see the sanctuary’s 300+

A flock of flamingos.

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species of birds—including many migrants at this time of year— such as Dalmatian pelicans, spotted eagles, flamingos, Oriental darters, kingfishers, Eurasian curleys, and the star attraction, the beautiful Blacknecked stork (Ephippiorhynchus asiaticus). This rare bird is listed as “near threatened” on the IUCN Red List; sanctuaries like Khijadiya provide a vital haven for breeding pairs.

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P REC AMBRIAN P E R I O D At least 3.5 billion to 542 million years ago

T HE FIRST CELL S Palaeontologists generally divide natural history into 12 epochs, each of which is determined on the basis of its characteristic fossils. The first of these epochs began more than 3.5 billion years ago, when, after several interim stages, the first cell finally took shape, emerging from dead, inorganic compounds. This cell was a tiny factory of life with a simple cycle of matter and the ability to split, thereby passing on genetic information. About 2.5 billion years later, multicellular, conglobate collectives evolved from this basic model. They were the earliest complex living organisms—and the beginning of all the natural diversity that would develop in the subsequent epochs.

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Life has existed on our planet for more than 3.5 billion years. Cells formed, higher organisms developed from a few basic building blocks, and nature created a complex network of relationships—a vast array of animals, plants and fungi. The story of evolution is an epic tale of adaptation, downfall and reinvention. GEO has reconstructed the 12 major epochs in natural history in the form of detailed illustrations. The result is a unique look at the distant past: sumptuous, artistic and scientifically accurate. Illustrations: Jochen Stuhrmann and Tim Wehrmann. Text: Henning Engeln and Jörn Auf dem Kampe. Production: Susanne Gilges, Rainer Harf and Torsten Laaker.

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C AMBRIAN PERI O D 542 to 488 million years ago

A WORLD FULL O F P RE DATO R S For over 3 billion years, only primitive organisms lived in the oceans—but then bizarre animals with telescopic eyes, fine bristles, amoured bodies and prickly gripper arms evolved in a relatively short period of time. Not only were almost all modern phyla formed during the Cambrian period, including the ancestors of vertebrates, but it also saw earth’s first major ‘arms race’. Alluvial substances from land, as well as metals and minerals from sources under the sea, enabled complex structures like exoskeletons to evolve. This led to the rise of the first predators— such as the Anomalocaris (in the foreground), which could grow up to 1m long, and the Opabinia (on the sea bed) which had a five eyes and a distinctive trunk. Their prey defended themselves with shells or prickles—such as the Hallucigenia (bottom right), which seemed to walk on stilts.

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ORDOVICIAN PE R I O D 488 to 444 million years ago

A NE W VARIETY I N T H E O C E A N Life continued to flourish almost exclusively in the ocean—the exceptions being the landfall of simple algae and lichen. Marine animals included huge predators such as the Cameroceras (right), a 12m-long cephalopod and perhaps the largest creature to have lived in this period. The earliest fish (Sacabambaspis, in the foreground) had neither jaws nor teeth. They had simple fins on their tails and defended themselves with rough head-shields made of a bone-like material. These archaic vertebrates sucked soft algal mats and colonies of microbes that they churned up in the sludge at the base of the earth’s first coral reefs.

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S ILURIAN PERIO D 444 to 416 million years ago

P IONEERS ON L A N D After the first primitive lichens and algae, complex vascular plants developed on land about 420 million years ago. The approximately 4cm-high Cooksonia was among the earliest plants to adapt to the aridity, temperature differences and the constant bombardment by the sun’s harmful ultraviolet rays. It colonised the shores of seas and rivers, anchoring its body in the soil using root-like protuberances, through which it absorbed fresh water and minerals. Molluscs and arthropods like scorpions also defied the harsh conditions. Shells, such as those of the mussels pictured here, which measured 4–5cm across, protected the creatures inside from dehydration.

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DE VONIAN PERIO D 416 to 359 million years ago

S TR AGGLERS M OV E TO L A N D An immense variety of fish developed in the oceans, rivers and lakes, including those of the genus Dipterus (in the foreground). An anatomical innovation allowed this freshwater dweller to make forays into oxygen-deficient zones; it had a primitive lung that enabled it to breathe above water. This characteristic enabled Tiktaalik, an ancestor of the amphibians, to move about on land—one of the first species of vertebrates to do so—by dragging itself along on its sturdy fins. Yet, fish were latecomers to the continent where arthropods, molluscs and plants—such as the Prototaxis mushroom, whose pillar-like fruiting body could grow up to 8m high—had already long established themselves.

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CARBONIFEROUS PERIOD 359 to 299 million years ago

T H E F I R S T F O R E S TS Life had established itself across the land, leaving almost no region untouched. Vast forests covered the land masses for the first time ever, and they began merging to form the supercontinent known as Pangaea. Club moss trees up to 40m tall and 10m-high horsetails dominated the new forest ecosystem. This was also the age of articulate animals. Beneath the giant trees, 2m-long, thick-shelled Arthropleurae (left), which resembled modern centipedes, hunted dragonflies with wingspans of up to 60cm.

PERMIAN PERIO D 299 to 251 million years ago

PREDATORS ON T H E SUPERCONTIN E N T During this epoch, Pangaea’s individual land masses moved closer to each other. The climate on its fringes was tropical and moist, while a huge desert extended across its interior. The dominant quadrupeds were the Pelycosaurs, among them the Dimetrodon. This carnivore had specially developed teeth to slay prey as large as itself. This cold-blooded animal probably warmed itself by absorbing the sun’s rays via the spectacular sail on its back. The Permian period ended with the most widespread mass extinction of all time—probably triggered by a gigantic volcanic eruption.

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TRIASSIC PERIOD 251 to 200 million years ago

I N WAT E R, L A N D A ND AIR In this epoch, reptiles became the dominant animals. Some of them, like the 1m-long pterosaur Eudimorphodon, even managed to conquer the air. Others increasingly adapted to living in water. With its snake-like neck, the 6m-long Tanystropheus hunted for prey in coastal waters but lived on land. Other reptiles, such as lizard fish, already lived entirely in the sea. The first dinosaurs, lightweight lizards with pillar-like legs, appeared on land, and ginkgo trees and conifers proliferated.

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JURASSIC PERIOD 200 to 145 million years ago

T H E E R A O F T H E G I ANTS The largest land animals to ever inhabit the earth evolved about 200 million years ago: gigantic Sauropods that were as tall as houses, such as the Brachiosaurus (left). A special lung structure, their light frame, perhaps their warm-bloodedness, and their special diet of plants facilitated their gigantism. Besides the pterosaurs, the primitive bird Archaeopteryx (in front) also began to conquer the air. Gingko trees and Williamsonia, which were similar to present-day cycads, grew in the forests. Ferns and conifers also flourished during this period.

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C R E TAC E O U S P E RIOD 145 to 65 million years ago

T H E E A R T H B E COMES A S E A O F B LO S S O MS Seed plants developed a new reproductive organ: the flower. Some of them used the wind to carry the male gametes (pollen) to other flowers. Others—such as the magnolia pictured here—utilised insects for this task by attracting them with their bright, fragrant flowers and nutritious nectar. The dinosaurs experienced their biggest diversity in this period. Some, like the Gallimimus (above), developed a layer of feathers to keep themselves warm.

C ENOZOIC PERIO D 65 to 2.6 million years ago

T HE TRIUMPH OF T H E M A M M A L S Warm-blooded, furry mammals gave birth to live young and fed them on breast milk. They became the dominant group of vertebrates in the Cenozoic age. Among them were the Chalicotheriidae (right), 2m-long creatures that moved on extralong forelimbs in a knuckle-walk, as well as the elephant-like Dienotherium (rear). Giant swine as well as the huge Indricotheriidae—giants from the rhinoceros family that weighed 30 tonnes—also lived in the Cenozoic age. Some ungulates, ancestors of the whale, adapted again to living in water. Other mammals, such as the apes, moved into the trees. Flowering plants and insects gave rise to a rich diversity.

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Q UATERNARY AGE T HE END OF THE G I A N TS

2.6 million years ago until the present

Over the last 2.6 million years, the earth has experienced a series of climatic fluctuations punctuated with extremely cold periods: the Ice Ages. Until about 1.8 million years ago, giant flightless birds lived in South America, seen here attacking a 4m-long giant armadillo, which defends itself with its spiked tail. Species such as mammoths, giant stags, woolly rhinoceros and cave bears adapted to the cold. And 2.5 million years ago in Africa, an upright walking ape with an increased brain size invented the first tools. Human beings soon began conquering the entire world—and the primeval giants probably fell victim to this most dangerous hunter of all times.

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A CO M P I L AT I O N O F FAC TS Tim Wehrmann (35) and Jochen Stuhrmann (34) worked for several weeks on each of these artworks. From the first sketches to the final images on the computer, it was a long process. Each detail, however small—down to the last centipede’s claws—had to be rendered to scale and, of course, conform to the latest research. The challenge lay in using computers to turn dry scientific drawings into spectacular scenes from prehistoric times, and in accurately recreating the natural habitats even though our only clues to those periods are the fossils that remain.

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WHEN MAT TE R C AM E A L I V E by Rainer Harf

NATURE’S BIG EXPERIMENT Over 3.5 billion years ago, the first life forms evolved from inanimate molecules on the young planet earth. The invisible process of development that was set in motion has been constantly transforming, refining and developing life ever since: a process called evolution.

This manual was stored in a unique molecule that still regulates all living beings: DNA. And with each multiplication, the cell passed on this ‘molecular blueprint’ to its progeny, so that they could also multiply.

MILLIONS OF YEARS after the formation of the first primordial cell, mucous mats began to spread out. They were teeming with life. Billions upon billions of unicellular organisms proliferated there—and continually multiplied in number. Even back then, at the time of the early microbes, there was an invisible process at work without which life could not have HERE ARE ABOUT 100 billion a place that offered those delicate organic developed beyond this archaic stage. It galaxies in the universe, each substances, the ‘building blocks of life,’ was a continuous process of change and consisting of 100 billion stars. protection from the elemental forces at further development: evolution. Not all the unicellular organisms And, according to scientists, a system play: the cosmic rays and the destructive consisting of several planets revolves energy of asteroids that were perpetually were similar. While it was true that they around every second star, which means smashing into the ocean. Most came from the same ancestor, the cells that there are at least one sextillion other researchers reckon that the first creatures did not produce exact copies of their worlds besides the earth. And yet, it is emerged in tiny bubbles in the rocks of genotype each time they split. They absolutely possible that the wondrous undersea vents. Others believe that the made mistakes, accidentally altering the interplay of matter that we call ‘life,’ interstices in sea ice or clay sediments blueprint and thus producing offspring that were different from them. which seems as obvious to us as night were the breeding grounds of life. Regardless of where the genesis of life In most cases, such ‘flawed’ copies following day, does not exist anywhere began, it spread like wildfire. As soon as resulted in non-viable creatures. From else in the universe. No one knows—and perhaps life was sparked off, it caught on and time to time, however, the mistakes in will never know—if the earth has an spread out. the DNA resulted in unexpected benefits. It was precisely this ability to Creatures that were occasionally equivalent in the vast expanse of space, or if our planet is unique in an otherwise multiply, to produce offspring, in a sense superior to the other organisms in their to ‘replicate oneself,’ that distinguished environment emerged—bacteria that lifeless cosmos. What is certain, though, is that an the early creatures from all inorganic could conserve their energy better than incredible, amazing event happened on substances. Neither rock, stone nor the others, unicellular organisms that could our planet more than 3.5 billion years simplest grain of sand could create its suddenly produce absolutely new types ago—inanimate molecules organised own likeness. of bio-molecules, and even some that The first cell had an inbuilt blueprint could multiply faster than others of their themselves into a sensitive organism, a microscopic primordial cell, to begin a containing all the information about its species—and thus prevail over them highly complex process: to evolve into internal structure, a manual precisely with the passage of time. detailing the biochemical cycles that kept Hence, a contest for survival raged the first living being. Exactly where this creature evolved, it alive. It primarily indicated one thing: among the microbe mats. where chemistry turned into biology, is which substances had to be built in order Eventually, this rivalry with one another, this need to assert themselves, not known. However, it must have been for the organism to multiply.

T

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NATIONAL DISASTER MANAGEMENT AUTHORITY GOvERNMENT Of INDIA

Envisioning a Safer and Disaster Resilient India

During an Earthquake… DROP ! COVER! HOLD!! ImpoRtant factS to bE REmEmbERED • Run towards an open space • If unable to move outside, bend and take shelter under a table • Guard your head with some strong object • Rush and stand in a corner and save your head

DuRIng an EaRthquakE * Don’t panic and remain calm * Wait there till shaking is stopped * Move away from windows, mirrors, bookcase and other unsecured heavy objects * Do not use elevators instead take the staircase to reach open space

aftER an EaRthquakE * After the first tremor, be prepared for after shocks * Help injured or trapped persons * Remember to help the people who may require special assistance - infants, elderly and people with disabilities * Stay out of damaged buildings

To avoid risks - Make your building strong - Seek technical advice

Then, about 350 million years ago, led to the proliferation of life forms of several, then hundreds, and later, primeval forests created a cover over much more complex than the early thousands and millions of cells. Soon conglobate algae were moving the hitherto barren earth. Mushrooms microscopic, single-celled organisms. Competition has been the driving in green masses through the oceans: the proliferated in the shade of trees; force behind evolution ever since. And ancestors of plants. They were followed scorpions and spiders, lizards and innovations and successes have written by stringy primeval fungi. And millions woodlice rustled in the foliage. of years later—at least according to one Life had now spread out across the the story of life on this planet. Over the course of millions of years, common theory—the first animal, a entire planet. And, almost imperceptibly, new creatures constantly evolved and mere sliver, no larger than a millimetre, it had vaulted over to a higher level of being. explored new habitats. Not all organisms crawled along the ocean floor. With the advent of animals, the remained at the site of their creation: some of them settled in the darkest AND YET, EXTREMELY complex world was not merely animated but also depths of the sea; others on the slopes creatures evolved from the descendents experienced. In contrast to plants and of undersea mountains or in shallow of this nondescript being: organisms fungi, these mobile creatures developed complex sensory organs with which coastal waters. they could perceive their surroundings With the passage of time, the entire in a variety of ways: they saw the world, ocean was filled with life. And those smelled it and heard its sounds. Their marine creatures, no matter how tiny, bodies had a network of nerves that was were to play a huge role in the shaping capable of assessing their perceptions of life on land. and making decisions—flight, attack or One extremely successful group of perseverance. microbes stands out among them, known There was something magical and as cyanobacteria or blue-green algae. inexplicable about this neural network. They had learned how to use the energy Matter had created something abstract: of the sun, to power their metabolism mind, feelings and emotions. In other with the sun’s rays. During this process, words, the first thoughts. their small bodies gave off a colourless, Even a frog, or so one imagines, odourless gas that changed the planet briefly pauses to consider if and when forever: oxygen. it should snap at a gnat, just as a cheetah The gaseous substance arose from assesses its chances of bringing down a the ocean and spread out into the particular antelope. atmosphere, turning into ozone high The thinking process matured, above the surface of the planet—forming with legs or fins, tentacles and prehensile an invisible layer that protected the earth claws, with teeth, shells, spikes and particularly among the animals that from harmful UV rays. The gas also suckers. Arthropods teetered along the lived in groups, helped each other and reacted with iron to form a reddish layer ocean bed, translucent jellyfish pulsated developed feelings for one another. And then, hundreds of thousands of of rust, colouring the rocks all over the in the currents, octopuses reached out for planet. Soon thereafter, terrestrial rocks prey with their tentacles, and primeval years ago, one species—human beings— resembled those found on earth’s cosmic fish cut through the water with powerful looked around and marvelled at the strokes of their fins. world. Humankind tried—and is still neighbour, Mars. And very gradually, after life had trying—to understand what exactly life The living creatures developed inexorably, and eventually some of them spent billions of years in the sea, some of is and how it came into being. And even today, as we look out into were able to emerge from the microcosm: the organisms set out to conquer another their cells stopped dividing after they world: land. Plants explored coastal the vast expanse of space, we cannot split. Instead, they clung together and regions; animals moved to dry land and help but wonder if a similar miracle has occurred elsewhere. formed a larger body that consisted penetrated ever deeper inland.

LIFE SPREAD ACROSS THE ENTIRE EARTH LIKE WILDFIRE

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Mayak

RUSSIA Astana

KAZAKHSTAN Almaty

CHINA

THE URANIUM HUNTERS The place: Mayak nuclear facility in Ozersk, Russia. The mission: to ensure the highly enriched reactor fuel is secure; to guard against the possibility of it ending up in the hands of criminals and terrorists; to make absolutely certain that it is stored safely for all time. GEO accompanies the team whose job it is to protect the world from nuclear disaster. By Malte Henk (text) and Justin Jin (photos)

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storemags & fantamag - magazines for all On behalf of the USA and with the acquiescence of Russia, Ukrainian-born Igor Bolshinsky (middle) travels to sensitive regions of the world to organise the repatriation of uranium. His boss, Kelly Cummins (right), handles the diplomatic end of things. Jay Thomas lends him technical support.

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THE AMERICAN

taskforce to combat international nuclear terrorism occupies a strange underworld: one in which men, who know a lot but say little, swing between semi-official conferences and not-so-official vodka binges— and, in between, organise the secret transportation of fissile material. Life in this world is often mundane. Although the unimaginable could, of course, shatter the routine at any time, the hero of our story, a no-nonsense physicist by the name of Igor Bolshinsky, does not waste his time brooding over it. “My work is to avert large-scale disasters,” he tells himself at times. It remains an abstract thought. “You have to get on with people and treat them well” is Bolshinsky’s basic philosophy. “You can’t just simply say: ‘Hey, we are from America! Hand over

your weapons-grade uranium!’” Our week with Bolshinsky begins on a Saturday morning at Germany’s Frankfurt Airport. The man who has to stay one step ahead of the terrorists is waiting for me in the frequent flyer lounge. He is a short fellow in a navyblue pullover, with a slight paunch, a receding hairline and tired eyes. Tea and a laptop sit in front of him. A desultory shaking of hands and then he turns back to the Internet to read his emails. Is the press officer of the US Department of Energy on his way? He is meant to monitor my impressions of the trip that Bolshinsky is making, on behalf of the USA, through some former Eastern Bloc countries: a trip to ensure that weapons-grade uranium reaches safe hands before it is used to make nuclear warheads and bombs.

Also, to make sure Bolshinsky succeeds in convincing governments and atomic scientists to return this apocalyptic material to its place of origin—mostly to Russia. And, in doing so, to ensure that he makes the world a safer place for us all. By the time our plane taxis down the runway, Bolshinsky has already dropped off to sleep. We land in Kazakhstan late that night. Our destination: the Institute for Nuclear Physics near Almaty.

SUNDAY, 10AM

The WWR-K is a 1967-vintage nuclear reactor—and looks it. Antiquated panel façades, pitted glass, dull-grey tones behind a double fence. We meet the director of the Institute for Nuclear Physics of the Republic of Kazakhstan, Adil Tuleushev: a slim man who is polite

WEAPONS-GRADE URANIUM:

Security conference: Bolshinsky and the Kazakh engineers examine the containers that will transport the uranium.

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Control room at the Institute for Nuclear Physics: physicists have been piloting their research reactor from here since 1967.

