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FT: Burma starts to acquire veneer of wealth as elite enjoy times of plenty

Burma starts to acquire veneer of wealth as elite enjoy times of plenty

By Amy Kazmin

Published: July 4 2009 03:00 | Last updated: July 4 2009 03:00

It's nearly midnight on Saturday and the dance floor of DJ's Bar in Rangoon is packed with Burmese youth, grooving to throbbing house music as red, green and yellow light beams flash and slice across the room.

The revellers - young men with hair gelled into modish styles and young women wearing mini-skirts and clutching mobile phones - have each paid a $10 cover charge to enter, a steep price in a land where university lecturers earn just $80 (£50, €57) a month.

Yet the hefty charges are no barrier for these affluent, well-connected members of an emergent Burmese elite with money to burn. "People are spending money - and it's not just a half a dozen of the regime cronies," says one foreign diplomat in Rangoon.

Burma's resource-rich economy, a treasure trove of natural gas, precious gems and valuable hardwood, has long been squeezed by the twin pressures of western sanctions and a military junta with a weak grasp of economics and little faith in civilian technocrats. That no-win combination has left most of Burma's 52m people struggling to get by, with their frustration boiling over into mass protests in 2007.

Yet amid the widespread hardship, Rangoon, the dilapidated former colonial capital, is acquiring a veneer of wealth, as a privileged elite enjoys unprecedented times of plenty, two decades after the military abandoned its autarkic "Burmese way to socialism".

Today, Burmese with the right military connections are profiting from access to natural resources, government construction contracts and privileges including the right to engage in international trade, still tightly controlled by the regime.

In the commodity boom, Burma's agricultural exports soared to $2bn, up from $300m a few years earlier, doing little for farmers, but enriching urban traders. "There is economic activity going on," the foreign diplomat said. "The vast majority of trade is with Burma's immediate neighbours, and there is a lot of investment and a lot of exports."

Growth in tourism and other forms of commerce has created a small cadre of professionals. "More people are getting management roles and seeing salaries rise," said the diplomat.

Meanwhile, signs of affluence are everywhere. Stylish-looking new condominiums are sprouting near the city's lakes, and prime real estate prices have tripled over the past five years. Colonial-era wooden bungalows are being replaced by ostentatious mansions with Greco-Roman columns.

Young men drive souped-up Jeeps painted lemon yellow or ultra-violet while their elders display their wealth in expensive imported Land Cruisers and Pajeros. Swanky boutiques proliferate, with names such as the Sky Princess beauty salon, We and We interior design, and She Shines jewellery.

Yet some savvy Burmese business people say Rangoon's spurt of highly conspicuous consumption reflects the economy's deep malaise - including its dysfunctional banking system and rampant inflation - rather than its fundamental health.

Although Burma has about a dozen private banks, they are hampered by regime rules that cap their deposit-taking at just 10 per cent of their paid-in capital, preventing them from channelling surplus household cash into productive investment. According to the IMF, the ratio of bank deposits, and credit to the private sector, to gross domestic product has fallen sharply over the past eight years.

With inflation running at about 30 per cent, many Burmese are pouring their surplus cash into hard assets that they feel will at least hold their value - if not appreciate. "You can't put it in the bank so you put your money in cars or a nice new house to keep the value of the money," said one business person.

But Burma's asset bubble may be about to burst. Many of the Rangoon condos have been developed by companies that received prime urban land as part of their payment for helping to construct the junta's new capital city far to the north and its $3.5bn new airport. Many of the units are unsold, leaving the companies struggling to recover costs.

Senior General Than Shwe, the junta's head, has apparently ordered the government to balance its budget, which has been in deficit for years, ahead of the regime's planned elections next year, which could create a squeeze on liquidity and bring the spending spree to a halt.

"No one is getting any more money," said one economist. "Businessmen are also quite fed up. They want change."

FT: Book touring in Beijing

Book touring in Beijing

By Simon Winchester

Published: June 20 2009 02:12 | Last updated: June 20 2009 02:12

Reading Room of the National Library of China in Beijing
Reading Room of the National Library of China in Beijing

It was when the elderly Chinese lady clambered up on to the stage as I was doing a reading and began a curious, undulating dance to music playing out of her cellphone, that I first started to think: book touring in China is very different from elsewhere and, in many ways, totally weird.

It all began with the sale of my most recent book to a Chinese publisher. I had written about the eccentric Cambridge biochemist Joseph Needham, whose adulterous love affair with a Chinese student in 1937 led to him writing what turned out be the longest English book on China ever written – 25 volumes and more than 4m words. In Britain, Needham is almost entirely forgotten beyond the confines of academia. But in China he is widely known and universally revered.

Before Needham, China was disdainfully regarded as quite peripheral. But since Needham, who catalogued China’s vast and bewildering array of achievements that proved without doubt how central the country was to the world, the view steadily changed to today’s mixture of awe, admiration and respect.

In addition to his having unintentionally engineered the sea-change, Needham was for all of his long life (he died in 1995, aged 94) a committed Marxist. So small wonder, perhaps, that when a Shanghai publishing company decided his story might sell in China, they were given immediate government permission to publish it. Last spring, they wrote to me: “Would I like to come over on tour?”

When I said yes, there came a blizzard of grateful and charmingly imperfect e-mails: “We are honoured and feel pleasure that you save one week for visiting China.” “We really appreciated the deep passion you deliver in the book.” And when I arranged to arrive in April: “We look forward to see you in China then, a month which we describe as paradise on earth in Chinese.”

These nice people in China seemed bent on making a fuss. They had booked me on the Air China non-stop service from Kennedy to Beijing – in business class. When I landed at Norman Foster’s staggering Beijing Terminal Three, there was Daisy, small, shy, bespectacled and unimaginably obliging, with a Mercedes, a driver, cold towels and bottles of iced jasmine tea.

It was a far cry from when I first landed in what was then Peking in 1979, a city of dust, strange silence and countless blue-uniformed workers grimly riding on a black cloud of bicycles. Here I was speeding in air-conditioned comfort down freeways, with BMWs and Buicks and Volvos on all sides, until I arrived at the very old Friendship Hotel.

This legendary place is a collection of a dozen old Chinese buildings where China has put up visiting dignitaries for the past half century. Back in the old days of Mao and Deng Xiaoping I remember it as grim, all smoke and spittoons: today it is languid luxury, aside from the importunate “masseuses” ringing to know when they might offer in-room services.

It was in the ballroom of Beijing’s St Regis hotel that, two days later, the book was officially launched. Comparisons pale. In Britain you might be thrown a lunch in the Mirabelle or a cocktail party at the Travellers Club; in America the kick-off will most likely be a speech at the big Barnes & Noble on Broadway and 84th Street, followed by dinner at the publisher’s penthouse. But in Beijing it was much more serious: a formal banquet for 300 people – no fewer than 50 of them being vice-ministers in the Chinese government.

A flurry of young women (all of whom spoke English) had come up from the publishing house in Shanghai, together with their bosses (all of whom did not). They came with gifts for me: a bright yellow silk tie with the Chinese character for “book” woven into the pattern; a series of jade chops with my Chinese name, “Wen Si-miao”; a calligraphy set with brushes and an ink-stone.

The following day they were keen to show me the sights – not so much the tourist sights that they knew I had been to before but the literary and cultural hotspots of their capital. There is a new National Library, for example – it was completed last autumn, a gleaming confection of steel and glass and pale oak, which manages to be both bustling and hushed at the same time. It is open to anyone 365 days a year from dawn until late at night, and has at its centre what looks like a vast opencast mine, hundreds of feet deep, with scholars and readers at rows of desks on every level, hemmed in by walls of volumes. I am an abiding fan of the new British Library, and have nostalgic longings for the old reading-room in Bloomsbury; but this new pit of learning, in the heart of Beijing, has now to be counted alongside the Library of Congress and the New York Public Library.

It was here they had staged the first of the seminars – a series of unexpected, full-dress grillings by academics. I was introduced to an unsmiling young woman who was to be my interpreter – and then a pair of doors was flung open.

I was in a crammed lecture theatre, the audience standing and turning to applaud. They led me down, lamb-to-slaughter-like, to join three eminent Needham scholars at a table on the stage. I sat behind my name-card, the unsmiling lady took a seat behind me – and for the next two hours I was subjected to an interrogation on the human history of Chinese science. It was respectful, polite – and very intense.

And, on occasion, bizarre. For it was here that the dancer appeared. We were having a discussion about the human body – Needham wrote much about early Chinese anatomical charts – and I was reading a passage about the relative flexibility of Asian musculature, when the old woman climbed up, switched on her mobile phone and turned it to speaker-mode, cranked up some frightful tinny local opera and began to dance – to display the uniquely flexible nature of her body.

There were signings – held in one of the immense Xinhua bookstores found in city centres across the country. The store we visited near the old French Concession in Shanghai was eight storeys high. Each floor was beehive-busy, and the table where I was due to sit was full before I got there. Everyone had a book open at the title page, everyone had practised a little speech in English, each nervously and smilingly blurted it out: “Li Yue-se [the Chinese name for Needham] was a great hero – thank you for writing about him.”

And there was the interview, on CCTV-9 – held in China’s central broadcasting HQ, a building beside the Beijing military museum that had more security than Fort Knox. The young woman who interrogated me for 30 minutes for her programme, Dialogue, had evidently read every line of my book, and asked questions in perfect English with a formidable intelligence.

But perhaps the most memorable moment of the tour came on the evening in Shanghai, when I quoted a signboard I had seen in western China. It was outside the national space launch centre and it proclaimed: “Without Haste, Without Fear. We Will Conquer the World.”

There was a brief silence as the interpreter translated. Then she smiled broadly, and first the three professors beside me, and then the entire audience, stood up and began cheering. After a few seconds I realised it wasn’t me that they were cheering. It was China, and the future they all want for her, which all believe she is now on the verge of attaining and which a line from my book had happily confirmed.

‘Bomb, Book and Compass: Joseph Needham and the Great Secrets of China’ by Simon Winchester is published by Penguin

FT: Why size is now everything in China

Why size is now everything in China

By Patti Waldmeir in Shanghai with additional reporting,by Yan Jin

Published: June 23 2009 03:00 | Last updated: June 23 2009 03:00

Big eyes, big noses, big breasts and now humungous Hummers - China seems to be indulging an obsession with size, just when the rest of the world is learning the virtues of moderation.

In Shanghai, for example, business is booming on eyelifts, noselifts, chestlifts and other surgery aimed at enlarging classically Asian narrow eyes, flat noses and unobtrusive mammary glands. At the Shanghai Time Plastic Surgery Hospital, Dr Liao Yuhua says business is up 40 per cent since the end of last year - not despite the global economic crisis, but because of it.

Half her business is job-related: "Many of our customers are white-collar workers, many have lost their jobs, so they have time to execute their plastic surgery dreams," says the retired paediatrician, whose genially wrinkled face and ankle socks that bag around her feet hardly seem like anyone's clichéd view of a plastic surgeon.

"They want to be more competitive when they go for the next interview," she says, adding that famously pushy Chinese parents are very "supportive" of this trend.

Several brought in their children to make appointments straight after China's strongly competitive national university entrance examinations earlier this month. "Parents hope that their kids can be more competitive in job hunting," she says, admitting that as an employer, she would "recruit a prettier nurse with the same qualities as one who wasn't so pretty".

Graduates leaving college this year are facing one of the toughest job markets in years, and women - who make up three-quarters of Dr Liao's patients - find it particularly hard to land a job. According to a study recently by the Centre for Women's Law and Legal Services of Peking University, published in the Chinese press, one in four women surveyed said they had failed to get a job because of gender, a fifth said salaries were cut if they became pregnant and 11 per cent lost jobs when they had a family.

Dr Liao says plastic surgeries have grown by 15 per cent a year since the fad really took off in China about five years ago. But China is hardly alone in using disposable income on facelifts - and even justifying the cost as a career development expense. In the US last year, according to the American Society of Plastic Surgeons, cosmetic procedures rose among all groups except Caucasians; procedures among Hispanics were up 18 per cent. But the age profile of consumers of plastic procedures - and the parts of their bodies they want fixed - differs greatly from the US to Asia.

At Dr Liao's hospital, the top two procedures are so-called double-eyelid surgery - which inserts an extra crease in the eyelid to make the eyes appear larger - and inserting a bridge in the nose, using a part of the rib. "Oriental people prefer bigger eyes and bigger noses - everything they don't have," she says, chuckling at the irony that, in Chinese slang, westerners are called "big noses" (and it is not necessarily a compliment). Her clients are mostly aged 25 to 35 - whereas half of all plastic surgeries in the US are for patients aged 40 to 55.

Bigger eyes are relatively cheap: from RMB2,400 ($350, €252, £213). Bigger breasts cost RMB60,000 (and clients must sacrifice a piece of thigh).

Zhou Jin Feng is one of the clinic's satisfied past clients (blackhead removal). This time the 31- year-old nurse - clean-cut yet hardly a wanna-be movie star - wants a double eyelid and more pointed chin. "Young people these days want to be pretty, it's important for their self-esteem, mainly for job hunting," she says. Dr Liao says many of her patients are doctors, nurses or teachers: "Beauty is very important for communication in such professions," she says.

Dr Liao can remember when plastic surgery would have been seen as bourgeois decadence of the first order. Now she thinks it is just a natural consequence of the wealth effect. "When the basic needs are met - a car, a house, food - what shall we do with our extra money? Spend it on beautification." Additional reporting by Yan Jin

FT: Control, halt, delete

Control, halt, delete

By Joseph Menn, Richard Waters and Kathrin Hille

Published: June 26 2009 19:30 | Last updated: June 26 2009 19:30

Web surfers in China get checked by police
User ID: a police officer checks registrations at an internet café in Xuchang, central China. From next month, Beijing wants new computers to be installed with extra controls

This week, an open letter appeared on Chinese blogs and online bulletin boards. “Hello, internet censorship institutions of the Chinese government,” it said. “We are the anonymous netizens. We hereby decide that from July 1 2009, we will start a full-scale global attack on all censorship systems you control.”

Beijing’s attempts to manipulate the internet would, the message predicted, “soon be swept on to the rubbish pile of history”.

Chinese internet users, although skilled at dodging the censors, are angrier than they have ever been. The anonymous declaration of war is just one sign of the strains emerging as the global spread of internet access, and its embrace by activists of all stripes, triggers an unprecedented crackdown by national governments that threatens to transform the way hundreds of millions of people communicate.

China is trying to force censorship software on to every new personal computer, while Iran succeeded this week in virtually eliminating the spread over the internet of first-hand accounts from protests in the streets at the handling of its presidential election.