THE LEGACY OF AN OPTIMISTIC ERA to the point of shyness. Cellphones are them, and their competitors in Moscow surrendered, lab coats donned. A lady followed suit: Libya, Poland, Vietnam. in a white cap points to a bare flight of About 40 countries in total, including the steps. We climb down into the depths of a Soviet Republics—Uzbekistan, Ukraine concrete structure that, if Bolshinsky has and Kazakhstan. his way, will be rid of 73.7kg of its fissile At the Institute for Nuclear Physics material in a few days. near Almaty, researchers still work with It is the legacy of an era that envisioned the element named after Uranus, a god of dazzling benefits in the civilan use of ancient Greek mythology. They produce nuclear technology. In December 1953, radioactive substances for radiation US President Eisenhower announced a therapy or analyse materials by neutron plan to improve the world: let us convert bombardment, but they cannot produce the greatest of destructive forces into highly enriched uranium, the fuel for a mighty boon. Let us give all nations their reactor. To do so, they would need, adequate amounts of fissionable material for example, a huge centrifugal facility with which to develop and test their ideas that would spin the uranium inside for peaceful uses of nuclear technology! at 70,000 rpm, like a turbo-powered The Americans shared their invention washing machine. That is how the with their allies like a father who gifts concentration of a particular isotope is his child an air rifle: play with it, but be increased, an isotope ideal for nuclear careful! They built research reactors for fission: U-235.

In its original form, it is harmless enough: a dark, oily-looking mineral with a U-235 content of just 0.7 per cent. Uranium with a U-235 concentration of 3.5 per cent or more can be used to run a light water reactor. And anything with over 20 per cent concentration is considered highly enriched and, thus, weapons-grade. The problem is that almost all research reactors around the world are operated with highly enriched uranium. And there is plenty of this fuel around. Stocks from the Cold War will last quite a while (see box, p.67). A natural material with an extremely high potential for disaster thus continues to fuel nuclear research in dozens of countries, including the successor states of the former USSR. In the upheaval that took place in the 1990s, the world was keen to secure

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the weapons arsenal of the erstwhile empire, with the USA spending billions of dollars on efforts in this direction. Kazakhstan, suddenly independent and the fourth-largest nuclear power on earth, surrendered its 1,410 nuclear warheads, but research reactors were way down the list; there were just too many other things to worry about. Then came the attacks of 11 September 2001—and with them, new adversaries. Intelligence reports spoke of Osama bin Laden trying to buy uranium. Experts noted that anyone who could lay their hands on nuclear fuel could easily build a bomb. The problem is that highly enriched uranium that has not been used in a reactor is barely radioactive: you can safely store it under a pillow. Experts reckon you could build a nuclear bomb with a dectructive capacity similar to the device used in Hiroshima with just a year’s work by 19 people and instructions off the Internet. The White House held parleys with the Kremlin. What was to be done with all the uranium lying around in research stations? We will take back ours; you take back yours, said the Americans. We’ll organise it all. The Russians agreed. This led to the founding of the Global Threat Reduction Initiative, a small unit within the US Department of Energy. Its objective: to shift stocks left over from the Cold War to a secure site, away from the new aggressors of the 21st century. It is a race against time—even here, a place that experts say has too many people, students and researchers, and is too close to the city and can thus never be as secure as a military arms depot. An expert told me, “Of all the places with nuclear stockpiles and thus at risk, the place where you are going is currently No. 2 on the list.” “Globally?” I asked. “Globally. After Pakistan. Before Iran and North Korea.”

Workers manoeuvre decades-old fuel into a basket in the cooling tank next to the reactor. Although there is only minimal radiation, precautions must be taken: sorting has to take place under the protection of water.

SUNDAY, 1PM Work begins. Igor Bolshinsky stands in front of the nuclear reactor like a football 66 g 11/10

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coach on the sidelines. He watches the men in lab coats packing the material he plans to safely relocate. He does not step over the tape on the ground that runs between him and the one-storey-high machine, the holding tank next to it, and the men at the edge of the tank, all just 3m away. The hall is huge, stark and bare. Forklike poles hang on the walls. One fork has just been put into the cooling tank and a worker is stirring the water with it. He pulls, shakes and fiddles until he has steered the uranium rods into a basket. The basket will soon be lifted away into the open by a squeaky-sounding crane. “Just like fishing,” says Tuleushev. “The simpler the technology, the better it is. Then nothing can go wrong.” He smiles proudly. Bolshinsky nods professionally. I must look as sceptical as I feel. “And, like in a wine cellar,” he improvises, “the longer it lies there, the more attractive it is—for the criminals.” At the end of the 1980s, when the Kazakhs first stored the spent uranium, it was surrounded by what experts call ‘self-protection’—namely, its radioactivity would have caused instant

death to anyone who tried to steal it. In the intervening years, however—though bombs can still be made with the smooth, light-coloured metal—its radioactivity has reduced so much that the selfprotective effect no longer exists. “Good for the terrorists, bad for us,” says Bolshinsky. 73.7kg of nuclear fuel, with an enrichment concentration of around 25 per cent. About 100–150kg is needed to make a simple atom bomb; significantly less if more advanced technology is employed. What Bolshinsky plans to repatriate from here could be enough for a major catastrophe. We leave the hall. The first batch of uranium will soon emerge from the radiation shield of the water tank. It will be placed in transport containers, smooth shiny monsters many tonnes in weight and shaped like thermos flasks. A truck will transport the containers to the railway station, where they will be loaded onto a train and begin the return journey to Russia, to a heavily guarded nuclear facility by the name of Mayak in the city of Ozersk in the Southern Urals. At least, that is the plan. Although

it has been worked out to the last detail, Bolshinsky is well aware that when uranium is transported, there is always a risk of something unforeseen happening.

MONDAY, 3PM Saving the world is the most boring job on the planet. In the last few years, Bolshinsky has been to Kazakhstan dozens of times. He won over the director of the Institute to his side a long time ago. It’s always the same process: Bolshinsky’s arguments, conveyed from engineer to engineer, immediately garnered support. But then followed a long drawn-out battle with the torturous bureaucratic machinery. On Christmas day, 2008, Bolshinsky— on vacation in the Caribbean—spent an entire night on the phone in negotiations with Russia and Kazakhstan. For a while, talks teetered on a razor’s edge. Ultimately, he managed to get all the permissions he needed. Now, it is like a moment of calm in the eye of a storm. Workers fill 20 containers; each container takes an hour. With the lethargy of a teenager in front of the TV, Bolshinsky watches them on a

A RECIPE FOR THE BOMB: 1 YEAR, 19 PEOPLE + INSTRUCTIONS OFF THE INTERNET HIGHLY ENRICHED URANIUM

THE FACTS

CIVILIAN USAGE

countries have begun to ‘down-blend’ some of their stocks and convert it for civilian usage. At present, 10 per cent of the electricity consumed in the USA is produced from fission fuel from Soviet nuclear warheads. Only India and Pakistan are enriching uranium to the extent that its concentration of the U-235 isotope is over 20 per cent and thus weapons-grade. According to intelligence sources, Iran needs about 5 years and its own centrifuge facility to produce enough HEU for an atom bomb.

The largest share of the world’s stocks of HEU lies with Russia and the USA, in use as material for weapons and nuclear submarine propulsion. Both

The use of nuclear technology for peaceful purposes is currently undergoing a boom: many countries

Global stocks of highly enriched uranium (HEU) originate largely from the Cold War: an estimated 1,500 to 2,000 tonnes in more than 40 countries. In addition, there are about 500 tonnes of plutonium—enough for about 200,000 nuclear weapons. Approximately 125,000 nuclear warheads were produced during the Cold War period.

NUCLEAR RENAISSANCE

want to build new nuclear power plants. Although this also requires enriched uranium, the extent of enrichment is much lower. The capacities of the ten centrifugal plants that already exist are being expanded, and six new centrifugal facilities are in the pipeline. Experts fear that this could lead to more states becoming capable of producing a nuclear bomb, for the technology of uranium enrichment is, in principle, the same, regardless of its purpose. President Obama would like to promote a ‘fuel bank’ to supply low-enriched uranium under international scrutiny. Possible location: Kazakhstan.

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screen from a kind of waiting room. At times, we go into the hall. At the entrance to the reactor room lies a colourful plastic bowl full of plastic covers for shoes. Back in the waiting room, we wash our hands with peppermint soap. The room has a radiation dosimeter fixed to the wall, a grilled window with floral curtains and a table laid out with biscuits and dainty little tea cups. “Kelly! Drink! Tea!” says Tuleushev. Kelly laughs heartily and frequently. The political scientist works for the Global Threat Reduction Initiative and is in charge of the Russian and Asian regions. She is Bolshinsky’s superior, a tall 33-year-old with long hair, wearing a business suit, who flew in from Washington the previous night. On her Blackberry is a photo of her 4-monthold son in a rompersuit that reads, “My mommy is fighting against nuclear proliferation.” Everyone laughs at that. It soon becomes clear what role each person plays. Bolshinsky, with his knowledge of Russian and worker’s hands, is the go-getter, the man who handles all things technical and fraternising with the Kazakhs. Cummins is the governmentlevel diplomat who talks smart and keeps the big picture in mind.

fuel into plants using low-enriched during the 1990s and Bolshinsky—who, uranium. In April 2009, US President in his former life as a Soviet citizen, had Obama called for the securing of all inhaled his share of explosive gases in the weapons-grade material. A correction of coal mines—knew a thing or two about the subject. “I have not been home since Eisenhower’s mistaken policies. Bolshinsky and Cummins are the then. No time. Always travelling.” It is a desperate fight to prevent the foot-soldiers of this project. They offer the Kazakhs no money; they are not allowed occurrence of an event that no one can to blackmail them. They can offer only predict, a fight that brings shadowboxing themselves and their arguments. Here in to mind and reeks of an absurd heroism. On the other hand, there have been Kazakhstan, this has only been enough, so far, to get them permission to remove many attempts at trading in nuclear material in the black market. A databank nuclear waste—nothing more. Bolshinsky dozes on the drive back at the University of Salzburg tracking to Almaty; he rarely catches more than 4 the number of cases of illicit trade in weapons-grade uranium and plutonium hours of sleep a day on his tours. since 1991 puts the tally at 2,333. It doesn’t sound like that much: 8.25 TUESDAY, 3PM Rest day. Bolshinsky sits in his hotel kg of weapons-grade fuel stolen over room pondering his life, a tired man two decades. But what does it mean for with a US diplomatic passport, a million- a transnational branch of an industry and-a-half air-miles to his name and the that is as unfathomable and opaque as trafficking in drugs or credit derivatives? rolling accent of a Ukrainian. A typical case could run something He migrated to the USA in July 1991, he explains. He held several jobs, starting like this: somewhere in the East— as a driver and ending up as an expert on Almaty, for instance—weapons-grade industrial security with a specialisation uranium disappears. But criminals have in the Russian region. Business boomed infiltrated the security staff of the reactor

WAITING, WAITING, WAITING...

MONDAY, 7:30PM On the screen, we watch four men in white lab coats sealing the last container. The first stage is over. “Applause, please!” cries Cummins, as she delightedly shakes hands. “Well done!” Faint clapping. In the evening we wander through a park. Lawns, a birch forest, gently winding paths—and a secret door somewhere, behind which lies a cache of fresh highly enriched uranium stored in a vault. New fuel for Kazakh nuclear research—and the next assignment for Cummins and Bolshinsky. For, naturally, the Americans are not just interested in the relocation of nuclear waste from research reactors. Their goal is more radical: to convert all the hundred-odd nuclear plants that are still being operated with bomb-grade

Igor Bolshinsky and Kelly Cummins inspect a container with highly enriched uranium.

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storemags & fantamag - magazines for all Winding down in the waiting room: as long as the dosemeter stays green, Bolshinsky can enjoy his cup of tea.

SAVING THE WORLD CAN BE A BORING JOB station, so the loss goes unnoticed. It’s possible that the thieves already filled their coffers during the upheaval that followed the breakup of the USSR; now a few hundred grams are being added to their stocks. Or, perhaps, someone simply wants to sell stocks that have been lying in his garage for the last 15 years. In such cases, Cummins and Bolshinsky have no chance. The uranium is already on the road. It makes its way southwest along ancient drug-trafficking and smuggling routes, over unstable borders to Georgia and then into Turkey—to the international hub of the nuclear trade. Here is what experts call an ‘imagined market.’ Fuelled by rumours and halfknowledge and stories, these criminals are convinced that there are people who will offer them big money for their wares. Intermediaries appear, meetings are held

in hotel lobbies, bids are thrown around; in this way, a more or less real demand is created and reinforced. The imagination becomes the problem. Some experts even believe that neighbouring governments are part of this bazaar: Syria, for instance, or Iran; countries out on a shopping spree to build up their nuclear programme. “I’m afraid we only get to catch the amateurs,” says Richard Hoskins of the International Atomic Energy Agency. That is, freeloaders who talk too much, beginners who offer fakes. But who knows how many real professionals are actually out there, operating undercover? The US security policy has pitted itself against these unknowns, sometimes with too great a confidence in the power of technology. The Americans have installed detectors at all Russian

border posts, as well as in dozens of other countries and ports—but this did not deter the small-time criminal Oleg Chinsagow, for instance, from crossing the Russia-Georgia border. Chinsagow took across with him 100gm of weapons-grade uranium, wrapped in a plastic bag inside a leather jacket. The detector? Out of order, perhaps; or maybe there was no electricity; maybe it was simply switched off—Chinsagow has relatives working with the Russian border security force. Still, he was arrested the following day. Reality is sordid and constantly finds new ways of launching surprises. No one knows this better than Bolshinsky. And he also knows that the quicker the uranium is taken out of the reach of criminals, the better it is. It is imperative to nip this evil in the bud. 11/10 g 69

WEDNESDAY, 11PM The Russians are here. Their train is at the siding of a secret railway station in the middle of nowhere. Elegant, gleaming silver cargo-wagons accompany a dainty passenger coach. This part of Kazakhstan has been transformed into the setting of a spy film. Barking dogs, special troops, a crane: everything is illuminated by bright floodlights. Only the secret service men remain in the shadows. It is a warm spring night. The uranium containers, firmly strapped and covered with plastic sheets, stand in the trucks. They are lifted out, swing through the air and are placed in the wagons. Bolshinsky inspects the seal numbers one last time and our photographer, Justin, runs around the train. But the scene belongs to a short man with slicked-back hair, jeans and cowboy boots. The man in control is the security chief of the Institute for Nuclear Physics. At one point he used to

Destination Russia: guarded by a special task force of the army, the trucks roll out of the reactor station.

THE REPATRIATION IS HIGHLY DANGEROUS, BUT THE URANIUM MUST LEAVE THE COUNTRY command the Kazakh special forces. He is known simply as ‘The Colonel.’ The loading operations continue all night. The convoy moves back and forth between the reactor station and the railway station. There is a constant stream of uranium containers. Finally, at 2am, we descend from our VW bus directly in front of the Institute for Nuclear Physics. The Colonel grabs Justin by the arm and says something that sounds like “prison.” On the ride, Justin had transferred his photos to a memory card in order to evade the censors. The man with the dosimeter hanging from his neck does not like this. He looks like he means business. We follow him anxiously into the reactor station. We are taken aback with surprise: in the post-Soviet barrenness of the waiting room, our Kazakh hosts have conjured up a feast. Horsemeat kebabs, giant strawberries, fermented milk,

Loading the containers onto the train takes all night.

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vodka. We look around, quite baffled, but Bolshinsky seems relieved. The chief engineer of the Institute slices the lamb. We eat and drink and raise toasts to the friendship of nations. Meanwhile, Bolshinsky carries out some kind of secret diplomacy. Every once in a while he disappears outside with the Colonel or with the director; sometimes all three go out together. When we leave the table an hour later, the Colonel yells: “Justin, come with me! Arrest! Arrest!” But then he leads the photographer to the soldiers with their Kalashnikovs, and his command rings out through the hall: “Take pictures!” Much later, drunk and tired, we travel back through a glowing morning to the city. Bolshinsky has been awake for 27 hours. But he stubbornly continues to scribble notes: a bookkeeper of the nuclear menace. I doze off. I dream of Snow White in a business suit and a dwarf, a bald-headed fellow with a Russian accent, who digs not for ore and gold, but for uranium. He digs everyday, all the time, all around the world.

THURSDAY, 11PM Many religious scriptures prophesy the earth burning up in a ball of fire. In 1945, when the US demonstrated what bombs could do, many people thought: This is it, a foretaste of Judgement Day. “At the end of time—in the dying milliseconds—the last man will see what we have just seen,” noted a physicist involved in the operation. There is always a way out. Just as humankind has created a way to distil evil from a harmless mineral, uranium can be ‘down-blended’ as well. That is why it is being transported to the Mayak nuclear facility at Ozersk. That is the official story. Initially, though, it will be stored there for a while. Dozens of tonnes of uranium and plutonium lie in storage at Mayak. It is difficult to learn more about the place. On the other side of the border, in Russia, the train will plunge into a black hole. GPS signals will be down. Perhaps US

Celebrating with the director, Adil Tuleushev (left), in the reactor hall at night.

contacts may be able to inform us of the arrival of the train, but even that is uncertain. Surrounded by three lakes and bordered by forests, Ozersk is strategically located. Just 85,000 people are believed to live in this heavily guarded city with very limited access. Very few places in the world are as contaminated as this town. The Global Threat Reduction Initiative transhipment ends in a huge dump and nuclear recycling workshop. All the experts I have spoken to seem to find nothing objectionable about collecting weapons-grade uranium at this one single site—even those who point to the connection between nuclear terrorism and common crime. For criminals, Mayak is a paradise of ex-convicts, drug dealers and Islamic fundamentalists who stir up the workers and guards. Most of all, Mayak is where the legacy of the Cold War’s mania for secrecy still survives. We sit with the Russians in their passenger coach. These are serious men, in sweatpants and undershirts, who will take the uranium to its ultimate destination. They fetch sausages and pickled cucumbers from a tiny kitchen. We climb up to the embankment. The Russians down one last vodka and finally,

38 minutes after the scheduled departure time, they chug off into the darkness.

FRIDAY, 9PM Our week with the peace-activists, Igor Bolshinsky and Kelly Cummins, ends with celebrations over drinks. “To order above all else!” “To children and non-proliferation!” “All’s well that ends well!” We fly back to Frankfurt that very night. The uranium from Kazakhstan will reach Mayak 2 days later. Soon after, the Kazakhs will restart their reactor operations. And Bolshinsky will already be en route to his next assignment.

Photographer Justin Jin and GEO editor Malte Henk entered the reactor research station with some trepidation, but Igor Bolshinsky assured them it was safe. The journalists had to make an effort to keep up with the work pace and the drinking capacity of the Americans.