That stifling of web freedoms that many people around the world take for granted are being accompanied by more novel means of combating cyber opponents. Those methods range from directing stealthy technological attacks that shut down dissident websites to unleashing swarms of paid commentators to argue the government position on supposedly independent blogs.

Both carry the added attraction of deniability: many regimes are employing advanced repressive techniques that are hard to identify in action, let alone circumvent. At a time when new communication technologies, from text messaging to Twitter, promise to put greater power in the hands of the individual, these techniques are having a chilling effect. Internet experts from more open societies fear that this will lead to greater self-censorship by organisations and individuals, which they see as the most effective tool of all.

Even the optimists warn of setbacks. “In the end, the winners of the race are most likely to be citizens and activists who use these technologies for democratic purposes,” says John Palfrey of Harvard University, an authority on internet filtering. But he adds: “With respect to individual battles, the states that practise censorship and surveillance are winning some of them.”

The number of such states is in the dozens, researchers say. In Burma and Moldova, governments recently resorted to pulling the plug on mobile phone networks amid unrest magnified by text messages; in Uzbekistan, there is widespread suspicion of internet monitoring but few ways to prove it. That is despite the fact that a lot of the surveillance and security software in the hands of governments across the world comes from western suppliers. In what is by its nature among the most globalised of industries, technology companies are seeing a revenue boost from governmental interest in data mining, search and storage products, though they periodically draw fire from activists for assisting repressive states.

The most gripping evidence of the change at hand has come from Iran. The theocratic regime has been in a protracted struggle over the free flow of information and communication with many of its largely young urban populace since the day after this month’s disputed election.

STRONG-ARM TECHNIQUES

How curbs on net users work:

Internet filters
Method:
Set up on the main conduits of the internet, known as backbones, these software filters block traffic from websites on a proscribed list.
Example: “Great Firewall of China”.


Deep packet inspection
Method:
A layer of software that looks to identify the content of individual pieces of information, or “packets”. This can be used to read, store or block individual messages and connections to websites.
Example: Commercial providers including Phorm and NebuAd.


Denial of service attacks
Method:
Large numbers of PCs bombard a website with requests, making it inaccessible to other users.
Example:Sites in Estonia and Georgia during conflicts with Russia.


Toeing the party line
Method:
Some regimes recruit people to present their case online, sometimes paying them.
Example: “50-cent bloggers” in China.


Self-censorship
Method:
Governments bring pressure on companies to restrict access to content. Bloggers must register.
Example:MSN Spaces, Microsoft’s blogging service in China, bans phrases including “human rights”.


Edge-of-network restrictions
Method:
Censors push control to a more local level. Internet providers’ terms of service make them act as agents of the state. Restrictions at the edges of the network can reach all the way to curbs installed in PCs.
Example: China’s Green Dam/Youth Escort software.

Tehran has a decided advantage in that it runs the country’s leading internet service provider. Called DCI, it throttled back the amount of bandwidth available to its citizens so that web video traffic dropped by as much as 90 per cent and e-mail leaving the country fell by nearly as much.

Data assembled by Arbor Networks, a US internet security company, show the Iranian government was picking and choosing what types of traffic to let through and which parts of the net to leave unimpeded. Just as the security forces adjusted their response to counter the changing nature of the protests on the ground, Iran’s internet police changed which sites could be reached.

Facebook and other social networks were easy to block and fell quickly. Twitter, a web-accessible broadcasting service that can process messages from mobile phones, proved harder to take down without killing off all text messaging.

Activists proved agile at hopping from one medium to another. For more than a week, outsiders would send people in Iran the addresses of “open proxies”, computers outside the country set up to relay traffic. That way, Iranians could still reach sites they were blocked from accessing directly. But the authorities hunted down most of those proxies and cut off access. Finally, on Thursday, they killed most outgoing traffic, including Twitter blasts.

“It’s a big problem when a government is just willing to shut down communications,” says John Perry Barlow of the Electronic Frontier Foundation, a non-profit organisation based in San Francisco, who was helping dissidents get the word out. “If they do that, you’re down to smoke signals.”

Iran’s response evolved rapidly, aided by filtering technology in place long before the election. No country, though, has been as thoroughly policed through as many means as China, which has long been on the cutting edge of censorship.

Now, Beijing is trying to cement its control with a decree that from July 1, all computers sold in the country must come with a program called Green Dam/Youth Escort, which the government says will be used to block access to pornography sites. Dell, Hewlett-Packard and other computer makers are protesting and have won the support of US trade officials, who are threatening to bring the matter to the World Trade Organisation.

“Green Dam will be a game-changer, if in fact it goes into effect,” says Harvard’s Mr Palfrey. “The desktop is the last bastion of personal freedom. It would change the way people use these devices in extraordinary ways.”

Beijing has for years blocked many sites by setting up filters on the country’s largest internet backbones, using a method nicknamed the Great Firewall of China. The central government has more recently heaped additional blocking and monitoring responsibilities on to internet service providers, web companies and local censors, all of which have been upgrading the technology they use.

TRS, a Chinese supplier of internet security products, says growing numbers of police departments are replacing their traditional search engine-based efforts with state-of-the-art data mining applications, which are capable of analysing large bodies of information.

All this has its limits. “Controlling public networks is very, very difficult,” says Tony Yuan, chief executive of Netentsec, another Chinese security provider. “Bandwidth and traffic are huge, so normally you don’t have the computing power.”

But the latest effort by China’s central authorities takes them further still, to the PCs that stand at the edge of the network. It is not clear they will succeed. The computer makers and US government are being joined in their opposition by security researchers who have identified flaws in Green Dam that could allow third parties to take control of PCs.

Even if the blanket order is delayed, circumvented or quietly forgotten, the Chinese government has already gained access to many PCs. Earlier this year, Beijing made the bundling of Green Dam a precondition for eligibility of PCs in its subsidy programme for PC sales to rural residents. In May, it ordered all schools to install the program. “I would estimate that we’re already looking at more than 10m computers in China with Green Dam installed,” says an executive at a Beijing internet portal company.

An estimated 300m Chinese have online access. Though the more determined among them are likely to find ways around Green Dam, many may not even try to defy the message of disapproval being sent by Beijing.

Some of the surveillance and censorship technology in Iran and China is home-grown but much of it is western. Nokia Siemens Networks, a joint venture between the two European companies, says, for example, that it was required to sell Iran equipment for monitoring phone calls as part of a contract for a communications network. Cisco has periodically come under fire for selling its routers to China but says the same equipment is used in both open and closed internet systems.

Under laws in the US and elsewhere, telecommunications companies must make it easy for law enforcement agencies to conduct authorised wiretaps – and equipment providers say they cannot shut that capability off depending on the customer.

Collection, in fact, is no longer so much the problem: analysing the masses of data is a bigger issue, as is massaging search technology to look for more than simple keywords that alarm officials, such as “Tibet” and “democracy”. That technology is becoming much better – spurred in part by the increasing global attention to cyber security. Notably, the US defence department this week approved a new military cyber command that will answer to the National Security Agency, which in recent years has been exposed for mining Americans’ e-mail without warrants.

Concerns about pernicious criminal software and “denial of service” attacks, which have shut government websites in Estonia and elsewhere with bombardments of useless data, have prompted further efforts to scrutinise internet traffic. But according to some researchers, technologies developed to counter insidious attacks such as these will only serve to advance the techniques of information control – to the eventual detriment of future mass revolts against oppressive political forces.

“If security starts becoming job one, then a lot of things being used by repressive states will become commercialised and normalised,” says Rafal Rohozinski, a founder of the OpenNet Initiative, which tracks filtering. “We’ll be doing the same thing as Iran, or using the same technologies. And that’s what I worry about.”

FT: Moscow marches on with military reform

Moscow marches on with military reform

By Charles Clover in Moscow

Published: June 26 2009 03:00 | Last updated: June 26 2009 03:00

Russia's armed forces are facing their most ambitious reform since 1856, when defeat by Britain and France in Crimea convinced Tsar Alexander II of the need for a national army with universal conscription.

The model worked against Hitler's Panzers but fared less well in Afghanistan and, although recent wars in Chechnya and Georgia ended in victory, they exposed shortcomings in a war machine designed to fight a single large conflict with conventional forces.

Russia's leaders have decided its military of 1.4m people is too big, too unwieldy, and too focused on the wrong sort of war.

The new doctrine envisages Russia being able to fight three local or regional conflicts simultaneously. The reforms would trim the force to 1m, similar to the US and UK.

The Kremlin believes the conflicts of tomorrow will be best fought by a slimmed-down, professional force of volunteers.

Plans announced last -September by Dmitry Medvedev, the president, call for a cut in the officer corps from 350,000 to less than 200,000 by 2012, an end to conscription and an equipment modernisation programme.

In tandem with the shrinking officer corps, the enlisted ranks are to be gradually replaced by kontraktniki , or professional soldiers. Conscription will end and almost all division-level commands (typically 10,000 to 15,000 soldiers) will be eliminated in favour of smaller, brigade-sized forces of 3,000 to 5,000 by 2020.

Some western analysts and diplomats - mindful of last year's Georgia conflict - say the moves could foreshadow efforts to consolidate Russian control over the former Soviet Union.

The reform is contentious in Russian military circles. Few experts took the plans seriously when they were announced. Several times in the past two decades, plans to slash Russia's bloated officer corps have been announced, only to be quietly scuttled. A similar push in 2007 yielded few results.

Meanwhile, the economic crisis has whittled down ambitious spending plans, at least temporarily, and a sharp rise in unemployment has dimmed the outlook for unemployed officers.

Nevertheless, the reform seems to be stumbling ahead, if measured by the retirement rates for officers, which have shot up, and the number who have failed fitness exams, a cheap way of firing them as budget cuts bite into the military. There is even a suggestion the reform has been accelerated to save money.

Mr Medvedev and Vladimir Putin, the prime minister, have put serious political muscle behind Anatoly Serdiukov, the defence minister. Some of the more obstructive generals have been shown the door.

"Serdiukov has a group of generals who want to see this reform through, who believe in it," says Pavel Felgenhauer, an independent military analyst in Moscow. "The rest are so terrified that they don't say anything except 'Aye aye sir!'"

Aleksander Goltz, an expert on the Russian military, says this is the first reform to envisage truly restructuring the military. "This makes me a little more optimistic," he says.

Previous attempts have been aimed at slimming down the officer corps, but not altering a 19th century structure designed for mass mobilisation of conscripts and reservists to counter an invasion. Some 70 per cent of army units have no soldiers assigned to them, only officers and equipment, according to Mr Goltz.

"For me, the main difference between this reform and all previous reforms has been the total rejection of the mass-mobilisation army," he says. This is the main reason why several forward-thinking generals have embraced the change.

Historically, he says, the reform is the opposite to that instituted by Count Dmitry Milyutin, Tsar Alexander II's war minister, after the Crimean war. That introduced universal conscription and transformed a force of professionals and mercenaries into a national army.

This has meant that, since the 1860s, the Russian army has been top-heavy with officers.

"Russia's generals are professionals, but they are professionals in one thing - organising mass mobilis-ations. This means preparing reservists for 30 days and then moving them to the front, thinking that one -soldier will survive one -battle," he says.

The shortcomings of having too many officers and too few soldiers became obvious during the civil war in Chechnya, which lasted from 1994 to about 2003 and left 5,500 Russian soldiers dead along with untold thousands of Chechens.

In 2006, Mr Putin, the then president, criticised the Chechnya campaign, saying: "We needed to have a [group] of 65,000, and from all the land forces, the -battle-ready units, there were but 55,000 and they were spread out all over the country. We have an army of 1.4m men and nobody to fight."

Last year's engagement in Georgia was a convincing win for the Russian military but nevertheless exposed weaknesses in the army's equipment.

"The troops were talking to each other on their mobile phones because their radios didn't work. Can you imagine? There was a lot of this nonsense, totally unacceptable for a modern army," says Igor Rodionov, a retired general and former defence minister who is a fierce opponent of the reforms.

In spite of the widespread dissatisfaction with the status quo, the reform has created a schism within the military elite. Some believe reshaping the army is necessary, while others see it as a stealthy way to cut costs that will not be accompanied by meaningful modernisation.

Serving Russian officers rarely voice criticisms in public, but vocal opposition from retired officers is a sign of discontent within the ranks.

Mr Rodionov told the Financial Times in an interview: "Who is behind this reform? I think there are forces that would like to destroy Russia, to end Russia as a threat to their interests. Just as they broke up the USSR, they want to break up Russia. And this reform weakens the army, weakens that state."

Standing against the -dissenters is a coterie of serving generals. General Vladimir Shamanov, former commander of Russian forces in Chechnya, told a briefing in May, shortly after being promoted to command Russia's airborne forces, that "we should fashion our military structure not for the wars of the last century, but for the real wars of today".

Supporters have been won over by promises of doubled or tripled salaries and billions of dollars to spend on new kit.

How this will be paid for in the midst of an economic crisis that has seen gross domestic product fall by nearly 10 per cent has yet to be answered.

"The reform to professionalise the military is where the real cost lies," says Jonathan Hayes, an expert at Jane's Defence Weekly, "and this reform has been delayed."

FT: Woman in the News: Sonia Gandhi

Woman in the News: Sonia Gandhi

By James Lamont

Published: May 22 2009 19:46 | Last updated: May 22 2009 19:46

Within India’s Congress party, Sonia Gandhi is known simply as “Madam”. Having finished a month of sari-clad election appearances from West Bengal to Tamil Nadu, “Madam” spent this week meeting prospective cabinet ministers at her residence at 10 Janpath in New Delhi, overseeing the formation of a new government.

A little over a decade ago, the Italian-born widow of Rajiv Gandhi, the slain Indian former prime minister, was less predictable. Then she was described as an enigma, sphinx-like. She was a deeply private person, whose aversion to the limelight kept people guessing whether she would be drawn into politics and provide the missing link to preserve the power of the country’s Nehru-Gandhi ruling dynasty.

Sonia Ghandi

A decidedly reluctant politician, her first priority then was the well-being of her children. Ruling the world’s largest democracy was hardly an ambition, more an unsought duty.

Her party’s electoral triumph last weekend marks an extraordinary personal feat. As its leader since 1998, she has rebuilt India’s largest political party. In doing so, she has assured the continuity of the Nehru-Gandhi family after the assassinations of her husband and mother-in-law. She has also upheld the national secular vision of India won by Jawaharlal Nehru, India’s first prime minister, in 1947 at the end of British rule. Her children, Rahul and Priyanka, are carefully positioned to follow her example.

These achievements have taken considerable courage. In public, she cuts a dignified, determined figure – with the solitary aura of royalty among her courtiers. She is not given to long discussion, speaking curtly in accented English or Hindi. But to become her party’s undisputed leader she has had to face down jibes and misgivings about her Italian origins, her personal faith and her intellectual prowess.