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JULY 1913: OFF THE GREEK ISLAND OF KARPATHOS, THE CAPTAIN OF THE REGINA MARGHERITA, AN ITALIAN NAVAL ship, greeted a local sponge-fisherman named Giorgios Haggi Statti. The officer had a problem; his ship’s anchor was lost in the deep waters off the coast. In return for a small fee and permission to fish with dynamite, Statti offered to recover the anchor and secure it to a rope. The records of the ship’s doctor describe Statti as being 35 years old, 1.7m tall and 60kg, with some remnants of an eardrum in one ear and no eardrum at all in the other. An all-too-frequent exposure to the tremendous pressures of the deep had torn his eardrums to shreds. Statti claimed he could dive to a depth of 110m just by holding his breath—and could remain underwater for 7 minutes. On his search for the anchor, the fisherman dived down while holding a stone that was tied to a float, later using the rope to pull himself back up. Statti stayed underwater for

By Alec Wilkinson (text)

only assistance allowed: a stable rope—which gives the divers orientation and helps them stay on course, even when their eyes are shut—and fins. Many divers use monofins that look like the tail of a mermaid. The world record in Constant Weight Apnea for men currently stands at 124m. Among women, the 100m mark is still a kind of mythical barrier that remains to be crossed, much like 10 seconds once used to be for the 100m sprint. At present, only two women are thought to be capable of reaching this depth: Sara Campbell, a Briton who lives in Egypt, and the Russian Natalia Molchanova. In April 2009, Campbell set a new record of 96m, shattering Molchanova’s 2008 achievement of 95m—which, in turn, had upstaged Campbell’s 2007 performance of 90m. Five days after achieving 96m, Campbell dived to 100m, returned to the surface, took two breaths and then blacked out. The achievement was thus nullified, for the rules governing free-diving

Who will be the first woman to dive 100m into the ocean—on just a single breath of air? Two athletes fight it out to set a new world record by testing human endurance to its very limits.

THE RAPTURE OF THE DEEP

Ambient pressure is determined by the air pressure that works on the water (one bar) plus the water pressure (again, one bar for every 10m). A pressure of two bars is equal to 2kg per square centimetre.

AMBIENT PRESSURE: 2 BAR

10m

Water filters out different wavelengths of light, one after the other; the first to disappear are red wavelengths.

COLOUR LOSS

From 6m

The mammalian diving reflex ensures that once underwater breathing ceases automatically, the body’s heart rate slows down and the blood supply to certain organs is restricted, thus reducing oxygen consumption. The diving reflex probably works via facial-skin receptors that are sensitive to cold: the more pronounced the temperature-difference between ambient air and water, the stronger the effect of the reflex.

DIVING REFLEX

During the dive

Yoga can help with the calmness required for a dive. Breathing techniques like nadi shodhana, breathing alternately through the left and right nostrils, help to strengthen the lungs, lower blood pressure and calm the pulse.

RELAXATION

Before the dive

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 1

3 minutes. He found the anchor at a depth of 76m. records require a diver to remain conscious for 60 It would take 56 years for the next person to seconds after surfacing. officially achieve this depth while free-diving. Modern free-diving or Competitive Apnea is A FEW WEEKS LATER, CAMPBELL a sport in which divers descend into the cold and ANNOUNCED THAT SHE WOULD TAKE darkness of the ocean armed simply with the air ANOTHER SHOT AT THE 100M AT A in their lungs. Many consider it the second-most COMPETITION IN SHARM EL-SHEIKH, dangerous sport in the world—after BASE jumping Egypt, in May. The evening before the dive, I met from fixed objects, like buildings—because free- her for dinner at her hotel restaurant. Campbell, 38, divers often lose consciousness before coming back is 4’11’’ tall, with an athletic build, cropped blonde hair and sharp features. She had come down with to the surface. an upset tummy earlier that day, Free-diving has eight and when I asked her whether disciplines, from the relatively she would still dive, she said she routine sport of timed breathwould decide the next morning. holding in a pool—Static “Psychologically, this dive Apnea—to the extreme is very important for me,” she discipline of deep-diving—Nosaid. “At the moment, I have Limits Apnea—in which athletes the 100m within my reach. I use a weighted metal sled to dive did the dive and I surfaced. But down and an inflatable airbag to if I go down tomorrow and fail, return to the surface. This form the next attempt will be all the of free-diving is so dangerous more difficult for me. It won’t that it is not a competitive be simply a case of missing my sport—divers can only attempt personal best, like in a 100m to set new records. race. Failing here could mean Many divers have died in losing consciousness 20m below such attempts, the most famous the surface.” case being that of Audrey Mestre, The 100m, twice within reach: Sara Campbell, 38. The day before the a 28-year-old French woman competition, divers are required who had set the world record in women’s free-diving. In a poorly supervised dive to announce the depth they will attempt. This in 2002, her airbag failed to inflate, leaving her no enables the judges to have a vertical rope of the appropriate length in place. The rope has a plate chance of making it back to the surface. On the other hand, no athlete has died during fixed at one end, on which is a tag that the diver an official competition. Not even in the most has to bring back to the surface. The rope is only exalted discipline of free-diving: Constant Weight meant for orientation; using it to descend or to pull Apnea. As the name suggests, the diver wears yourself up is not allowed. I asked Campbell whether she could announce weights while descending into the deep—and has to ascend, unaided, with the same weights. The a 100m dive and then, once she was descending, 25m 1964: first women’s world record in the Constant Weight category by Francesca Trombi, Italy.

Initially, the diver’s air-filled lungs function like a swim bladder, giving the body a buoyancy that needs to be counteracted. For Constant Weight dives, the diver wears a lead-weighted belt that helps her to quickly get to the point from where she can sink unassisted.

BUOYANCY

Till about 15m

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decide if she seriously wanted to attempt it. She organisation that oversees and compiles all shook her head. “You commit yourself to the dive free-diving world-record attempts. I called him or not at all,” she replied. “If you announce 100m in Milan, where he lives, and asked him how but secretly think that even 80m will do in an exactly he serves as her coach. “I can only try to help Natalia with strategy,” he emergency, even a fraction of a second of fear is answered. “When to go to what depths, what to do sufficient to ruin your dive.” The following Sunday, I accompanied Campbell in which phase of the dive, how to conserve energy for resurfacing: she has to build to the Hyperbaric Medical up a foundation for this and Centre at Sharm el-Sheikh. A develop the physical resources. hyperbaric chamber the size The time will come when Natalia of a small trailer made up the will need them.” practice of the Egyptian doctor who asked Campbell how she SARA CAMPBELL, IN was feeling. A bit better, she said. CONTRAST, DOES NOT The doctor made a few notes, HAVE A TRAINER. SHE and then said, “You shouldn’t RELIES ON MEDITATION compete. You shouldn’t put your TECHNIQUES THAT SHE life at risk.” LEARNED AS A YOGA Campbell exhaled deeply teacher. Her training programme and her jaw tightened. so far has been to dive every few “You’ll still get your chance,” days, and then take a break to added the doctor consolingly, give her body time to recover. “although probably not before Natalia Molchanova, 48, held The process that allows a your rival.” her breath for 8:23 minutes. person to hold their breath and Natalia Molchanova is an dive to great depths is called excellent fin-swimmer, and there is hardly anyone who can rival the length of the mammalian diving reflex: a reaction of the time she can hold her breath. But there is much body that is triggered when facial nerves come in more to deep-diving than that, as she told me contact with water, particularly cold water. First, the heart rate slows down. The pressure when I called her in Moscow. “Deep-diving is psychologically more demanding than swimming of the deep also brings about a ‘blood shift’, with in a pool. And it is definitely far more dangerous— the blood withdrawing from the arms and legs and getting concentrated in the chest area. As the and hence that much more satisfying.” In winter Molchanova trains in a pool and in depth increases, the lungs compress more and summer she practices in the sea, including the Red more—to half their original volume at 10m, then Sea—either at Dahab, where Campbell lives, or at reducing by degrees such that by 100m, they are Sharm el-Sheikh. Both cities are about a 4-hour about the size of a fist. Most divers do not feel their plane ride from Moscow and about an hour from lungs shrinking. Some may only feel the blood withdrawing from their hands and feet. each other. Till about 30 m

There are always 1.2 to 2 litres of air in the lungs and airways that cannot be expelled. By a depth of 35m, at the latest, the lungs get compressed to this residual volume. Since divers normally equalise ear-pressure by closing the nose and forcing the air from the lungs into the middle ear, conventional equalisation is no longer possible by this point.

EQUALISATION

35m

From here on, light has only one colour: blue. All other wavelengths are absorbed by the water. The yellow portion of light disappears at a depth of about 20m.

DEEP BLUE

From about 30m

WEIGHTLESSNESS Between 15 and 30m, most divers have no appreciable buoyancy or downward-thrust, the body weight being the same as the weight of displaced water.

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MOLCHANOVA IS 48, SMALL AND SLIM, WITH BROAD SHOULDERS, A BROAD FACE AND FINE SHOULDER-LENGTH HAIR. SHE teaches at the department of applied sports and extreme activities at the Russian State University of Physical Education, Sport and Tourism in Moscow. I first heard about her from Lotta Ericson, a Swede living in Dahab. Ericson was a judge at the competition at Sharm el-Sheikh. In 2007 she had come second, after Molchanova, in the Static Apnea event at the world championship in Maribor, Slovenia. Ericson clocked 6:49 minutes—while the Russian set a world record of 8 minutes. “Her spirit is unshakable,” said Ericson, referring to Molchanova. “We used to call her ‘the machine.’ Sara Campbell is the first one to seriously challenge her. But Molchanova definitely wants to be the first one to cross the 100m mark.” During a dive, Molchanova uses a technique she calls ‘attention de-concentration’ to keep unwanted fear at bay. “You try to feel everything simultaneously. This condition empties the consciousness, so that no bad thoughts arise.” “Is it difficult to learn?” “Of course it is difficult,” she says. “It is an old technique used by the Samurai and it has been refined further by a Ukrainian researcher as a psychological tool for people who do very monotonous jobs.” Naturally, as she says, “In the deep, one has to remain focused, otherwise things go haywire… But what you can learn is to focus on the edges, so to speak, and not at the centre. All the time that I am diving, I have only a kind of melody in my head that keeps me going. Beyond that, I think of nothing.” Molchanova trains with Bill Strömberg, the former president of the International Association for the Development of Apnea, AIDA, the

But not Campbell. For her, the mammalian diving reflex is purely in the mind. “It takes a while to really accept the physiological base of a free-dive,” she says. “Initially, it is difficult to believe that your body will not let you down at depths of 50 to 60m. But if you’re afraid, all is lost. For although the diving reflex slows down your pulse, stress will get your heart to beat faster, you will consume too much oxygen and feel the need to return to the surface. You have to learn to accept that everything will feel strange in the deep. You have to hold out—and that too, in an environment that is not really ideal for a human endurance sport.” Even if a diver does manage to hold his or her breath, they can still experience dyspnoea—not due to the lack of oxygen, but to the concentration of carbon dioxide in the blood as the oxygen is used up. To stall this effect, many divers hyperventilate before a competition in an attempt to reduce the carbon dioxide in their blood, although doctors warn against this practice. Free-divers are well aware that their first desperate urge to breathe once underwater is a kind of bluff called by the body—at this stage, the lungs still contain sufficient oxygen to keep the body going for another few minutes. So divers resist the urge and prepare for the body’ next warning: their diaphragm begins to contract. This, too, can be tolerated. But a short while later, when the oxygen truly runs out, they can lose consciousness. And this black-out comes so suddenly that a diver holding her breath can actually drown at depths that she could otherwise have stood up in. It is difficult for divers to estimate how much oxygen they have left. On the way down, air gets concentrated in the shrinking lungs, giving the free-diver a sense of a plentiful supply of oxygen. Until the 1950s, most doctors wrongly believed that humans could not dive deeper than 50m without auxiliary aids. It was felt that the pressure of water at this depth would crush the lungs.

A BARRIER CROSSED

50m

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no longer equalise the pressure and you have to return to the surface.” Furthermore, any free-diver who makes several dives a day can suffer from restlessness, joint pain, cramps or extreme fatigue; after her failed attempt at 100m, Campbell slept for 2 days straight. There is also a slight, but nonetheless real, danger of cardiac arrest. “If you understand what free-diving does to the body, you will not be surprised that free-divers have to suffer so much pain,” Campbell told me. Humans were not designed to dive. Because the air in the lungs works like a swim bladder, it provides buoyancy near the surface and until depths of about 15m. The weights that Constant Weight divers wear on a belt help them to overcome this resistance—in Campbell’s case, just 2kg is enough.

BETWEEN 15 AND 30m, MOST PEOPLE ARE NEUTRALLY BUOYANT AND THEY FLOAT. BEYOND 30m, THEY BEGIN TO SINK: the air in their lungs becomes so dense that it no longer provides buoyancy. When a free-diver descends to the deep, she becomes ‘heavy’ in the water. In order to return to the neutral buoyancy zone, she has to swim ever more strenuously to prevent herself from sinking. “It feels like a long way up,” said Campbell. “I don’t look up until I feel I am just 10 to 15m from the surface. While I am rising, I concentrate on working with the fins. I keep telling myself how

Sara Campbell has lost consciousness several times while free-diving. The last time, she was just 2m short of reaching the water’s surface when she blacked out.

WHILE ASCENDING, THE LUNGS EXPAND AGAIN, MORE OXYGEN IS CONSUMED AND SUDDENLY THE DIVER FEELS SHE DOESN’T HAVE ENOUGH TO GET BACK TO the surface. The urge to breathe can become so great that it leads to cramps and, once again, to black-outs. Sara Campbell, however, feels no urge to breathe underwater—a rare advantage. Nevertheless, as professional free-divers go, she can’t hold her breath all that long. Her best time in the pool is about 5 minutes, while Molchanova’s 2009 record is 8:23 minutes. Campbell has blacked out three times to date, and has rather pleasant memories associated with her fainting spells. “The first time I was close to the surface—and suddenly I lying in an Alpine meadow. I spent a lot of time in Austria as a child,” she said. “Afterwards, as my hearing returned, there were men all around me who whispered sweet nothings into my ear.” The men were other divers, urging Campbell to

If she also experiences the ‘rapture of the deep’ at this stage—nitrogen narcosis, a poisoning that impairs judgement—she runs the risk of giving in to a deceptive feeling of security. And if she dives too deep, she also becomes susceptible to barotrauma, and blood is forced out of the vessels in the lungs and into the alveoli. In a worst-case scenario, the diver can drown in her own blood.

Even the shortwave blue components of light get fully absorbed at this depth. The environment appears shrouded in dark grey. From here on, divers need to use artificial light if they want to see colours.

GREY DEPTHS

About 60m

55m 1990: women’s world record by Rossana Maiorca, Italy.

51m 1962: Enzo Maiorca from Italy was the first man to officially dive to over 50m.

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wake up. The next sense to return was her vision. Returning to consciousness, explained Campbell, is like two identical transparencies sliding over each other: “Suddenly everything fits back into place and you think: There I am, back in my body.” On returning to the surface, free-divers sometimes experience the ‘samba’—described in a medical journal as “a bilateral muscle tremor, deviation in gaze and slight bobbing of the head.” Sambas last less than a minute and are often precursors to black-outs. Divers also occasionally suffer from ‘mooglies,’ a temporary disturbance of speech that causes them to speak a jumble of random words, much like patients after a stroke. On rare occasions, they also experience a feeling of faintness on one side of the body, or their skin burning; sporadic memory-related problems can also occur. However, Dr John Fitz-Clarke, a Halifaxbased physician and expert in hyperbaric medicine who has studied free-diving, has so far found no evidence of permanent brain damage from free-diving. Bursting the eardrums are among the more painful injuries a free-diver might have to bear. “Somewhere between 30 to 35m, your lungs become so small that they no longer have enough air to equalise the pressure in your ears,” said Campbell. “In my case, this happens at roughly 36m.” To overcome this barrier, she uses the technique of ‘mouth fill’: at about 20m, she begins to force air from the lungs into the throat and mouth, after which she closes the epiglottis. As long as this remains closed, she can use the air in the mouth to equalise the pressure in the ears. “It is hard to learn,” said Campbell, “but you have to master it. If the epiglottis opens inadvertently, the lungs immediately swallow all the air, you can

strong I am, how well I’m doing, that I have enough oxygen. And that I am the best in the world.” Natalia Molchanova’s next dive was scheduled to take place at a competition in Greece in July. But Campbell had announced another attempt before Molchanova’s dive. Both athletes were training at Blue Hole, a coral reef not far from Dahab. In late June, I rang up Bill Strömberg and asked him if Molchanova would attempt the 100m during the competition. “Natalia has been training really hard,” he said, “and she was aiming for the 100m. But then yesterday she developed an ear infection in Egypt, perhaps from the hotel pool. She has returned to Moscow to treat the infection. Once that is okay, we want to carry on because Natalia is in her best form and she just has to keep it up now.” Afterwards, I telephoned Campbell. Other divers had already informed her about her rival’s bad luck. Nevertheless, she planned to prepare herself for her dive as if nothing had happened. “We trained alongside each other at Blue Hole,” she said. “I did about 85m and then hung around to watch her dive. No idea how deep she went.” When I got Molchanova on the phone that evening, she was still in Dahab. Though she sounded hurried, she did not seem unfriendly or harassed in any way. She was busy washing dishes. “Were you planning to do the 100m dive in Greece?” I asked. “I did it in training last year at Sharm el-Sheikh,” she said, “and yes, I wanted to go that deep again. But now it is impossible. Maybe Sara can do it.” “Would that bother you?” “Nyet, nyet, nyet,” she said. “That is just how it is; someone does it the first time and the second person simply has to do something else—that’s sport.” 76m 1913: Over a period of 4 days, Greek spongefisherman Giorgios Haggi Statti dived 21 times up to this depth to secure a rope to a lost anchor.

70m 2001: women’s world record by Tanya Streeter, USA/UK.

65m 1997: women’s world record by Deborah Andollo, Cuba.

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later, “The 100m is not a mental block for me. I know I can do it, I just need to be faster coming off the bottom… I’ve never felt as good as I did on Thursday. Everything seemed to be going well. I got down very quickly, in 1:32 minutes. But surfacing took me too long. Just from 60 to 50m took me 18 seconds, almost twice what it should have. Don’t know what I did there.” She saw the video recording of the dive—a “freaky” experience, as she puts it. “To tell the truth, I feel rather gutted at the moment,” she said. After a pause, she added, “One question keeps worrying me; it comes up for a few seconds and I suppress it again. The question is: What am I chasing here?” And then she answered it herself: “I am, of course, after the magical 100m. It’s all about being the deepest swimmer.”

ON 25 SEPTEMBER 2009, NATALIA MOLCHANOVA MADE ANOTHER ATTEMPT AT THE RECORD IN THE ‘RULER OF THE DEEP’ COMPETITION IN SHARM El-Sheikh. The Russian went down to 101m, returned to the surface after 3:50 minutes, and stayed conscious for the requisite 60 seconds. She had achieved it all: she had won the duel of the two female divers; she had become the first woman to reach the 100m-mark; she had set the new world record. But it was a short-lived joy, a victory that lasted just 7 months. In May 2010, AIDA deleted Molchanova’s performance from the record books. The reason: her trainer, Strömberg, had been

The pressure of water causes the eardrums of many a freediver to burst. In the deep, the air in the lungs gets compressed to maintain equalisation.

SARA CAMPBELL PREPARED HERSELF FOR HER DIVE BY WALKING AND SWIMMING, JOGGING THROUGH THE NEARBY MOUNTAINS WITH HER DOGS, AND DOING DOLPHIN-KICKS ACROSS THE BAY. “If I do this every day for a whole week, I can also race down to 70, 80m,” she wrote to me in an email. “I don’t need extra training for pressure at this depth. The difference in pressure between 70 and 100 is not all that great.” Campbell said she felt “full of energy” and motivated during this period of training. She explained, “For whatever reason, this feeling has been missing in the last few months.” Her progress, however, was erratic. She had planned to do an 85m dive, but had to turn around at 70m because she had problems equalising the pressure in her ears. The next day she managed to reach 87m. “Felt easy,” she emailed, “and I was very clear during the dive—so very happy.” In the days that followed, she made dives to 92m and 95m; she tried to be faster on her ascents. Even so, she continued to be slower than she had been on previous occasions. Her record dive of 96m had taken 3:34 minutes; now, she needed 3:47 minutes for a 95m dive. “I want to do the 100m within 4 minutes,” she told me on the telephone. “I can hold my breath for much longer in the pool.” On 25 June, a Thursday, Campbell finally made her third attempt at the 100m record. When I reached her on the phone an hour later, 86m 2005: women’s world record by Natalia Molchanova, Russia.