Mrs Gandhi, 62, has repeatedly defied expectations. In the first place, as a young widow she chose India above her home country. She revitalised a party lacking ideas and in decline, its support splintering into smaller parties based on caste and regional interests. In 2004, she unseated the Bharatiya Janata party and its leader Atal Bihari Vajpayee in an election no one expected her to win.

She sprang another surprise this month. Congress won an emphatic victory, taking 206 seats in the 545-seat parliament, far more than the 150 forecast. With its allies, the party has easily secured a majority to form the next government.

Sonia Maino was born in a village close to Vicenza in north-east Italy. Daughter of a building contractor and former soldier, she grew up in the industrial town of Orbassano, near Turin. It was Cambridge, in the UK, that was to change her life. It was there that she met her future husband, Rajiv, while he was studying at Trinity College. She was attending a local language school when she caught his eye and they fell in love. In 1968, they married – an improbable match for a scion of India’s political class, where social status counts for much. Yet, Mrs Gandhi remembers a welcome from her mother-in-law, Indira, while her own father was more cautious about her choice.

A life in politics then was not a given. Rajiv became a commercial pilot. Both eschewed public roles, and briefly lived abroad again after Indira was ousted from power in 1977. But a series of premature deaths changed everything. First Rajiv’s brother and the political heir, Sanjay, died in a flying accident in 1980. Then Indira was gunned down by her Sikh bodyguards. Rajiv, a man of ideas, was pitched into the premiership aged 40 in an overwhelming sympathy vote for Congress after his mother’s death. Then he, too, was killed on the election trail in Tamil Nadu by a suicide bomber.

On Rajiv’s death a stoic journey began for Mrs Gandhi, supported by her husband’s friends. She set about ridding herself of her foreign identity and venerating her late husband’s memory. She emphasised her Indian identity above her Italian, wearing only saris in public and adopting local mannerisms. Her native tongue was dropped. She visited temples and even took a dip in the holy Ganges river in 2001.

She needed strong survival instincts. As her political role became clear, she was jeered by her opponents as an uneducated housewife, unsuitable for leadership in New Delhi because of her foreign origins.

“She’s not a political animal,” says Yogendra Yadav, senior fellow at the Centre for the Study of Developing Societies in New Delhi. “Her question is not ‘How will this benefit me?’ It is rather, ‘Is it good?’ You don’t have many politicians asking that question.”

He describes her as benevolent and loyal to her allies, sometimes beyond their expiry date.

“Her grasp of local politics is still very general and she’s not in the nitty-gritty of political management at the state level, instead handing it over to political managers who turn out – or not – to be smart or straight.”

Mrs Gandhi has proved to have enormous popular appeal. First, she is a Gandhi, which continues to have powerful resonance with the voters across the country. The Congress party shamelessly campaigns on the family brand, with her and son Rahul alongside Manmohan Singh, the prime minister, on almost all its posters.

Second, she has inherited her mother-in-law’s left-of-centre economic views and prioritises the needs of the rural poor, most of India’s 1.2bn people. She delivers a simple message of caring for common people in a country with a large social deficit, is unimpressed by notions of India’s superpowerdom, and is suspicious of the free market.

Some commentators argue her appeal stems from national sympathy for her widowhood. Others claim her renunciation of the premiership in 2004, in favour of Mr Singh, earned her huge credit. In a country where politicians rarely make self-sacrifices, her step back from power was regarded as astonishing.

Others are more critical. They say that Mrs Gandhi, like other Indian leaders, has corrupted some agencies of the state – most blatantly in quashing the pursuit of Italian businessman Ottavio Quattrocchi, during Rajiv’s government. She is also viewed as an adept political operator, who has placed loyalists in the presidency and election commission to consolidate Congress’s influence. Within the party, she stifles leadership that might impede her family’s ascendancy.

As her meetings in the library of 10 Janpath conclude and ministers take up their new jobs, the Gandhi inheritance looks safer now than in almost two decades.

FT: All systems go

All systems go

By Andrew Jack

Published: April 30 2009 20:24 | Last updated: April 30 2009 20:24

Facing a crisis: globalisation has helped spread infection far and wide

“An external event strikes. Fear grips the system, which, in consequence, seizes. The resulting collateral damage is wide and deep.”


A description of the coming flu pandemic, or the events of the past 18 months in the world of finance? As the World Health Organisation on Wednesday night raised its level of alert and instructed countries around the world to “immediately activate their pandemic preparedness plans” following the spread of an aggressive flu virus from Mexico, intriguing parallels between ways to address a public health crisis and a shock to the financial system are becoming increasingly apparent to officials and policymakers.

The lessons from these could prove critical to the success of efforts to minimise the impact of H1N1. The decisions taken in coming months by international agencies, national governments, local authorities, employers and individuals alike will be the first real “stress test” of an unprecedented and still fragile structure of pandemic preparations built up in recent years.

Much of the architecture of today’s system dates from the 2003 outbreak of severe acute respiratory syndrome. This was swiftly followed by fears of a widespread outbreak of the “bird flu” H5N1 virus. Both helped mobilise a sharp rise in worldwide funding for pandemic preparations. The WHO was assigned the role of choirmaster, conducting the tracking of disease, the speedy dissemination of information and the co-ordination of the response by governments and agencies.

Yet the lack of any immediate outbreak led to “flu fatigue”. Public concern gave way to a sense that sufficient preparations were in place and alarmists were crying wolf.

Similarly, in finance, continued economic expansion generated a sense of hubris that militated against tougher regulation. “The parallels between finance and medicine or other branches of science are very thought-provoking – it is something which is being talked about seriously now,” observes one senior European central banker.

In a further link, the financial crisis itself – and efforts to rein in public expenditure even before the credit crunch began in summer 2007 – may have helped slow pandemic preparations and squeezed the ability of medical systems to respond. In the UK, Treasury scepticism over the past two years delayed the purchase of extra supplies of antiviral drugs and antibiotics, leaving the government scurrying to place fresh orders this week.

Looking to the future, the pandemic may slow down tentative signs of global economic recovery, as declining travel, falling productivity and rising healthcare costs add to the pressures on companies, consumers and markets already struggling and deeply sensitive to further psychological setbacks.

TRIPLE TEST IS THE LATEST CHALLENGE FOR THE GLOBAL HEALTH BODY

The response to the H1N1 flu outbreak now spreading from Mexico around the globe is a high-profile triple test for a recently appointed boss, a young set of rules and a well-established institution.

For the World Health Organisation, founded just over 60 years ago, it is the latest in a series of important contributions to public health, which have included the elimination of smallpox, the introduction of the Tobacco Convention to spur tougher anti-smoking measures, and efforts to accelerate treatment for HIV patients across the developing world.

The challenges it faces include politics, bureaucracy and several failed public health campaigns including an attempt to eradicate malaria and a lengthy effort to fight polio that remains incomplete.

Its preparations for a pandemic have been reinforced by the adoption in 2007 of the International Health Regulations, which theoretically give it greater powers including certain rights to encroach on national sovereignty in fighting disease.

But the biggest test is perhaps a personal one for Margaret Chan (pictured), the discrete Hong Kong-raised civil servant who took over as director-general of the WHO in 2006 after a tough election campaign triggered by the sudden death of her predecessor. She must mobilise her own staff and delicately negotiate with top politicians around the world to work for the common good.

Olivier Blanchard, chief economist at the International Monetary Fund, warned on Thursday that the impact of the pandemic could be “quite drastic” in some countries.

The rise in globalisation that drove the expansion in international finance in recent years has also helped frame the conditions for the pandemic. Increased air travel, for example, has helped spread infection far and wide, illustrated in the initial outbreaks of H1N1 outside Mexico: from a honeymooning couple in Scotland to school-children returning home to New York and New Zealand.

Distinctions between the financial crisis and the flu pandemic include the fact that, with the former, there was – with no over-arching international organisation – little planning for a severe downturn, and the more alarmist warnings of a few critics were brushed aside by the majority.

In recent years, by contrast, there has been general consensus in the public health community, co-ordinated by the WHO, that a pandemic was a matter of “when, not if”, and plans – albeit of variable quality – were being put in place for an event seen as inevitable.

Now, as those plans are activated around the world for the first time, the question is how far they will prove effective, given that the responses of individuals and institutions as the threat of infection begins to affect daily life are unpredictable.

Just as the flu virus itself is constantly evolving genetically, so the financial services sector is continually inventing instruments. In health, too, there has been frenetic and complex innovation in recent years that is poorly understood by the vast majority of the population, creating a gulf between them and the tiny minority with understanding. That requires considerable trust, which can swiftly crumble and trigger panic when faith in the few collapses.

As a senior accountant says: “Most people don’t know how modern medicine works – all that stuff about DNA and what is inside pills. They have to trust their doctor. There are parallels there with finance. So much relies on trust.”

The dangers of the lag after widespread unofficial information and before any official response were starkly demonstrated by the saga of Northern Rock, the UK bank. A media leak on the BBC of its problems in mid- September 2007 caught the authorities on the hop. They presented no convincing explanation of the scale of its problems, triggering a run on deposits.

When Sir Callum McCarthy, former head of the UK’s financial regulator, tried to tell consumers any panic was “irrational”, it simply sparked greater fears. By the time the government finally stepped in four days later to guarantee deposits, customers had lost faith in almost anything it said, sparking deep cynicism about the health of other banks including many small British building societies.

The lessons include the need to recognise and respond to the fact that information travels at lightning speed around the world; and, in the internet era, vague reassurances that the authorities are in charge no longer work. “A hundred years ago, people would be reassured by a solemn statement from the Bank of England,” says a senior European regulator. “That doesn’t work now – people want evidence. Messages have to be short and clear. People want a website they can go to, hard facts.”

Embracing the explosion in information, one critical aspect of pandemic preparations that followed Sars was the adoption of the International Health Regulations. That, for the first time, gave the WHO the power to use data from non-official sources that warned of a potential infection rather than relying on its member states.

Initial indications suggest that the agency, as well as regional affiliates and national health authorities such as the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention were relatively slow to react, picking up on warnings in the Mexican media of outbreaks some days after they were identified by specialist analytical companies.

“My big question about how things have developed is around surveillance and warning,” says a senior official co-ordinating the British pandemic response, who adds that the UK escalation was triggered by its own observations of activity by the CDC rather than any formal WHO notification. “If we had had even two more weeks’ warning, we could have had better efforts to contain the infection and more time to distribute drugs.”

RESPONSE MEASURES:

Key components of the WHO’s role in tackling the flu pandemic include:

Track and assess the risk of the virus

Mobilise countries to plan and react

Agree public health measures to respond

Co-ordinate the development of flu vaccines

Establish medical treatment guidelines

Writing this week of the “striking” similarities between the 2003 Sars outbreak and the collapse of Lehman Brothers, Andrew Haldane of the Bank of England and author of the scenario sketched at the top of this article, notes that a modest “triggering event” is augmented by a media frenzy that transcends borders. Similarities between crises in public health and finance are “no coincidence” as both are “manifestations of the behaviour under stress of a complex adaptive network”.

So far, while struggling with huge media demand, the WHO has provided regular updates, although the data on its website have often appeared modest and belated.

While it is early days, the public response around the world to H1N1 appears calm, despite anecdotal reports of panic-buying of masks and efforts to obtain antiviral drugs. One risk is that such patterns escalate as the effects of the virus become widespread.

More worrying are the cracks appearing in the fragile mechanisms of solidarity between governments. Just as there was disagreement over fiscal stimuli and measures for international financial regulation following the crisis, so there are divergences about how to respond to a pandemic.

Even before the WHO posted advice this week that restricting travel was pointless, many countries were imposing a range of variants that did precisely that. Some countries, such as Egypt, have diverged even further from the science, with calls to slaughter pigs despite no evidence that they present a risk of spreading the infection.

As the pandemic advances, there will be far greater potential for clashes over different national policies towards vaccine manufacture, drug stockpiles and distribution, the provision of medical treatment and so on.

For now, the response has gone largely to plan, and appeared smoother than the response to the financial crisis. But it is only just beginning. As Angus Nicoll from the European Centre for Disease Prevention and Control puts it: “With flu, you have to plan for the worst, prepare for the worst and hope for the best.” The best laid and most rational plans for the pandemic are – as in finance – still grounded in a good deal of faith.

Additional reporting by Gillian Tett


GENETICS: THE HISTORY OF SWINE FLU – AND CLUES TO ITS FUTURE

“Unpredictable” seems to be the word used most often by experts to describe the outbreak of swine flu, writes Clive Cookson. Scientists now concede that a pandemic is almost certainly imminent but they insist that they cannot predict its timing or how serious it will be.

All this talk about uncertainty should not disguise the astonishing amount that researchers have learnt about the new H1N1 viral strain, using the latest techniques in molecular biology, since an unusual outbreak of flu in Mexico came to the attention of the world’s health authorities a couple of weeks ago.

Swine flu virus
An H1N1 culture from a US patient

By last weekend, when the general public was becoming aware of the pandemic threat, the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta was already completing the genetic sequences of flu virus samples taken from patients in California and Texas. (Flu virus genes are composed of RNA rather than the related DNA that makes up the genome of almost all other organisms.)

Since Monday, anyone has been able to download the full RNA sequences from the public GenBank database. For the uninitiated the viral genetic code is gibberish – “atgaaggcaat” is a typical short stretch – but for experts it can tell a fascinating tale of infections that have shaped the virus.

The Mexican strain is a complex mixture of components from viruses that originated in infections of pigs, people and birds – but there is no doubt that the dominant contribution comes from pigs, says Brian Willett, a virologist at Glasgow University.

“This virus almost certainly does originate in pigs,” says Professor Willett. “Mexican pig farms are a very strong candidate for where it started.”

Hence the controversial decision by the World Health Organisation to call it swine flu – to the dismay of pig farmers, who have been hit with a global slump in pork sales and bans on meat imports from Mexico and the US in some countries as a result.

A porcine origin does not mean the current outbreak is circulating among pigs today, experts insist. Now that the virus is spreading among humans, people face an immensely greater risk of catching Mexican flu from other people than from pigs.

Scrutiny of the viral genome – and comparison with other flu viruses – is also beginning to give scientists clues about its likely behaviour and effects on people. These seem to be reassuring.

The Mexican strain currently lacks some of the molecular characteristics associated with the most virulent viruses – adding to the emerging epidemiological evidence that it causes mainly mild illness. Experts believe the apparently high mortality rate in Mexico is the result of vast under-reporting of less severe cases.

But that is now. The future is, of course, unpredictable. Flu is a notoriously fast-changing virus, and it may mutate into a much more dangerous form. Or it may turn out to be less lethal than normal seasonal flu, which kills 500,000 people in a bad year.