The risk of nitrogen narcosis increases with one’s depth. Due to the great water pressure, nitrogen in the breath dissolves to a greater extent into the blood and tissues; the result can be a dangerous intoxication, accompanied by dizziness and a loss of orientation. Because free-divers have limited nitrogen in their systems—namely, what they breathed in before the dive—the danger of narcosis is considerably less than what can be experienced when diving with compressed air.

RAPTURE OF THE DEEP

80m and deeper

78m 2004: women’s world record by Mandy Rae Cruikshank, Canada.

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she sounded so delighted that I said, “You did it, obviously!” “No,” she replied, “I didn’t. I went down to 100m and got the tag back. But while coming up, I felt light-headed; I thought I could still hold myself together—and the next thing I knew, I was lying on the surface and people were holding me.” Campbell had passed out just 2m beneath the surface. “The black-out seemed deeper than my previous ones,” she said. “But the others told me I had faced a technical problem with the line—and if this hadn’t happened, I would have been successful.” To find out what exactly happened, I asked around the divers who had accompanied the record attempt. Campbell’s safety diver said that her line kept catching on the markers that were fixed at 5m-intervals to the line. Campbell lost 15 to 20 seconds on account of that. Campbell herself can’t remember any of it. “I was certain she would make it,” said Linda Paganelli, a diver who helped Campbell train. “I did hear someone say she was going to pass out— but then Sara always looks like that in the last 20m. She slows down and seems a little out of control, almost like someone who is about to fall asleep.” “At approximately 10m, she had a samba,” said Campbell’s coach, Marco Nones. “And at 2.5m, she blacked out. She almost made it. It was just a matter of seconds.” When Campbell woke up on the platform, she coughed into her hand, leaving two small spots of blood she described as being “roughly the size of a coin.” The pressure in the deep had pushed the blood from the vessels into her lungs—a fatal risk for free-divers. Paganelli advised Campbell to give up her fight for the 100m-mark. But Campbell told me EVER SINCE, A HECTIC DEBATE HAS BEEN RAGING THROUGH THE HIGHLY SPECIALISED WORLD OF FREE-DIVING. ONE GROUP IS ON MOLCHANOVA’S SIDE— they claim the official decision does not in any way negate the fact that the Russian reached 101m. Her record will continue to stand unofficially. The other group has welcomed the decision taken by the executive board of the AIDA—they believe there is something suspicious about her achievment. The two fronts have hardened their stands over time. And so the chase continues. It seems likely that Molchanova will soon win the race officially. She is in good form. In April 2010, she set a new world record in Dynamic Apnea with Fins—underwater simming in a pool for distance, not for depth, using either bi-fins or monofins—at 225m. She captured yet another world record in June, this time in Variable Weight Apnea—using a weighted sled of upto 30kg to descend, and ascending by pulling up along a line or swimming using fins—at 125m. At present, Molchanova’s name appears six times in the list of world records. Only two spots are occupied by others: Tanya Streeter, for the No-Limits category, the unrestricted deep free-diving. And Sara Campbell, with 96m in the Constant Weight category—the regal discipline. She is on the throne again. Where Natalia Molchanova once sat—and where she wants to be once again. Whatever the cost may be.

both the organiser of the dive and the head judge. The statutes do not allow these two positions to be held simultaneously. The consequence: a de-recognition of the world record and a temporary suspension for Strömberg.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 100 1 2 Below 100m With auxiliary aids (weights for descent and a balloon for ascent), Tanya Streeter reached the 160m-mark in 2003. Austrian Herbert Nitsch dived with constant weights to 124m in 2010, and with auxiliary aids to 214m in 2007.

96m 2009: women’s world record by Sara Campbell, UK.

95m 2008: women’s world record by Natalia Molchanova, Russia.

At this depth, a weight of about 10kg weighs down on every square centimetre of the body The lungs are now only slightly bigger than a fist.

AMBIENT PRESSURE: TEN BAR

90m

90m 2007: women’s world record by Sara Campbell, UK.

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The Green Islands of the Sahara The date palm gardens of the Algerian desert—a cultural landscape with a proud past and an uncertain future. Our photographer has a bird’s-eye view, while writer Gesa Gottschalk gets the low-down on what it takes to keep an ancient oasis-economy going. By Gesa Gottschalk (text) and George Steinmetz (photos)

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The holy city of the orthodox Mzabits, Beni Isguen is a maze of roof terraces. For 650 years residents have drawn water from wells that reach down into aquifers 100m deep.

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‘Foggara’ is the name of the secret to the fertility in the desert—an ingenious system of underground channels that help water flow, without the aid of pumps, over large distances to villages and palm groves.

A worker repairs an old foggara. These arteries of water and life were once built by slaves, who dug deep shafts and created underground links between them. The entrances to the shafts are encircled by heaps of sand and, from the air, look like tracks in the sandpit of a giant.

“Dahan!

Where are you, Dahan?” yells Mulay as he runs down the dusty track. He is in a hurry, for the sun is about to set. “Dahaaan!” “I’m over here!” Mulay Ismail Boussouri ducks under the branch of a fig tree and follows the path of water flowing through a narrow channel until he finds his neighbour. Abdarhan Mouloud, known as Dahan, is a wiry man in a tattered shirt. He straightens up, hoe in hand. “Can we do an exchange today?” asks Mulay. “I want only so much.” He sketches a rectangle in the air with his hands indicating his small vegetable patch. “I have sown peas and they need water.” “Saha,” says his neighbour. Okay. When you hear two gardeners in Béni Abbès negotiating over water, it sounds so easy. As if it were par for the course— this gurgling in Dahan’s garden, the fig tree, the palms, the oasis and the little town that has grown around it, 880km southwest of Algiers, in the wadi Saoura. Hundreds of kilometres of rocky hamada stretch out in one direction, the shifting sand dunes of the Great Western Erg in the other. And in the middle: water! Local residents explain this phenomenon as a miracle, a gift from God. The story goes like this: once upon a time, a traveller by the name of Othman sank down on the sands, dying of thirst. As his companion lamented that should he die, he would not have water to even wash his dead body, Othman rammed his stick into the ground and passed away. And from the hole sprang a spring that has not run dry to this day. A spring named after him: Sidi Othman. It is fed by groundwater that trickles south from the slopes

of the High Atlas Mountains. Hidden under the sand, the presence of water is evident only from the trail of small, green, hardy desert plants. People diverted the stream of water from the spring into a pipe, and then via an aqueduct into a lined canal, to irrigate the palm gardens that once formed the oasis of Béni Abbès, an oasis that now stand on the outskirts of a city. The gardens form a giant green scorpion, the tail pinched in between wadi and high red dunes, the right flank nestled against the driedup riverbed, the left against a steep slope. The head is exposed to constantly changing winds that blow sand into the gardens. Mulay’s plot of land is on the dune, in the left pincer of the scorpion. His family has lived in Béni Abbès for 400 years and is as deeply rooted here as the palms. The 14,000 residents of the city on the plateau beyond the steep face consume more than half the water that flows from the Sidi Othman spring. In addition, they draw ground water from three wells. It could be that they are denying the very palm gardens that once gave birth to their city. Mulay Ismail Boussouri is fighting against this, though he does not look much like a fighter: the 44-year-old music teacher wears gold-rimmed glasses, a moustache, and a smile. After work every day, however, he changes into a different man, one who is making every effort to ensure that the heart of Béni Abbès does not stop beating.

The steep

slope is bathed in orange; the call to prayer reaches out from the minaret of the mosque to Mulay’s garden. “Allahu Akbar,” he murmurs. He will offer his

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Sparkling water that is not as abundant as it seems. Mulay Ismail Boussouri irrigates his garden oasis in accordance with a strictly regimented system. The music teacher’s family has lived in Béni Abbès for 400 years. The water rights are inherited; the fruit and vegetable plots cannot be sold.

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evening prayers later, once he is back home and has bathed. Mediterranean Sea Right now he has work to do. He picks up his hoe, climbs up Algiers SPAIN the dune, crosses a small thicket of palms and reaches the main canal. This is where the spring water emerges after flowing through the municipal swimming pool of Béni Abbès, a shaded as MOROCCO Atl pool where boys and men congregate. The locals claim there is ara h a S only one other pool in the world that has such a constant flow ALGERIA El Oued Atlas of fresh water, and that is in America! High g Béni Isguen People here still talk about how the US actor John Malkovich Er n r e celebrated his birthday at the Béni Abbès pool back in the late est Béni Abbès tW a e 1980s, while shooting a film here. Gr Er Oulad Said rn e Mulay removes the metal plate that blocks the flow of water t Adjder Timimoun as at E into his garden. He places it to the left in the canal, shovels out Gre lumps (old shirts) from the ditch, and then uses them to seal S a h a r a the metal plate at another spot. Now all the water streams forth ech Ch g r towards his garden, at first haltingly, gurgling softly, and then E bubbling over in tiny waterfalls. Hundreds of years ago, one of his ancestors used to do the ‘Erg’ means a sea of dunes. Dunes up to 300m tall are typical same thing. A man called Ouled Abdellah, one of 41 farmers of the Sahara in Algeria. who continue to have an impact on life in the palm gardens to this day. In those days, so say the people of Béni Abbès, there since been further subdivided between brothers and cousins. were often fights over water. Until the farmers got together Over the years, families have also inherited new rights through and allocated the water of the Sidi Othman spring into 41 marriage. Mulay has four different sets of water rights that shares, the water rights—one for each family. Some families entitle him to water on 5 days. Today, he draws water in the got water for longer periods, others for shorter, depending on name of his ancestor, Ouled Abdellah. His turn should actually have been in the middle of the each one’s position. After every completed cycle of water rights, the scheduled entitlement time shifted by 12 hours, so that one night, but his germinating peas can’t wait that long. So he has family did not always get to water their gardens at night while exchanged with his neighbour: Mulay is using Dahan’s right from sundown and his neighbour will use Mulay’s water later. the other always did so during the day. Mulay knows the schedule of his water rights by heart. This arrangement continues till date. The water rights have 11/10 g 87

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Bifurcations, blocks, diversions: 80km of main and subsidiary channels still supply water to the village of Oulad Said. The younger generation, however, is shying away from continuing such an old and complicated system of water supply; it takes too much effort to run it.

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The traditional funnel-shaped oasis of Adjder, northwest of the desert city of Timimoun. The edges of the funnels are strengthened meticulously with palm fronds. They have to be constantly replaced and reinforced to prevent the Sahara winds from burying the trees under flying sand.

If in doubt, he can always ask one of the older men. There’s no need for computers or calendars: they can still recall the days when people did not need even a wristwatch or a cellphone to keep track of the hours. In those days, 60 years ago, a custodian of water used to sit in the inner courtyard of the ksar, the fortified village made of adobe at the heart of the scorpion, the place where the men of Béni Abbès used to assemble to discuss all important matters. The custodian used a brass water clock to keep track of the quarter hours, the hareras, the basic unit of the water right. The story about how the ksar came into existence also involves a traveller and his stick. The man’s name was Mohammed Ben Abdeslam. He came from Morocco 400 years ago, and he united the four scattered tribes of the region. Until then the tribes lived on the hill and along the wadi and were semi-heathens. Ben Abdeslam brought them back to Islam and when he hurled his stick down from the cliff into the date palm garden, the spot it landed on became the location of the new village the people of Béni Abbès were to build. Did they really live in the middle of their date palm gardens,

the only ones in the entire Sahara to do so? At at any rate, the mortal remains of the founder still lie under a dusty green sheet in a deserted mosque in the ksar. And even today, the entire Boussouri family, with its many branches, claims to have descended directly from him. It was cool living behind the thick mud walls of the ksar, shaded by the pale trunks of the palm trees. The floor of the mosque was covered with the soft sand that stretches out eastwards from Béni Abbès up to Tunisia, as were the niches in front of the prayer hall, where old men would rest during the midday heat. Strangers on their first visit could stay in a lodge near the marketplace. If they returned, they were no longer strangers, so would stay with families. For guests, it would have been difficult to make out where one house ended and the next began. The ksar was a maze of brown plastered walls, dark alleys and stairs leading up to flat roofs, where the women could move about freely, unveiled, without fear of encountering strange men. And where they could eat under the branches of the palms, branches so thick they barely let through the starlight.

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A modern date palm plantation near Timimoun. Deep wells provide the large quantities of water required—reducing the supply to the traditional gardens. The pumping of water is also lowering the water table; the old foggara channels in the neighbourhood are slowly drying out.

Like all

already living, people who had found the ksar too crowded and important buildings, the children’s constricting. They had access to flowing water and electricity school was located on the plateau outside the gates of the and in 1962, when Algeria became independent, nobody fortification. This is where the French—who ruled Algeria wanted to return to the ksar. Now, only old men spent their from the early days of the 20th century—set up their barracks. days there. They had their grandsons bring them their lunch, The people of Béni Abbès got on well with the soldiers but they they offered prayers in the old mosque, and they returned were also sympathetic to the cause of the resistance fighters home only after sundown. battling French occupation, giving them food and providing The sun is blazing down on the old ksar. The view from the them shelter here in the old ksar. roofs stretches far and wide: the school on the hill, the mosque So, one day in September 1957, the residents found their on the main road, the large red sand dune. Just a handful of the streets lined with an endless row of French army vehicles, and hundred-year old palms still stand, scattered here and there, they were given 24 hours to vacate the ksar. The French dragged towering as high as the grove once used to be. 15 of the local men to the school and tortured them there. “We lost an entire generation,” says Mulay. His father’s Mulay’s uncle was one of them. He lost his teeth in the process, generation left this place in the 1960s and ’70s, venturing out he was forced, shackled and bound, to balance on a wall and, to earn a living beyond the family gardens. His father, a stern like many others, he was sentenced to hard labour. and moustachioed man in a silver photo-frame, worked in a For the children of Béni Abbès, the day of eviction was a coal mine till he fell ill and died with half a lung. huge adventure. But today, as old men, they say: We did not Mulay Ismail Boussouri, too, is a returnee. He came back to know what we were losing. Their parents built new homes along Béni Abbès to take up a job as a music teacher; by then he was the wadi, on the tail of the scorpion where other people were married and had three children. His house on the plateau was 11/10 g 91

The inhabitants of the Sahara believe the date palms “dip their feet into water and raise their trunks to the sky.” They give the fruit poetic names. Here, in an oasis near El Oued, they gather deglet-en-nour, ‘finger of light’.

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The desert region of Algeria is six times the area of the United Kingdom, yet it is only inhabited by half a million people. Daytime temperatures in summer hover around 45˚C, even in the shade. Discussions over tea and dates or reading help pass the time until the heat eases off in the evening.

granted to him by the government. The small orange tree in his courtyard is the only trace of green in the neighbourhood. From here, it is a long and dusty trek to the date palm garden. And the vista is not a beautiful one—standard blocks of flats, rarely a creeper near the door. The main road has three teashops, some kiosks, two takeaways, a few butchers. During French rule, the leading research station for Saharan geology and animal and plant life was located at Béni Abbès. Little is left of it now, apart from a museum with some dusty animals and a zoo with a few indestructible lizards and a 100-year-old tortoise. Three water towers loom over the city, supplying water for about 2 hours a day directly into the tanks on the roofs. The older men complain that people waste water now that it comes from a tap. The days when water was considered sacred and not a single drop was spilled are long gone. When he returns home in the afternoon, Mulay takes off his shirt, pulls on his jogging pants, sets a cap on his head, sits on his moped and disappears into his garden. “He only comes home to sleep and to eat,” says his wife, Hakima. In March, at orange-blossom time, the family also goes to the garden, to enjoy the sweet-smelling bushes. And in autumn, when the dates are ready to harvest, they all lend a hand. But gardening here is primarily an activity for the men from long-established families. Newcomers may, at best, lease a garden and help with the harvest. And a ‘newcomer’ in Béni Abbès could even be someone whose parents shifted here 50 years ago. They may marry, befriend and do business with the locals, but the gardens cannot be sold to them: they remain the hereditary possession of families that belong to this place.

But not all of these families have a member like Mulay. When he inherited the land 15 years ago, he took the help of his uncle who owned the adjacent plot. Together, they cleaned up the garden that had been abandoned for decades. The music teacher learned how to hold a hoe. He learned to recognise palm shoots that were old enough to be transplanted; learned that he would have to clear out the land one square at a time, step by step, digging out 15kg root balls: backbreaking work. And he learnt to distinguish between different varieties of dates by taste: hartan, the best dates for eaten fresh, sherkan, the best type for drying.

Water is flowing

through the beds around Mulay; he can take some time out for tea. “Tea is sacred,” he says. Every guest who visits his garden is offered a glass, as, indeed, is every visitor to Béni Abbès. On the lid of an oil drum is a fire, with a turquoise-coloured kettle placed on the embers. Mulay takes out a plastic container and sprinkles sugar from it into a big glass until it is half-full. Then he pours in the tea, swirls the glass around, pours the tea back into the kettle, and repeats the process until the sugar dissolves. He fetches small glasses from a Russian army bag, places them on a plastic crate and pours in the tea from a height. When there is froth in the glass, the tea is perfect. The first stars are twinkling above the garden, above the date palms that his great-grandfather planted. In the intervening years, a few of Mulay’s plants have also reached the height of a man. And flourishing in the shade of the palms are the fruit

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Two teenage girls in the alleys of Ghardaia. The city of 82,000 inhabitants was founded in the 11th century, and is a centre of date production. Behind the last of the houses stretches the ‘red desert’, the Sahara. At 9 million square kilometres, it is the largest dry desert on earth.

bushes, clementines, lemons, apricots—and raspberries and pomegranates, a speciality of Béni Abbès. In the beds, Mulay has planted potatoes, beans, onions, cabbages, cucumbers and chillies. One day, he dreams, things will again be as they used to, with three levels in his garden: crops down below, fruit above, and the date palms on top keeping everything cool and shady. Since his uncle had no children, his land came to Mulay when he died. “He gave me the key before he died.” Mulay steps around the alfalfa beds that are quietly filling up with water—green fodder for the three sheep and three goats that he keeps in his grandmother’s house. Mulay has never left. His plot is beautifully green. During the day, butterflies fly to the treetops and nibble on the dates. Beyond the garden and further along the head of the scorpion, towards the riverbed, are the small dunes. Under the sand lie gardens and half-buried piles of bricks, the erstwhile summer-houses of the ksar residents. Also here is a rectangular basin of concrete that could mean the advent of a new life in the gardens. Thirteen gardeners have joined hands in ‘Pilot Zone One.’ They have lined their irrigation canals with flat stones, as was the custom earlier. The basin will become the reservoir of a new water distribution system, one that will not disturb the old system of water rights, but will make the work of the farmers independent of time of day. They hope that without the drudgery of the night-shift, younger people might be attracted back to the gardens. Never again will the water of the Sidi Othman spring flow exclusively into the palm groves; never again will families be able to live purely off the harvest of the gardens. But the aim is

to at least retain the oasis within the oasis. “People’s thinking has changed in recent years,” says Mulay. He has hope. He re-wraps the glasses in brown paper, dumps the tea-leaves near the bed of peas, and hangs the kettle on a palm already occupied by gumboots, a sickle and a tattered jacket. A crescent moon is in the sky, the palms throw sharp shadows on the sand. Mulay Ismail Boussouri closes the sluice gate and shuts the garden door. In a few years, the music teacher will retire, and devote his entire attention to the garden.

American photographer George Steinmetz (left, with assistant François Lagarde) has often taken spectacular pictures of remote deserts for GEO. This time, he spent 6 weeks criss-crossing the dirt tracks of the Algerian Sahara. The most important machine on his journey was not the museum-piece of a car in the picture above, but a motorised paraglider that offered him a view from up above. Gesa Gottschalk writes regularly for GEO.

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The Kennedys and their nine children on their family estate in Massachusetts, around 1935. Standing (left to right): the oldest, Joseph Jr, for whom Joseph Sr planned a political career; the second-born, John, future president; mother Rose; daughters Jean and Patricia Kennedy. Sitting: Robert, Edward, father Joseph, Eunice, Rosemary and Kathleen Kennedy.

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America’s

First

FAMILY On 8 November 1960, John F. Kennedy was elected president of the USA—the first pop star of politics and the most famous offspring of a legendary family. His rise was a fierce struggle, marshalled primarily by his father. Joseph P. Kennedy, a self-made millionaire, fought for social acceptance with boundless ambition. After the failure of his own political career and the death of his eldest son, he saw another chance in taking his second-born right to the top. But John—dogged by poor health and with a fickle, philandering streak to his personality—seemed totally unsuitable at first. By Mathias Mesenhöller

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I

t was a warm Sunday on 13 August 1944, at Hyannis Port. Gathered at their summerhouse, the Kennedy family decided to have lunch on the verandah with a view of Nantucket Sound. That afternoon, the children planned to take part in a regatta. Joseph P. Kennedy, the patriarch, set great store by sport and competition: the will to win, ambition and toughness were all virtues the self-made millionaire demanded from his children. He would goad his sons and daughters on, often setting them against one another: “There’s no room for losers here. In this family, we only want winners.” That day, six of Rose Fitzgerald and Joseph P. Kennedy’s children were at Hyannis Port. Even John F.,—whom they called Jack—the second-oldest, the charmer with the broad smile and easy air, was there. That weekend, he had been allowed to leave the hospital where doctors were trying to put right the result of a botched back operation—and from where his father’s car, which Jack had borrowed, had just been stolen. Fortunately for Jack, his father’s anger was directed at the thieves, not at why he was out of hospital in the first place. (Seducing a nurse, Jack would have had to admit.) Joseph had other things on his mind. One of his children still had not arrived for the lunch party: his eldest son, Joe Jr. An old acquaintance of the family once remarked that if Jack was the moon, Joe Jr was the sun. Joe Jr’s military duty as a marine pilot in the war against Germany was over, and his family awaited news of his return home— to continue the political career his father had decided upon. For it was him, and him alone,

other children chatted in hushed voices in the living room. There was a knock. Rose opened the door. A navy chaplain was standing there with another priest. They exchanged a few words, then Rose turned and hurried up the stairs. Moments later, her husband rushed down and took the chaplain and priest into a side room.

WHEN HE EMERGED, Joseph’s

The clan’s ancestors: in 1900, Patrick Joseph Kennedy (above) and John Francis Fitzgerald were bitter opponents in a struggle for power in Boston. The marriage of their children brought them together.

that the patriarch trusted to do what he himself had failed to. Joseph wanted to see his oldest son enthroned in the White House: as the first Catholic and the first Irish-American president. It was his life’s dream, the entire point of all the millions he had earned. After lunch, Joseph retired to his room for an afternoon nap. Rose was reading the paper while the

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face was grey. Controlling himself with difficulty, he broke the news to his children: Joe Jr’s plane had crashed over England. His voice broke; he was in tears. Insisting that the children went sailing as planned, he staggered to his room and locked himself in. One of the children disobeyed him. Jack walked along the beach for a long time, deep in thought. Later, he watched his grieving father from a distance. “God! There goes the old man,” he said to a friend. “He’s off thinking about the next step. Now it will be me, you know. I’ll be next. It’s my turn.” At that point, John Fitzgerald Kennedy was a 27-year-old invalid who suffered from severe back pains and several mysterious illnesses. He had already made a name for himself as a linguistically gifted political writer—but also as a happy-go-lucky, uninhibited philanderer and pleasure-seeker. But Jack had concealed an ambitious streak that even his father had underestimated. His family name carried with it the unfulfilled desires of two IrishAmerican clans, the Kennedys and the Fitzgeralds, and the patriarch’s ambitions would now fall squarely on him. This ambition—fury, even—had its origins in 19thcentury Boston, in the poverty and struggles of Irish immigrants to survive and establish themselves in America.

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IT ALL STARTED WITH AN invasive potato blight. In 1845–46, a mould spread across the fields of Ireland, turning them into acres of black, stinking rot. Three poor harvests followed, leading to a countrywide famine in which one in every six people died from starvation or disease. Approximately two million people fled their homeland, around a quarter of them to the USA. One of the ports they landed at was Boston, Massachusetts. Boston, once the epicentre of the American Revolution, was now ruled by several longestablished families whose fortunes had been built on trade, shipping and the textile industry. Many members of this ‘Republican aristocracy’ were ideally placed to take on leading roles in their community, whether in politics, academia or the arts. Over time, the ‘Boston Brahmins,’ as they were dubbed, produced three presidents as well as the most famous university in the country, Harvard—a unique cultural institution at the time. The arrogance of the Boston tribe was equally legendary. A popular saying went: “The Lowells talk to the Cabots, and the Cabots talk only to God.” Being staunchly Protestant and of British descent, they looked down on the starving Catholics streaming into their community with increasing distaste. By 1855, the new arrivals made up about one-third of the city’s population. They lived in slums: large families crammed together in dingy rooms with sacks of straw for beds. They managed to earn their keep working as hawkers or on the docks—if they managed to get work at all. Signs reading ‘Irish need not apply’ were not uncommon.

The immigrants were right at the bottom of Boston’s social hierarchy. As late as 1875, a health authority committee put the fact that every second Irish child died before reaching the age of 6 down to their ‘innate weakness’ and a lack of hygiene. But America was, after all, a democracy. Public offices were determined by elections, and every male citizen had a vote, regardless of where he came from or what he earned. It didn’t take long for the new immigrants to establish strong alliances within their communities. A ‘boss’ collected the votes in return for passing on jobs, obtaining trading licenses, giving money to the sick or for a decent burial, or to get a familymember out of prison. At the local level, Irish cliques

soon took over the immigrantfriendly Democratic Party and established a kind of ‘shadow-state.’ The system was based on loyalty but also on coercion: intimidation, buying votes, rigged voting slips and deals with cartels to ensure the boss’ power and political clout. In 1885, the Irish voted in their first mayor. Eight years later, two Irish Catholic representatives from Boston met at the Massachusetts State Senate: their names were Patrick Joseph ‘PJ’ Kennedy and John Francis ‘Fitzie’ Fitzgerald.

In 1914, Joseph P. Kennedy, president of a Boston bank at the early age of 25, married John Fitzgerald’s daughter, Rose. A clever entrepreneur, he soon amassed a fortune in which a little bootlegging and insider trading may have played their part.

The Kennedy children in 1925. From left to right, Rosemary, John F. (or Jack), Eunice, Joe Jr and Kathleen swimming at Hyannis Port. The family was rarely this harmonious. Their father largely viewed childrearing as a training camp for success in business.

PJ Kennedy had started out as a publican but became a wellto-do trader in spirits. He was tall, hard and inscrutable, and hated appearing in public and making speeches. He preferred to work in the ‘strategy committee,’ a kind of secret central committee of Boston’s Democratic Party. Fitzgerald, by contrast, was short, an extrovert, a good speaker, a shaker of hands, a ‘people person’ much beloved by women. These two very different men became bitter opponents, fighting each other for power for over a decade with alternating success. Eventually, in 1905, Fitzgerald applied to the Democratic Party for nomination in the mayoral elections, standing against the candidate for the strategy committee.

‘FITZIE’

STAGED

AN

unprecedented election campaign in Boston. At rallies, his aides handed out little star-spangled banners; there were marches with brass bands and torches; entire streets were lined with flags. And at the centre of all this was a gushing candidate who seemed to know everyone, always had a

personal word to give—and promised favours. ‘Honey Fitz,’ as he later came to be known, won both the nomination and the subsequent election. The public loved him. They forgave him his electionrigging and misuse of office; even the rumours about his affairs. For far too many were profiting from his favours—the division of the spoils, the enormous expansion of public services. In 1913, however, he was dealt a particularly low blow: James Michael Curley threatened to expose an affair between the mayor and a blond ‘cigarette girl’ (in reality, a high-class New York prostitute) and, thereby, drag the reputation of the whole family through the mud. To protect his three daughters and their chances of suitable matches, Fitzgerald decided not to renew his candidacy. Yet it was his favourite daughter, Rose, who had been insisting for years on an indescribably bad alliance—with a red-haired, freckled beau who had a broad grin and tremendous self-confidence: Joseph P. Kennedy, the son of his long-time opponent, PJ. Rose’s parents didn’t consider the Kennedy heir good enough, and packed their daughter off to boarding school in Europe. But even as Fitzgerald’s career was in decline,

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in 1914, at the age of 25, Joseph P. Kennedy became the youngest president of a bank in Boston. The former mayor finally gave in and allowed the young couple to get married.

WHEN THE COUPLE HAD their first son, he was named after his father: Joseph Patrick Kennedy, or Joe Jr, as he was fondly known. In 1917, when their second son was born, Rose insisted that he carry on her family name, so the boy was christened John Fitzgerald. Meanwhile, Honey Fitz was trying to stage a comeback. In 1916, he stood as a candidate for the Senate in Washington against one of the most admired and powerful Boston aristocrats, Henry Cabot Lodge. Fitzgerald lost—the first of a long line of political defeats, and one that someone else would later avenge.

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THE

kids who cry in pain are

ignored

BY THEIR FATHER

DESPITE HIS easygoing charm, the young Joseph P. Kennedy was a driven man. As the son of a Boston-Irish wheeler-dealer— who had vigorously tried but failed to be accepted into high society— Joseph P. was determined to finally acquire social privilege. The first step was Harvard, the school of the elite. But even there, he learned that no matter how hard he tried, as the son of an Irish Catholic spirits-trader he would always be regarded as a publican by the Yankee elite, and denied entry to the more exclusive circles. The lesson he learned from all this was simple: ‘The only thing people like this understand is money.’ So he aimed to become a millionaire by the time he was 35. Joseph P. started off as a banker, became a manager in industry, and then began dealing in shares. His enormous

business sense was matched by his ruthlessness. he variously praised, scolded and He was clever and discreet and—thanks to his advised his offspring. excellent connections, insider information about At home, he went about the manipulated exchange rates, and possibly also from task of child-rearing with the same the mafia’s bootlegging racket—he earned well. His uncompromising intensity with which he had made his millions. will to succeed was absolute. In Joseph’s eyes, life was all By the time he hit 35, he was not just a millionaire: he was a millionaire many times over. Even so, when about getting what you want, no he applied for membership to the elite Cohasset matter what the cost. He viewed Country Club, he was turned down. childhood as a training ground Joseph’s belief that the upper echelons only for future social success, and understood money was quite wrong. They may have demanded from his children taken their own wealth for granted, but they rejected a winner’s mindset: courage, the way he had earned his, just as they rejected his discipline and absolutely no room rough manners and his conviction that he could buy for self-pity. At Hyannis Port, he laid down a his way into or out of anything—including being drafted during the First World War. tennis court and turned the lawns For the Boston Brahmins, Joseph was nothing into football and softball pitches. more than an Irish upstart. Any of the kids who avoided the Enraged by the humiliation, and in order to spare markedly rough competitions, his children similar experiences, he and his family gave up or cried out in pain would moved to New York in 1927. either be ignored or admonished. They first settled in the exclusive area of Riverdale, At mealtimes, which were later moving to the equally exclusive suburb of usually formal, every child had to Bronxville. So as not to break all his connections with give an account of their successes Massachusetts, he acquired a sprawling white villa by and failures. The patriarch would the ocean in Hyannis Port, a short distance from the question them about important summer residences of the aristocrats. figures in public life and business Aside from his businesses, Joseph’s life revolved and deliver lectures on politics, around his family, his clan. When he away on his using maps to illustrate his points. travels, Rose would line the children up every Sunday so that he could speak to each one in turn. The phone THERE WAS A GREAT calls were accompanied by a stream of letters in which emphasis on discipline: anyone 11/10 g 101

who was even a few seconds late at the table—guests included— could expect a stinging touguelashing. Under no circumstances was disobedience tolerated. It only took a glance from Joseph to make the children tremble, but he could destroy them just as effectively with a sarcastic remark. But at the same time, he was equally fierce in his unconditional support of the family against outsiders. The Kennedys were the best, and anyone who criticised them, stole their glory or contradicted the patriarch was either upbraided or brutally snubbed. When Joe Jr, for example, failed to win first prize at a regatta, his father was livid—but then gave him an even bigger sailing boat. There was no contradiction in this: it was simply that no Kennedy could be allowed to be a loser. Rose was one of the casualties of this overwhelming ambition. As John F. Kennedy would later say, “My mother is nothing.” During his childhood and youth, she was either away— shopping in Paris or praying at church. But even when she was at home, he never knew her to be affectionate. She was remembered as being a cold, bigoted and miserly woman, obsessed with their social reputation. At the same time, she was eccentric enough to pin notes about forthcoming events on her clothes. This is the effect Joseph P. Kennedy had on Rose.

religious, chaste to the point of being a prude, she viewed sex solely as a means of reproduction. Her husband mocked her for this, describing her in front of friends as frigid, and sought satisfaction elsewhere. While Rose was almost uninterruptedly pregnant, Joseph spent his time chasing other women. In the mid-1920s, he joined the film business and had an almost-open affair with the star of the times, Gloria Swanson—an object of desire as well as a status symbol for the relentless social-climber. Showgirls, prostitutes, wives of business partners: Joseph set an example to his sons, teaching them that you could take what you could get. While Rose was watching films at their private home-cinema, her husband might be feeling up his daughters’ friends

during the movie. He would leave open copies of porn magazines on his adolescent son Jack’s bed. Joseph’s sons learned to use women—their sexual conquests were vital to their hankering after recognition. This competitiveness turned Joe Jr and Jack, in particular, into rivals. Separated from their brother Robert (Bobby) by four sisters, they battled it out for first place among sons. Joe Jr was robust and combative. He had a short temper and a sharp tongue and was his father’s

SOON AFTER THEY WERE married, he started coming home late; he worked evenings and weekends. Rose found herself trapped in a quiet suburban house, far away from her familiar Irish community. The former mayor’s daughter, once used to being courted by the public, was lonely. And she was humiliated: deeply

The battle for their father’s favour turned Joe and Jack into rivals early in their lives. The younger of the two was also physically weaker, often confined to bed with allergies and infections.

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favourite, even standing in for him vis-à-vis the other kids. He was the natural heir, driven by an ambition to fulfil his parents’ aspirations and remain number one. Jack, in contrast, was often ill. He would spend weeks at a time in bed with scarlet fever, whooping cough, measles, German measles or bronchitis, and suffered from severe allergies after his appendix, adenoids and tonsils were removed. As a result, he was the only one of the children to become a passionate reader—starting with tales of chivalry and adventure and moving on to political and historical literature. A thin and weak adolescent, he would nonetheless challenge Joe Jr’s dominance whenever he could.

JOE JR MAY HAVE been

In 1938, Joseph P. Kennedy, here with his sons at London’s Waterloo station, was the US ambassador to Great Britain. Following his intrigues against President Roosevelt, his own political career came to a permanent end 3 years later.

loving and caring with his other siblings, but he was brutal with his immediate rival—ramming a football into his stomach and laughing at him as he lay doubled 3 dollars, Jack lost his virginity in a Harlem brothel— over on the floor. Their fistfights and spent the rest of the night frantically searching for became so rough that their medicine in case he had picked up a venereal disease. Jack learned to turn on the charm—exuding younger brother, Bobby, would put his hands over his ears and scream apparent empathy and concern, flashing his beaming, in horror as he watched. Jack lost open smile. But in academics and sports, he lagged almost every one of the fights. behind Joe, particularly since he was continuously As time went on, he learned beset by illness—digestive problems, vomiting, being how to live in Joe’s shadow. A underweight, fainting, infections. witty raconteur with an ear for Aside from the illnesses themselves, he suffered unconventional turns of phrase, the torture of extended hospital stays where he was and a penchant for irony even given enemas, tormented by rectal probes and had against himself, he became known alcohol pumped into his stomach through a rubber as being unpunctual, irresponsible tube in the nose. and a bit of a dreamer. As a young man, he could not bear to be In 1931, he joined the same touched. He avoiding hugs or gentleness during boarding school as Joe Jr, the sex: an emotional block, his biographers would later celebrated athlete and model explain, caused by the lack of warmth in his family pupil. Jack, however, made a life, in a childhood deprived of a loving, human regular mess of his locker, got touch. Jack dealt with this by writing explicit letters mediocre to bad grades, rebelled to friends, full of obscene remarks about his sisters, against his teachers and was a sarcastically exaggerated fear of death and a refusal nearly expelled. to indulge in self-pity. All the family’s hopes were pinned on the sturdy One evening, he and a friend took a taxi to New York. For and straightforward Joe Jr, for whom his father had

planned a political career—and who himself freely admitted that he wanted to become the first Catholic president of the USA. That, after all, was his father’s cherished goal: it was in his blood.

FROM THE EARLY 1930s, Joseph P. Kennedy began to turn his financial success into political influence. During the election campaigns of 1932 and 1936, he supported Franklin D. Roosevelt, the presidential candidate for the Democratic Party, with money and public appearances. Roosevelt won two elections in a row. In recognition of his support, Joseph Kennedy received the most prestigious embassy posting in Europe: US ambassador to Great Britain. One summer evening in 1938, he and Rose walked past liveried 11/10 g 103

In 1944, Joe Kennedy, a Navy pilot, died in a plane crash over England. His younger brother Jack had earlier returned home as a war hero. As the commander of a motor torpedo boat, he had saved a member of his crew from drowning after a collision at sea.

servants in Windsor Castle to attend their first dinner with the king and queen of England. In that quiet moment, Kennedy remarked to his wife, “Rose, this is a hell of a long way from East Boston!” The first US ambassador of Irish origin in Great Britain was now a member of the most exclusive social circles. It was an unparalleled triumph—and a catastrophic miscasting. For Kennedy viewed politics with the eyes of a businessman, and he saw the approaching war in Europe as extremely bad for business. He vociferously called for appeasement with Nazi Germany, and stuck to his guns even when war broke out: England was already lost, the US had nothing to gain from the conflict apart from losing billions of dollars and the lives of thousands of young men. He strongly believed that they should leave Europe to its fate. At the same time, the ambassador plotted to inherit the presidential office from Roosevelt. When Kennedy threatened to denounce him as a warmonger, Roosevelt’s anger turned to cold rage. At the end of 1940, Kennedy

was forced to resign as ambassador and was coldshouldered out of politics. Once again, as he viewed it, he had been sent packing by the aristocrats. So he now concentrated all his energy, his endlessly disappointed ambition, on the careers of his eldest sons. Both had recently graduated from Harvard. During extended trips to Europe, particularly to England, both had gained entry to the circles of the intellectual and political elite, and were brimming with new ideas and energy. Jack, in particular, had profited from this. For the first time in his rivalry with his brother, he could hold his own. While Joe was already active as a party delegate, Jack’s dissertation on British appeasement politics towards Hitler had won the patriarch’s recognition. While Joseph was still ambassador, he organised its publication and, to boost publicity, bought up several thousand copies on the sly. At 23, Jack became a bestselling author. Meanwhile, the USA was preparing to enter the war that Kennedy Sr had wanted to prevent all along. With other elite troops, Joe signed up for officers’ training as a pilot for the US Navy. Jack wanted to follow, but was turned down for health reasons. His

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father pulled some strings and Jack was accepted into the Marines— after all, it couldn’t hurt their reputation. At the same time, the patriarch secretly used the same connections to ensure that his sons were kept away from the most dangerous battle zones.