FT: Engineer making a big noise

Engineer making a big noise

By Amy Kazmin

Published: April 8 2009 03:00 | Last updated: April 8 2009 03:00

In India, one of the most used components of any motor vehicle is the horn. Drivers navigating livestock, pedestrians, animal-drawn carts and motor vehicles lean heavily on their horns to express frustration, if not to clear a path. Trucks are emblazoned with the slogan "horn please".

Responsible for much of India's distinctive road noise is Roots Industries, a small private company that is also the country's biggest hornmaker. It was founded in 1970 by K. Ramasamy, a US-trained automotive engineer, now 60, who has been obsessed with auto horns since his childhood in an affluent land-owning family near the southern town of Coimbatore.

Mr Ramasamy's fascination stems from his father's habit of installing a German-made Bosch horn in every car he acquired. "He said no Indian horn would last," Mr Ramasamy recalls. "It stuck in my mind that I should make horns similar to Bosch, so we would not need to import."

Little known outside the auto industry, Roots has quietly integrated into the global economy over the past 15 years or so, supplying both leading Indian vehicle makers such as Mahindra & Mahindra, and foreign marques such as Harley-Davidson. Throughout most of 2008, Roots ran three shifts a day, six days a week, turning out 400,000 horns a month for its home market and for export.

Now, as global vehicle sales have slumped, Roots has cut production to two shifts a day, five days a week, to make 173,000 horns a month. It has cut its workforce by 25 per cent to 875, mainly shedding single young men. But with one Indian worker often supporting up to five people, Roots has also sought to slash labour costs by reducing shifts and salaries rather than by shedding workers completely.

"It is predominately a social responsibility to keep them as far as the company can withstand," Mr Ramasamy says. "They don't have any facilities like unemployment benefits."

Despite the difficulties, Roots' revenues for the year ending in March 2009 are Rs965m ($19.3m) although they are expected to fall below Rs900m in the year ahead.

The challenges confronting Roots are typical of those facing the countless small manufacturers that helped drive India's years of fast growth and are now struggling to survive the global downturn.

After India loosened its tight economic controls in 1991, numerous private entrepreneurs such as Mr Ramasamy emerged from traditional landowning and trading families to meet pent-up domestic demand for manufactured goods and tap the new opportunities offered by globalisation.

But after ramping up operations, these small manufacturers are reeling. "People didn't believe that growth would slow down," says Subir Gokarn, chief economist for Asia Pacific for Standard & Poor's.

Indian manufacturers are theoretically bound by strict labour laws that make it hard to shed permanent workers. In reality, many factory owners in the worst-hit sectors have simply ceased operations and closed their premises as they wait for the global economy to recover.

Roots employees have long re-ceived monthly statements of the company's performance and have stoically accepted their falling pay, says Mr Ramasamy. "We have profit-linked salaries for everybody," he says. "Everything is transparent . . . Whatever actions we take, they understand the need for such actions."

Back in 1970, the young engineer's quest to create durable Indian horns to rival those of the German company began on his return from the US with a master's degree in automotive technology. To raise capital, he opened a garage and began fixing cars, shocking many in a conservative Hindu society with traditionally strict divisions between education and manual labour.

"People thought: 'Why is this boy getting into a garage with oil, mud, muck, dirtying himself'," Mr Ramasamy recalls. "But I enjoyed it because it was my hobby. In our religion, it says 'work is worship'. So how can we think differently of different work?"

Initially the aspiring entrepreneur developed a radiator coolant recovery system and a brake system, but struggled with sales. "I had no financial strength for advertising," he says. The 1973 Opec oil embargo was also a blow to Indian car sales, which averaged 50,000 a year in the 1970s.

But after a decade of tinkering and materials research, Mr Ramasamy in 1982 unveiled a horn with a lifespan of 200,000 "cycles", nearly double the local standard. Roots started selling them as spare parts, but in 1986 started supplying Maruti-Suzuki, then a fledgling car venture.

By 1989 Roots was the largest hornmaker in India, then still a tiny market constrained by state production quotas. But growth ac-celerated after government reforms in 1991. "Business really began picking up," says Mr Ramasamy. He attended his first overseas trade fair in 1992 and started exporting to the Middle East and Europe two years later.

As he built the business, Mr Ramasamy wrote three times to Bosch to request a partnership. He had to be patient: it was only after two decades from his first contact that Bosch signed a long-term technical collaboration and buy-back agreement with Roots - a moment Mr Ramasamy recalls as "a great joy". To finance the deal, he sold a 25 per cent stake in Roots to Reliance Industries, although Reliance plays no active role.

Roots also pushed into the US market, setting up an engineering and marketing office in Cadillac, Michigan, to work with leading US carmakers, although it has now closed because of the downturn in the US market. By 2004, it supplied half the horns used by Ford Motor Co in North America from a $1m, purpose-built factory. But Roots ended the arrangement last March after Ford pressed Roots for lower prices. "Raw material prices were going up very much, but Ford wanted to reduce the price," Mr Ramasamy says.

Roots also built a factory in Malaysia, which opened in 2003, to supply south-east Asia, although promises of a south-east Asia free trade zone have not been realised.

With day-to-day management left to trusted professionals, Mr Ramasamy is still pursuing his quest for a lighter, more energy-efficient, longer-lasting horn.

"We are working on many other products," he says. "When the upturn comes, we will be ready."

The subtleties of worker relations in a new industrial era

Hundreds of thousands of Indians have lost their jobs to the global downturn or had a cut in pay. But in Roots Industries' base of Coimbatore - a hub of the engineering and textile industries - there has been little of the social unrest associated with job losses and wage cuts.

This reflects the weakness of India's labour unions, but Subir Gokarn, chief economist for Asia-Pacific for Standard & Poors, says it is also due to complex, generations-old ties between local entrepreneurs and industrial workers. "These are inherited relationships that have emerged out of a very established, elaborate social context, and have simply moved from the agrarian structure to the industrial structure," he says.

K. Ramasamy, founder of Roots, says that pay cuts are temporary emergency measures until business picks up. "[The workers] know if the money comes, we are giving it to them," he says.

In general, says Mr Gokarn, the workers understandthat the employer has no choice, and that "the more flexible they are, the better the chances that when the cycle turns, they can go back to old arrangements".

FT: The road to the republic


The road to the republic

To understand modern Iran, we must appreciate Persia's extraordinary religious and cultural legacy.

By David Gardner

Published: April 25 2009 01:27 | Last updated: April 25 2009 01:27

Iranian anti-Shah protestors supporting Ayatollah Khomeini in 1979
Iranian anti-Shah protestors supporting Ayatollah Khomeini in 1979

Iran: Empire of the Mind: A History from Zoroaster to the Present Day
By Michael Axworthy
Penguin Books £9.99 333 pages
FT Bookshop price: £7.99

The Ayatollah Begs to Differ: The Paradox of Modern Iran
By Hooman Majd
Doubleday $24.95 273 pages

The Quest for Democracy in Iran: A Century of Struggle against Authoritarian Rule
By Fakhreddin Azimi
Harvard University Press £22.95, 479 pages

The Persians have had a bad press pretty much since the world became aware of them. Aeschylus (whose Persians of 472BC is the earliest surviving play) and his fellow classical Greek tragedians won many a pan-Hellenic Oscar by manufacturing an image of a cruel, effeminate and decadent despotism of the east, the better to build up Greek identity and cultural superiority. The great tragedians were the first and most accomplished demonisers of “the other”, as Edith Hall documented 20 years ago in Inventing the Barbarian. Rush Limbaugh and lesser “let’s-frighten-the-children” artists, with their reliance on pantomime villains such as Mahmoud Ahmadi-Nejad, Iran’s mercurial president, are the bathos of a long literary tradition.