BUT JOSEPH KENNEDY had underestimated just how deeply he had instilled in his sons the urge to excel: both obtained frontline duties. On the night of 2 August 1943, Lieutenant Jack Kennedy’s motor torpedo boat PT-109 was on patrol in the South Pacific, near the Solomon Islands. That moonless night, without any radar, the men on board were half-blind—and possibly somewhat careless—and they only noticed the great shadow bearing down on them at great speed at 2am, when it was too late.

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“NOW

it is my turn.

It is

MY MOMENT.”

The bow of the Japanese destroyer Amagiri crashed into the hull and tore through PT-109, setting off the craft’s explosives. Eleven of the 13-man crew survived only because the wind-direction diminished the flames. They passed the night on the floating wreck, swimming out to a nearby island the next day. Jack pulled an injured man through the water, later swimming out again to seek help and nearly drowning himself. His fighting nature kept his spirits up, and at last the men came across indigenous islanders with a canoe. Kennedy carved an SOS into a coconut and sent it off with the islanders. They were rescued a week later. Press reports made much of the adventure of the naval officer from a prominent family and the rescue of his crew—never mind

the loss of the boat to begin with. When Jack returned home at the beginning of 1944, he was hailed as a hero—a hero with back problems that gave him a limp, making a second tour of duty impossible. He had matured through the loss of two friends, and looked upon his own fame with ironic detachment. Still, as journalist-friends offered to promote the story again, he joined in and spoke at public events. His father procured him a decoration. The patriarch was proud and happy, and determined to make the most of his son’s tale of heroism. Joe Jr found this all of this absolutely unbearable. A family friend recounted watching Joe—visiting home on leave from active duty—sobbing with rage and jealousy after a toast was made to Joseph P. Kennedy, “the father of our hero”—meaning Jack. At that point in his life, he was number two. A loser. Soon afterwards, Joe was posted to England. He flew out on uneventful patrols and, though he had flown enough missions to be discharged, he volunteered for a special mission. Ignoring his father’s warning not to push his luck, he secretly enlisted in a operation that would command a much higher decoration than Jack’s medal. On the evening of 12 August 1944, Joe Jr flew off from RAF Fersfield in east England. Barely half an hour later, an electrical fault in his Liberator bomber ignited the explosives on board. A massive explosion tore the machine apart, turning it into a giant fireball. The remains of Joe Kennedy Jr and his co-pilot were never found.

THE NEWS OF THE DEATH of his favourite son destroyed the iron patriarch. “All my plans for my own future were closely tied up with Joe,” he wrote to a friend, “and that is broken.” For evenings on end, Joseph sat alone in his room listening to Wagner overtures. He would cry, and snap at guests who disturbed his grief. He swore at the wartime President Roosevelt, calling him, “that bastard who murdered my son.” He fell into quiet misery. Meanwhile, Jack survived two spinal operations to avoid becoming permanently crippled. He asked friends, teachers, superior officers and even the last girlfriend of his fallen brother for contributions to a commemorative volume called Memories of Joe. It was his way of dealing with the loss, despite all the rivalry. At the end of 1944, he travelled to the family’s winter home in Palm Beach, Florida, with a rough draft of the book. He would later compare what happened there to being drafted. Kennedy Sr no longer wanted to look back—he wanted to see his eldest son in the White House. 11/10 g 105

And Jack was now the eldest. Both, however, had their doubts. Jack lacked his brother’s vigourous health—that mixture of brutality and joviality that made Joe Jr seem like a born politician. His role in Joe’s shadow had had its consolations—it allowed him a certain amount of freedom to do whatever he wanted. And now, he would have to work alongside his oppressive, power-hungry father, who had thus far managed to turn everyone in his ambit into either a lackey or an enemy.

ON THE OTHER HAND, this was his legacy—and there was the real allure of power and status. In a way, Joe Jr’s death had also cleared a way for Jack’s own longsuppressed ambition. For the time being, he resumed his work as a writer, reporting on a conference in San Francisco in 1945, where the UN Charter was signed, and on the elections in Britain. He then accompanied the US delegation to the Allies’ post-war conference in Potsdam in 1945. He observed big politics close-up and became increasingly certain that he wanted in. He had found his calling. His father had already been preparing the political ground in Boston, where the names ‘Kennedy’ and ‘Fitzgerald’ had a special resonance, and had cleared a starting point for him. One of the members of Washington’s House of Representatives from Boston’s immigrant quarter—a bastion of the Democratic Party—was short of money. Kennedy helped him out and promised to support his next election campaign on the condition that he gave up his mandate in Washington and stood for mayor instead. The man agreed.

John F. Kennedy stood as a candidate for the House of Representatives in 1946. In order to smooth his path, Kennedy’s father bribed his opponents. The dashing newcomer found much support among women. Above, a tea party during the election campaign.

The man was none other than James Michael Curley—the very same man who had once driven Honey Fitz out of the mayor’s office. And the mandate in question? None other than the one Jack’s grandfather had in his sights. The 11th district was one of the poorest and most heterogeneous in the country. Irish, Italian, Chinese— immigrants from 37 nationalities lived here in cramped, dark houses between smoking factories, oil tanks and screeching elevated railroads and goods train sidings. At first, the regional party bigwigs simply laughed at Jack, the millionaire’s son. Even to well-meaning observers, the new boy seemed green: he was extremely thin—his shirt and jacket looked several sizes too big—he was strangely shy, and he did not know how to mix with people. Added to that were his pains and illnesses—and his disorganisation. His first campaign aides found his desk drawers full of unpaid bills and unanswered, and even unopened, post. In April 1946, he announced his intention to apply for the Democratic nomination to the 11th district. Ten other candidates stepped up. Mike Neville was the frontrunner: he was popular, experienced and had

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Boston roots. But while Neville had to burden his family with a mortgage to the tune of 25,000 dollars for his election campaign, Father Kennedy could effortlessly pump in ten times that to fuel Jack’s campaign. Never before in a Democratic primary had America witnessed such a slew of TV commercials, advertisements, posters and leaflets. Kennedy’s team hired an expensive advertising agency, commissioned opinion polls, bought off the competitions’ election-helpers, and bribed voters and opponents. Using his publishing connections, Joseph P. Kennedy saw to it that editors were completely silent about the ‘Boston American’ Mike Neville’s efforts, while richly illustrated, flattering portraits of his son appeared in magazines such as Look and Life.

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FRUSTRATED,

NEVILLE

described the Kennedy strategy as “Buy ’em or flatten ’em!” The family patriarch was the driving force behind the campaign: its chief strategist and uncontested leader. He decided to present the young Jack Kennedy as a veteran and a war hero. When an advisor came up with the fiery slogan, ‘The new generation offers a leader,’ Joseph rented several billboards in Boston at once. This ‘leader’ initially had to be pushed by his aides into the bars, game-rooms and community halls. He was a leader who had to improve his weak rhetoric with the help of tape-recordings, and with whom his father would go through every speech, paragraph by paragraph, analysing his tempo and style of delivery. But Jack was a quick learner. He soon developed a feel for the public, focusing less on slogans and more on emotions. For instance, addressing a gathering of the mothers of fallen soldiers, he would admit, shyly, that he knew how they felt: he also had a mother who was grieving for her lost son. Elsewhere, with his casual air and deprecating irony, he persuaded those who were envious of his millions to view him not as a snotty-nosed upstart, but proof that the kid of an immigrant family could catch up with the long-established aristocrats. And as a testament to this incredible rise, Honey Fitz, bursting with pride and enthusiasm, accompanied his grandson on his tours through the city, introducing and promoting him. With Fitzie, Jack learned how valuable a practised memory of names could be, and systematically began

to memorise names and faces. He learned to region once more with 100,000 introduce himself to dock workers and hostile city copies of the report about Jack’s councillors, visited the apartments of the poor, ate heroic deeds in the Pacific. Italian food with Italians and Chinese with the On 18 June 1946, John F. Chinese. Above all, he realised that he enjoyed it. Kennedy saw his first political At the end of the day, Jack brought to the victory and became the Democratic campaign something that his father had never representative for Massachussett’s reckoned with: charisma. With his looks alone, he 11th congressional district. won votes and supporters without having to pay “How can you beat a million for them—particularly among the younger crowd. dollars?” asked Mike Neville. Party workers could not believe that Jack had But others knew that it was found so many enthusiastic campaign helpers. The not just a question of money. younger ones, especially, took the message into the Along with his financial backing, most diverse communities: ‘Vote Kennedy!’ a second benefit had become The day before the election, Joseph flooded the apparent: Jack was a younger,

Joseph P. Kennedy propelled his son’s campaigns with expensive advertising. In 1946, the election slogan, ‘The new generation offers a leader,’ could be seen on several billboards in Boston.

more charismatic and decisive Jack looked for sex with the frenzy of an addict. politician, who had come to Secretaries, stewardesses, models, sportswomen, represent the hopes of a new ‘names’ from the film industry: he didn’t really care. generation. He surpassed even his father in his almost mechanical In the autumn, as expected, he obsession with sexual conquest, driven by a hunger won the main election and, at the for self-affirmation rather than pleasure. Jack never age of 29, became a member of the got over his favourite high-school expression: “Wham, House of Representatives, one of bam, thank you, Ma’am.” the two houses of the US Congress. But behind the charismatic façade lay emptiness: Jack was able to seduce people so routinely because THE NEW CONGRESSMAN they didn’t actually interest him. He only kept was young and looked even appointments or promises if they suited him— younger, with his freckles and otherwise, he duped even his closest friends and loyal unkempt hair. He was also helpers. Since he hardly ever carried money, others unusually relaxed. He stood in were always paying for him. They’d often have to the cafeteria queue in a sweater write several letters before he would return loans for and sports shoes, and entered amounts that were large for them but too insignificant the Congressional hall in khaki for him to remember. He was a good listener and an engaging speaker, trousers and a crumpled linen jacket with his shirt peeking but he could also be plainly crude: remembering the out. His suits were often cheap name of whoever he had bedded the previous night and ill-fitting. He was often was not one of his virtues. Jack’s carelessness sprung from an egocentricity mistaken for the lift boy, while one congressman thought he was that grew in tandem with his political success, and was enhanced by his continuing ill-health. The an errand boy. Jack’s casualness came from a feeling that it could all be over at any time made kind of arrogant assumption—a him both more ruthless and more reckless, with a sense that he ‘belonged’ in the constant rush for more, a drive for the new. In 1947, he collapsed once again during a visit House of Representatives. Yet no one took it badly. Kennedy’s natural to London. This time, the doctors finally discovered openness, the beaming smile the reason for his recurring infections and digestive between his large ears, along with problems, his bouts of fever and chronic weakness. a certain shyness, were a winning Jack suffered from Addison’s disease, a rare disorder combination. A columnist once of the hormonal system. The illness was incurable and, until a few years described his demeanour as the earlier, often resulted in death. It was alleviated air of an “exiled prince.” The only problem was that somewhat with high doses of steroids—another he didn’t really like working. He addition to the cocktail that Jack’s body had been would rather throw a football exposed to for many years. around the office. The three-storey terraced CONGRESSMAN KENNEDY put in as much house where he lived with a effort in the House of Representatives as he needed friend, his sister Eunice, a cook to ensure his re-election. He supported state-funded and a servant, looked like a home construction, especially for veterans, the dormitory. The carpets were expansion of the welfare state, higher minimum frayed, clothes lay strewn over wages and a liberal immigration policy. He didn’t have a real policy programme, however, the backs of chairs, underwear was stuffed down the sides of the and the smaller details of internal politics failed sofa, mouldy food was left to rot to interest him. The big questions of the nation— behind the books. Friends and external and international politics, in particular, relatives were constantly in and were another matter. That, however, was the domain of the small, elite Senate—which was, moreover, out—as were women. 108 g 11/10

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one of the classic springboards into the White House. After two easy re-elections in 1948 and 1950, Joseph P. Kennedy set his son a new target: Henry Cabot Lodge Jr, senator for Massachusetts. Lodge was none other than the grandson of the same Boston aristocrat who had defeated Honey Fitz during his attempted comeback, and he would be standing for re-election in 1952. He was a classic example of the Yankee elite: rich, good-looking, well-mannered, a star of the Republican party. “If you beat him, you’ll have beaten the best,” Joseph told his son. “Why go for anything less?” He was as determined as ever not to have a runner-up in his family. And he wanted to exact a very personal revenge on the class that he hated and despised. So, in the spring of 1951, Jack began to travel around Massachusetts and became known outside his home electoral district. Lodge reacted with an arrogance similar to that of the Boston aristocrats 6 years earlier: he needled Joseph. He wouldn’t want to keep wasting his money, would he? Another Democratic congressman wondered about Jack’s motivation: “Why doesn’t he just get on with being a playboy?” And a confidant who knew about Jack’s poor health advised him to wait until he was better. “I can’t wait,” Jack answered. “I don’t have time. I have to do it now.” Jack was as driven as his father. On 6 April 1952, he declared his candidacy. The two central elements of this campaign were the same as before: Joe’s money plus Jack’s charisma. But a third element, which was only partially used in 1946, was now weighed in in Jack’s corner: the family.

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In 1953, after being elected senator of Massachusetts, the young politican married Jacqueline Bouvier. Her beauty and family background only enhanced his charisma and social status.

Robert, Joseph’s third son, had taken over the organisation— and soon proved that he was the only one who could reason with their father, and stop him from jeopardising the entire enterprise with his mercurial bluster. In the space of 18 hours, Bobby drummed up an unprecedented 50,000 volunteers for the campaign in the remote corners of the state. With this campaign, he began his future as Jack’s best man.

THEN, THE KENNEDYS sent out invitations to tea. The entire clan took part: Joseph, Rose, Jack and his brothers and sisters (Honey Fitz had died in 1950). Approximately 70,000 voters, mostly women, received handwritten cards inviting them to personally get to know the family in the best rooms of the fanciest hotels, with lace tablecloths and silver candelabras. For many, it was the ultimate ‘step up the social ladder’, a dream come true. With her Parisian dresses and her cosmopolitan air, Rose Kennedy was the main attraction. After years of humiliation, her stoicism took on new

meaning, and the men believed she had a role to play. Playing the role of grande dame to the hilt, she would declare to the Yankee housewives “I’m one of you.” Then, of course, there was Jack himself: young, attractive, heroic, idealistic, relaxed. And a bachelor to boot (although he already knew his future wife, Jackie, he wouldn’t appear in public with her yet). He won the election by a margin of 70,000 votes. It was largely due to the support of women and immigrants that Kennedy landed a seat in the Senate. On 5 November 1952, at 7:34pm, Henry Cabot Lodge Jr cabled his congratulations to Kennedy’s headquarters. A few hours earlier, long before the votes had been counted, a student friend had already told Jack that his victory was in the bag. “Why?” asked Jack. “I think you stand for the best of the new generation. I don’t mean generation as in ‘age’, but in terms of the minorities who have recently arrived. And Lodge stands for the best of the old Yankees. I reckon there are more recent immigrants than old Yankees.” Rose expressed this is in a more personal and brutal fashion: “The Fitzgeralds have finally settled the score with the Lodges.” Having won a starting place in the race to the top, John Fitzgerald Kennedy stood for a changed country. Although the real victory took place on 8 November 1960, he had laid the foundations for it almost 8 years earlier, managing what no one expected him to do. For the first time in his life, Jack had beaten the best. He, who had always seemed destined to be second-best, had finally become number one. 11/10 g 109

The Man

AND THE MYTH

Fifty years after his election as president of the USA, the shining light of John F. Kennedy continues to radiate. But how successful was JFK in reality? By Cay Rademacher

J

ohn F. Kennedy was no martyr, but he was a hero. America is a violent society, and in a violent society the honoured dead are not seen as people who have made a sacrifice but as warriors who died with their boots on. The USA emerged from a war of liberation and was formed by a civil war. It fought in two World Wars and in many smaller conflicts, sometimes far from its borders. Its borders were constantly shifted by the pioneers, who unhesitatingly drove off the Native Americans using a Colt or Winchester. In the immigrant quarters of New York and Chicago, on the plantations of the South, across the gold mines and wild frontiers from California to Alaska—“Might is Right” was the law of the land. To Americans, a president who is murdered in office is like a soldier who dies in battle: a hero, not a martyr. Many American presidents have been assassinated, the most famous—aside from John F. Kennedy—being Abraham Lincoln, who was shot in 1865. John F. Kennedy, however, was the most radiant of them all. Young and charismatic, a fighter who had commanded a motor torpedo boat

in the Second World War and who defied the Soviet Union during the Cold War. He was a president at the zenith of his power and creativity. Not the historical figure to pick for a critical analysis, then. After all, heroes symbolise what is good in a particular epoch, and sometimes, as in Kennedy’s case, the timelessly admirable. For many of his followers, he perfectly embodied the model American; he was radiant, direct, optimistic. They were understandably reluctant to examine the evidence in detail, as that would have revealed the shakiness of the foundation upon which the Kennedy monument was built. What did John F. Kennedy really achieve? What were the results of his presidency? Did he reform society? Revolutionise international politics?

conditions of the US Congress; or whether it was the shocking death of an idol that led to political change in the Senate and House of Representatives. We can only speculate. We can play the intriguing game of “what if?” What would have happened had Kennedy survived? He was hardly a groundbreaker. The energies of the future were to be cheap oil and nuclear energy—the first was a source that would be indispensable after the mass motorisation of the 1920s; the latter was the great hope of the 1950s. IF YOU MEASURE political achievement in treaties The flight of the middleand laws, then Kennedy was an average president at classes to the suburbs? City best. Civil rights for African-Americans? During his centres becoming slums? No term in office, Kennedy only hesitantly demanded one in Washington could stop it. a real political and economic equality. Rather than (Although Kennedy did propose taking the initiative, he put it off. Women’s equality? a Ministry for City Development, Abolition of the death penalty? Lowering the voting the idea failed before Congress.) age to 18? These weren’t even on his agenda. And the bold Apollo moonThe economic prosperity of the 1950s carried mission programme that Kennedy on, even if it was more fragile. There were no announced in May 1961 was a groundbreaking reforms at this time, no radical safe bet: a massive technological changes to national health insurance or state pensions, advantage that had long been no move towards a welfare state. planned by scientists and the It was his successor, Lyndon B. Johnson, who military well before he took office. achieved the real reforms in civil rights and the social In foreign politics, his greatest system. Although he did profit from the legislative passion, the president experienced initiatives of his predecessor, it is an open question great moments as a level-headed whether or not John F. Kennedy would ever have and unshakeable manager of the managed to get them through the difficult majority Cuban Missile Crisis. He wasn’t

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exactly responsible for breaking up the rivalry of the superpowers that threatened mankind. On the contrary: the single combat of the two giants—the duel between the USA and the Soviet Union for military, political, ideological, economic and cultural domination—entirely suited John F. Kennedy and the taste for competition with which he had been brought up. For Asian and African countries emerging from decolonisation, he came up with ideas like the Peace Corps, a kind of army of developmentworkers. He did not, however, establish a new world order that integrated the young countries other than as mere satellites of the superpowers. He never brokered diplomatic relations with Cuba. As for Vietnam, his aims remained nebulous, perhaps even to himself. And his methods—sending supposed military advisors to support a dictator, only to sacrifice him when he was no longer required—were almost as dirty as those of this predecessors. Although the traumatic disaster that the US later experienced in South Asia was not Kennedy’s doing, decisions that contributed to this catastrophe were undertaken during his time in office. Even his foreign policy was not a success story. Other US presidents of the 20th century have achieved more, especially Franklin D. Roosevelt, an East Coast Democrat like Kennedy and his father’s political rival. From 1933, Roosevelt fought the toughest economic crisis in US history, created the first institutions of a modern welfare state, and finally stood up to Hitler and the Japanese military during the Second World War. It’s an

new medium of television, this promise was broadcast far and wide, even to those who could not vote for him. Kennedy’s followers were AND YET, JOHN F. KENNEDY has become united in the belief that a better legendary. It is easy to put one’s finger on the reason world, a modern utopia, was for this: politics is not only about laws, treaties and possible: a world in which the contrasts between West and East, outcomes—the measurable, written, formal. Kennedy became famous not because of his between rich and poor, could be presidential achievements but for the changes his overcome, not only in the distant presidency heralded. He was an outsider—privileged, future but through the work of of course, but an outsider nonetheless. He was a countless idealists, here and now. In his private life, Kennedy young social-climber in a political class marked by unfair comparison, granted. Big crises can create great politicians, and apart from the 2-week Cuban Missile Crisis, perhaps Kennedy just never had the opportunity to prove his worth.

The promise of a better future was Kennedy’s most powerful capital. older notables. A Catholic in a North America heavily must surely have been a cynic; one dominated by Protestants. When John F. Kennedy has only to think of all the stories came on the scene in the summer of 1960, no other about his many women. But not politician from a similar background had risen so far so in the political and public in the whole history of the country. He succeeded arena. Here he was full of pathos in becoming the youngest directly elected president, and idealism, inspiring hope in the hearts of the country’s younger and the first Catholic to do so. It was the American dream of upward mobility, generation. Clever, educated, the chance for anyone who dares. Even though ambitious and hard-working Kennedy did little, politically, to further the cause of men and women were persuaded African-Americans or women, the fact that he himself to work for their country: as had overcome discrimination was enough to signal development workers, teachers, lawyers, researchers, civil servants, that in his wake, other discriminations could fall. The fact that this dream was realised somewhat advisors or presidential officials. In this sense, Kennedy’s more easily with inherited millions didn’t make it any less seductive. Without his charisma and vision, presidential legacy lives on even Kennedy would never have succeeded in winning the today. He gave many people the presidency with dollars alone. After all, the offspring hope that serious, albeit idealistic, of even richer clans, such as the Rockefellers, have not strong and peaceful politics was possible. It is a hope that continues succeeded in making it to the White House. Perhaps it is this promise, that everyone has a to exist, even if JFK himself was chance, that everyone deserves a chance, that made largely unable to fulfil it in his it possible for Kennedy to become the voice of a unfinished life. John F. Kennedy has become a generation. He filled millions with an enthusiasm for politics, and asked them (in his most famous speech) yardstick for his successors in the to not only do what they could for their country, but USA and in other democracies. also gave them to understand that they were in a He was able to show what politics position to do so, and that their country would be could be, if the base hunger for power is not allowed to triumph grateful to them for it. And since his charisma was also effective in the over passion. 11/10 g 111

AWAKENING THE ABANDONED

In the Mexican state of Oaxaca, being a woman means waiting, often for years at a stretch, for husbands, brothers and sons who work in the USA. It is a society in which women have to fend entirely for themselves, as they are left to shoulder a double burden—caring for their children and the elderly, and dealing with their own loneliness. By Johanna Romberg (text) and Dana Romanoff (photos)

Florentina Gaspar’s husband left for the USA one week ago. Until he begins to send money home, the 27-year-old will sustain her five children by gathering and selling firewood.

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With the help of her family, Esther Cruz (right) packs 300 home-made tortillas. A relative will take them to Los Angeles: a taste of home for those who moved to the North.

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Despite the continuous exodus, life must go on in San Marcos Tlapazola: the twin sisters Esther (left) and Naomi Cruz take care of beverages for a birthday party.

Esther Cruz chops fuel in a field near restaurant—appropriately called the her village. Her five brothers have Oaxaca Grill—which employs 47 people migrated to the USA; she and her from San Marcos. sister have to look after their parents. Recently, Naomi’s son, Aaron, also found a job there. In February 2008 he and an uncle boarded a flight to Tijuana, ESTHER AND NAOMI CRUZ, both on the Mexican border. From there he 35, are from San Marcos Tlapazola, a travelled across the border with the help village about 30km east of Oaxaca city in of a coyote, a smuggler. Aaron is 17. Zapotec territory. Esther and Naomi are Naomi was worried for him: several twins, although this is not immediately days of walking through the desert, and obvious, especially if one meets them the risk of being caught by the American among their cousins and neighbours. border patrol. “But then, a week after he For the women of San Marcos are all left, the phone call finally came,” she says. similarly attired: they all have plaits Her smile still reflects the relief she must braided with colourful ribbons and wear have felt that day. brightly coloured clothes and aprons We are sitting in front of Esther’s stitched in the same style. house with a view of a carpet of freshly San Marcos is a village of women, harvested corn cobs drying in the warm children and elderly. Of the 3,200 November sun. It is quiet. From time to members of the community, about 2,000 time, the senior Señora Cruz calls out have left for the USA over the last decade. from the kitchen and one of her two Esther and Naomi’s siblings, five daughters answers. We cannot follow older brothers and a sister, also live their conversation—the women of San in the US. They all work at the same Marcos only speak to each other in

Zapotec. Even when they speak Spanish, we can’t help feeling that we are missing something important. How does a mother cope with sending her minor child into the desert—all so that he can wash dishes in a city 3,000km away? How does a woman stay married to a man she only sees for a few weeks, if at all, every 3 years? How can one keep a family together when its members live thousands of kilometres apart? Yes, says Naomi, she does worry about Aaron. “But he calls up every week and says that he is fine. That the work in the restaurant is easier than the work in the fields.” What about her? Does she miss him? Is she sad that he’s so far away? “Of course,” says Naomi in a low voice. Then she falls silent. She wipes her eyes with her thick, black plait, gets up and goes into the house. San Marcos Tlapazola is a beautiful village at the foot of a mountain range, with a wide expanse of corn, vegetable and agave fields stretching out in front

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of it. Column cacti line the road leading marry and build a house of their own. Dancing at a festival organised by to the stone houses that make up the Migrating to the USA has long been Princesa Donají. The organisation village. The square in front of the church an obvious part of life for the men of San provides microcredit loans to enable has been newly paved. The people on Marcos. Perhaps it is even more than that: women to independently run their the road—mostly women—greet all a test of maturity, a rite of passage that own enterprises. foreigners. Nobody looks shabby or leads out of San Marcos, a quiet village hungry. Nobody walks around barefoot. of women and children, into the world of sons to find themselves as young a wife And nothing explains why almost men, real work and hard-earned dollars. as possible: this is what tradition dictates. three-quarters of the men have been And who would challenge it? Certainly leaving the village on a regular basis; why, WELCOME, LITTLE TERESA, Maria, not the young men! They are in a hurry even today, a generation of young people Isabel, Florentina or Juliana! You will grow to get across the border. This means that departs each year, almost as soon as they up in a loving family with innumerable you have to make yourself pretty at the graduate from high school. aunts, female cousins and godmothers. right age and say yes fast enough. When we ask them, Esther, Naomi You will have enough to eat and you will Seduction, courtship, getting engaged and their neighbours just shrug—as if go to school for at least 6 years. In this and marrying: it all has to happen much we had asked why children go to school, respect, you are certainly better off than faster than ever before. If you’re lucky, your grandmothers. However, soon after you might have 3 months to get to know your 14th birthday, your life will revert your future husband. Make the most of to traditional tracks, and the young men it—for a dark moment will come soon of the village will begin to swarm around after the wedding when you’ll have to accompany your husband to the airport. you like bees around a honeycomb. Naturally, you could spurn their The following years are easy to sum advances. But at 18, you’re already up: baking tortillas, sweeping the farm, considered an old maid in San Marcos. It feeding the goats—initially alone, and is primarily the mothers who urge their soon with a baby strapped to your body.

THE YOUNGEST OF THEM LEAVE AT THE AGE OF 13, OFTEN FOR SEVERAL YEARS

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Naomi Cruz’s 17-year-old son, Aaron, is one of the migrants. The photo shows Naomi at her wedding, 20 years ago. Soon after, her husband left for the USA for the first time.

their Señors. Listen to them carefully. “Tell me, should I start sowing or wait another week?” “We need help with the harvest. Which of our neighbours should I ask?” “What colour should I paint the walls?” “There is a dance at the village square tomorrow evening—may I go?” You don’t need to hear the answers to realise an unwritten rule, and not just in San Marcos: a Mexican man is always the master of the house—even if he lives 3,000km away. A respectable wife will never step out of the house without her husband’s permission. If she does, her mother-in-law will immediately report it to California or Oregon.

Don’t be afraid: your husband will provide for you. Every month he’ll send you money, enough for you to be able to build a house for your family in a few years’ time. It will be very different from the house in which your parents and grandparents grew up: not just a hut with straw walls, but a sturdy stone bungalow. You’ll sleep on a real bed with a mattress, instead of mats made of maize straw. Maybe someday you’ll even own a television set and a refrigerator filled with meat, milk and lemonade. ‘THE UNITED STATES’: these are some One of your many aunts, like Esther, of the most avoided words in San Marcos will have a telephone. At her house, you’ll Tlapazola. When the women talk about see a curious phenomenon: young wives their migrant husbands, they say: “He who line up near the telephone every has gone to the North.” Almost as though Sunday, beautifully made up, with freshly California, Texas and Oregon were braided plaits, waiting for the call from situated in Mexican territory—within

easy reach. As if the absence of the men was merely an inconvenient, provisional arrangement that could end at any time. For a long time, this was actually true. In the 1980s, one could travel from Tijuana to San Diego without any problems, even without valid papers. In those days, the men of San Marcos left in spring, when the farming and construction season started in California, and returned around All Saints Day. During the 1990s, the USA started to systematically strengthen the border controls on its southern frontier. This made the journey of the ‘illegals’ more dangerous, as well as more expensive.

THE WOMEN CAN ONLY HOPE THAT THEIR HUSBANDS WILL REMAIN LOYAL TO THEM

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The coyote demanded 2,500 dollars to to do things with other women. Two women under one roof: Felicitas help smuggle Aaron over. Since then, the At present, the organisation—which and Cristina moved in together after price has supposedly doubled. is named after the daughter of a mythical their husbands left. In these deeply A man leaving San Marcos today Zapotec prince—has more than 8,000 traditional villages, their story is knows that it will take him several years members across 160 villages in Oaxaca. very unusual—and controversial. to pay back this amount. And the wife left Their leader, Lilia, is one of the few behind knows that this will be a parting ‘outsiders’ to enjoy the trust of the local for years. And then? Her husband found for an indefinite period of time. population even in remote, traditional himself a new wife in the USA, and she villages like San Marcos. Meanwhile, was left without a single peso.” ONE THING IS FOR SURE: most young some of the princesas are even active in Over the last few years, Lilia has been women from this village will, sooner or local municipal councils. Lilia is proud of seeing a new, bizarre way of arranging later, meet Lilia Mendoza. A 53-year- such achievements. However, we cannot marriages in the villages close to Oaxaca old lawyer, Lilia heads the Organización help noticing the impatience, bitterness city: a bridal show video. Since an Princesa Donají, a women’s network that and resignation that occasionally creep increasing number of young men want primarily looks after the family members into her voice: this dogged persistence! to avoid travelling back to their native of migrants. The princesas, as they call This unswerving insistence on continuing villages, due to stricter border controls, themselves, provide them vital assistance with ways of living and traditions that their mothers take the responsibility of for day-to-day life with the modest have a high probability of making people choosing suitable brides for them. financial means at their disposal—and poor, lonely and unhappy! “They don’t have to wait long: the a great deal of idealism. They arrange She gives us the example of Luisa from young girls want nothing more than to microcredit loans to set up shops, acquire Ixtlahuaca. “She sold her cow, her herd get married as soon as possible! So they a sewing machine or even buy a pregnant of pigs, and finally even mortgaged her dress up and pose in front of a camera. goat that could produce a small herd. farm to finance her husband’s ticket to The mothers send the video to the USA Thus, women living alone gain not only the north. She and her son had to live on and, a couple of months later, the girl financial scope, but also the confidence tortillas, chillis and roasted grasshoppers gets married to a man whom she only 11/10 g 121

Celestina Lura is lonely—the only remaining member of her family is a granddaughter who does not look after her. “They left me all alone,” complains the old woman. “Either they went to the North, or they died.” Those who want to talk about these things do so discreetly, with lowered voices. And only after quickly looking around to see if anybody is listening. “Did you know that her cousin (or his neighbour) has a novio, a lover? He is supposedly married; she meets him secretly in one of those new constructions that have been awaiting the return of their owners for many years. No, don’t ask me for his name. And don’t tell anybody who you heard this from.” “Did you hear about the two women who recently moved in together, with their children, grandchildren and goats? They are both over 40; their husbands left them years ago. They even share a bed and one of them has short hair and wears a sombrero like a man. No, they don’t live here! They live in another village near Oaxaca. What was it called?”

in San Marcos. Lilia assures us that here, old traditions and connections are still largely intact. And even if the men hardly ever come back home, the women still get their 100–200 dollars from the bank every month; it is enough to lead a reasonably secure, comfortable life. got to know by face a couple of days ago.” The women of San Marcos also Lilia sighs. It almost sounds like a sob. “A seem to have made a silent pact: if they few months or years later, she is alone, complain about the absence of the men at with nothing but a child and the hope of all, it is only for practical reasons. Words getting a bit of help from the princesas.” like “loneliness,” “love” or “sex” are as Fortunately, this has yet to happen taboo as “USA.”

When the husband migrates, the wife usually has to do double the work, in the fields as well as at home. Felicitas Contreras has hired another woman to help her tend her goats.

ANYBODY WHO TRAVELS across the country often, like Lilia, will eventually hear stories, and will soon realise that they all have one thing in common: the narrators always emphasise that they deeply disapprove of such adventures and experimental relationships. That they are exceptions. And that they themselves are very close to their absent husbands—and will remain true to them at all costs. No woman conveyed this message as clearly as Yolanda Hernández from San Pablo Huixtepec. Yolanda is a beautiful, dignified 46-year-old. Her house is painted a reddish-orange; it seems like an exclamation of high spirits in the dusty, unpaved road on the outskirts of the village. San Pablo is about 30km from San Marcos, to the south of Oaxaca de Juárez; one-third of its approximately 12,000 inhabitants live in the USA. Yolanda lives there with her two youngest sons; her eldest has been in the

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USA for 13 years, her husband—with breaks—for 20. And when she talks about him, one hopes for her sake that he will not return anytime soon. Her husband, Aurelio, is quicktempered and maniacally jealous. For the first 8 years of their married life, he kept her like a bird in a cage. “He did not even let me go out of the house to shop. When he got drunk, he would hit me.” When he left, Yolanda could finally breathe freely, she says. And she decided to make use of her freedom. She got involved with the church community and the princesas. She went back to school and finished the education that she had abandoned before her hasty wedding at the age of 14. She is proud

A SEÑORA WHO SETS UP HER OWN SHOP? IT IS STILL A RARE SIGHT of herself. She enjoys her independence. And yet, she has never looked at another man in all these years. “I still love Aurelio,” she says. “And I really want him to come back to me.” She takes us through her house, showing us photos of her husband that she tenderly removes from the wall. She shows us the reaper she recently acquired—a surprise for him, as he had always liked working in the fields. And, as if she senses our wonder and scepticism, she says, “There is nothing more important in life than a family united in love.” It sounds like a sentence learned by rote, like a quote from a Sunday sermon. And yet it comes straight from the heart. EVERY LULLABY SHOULD END with an entreaty, with good wishes for your life. We cannot promise you the world, little Isabela, Maricruz, Conchita. We

are not entitled to do that—and we don’t know you or your village well enough. We’d rather wish you something more concrete: a godmother you can trust and look up to. Someone like Esther Cruz. Like all the other women of the village, Esther wears her hair in black plaits and ties an apron over her dress each morning. And yet she is different. There is a look in her eyes: alert, sympathetic and slightly amused. And there is her habit of not answering questions or responding to comments immediately, instead silently staring you for a few moments—and then suddenly bursting out in gurgling laughter. According to the rules of the village community, Esther is something of a misfit: she is single. Here, in San Marcos, this is considered a stroke of bad luck. Obviously, Esther does not tell us why she hasn’t married. When we ask her, she remains silent. Only her face reveals that she did not choose to remain single. Esther rarely has the time to talk to us. From early morning until late in the evening, she flits across the farm like a billiard ball, constantly running to and fro between the house, kitchen, goat pen, her tailoring workshop and the small stationery shop near the gate of the farm. She runs the shop with a microcredit loan from the Organización Princesa Donají—along with Naomi and their cousin, Juliana, who is also single. Three women running a shop together: this is also not unusual in itself. But in traditional San Marcos, it is like a small revolution. How can a Señora, and that too an unmarried one, take a loan on her own? Doesn’t she need the permission, the support of a male relative? And if she earns something from her shop, can she simply keep the profit for herself? Such questions buzzed around the streets of San Marcos when people heard about the women’s plan. Besides the jealous neighbours, the angry whispers also resounded in the municipal council, which, in this deeply traditional village, still remains a bastion of old men.

San Diego Tijuana

USA

MEXICO

Houston

Gulf of Mexico

Mexico City Oaxaca Pacific Ocean

Oaxaca de Jurez 500 km

Oaxaca is rich in natural and cultural resources, but over 70 percent of its inhabitants live in extreme poverty. The only way out: to migrate. “They told us that we should share the profits with them. They went to our families and said bad things about us.” One morning, there was a padlock on the shop’s door. Esther, Naomi and Juliana stood their ground and, with Lilia Mendoza’s help, fought their case through the courts. Six nerve-wracking months later, they were allowed to re-open their shop. This is not just a wonderful victory for the three of them—it is also good news for all the girls who will grow up in San Marcos in the coming years. It shows that the unwritten rules of the village community can actually be changed, and that the younger women at least have a chance of coming into their own—with or without a husband.

It was only after a long search that GEO writer Johanna Romberg (left) found women like Esther Cruz (middle) who finally agreed to share their stories with her and photographer Dana Romanoff (right).

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The Knoydart Revolutionaries By buying up a remote piece of Scotland and thereby bringing centuries of foreign rule to an end, the people of this tiny community became the symbolic heroes of an entire nation. But is Knoydart a model that can survive? By Anke Sparmann (text) and Murdo Macleod (photos)

The people of the Highlands are highly independent individuals. Even hunting, one of their passions, follows particular rules: since their prey cannot hide in the bare landscape, neither can the hunters. Technically, they stalk rather than hunt. Jim the Stalker (right) can crawl on his stomach for hours at a stretch.

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The melancholy paradise of the righteous

Scottish Gaelic resounds like a magical lost language in the dark mountains that loom above the houses of Inverie, the only settlement in the Knoydart peninsula: the peaks are called Sgurr Coire Choinnichean and Sgurr Nam Feadan.

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Two out of ten

Daisy Humphries and Freya Holroyd make up half of the student body of

Knoydart’s primary school. But it’s better than nothing. And nothing— that is, the depopulation of the region—was precisely what the landowners were aiming for when they drove the inhabitants out of the area in 1853.

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Deep in the northwest

of Scotland lies a spot that Bernie the Post likes to compare to Paris during the French revolution. A dark raincloud looms over it. Bernie, whose surname is actually Evemy, shuffles about his post office—a 71-year-old with a wild beard, wearing slippers and sweatpants. He is looking for a book in a room packed with all sorts of junk, mattresses and busts of Napoleon. He finally finds it, tucks his grey hair behind his ears, and reads out ceremoniously: “There is nothing harder to achieve, more doubtful of success, more dangerous to carry out, than to become a leader at a time when a new order is being established.” These lines by Niccolò Machiavelli may have been written 500 years ago but, on the peninsula of Knoydart, they seem as fresh as the sea breeze. There is no road to Knoydart. If you want to reach Inverie, the main town, where Bernie’s post office stands, you have to walk for a couple of days through a deserted mountain region, with only the roar of waterfalls and the sound of your own breath for company. The Scots call this stretch of land their “last great wilderness.” A century ago, an English landowner was unable to hang on to these 6,961 hectares, inhabited by more deer than people. He was up to his ears in debt and in prison for fraud. The main debtor, the Bank of Scotland, appointed receivers in his place, but it was not a feasible long-term solution. “I’ve always been fascinated by coups,” says Bernie. The first to recognise that the times were ripe for change, he was the driving force behind a campaign that garnered the interest of the entire nation. In an unprecedented show of strength, the 68 inhabitants of Knoydart purchased the land on which they lived, and—symbolically representing all Scots—put an end to the foreign rule that had begun with the Act of Union, the law of unification that had subjugated Scotland to Great Britain in 1707. On that day in March 1999, the media reported the citizens’ victory and quoted voices from the tiny community: “Here and today, we have made history.” Today, the population of the peninsula has doubled; some say, even trebled. At the Old Forge, which is connected to Bernie’s post office by a small strip of asphalt and is, according to the Guinness Book of Records, the remotest pub on the British mainland, they have to keep moving the tables closer together. And since the number of inhabitants has long since overtaken the number of post boxes in Bernie’s office, the mail is now sorted in a container—

A messiah

Tim the Hippy and his tractor, on which is a sign that reads: “Honk if you think I look Jesus.”

The new residents of Knoydart aren’t amused by this giant of a man who preaches against being swamped by foreigners and tourism, and selling out the old ways of life.

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by Tommy McManmon, or Tommy the Ranger, as he’s known. In his former life, he had a good job in London at a photo agency, Getty Images. He is a dropout, just like many others in Knoydart: those seeking a slower pace, artists, nature-lovers like Jim the Stalker, Mark the Builder—or Daniel the Whistlemaker, who was visiting a friend in Inverie and simply decided not to leave. Today, Daniel makes flutes. The inhabitants of Knoydart enjoy the luxury of just being themselves.

1

Since their purchase

of the land, these individualists have also been practising togetherness. There is a new order, and Angela Williams has her hands full. She is the manager of the Knoydart Foundation, which was established to adminstrate the land: thousands of hectares, a manor house, a pier, a generator, a slaughterhouse, a sawmill—and the post office. When Angela took up the position in 2001, everything was in ruins. The pier was rotten, the manor house was falling apart, the massive generator was often out of commission for weeks on end. “When we managed to get it rumbling again, you couldn’t hear yourself speak.” Angela, who had previously managed an environmental organisation, launched a counteroffensive. Since as recently as the 1950s, Knoydart has had half-a-dozen different owners. The aristocratic elite was replaced by the nouveau riche, who, much like the noble Lairds of old, looked upon hunting grounds in the Scottish highlands as a desirable addition to their portfolios. While the big landowners initially made infrastructural improvements like new streets or houses for their employees, they would eventually become conspicuous only by their absence. An English estate agent who acquired Knoydart in 1983 even began to sell off the land, piece by piece. The next owner, a president of a bankrupt jute company from Dundee, toyed with plans of turning the peninsula into a training camp for neglected youth. After two subsequent English owners, the property finally fell in the hands of someone who went bankrupt. The inhabitants of Knoydart had had enough. They were reminded of the darkest chapter of their heteronomy, the clearances of 1853—when houses were burned down and crofters were driven out across the Scottish highlands, as the landowners and their agents wanted to create more land for sheep. Some 2,000 people were driven from their homes. It was a despotic and violent time that is still recalled on the walls of the primary school, in scribbled drawings that depict houses in flames and people screaming in terror. You have to understand 132 g 11/10

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1) As Machiavelli wrote, “Nothing is harder than the creation of a new order.” Kristy Brown, the mother of Knoydart’s youngest inhabitant, believes in the project. 2) The Old Forge pub. 3) The Coire Each valley. 4) Managing horses as well as numbers: Angela Williams handles Knoydart’s business plan.

3 4

this period of Knoydart’s history to see why its inhabitants are so attached to their land. And so they took their fate into their own hands, at precisely the same time that an independent Scottish parliament once again took up work in Edinburgh— that is, after approximately 300 years of remote English rule. Shortly after, as a sign of growing confidence, the parliament introduced a revision to medieval land laws: if landowners wanted to make a sale, they had to inform the tenants of their intentions. In the past, tenants usually only discovered that their homes had switched hands when the new owners turned up and introduced themselves. To buy the land, individuals such as Sir Cameron Mackintosh—who produced musicals like Cats and The Phantom of the Opera—dug into their wallets, and children from all over Scotland donated their pocket money. Various foundations and the national lottery made additional contributions. In the end, the Knoydart Foundation managed to raise the 750,000 pounds needed for the purchase. “One day you have nothing, the next day you’re a big landowner,” says Angela. “We had a steep learning curve ahead of us.” At the very top of their business plan was ‘Electricity.’ Below it: ‘Rebuild the pier.’ And after ‘Finance,’ she added several question marks.

Isla and Rhona Miller, two sisters in their thirties, are distinctive, wearing matching flowery aprons and rubber Wellingtons. They now own the tea room in Inverie, on the high street that is lined by seven houses. After growing up in Knoydart, they went to study in Glasgow. They grew terribly homesick there, but how could they realistically go back to the most sparsely populated town in Europe? It was only after Knoydart was purchased that everything changed. Proceeds from the sale of buildings, such as the manor house, meant that the electricity supply could be switched to water power, thus making it possible to win investors to rebuild the pier, which in turn meant that a mooring for the ferry could be built... and tourists, of course, meant potential clients for the Millers. Virtually everyone who lives in Inverie drops in at the sisters’ tea room at some point during the day. The landlady from the local B&B has a hot chocolate with her twins; the boys, good as gold, sit obediently before their cups. Tommy the Ranger looks in and asks if anyone has seen Tim the Hippy. A woman tells us how she forgot her handbag on a bench next to the pub that morning: “It was still there when I returned! 134 g 11/10

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Old world charm

Bernie the Post manages the mail in Knoydart. The number of households has long since overtaken the number of post boxes in his office. The mail is now sorted in a container, while knick-knacks collect in the old pigeon-holes.

Credit cards, money, driving license—nothing was missing.” The espresso machine sputters from time to time. Time ticks on.

1

Following the example

of Knoydart, about 100 Scottish communities in the highlands and Hebrides have acquired their homelands—largely with the help of loans and proceeds from the national lottery fund. Since 2003, a law giving them the option of purchase has made the inhabitants more secure. Meanwhile, Angela is facing a new problem: a housing shortage. Since the basic needs of modernity have to be met, even in Scotland’s last wilderness, she has had to turn down rich Americans looking for idyllic cottages. She directs short-term visitors on a budget to the campsite. But money and growth have to come from somewhere, so that the community can begin to finance itself. So far, hunting has been one of the most important sources of income for the region, bringing in about 20,000 pounds annually. But this isn’t nearly enough. Designating new plots of land is one possible solution; attracting more tourists is another. Angela says she is looking for commitment and engagement from everyone in Knoydart. Then, she has to head off: “I have an important appointment with an economist.” They need to discuss Knoydart’s carbon footprint, which still needs to be optimised. All Knoydart inhabitants are looking to the future, says Bernie—“just not always in the same direction.” We sense what he means when we meet those who abandoned the commitments and busy pace of urban life to move here. They talk about this town like it’s an ark that’s bound to sink because it’s getting too crowded. It’s a blessing, they say, that there’s still no coverage for mobile phones on the peninsula. Tourists here tend to ask the same questions. How many children attend the school? Ten. What do you do if you get ill? Go to Mallaig; it has a fairly regular ferry connection with Inverie. Fairly regular? The boatman doesn’t work on weekends. He could probably earn more on Saturdays and Sundays, but his spare time is more important to him.

Theoretically,

the community takes decisions as democratically as possible. But in reality, interests are so conflicting that it’s as bad as being in the British parliament. Some, like those who bought one of the small brick cottages, would rather keep their curtains drawn, due to the ever-increasing numbers of visitors enjoying the idyllic view: geese waddling over the pier, the

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1) Daniel, a flutemaker, sees Knoydart as an ark in which the ‘chosen ones’ have fled. 2) Tommy the Ranger, who delivers the mail. 3) The Mills. 4) Schoolchildren learn about the region’s history— from a shoe left behind when Knoydart’s inhabitants were driven out during the Highland Clearances of 1853.

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1) Hunting is one of the most important sources of income for the young community. When you

1 2

shoot a deer for the first time, blood is smeared on your face and cannot be washed off for 24 hours. 2) There is a boat connection between Inverie and Mallaig, but the captain rarely works on weekends—his free time is more important to him. 138 g 11/10

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breathtaking scenery of the sea and the surrounding islands covered with juniper and heather. When a ray of sunshine breaks through the clouds, the hills are bathed in light. Tim the Hippy is one of the disillusioned. He left the Knoydart Foundation after the initial euphoria. During the day, you’ll often see him driving through the village on a tractor that sports a sticker that reads, “Honk if you think I look like Jesus.” He would definitely win a Jesus lookalike competition—if only he could perform a miracle and revert Knoydart to the way it used to be. Tim Bowyer and his wife, Hannah, have been watching the one thing that should really be preserved gradually disappearing: the wilderness. Since 1983, they have lived on the edge of Inverie in the only house at the end of an unasphalted lane. When we visit them, Tim tell us about the time he travelled the world in his station wagon, driving as far as Afghanistan. “If I did another trip,” he grins, “I’d only do it in a tractor.” But it sounds like nothing could take him away from here. His wife is quiet for a long time, then finally asks: do we remember The Waltons? That famous American TV family with men in blue dungarees and women who wipe their hands on starched aprons, in a place where conflicts only come from outside? “That’s how we used to feel here,” says Hannah. She gives a pained smile. “Tim used to work in the sawmill. We brought up three children. It was wonderful.” When Hannah compares the past with the present, she sees the differences in details that others might consider insignificant—such as road signs. In the old Knoydart, nobody needed them. The adults

SCOTLAND

There is no quick overland road to Knoydart. It takes a day or two to walk

Knoydart

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to Inverie, the main

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Edinburgh settlement on the

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peninsula.

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For Scottish photographer Murdo Macleod, 46, the assignment to Knoydart was a home-game. However, it was completely new territory for GEO writer Anke Sparmann, 46; she felt being here was “like going back in time.”

knew where everything was, and children learned to use nature to orientate themselves. People like the Bowyers fear that the new order will destroy the peaceful pace of their lives. Old Mrs Robinson too has only good things to say about the past—at any rate, about parts of it that others are only too glad to have changed. At 88, Mary Anne Robinson is Inverie’s oldest resident; she is referred to with great warmth and respect. She has lived in Inverie for longer than anyone else, 40 years. She first came here with her husband, a hunter who had found work on the peninsula. He died a long time ago; now, the radio has become the blind woman’s best friend. She makes us tea and talks about the time when the landlords held sway. Each household received two tonnes of coal a year, and fresh milk every day. “All for free,” she reminisces. Electricity was scarce, so she couldn’t use a fridge or a TV. “But I could use an iron!” In the Knoydart that Mrs Robinson remembers, responsibilities were clearly allocated. You worked and, in return, received wages, heat, enough to eat and a roof over your head. “Electricity? Pier? We had nothing to do with that. I’ve heard we now need to come up with these things ourselves.” Mrs Robinson shakes her head.

The new order may have made

life more difficult for some, but Bernie considers this a mere side-effect, one that every self-resepecting revolution has to deal with. The revolutionary, whose cottage and surrounding vegetable garden are guarded by a statue of Napoleon, still firmly believes in the success of the project. As if to keep himself grounded, he occasionally takes off to the highlands with a picnic basket and a tape recorder. He finds a secluded spot among the heather, puts on the tape recorder, and sings fervent revolutionary songs. After all, those living in Knoydart are there out of choice, not just because they were born there or had no other option. And that, says Bernie, is hardly an insignificant common ground. 11/10 g 139

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Playing Full Steam on One Leg

Strike! Adam rarely misses.

How does Adam do it? The 8-year-old does not want to wear a prosthetic leg: has just one leg. In spite of this, he plays “I tried it out,” he says. “But I was just for the Astros, a baseball team from too slow with it.” Adam does not feel Lexington, Kentucky, USA, almost every disadvantaged by of his disability. “I am weekend. The boy dives headlong at a completely normal boy,” he says. “I just the ball, swings the bat and fights for do some things in a slightly different each point—sometimes with crutches, way.” Even though he can’t pursue sometimes hopping on his right leg. activities like inline skating, ice skating Adam was just 1 when his left leg had or cycling, Adam is more than just a to be amputated—he had cancer. The successful baseball player. As a wrestler, operation was the only chance of saving he regularly vanquishes his opponents. his life. Now, he is faster on one leg than In addition, he is also enthusiastic about many of his teammates. The soccer and American football—which ambitious baseball player is absolutely in keeping with his motto: concentrate on what you can do!

Adam is an equilibrist: when he has to get the baseball before the opponent reaches home base, he hops on his right leg, often more quickly than his two-legged opponent.

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KIDS’ WORLD

CAMBODIA

Tied up in Knots Sivtoi’s joints have got to be made of rubber! The 10-year-old girl from Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia, crosses her legs and splays out her toes absolutely effortlessly. Stretching exercises like these are the first stage of training at the Apsara Dance School, where Sivtoi practices the steps of the traditional apsara dance form 3 hours every day. The girls narrate ancient sagas through their sinuous movements: only their arms, hands, fingers and feet are allowed to speak. However, it will take years before the dancers are flexible enough and have mastered each tiny gesture. Meanwhile, Sivtoi continues her stretch-training each morning.

CAMEROON

Rosthand’s Speeding Scooter Rosthand is simply bursting with pride. His scooter is finally ready—and he built it all by himself. Ever since the 13-year-old boy from Mbege, a village in Cameroon, first saw his brother on a self-constructed scooter, he wanted one too. For days on end, he gathered wood and asked the people of his village for tools, then obsessively sawed, drilled and filed away at his masterpiece. People now stare at the brothers when they dash through the village together, usually heading towards their family’s field. The two boys plant manioc and macabo, and barter their harvest for milk and meat from cowherds. Ever since he started travelling on two wheels, Rosthand has been able to save a lot of time. “The scooter is my most valuable possession,” he says. Understandably, he is very reluctant to lend it out. Today, as an exception, he has allowed Sister Nazariusza, who works for an aid project in Mbege (smaller picture) to try it out. She’s not as fast as him, though!

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WOR L D C ITIZEN

6,697 One in…

billion

What are you most grateful for? Many things: my life, my family and the present moment. I look forward to the future, but mostly I try to live each day as it comes. And every day, I try to deal with what life offers me. Is there a dream you had to give up? When I was very young, I dreamed of dancing in the Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow. It was my one and only dream. Now I’ve lived in New York for 8 years and I know that I’ll never make it. Sometimes it makes me a little sad, but it’s also liberating. I see life differently. Do you consider yourself to be a good friend? Yes, I think so. But it is not easy to make friends in New York. And

Russian ballet dancer Inna Yureneva, 26, now lives in New York City, USA. Facebook makes things even more difficult—people think they are using it to stay in touch, but in reality they are just sitting alone in front of their computers. Now, people meet even less than they used to: how can anybody be called a ‘good friend’? What is the happiest memory of your childhood? My childhood was quite short. When I was 10, I had to choose between music and dance; it was a school requirement. After that, I never had time for anything else. I had to grow

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up very quickly. I love dancing, and I hate it too. But I probably love it more than I hate it, otherwise I wouldn’t still be dancing. What trait of yours would you prefer your children not to emulate? I don’t want them to become dancers. It’s too hard. You have to look into the mirror every day, but you’re not allowed to see what’s good, only what’s bad—the mistakes you’ve made. And you can never attain perfection. If you could give a child just one piece of advice, what would it be? I give dance lessons to children and I tell them: don’t waste even a single minute of your life. Naturally, they do not yet understand. What is your favourite memory? There are so many! What wouldn’t you do for money? I can’t imagine sitting in an office or working as a waitress just to earn money. I prefer to do something I like doing. How much time do you have to yourself in a day? None at all! I run from here to there trying to do everything that I have to. I have no time. This is New York! What trait do you most admire in women? The real power of women lies in their elegance. Instead of insisting that we can do everything that men can, women should reflect on what distinguishes them from men. What do you still need in order to be happy? I ask myself that question all the time. I don’t know. I feel that I am constantly moving closer to the state of being happy, but something is still missing. I don’t know what it is. Do you hope for an afterlife? Yes, otherwise life wouldn’t have any meaning. I don’t know what comes after death, but there must be something. I just hope that I won’t have to dance any more.

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ANNUAL

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P RE V I E W

G Highlights from the next issue

Snow Ghosts The shy and elusive snub-nosed monkey is in danger of being wiped out through hunting and habitat loss. Our photographer travels to the remote mountains of China in search of the remaining few.

Is Anyone Out There?

With advanced modern telescopes, astronomers are discovering new planets all the time. So far, most are just gigantic balls of gas. But an earth-like, life-sustaining planet might come into view at any time...

Greenland’s Wild East The mountains of east Greenland are almost deserted— but not unaffected by humankind. Aerial photographs illustrate the dramatic changes in temperature.

Marja’s Big Question There are some 20,000 Sami in Sweden, and many still make a living from reindeer-herding. After she receives her high-school diploma, should Marja follow the herd?

With Sword and Cross

Life Behind Bars

In 1000 AD, Constantinople, the capital of the Byzantine Empire, was the richest in all Christendom. But for Emperor Basil II, there was one thing even more important than wealth and glory: a victory over the Bulgarians.

In Palestine’s Gaza Strip, there’s a shortage of almost everything— which is perhaps why the zoo is so popular. A story of lion-smugglers, war victims and fake zebras.

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EXPERIENCE

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GIOVANI GUIDI TRIO LOUIS BANKS MATRIX BAND MARI KVIEN BRUNVOLL MATEUSZ KOLAKOWSKI TRIO JAZZKOMPLOTT GUMBO NEW DELHI

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CHOWDIAH MEMORIAL HALL

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