As regime change in Washington revives the tantalising idea of some sort of rapprochement between the Islamic Republic and the American Republic – trapped in opposing trenches by the visceral animosities given free rein since the Khomeinist revolution of 30 years ago – it is important to remember that Iran is heir to a rich culture of enormous age, depth and resilience, with an extraordinary power both to assimilate and to radiate. These books help us do that.

Michael Axworthy’s Iran: Empire of the Mind is a beautifully distilled retelling of Iranian history that flashes with insight on every page. A writer and lecturer on contemporary Iran who formerly headed the Iran desk at the Foreign Office, he begins at the beginning and tells a very good story.

For those of us fixated on the Islamism of the theocrats who currently run Iran, it is instructive to remember how rich Persia’s religious heritage is. Mazdaism, or early Zoroastrianism, had significant influence on successor religions.

It developed a theory of a messiah at least six centuries before Jesus Christ and probably influenced Plato. It had a common currency of ideas with Judaism from the time of the Babylonian exile, from which Cyrus the Great and his Achaemenid successors liberated the Jews – getting the Persians a much better write-up in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah than in Aeschylus.

We tend to forget that it is not just the Holy Land and the Arabian peninsula that have shaped the monotheist religious heritage. Axworthy reminds us also of Persia’s early influence on Christianity, not just its own Nestorian tradition. The Mithraic religion taken west by Roman soldiers eventually percolated into early Christian and Gnostic belief (Mithras was a subordinate deity of Ahura Mazda before Zoroastrianism settled into monotheism). If you did not know that St Augustine of Hippo was a Manichean before his conversion, this book will tell you. Axworthy is entertainingly withering about the baleful influence of both Augustine and Mani.

He also traces the long history of religious revolution in Persia. The Mazdakist movement of the late 5th and early 6th centuries, for instance, was based partly on the preaching (and practice) of free love. But nearly all these revolutionary movements were egalitarian. When Islam burst out of Arabia into a Persia exhausted by war, it found a people receptive to its levelling liberation theology that took aim at Persia’s “strongly hierarchical aristocratic and priestly system”.

Indeed, Hooman Majd, in The Ayatollah Begs to Differ, underlines how many modern Iranian Shia see each other as Islamic Socialists of a sort.

Persia’s empire, Axworthy argues, was tolerant by the standards of the era. It used Aramaic as the lingua franca of Mesopotamia, Palestine and Syria, from the Achaemenids to the Parthians. It tended to rely on devolved power, except when this devolved into rival dynasties. But, above all, the Persian cultural genius lay in good part in its ability to accommodate and assimilate invaders – to conquer its conquerors.

From the era of Alexander the Great and the Seleucids, their aim of bringing Greek influence into Persia was probably outstripped by Persian influence seeping into Greek civilisation. “When Rome rose to dominate the entire Mediterranean basin, the Roman empire was divided between the Greek east and the Latin west, but still the style of the Greek east showed the influence of the vanished Achaemenid empire, and in turn influenced Romans with imperial ambitions from Pompey to Elagabulus,” writes Axworthy.

Not only the Seljuk Turks and Arabs were treated to this Persian seduction, even the Mongols succumbed. Before the fall of Baghdad in 1258, the Mongol devastations fell like a cataclysm on Persia, obliterating towns and populations, reverting swathes of the country from agriculture to nomad pastoralism for centuries to come. In Khorasan and Transoxiana perhaps a million people were slaughtered. But within decades the Persians pulled off their defining trick and conquered the conquerors.

Their architects and astrologers, their bureaucrats and viziers became indispensable to the Mongols, who eventually converted to Islam. Meanwhile, Persians and Turks had pushed into India and established an Indo-Islamic outpost of Persianate culture. This is what Axworthy means by Empire of the Mind: the way Persian scholars and poets, mathematicians and doctors kept bouncing back through crisis after crisis, using their intellectual heritage to refloat their language and their culture.

It is probably an exaggeration to suggest that the Abbasid dynasty – the high watermark of Islamic culture – was a sort of reverse takeover, the cultural reconquest of the Arab conquerors by the Persians. But it is undeniable that the towering legacy, in philosophy and medicine, of men such as the Persian Avicenna (known as Ibn Sina, 980-1037) were at the heart of this achievement. Their work, transmitted through the western jewel of Islam, al-Andalus, revitalised European scholarship to pave the way for the Renaissance.

One of the pleasures of this book is Axworthy’s sensitivity to Persia’s literary heritage, in illuminating excursions that invariably justify the detour. He has wonderful vignettes on Ferdowsi’s Shahnameh and its shaping of Iranian identity (“a significance in Persian culture comparable to that of Shakespeare in English or the Lutheran Bible in German, only perhaps more so”); on Omar Khayyam (“a rugged humanism in the face of the harsh realities of life, and an impatience with easy, consoling answers, that anticipates existentialism”); on the 13th-century Sufi mystic Rumi or the ghazals of the 14th-century poet Hafez, rippling with wine and eroticism. He complains that every century or so, the west discovers and distorts a great Persian poet. Hafez was captured by the Romantics; Khayyam by 19th-century aesthetes; in this century, “it has been Rumi’s misfortune to be befriended by numb-brained New Agery”.

Axworthy is good on the modern period, on the Safavid era (1502-1736) when warfare again exhausted and diminished Persia, and the Qajar dynasty (1794-1925) when Iran became the plaything of colonial powers. By the 19th century, Iran started to be ignored, in keeping with Victorian conviction that the Orient was decadent and ripe for colonisation. This became a policy to actively hold back Persian development. Lord Salisbury, writing as foreign secretary in 1879, summed up the position: “Whatever happens will be for the worse, and therefore it is in our interest that as little should happen as possible.” Translated, that meant, for example, no railways were built. The British and the Russians, engaged in the Great Game, did not want any means of rapid delivery for hostile armies to their borders (in Britain’s case, the western approaches to India). Ever weaker and more penniless rulers parcelled out the country in concessions and capitulations.

When the Constitutional Revolution came in 1906 – backed by many senior ayatollahs who at the time sought a new contract between rulers and ruled rather than clerical rule – it was gradually undermined by imperial intrigue. The British with their South Persia Rifles to protect “their” oilfields, the Russians through the Cossack brigade (whence emerged Reza Khan, who would use it to establish the Pahlavi dynasty of Shahs) were well placed to abort the emergence of democratic institutions, just as the French and British did elsewhere in the Middle East.

Fakhreddin Azimi’s The Quest for Democracy in Iran is particularly strong on retrieving the importance of the Constitutional Revolution and threading it through to the Islamic Republic’s current dialectic between republicanism and theocracy. He points out that “in 1953 the CIA and its British counterpart, in their zeal to overthrow the secular government of Mohammad Mossadegh, were prepared to help revive clerical oversight of parliamentary legislation in exchange for the support of leading clerics”.

It is salutary to recall that Iran’s nationalists and democrats turned hopefully to the US – even appointing in 1911 a young American, William Morgan Schuster, as de facto finance minister with wide-ranging powers to reform – in the hope of linking up with a benevolent western power that would help them resist colonialism and open a path to modernity. That story came to an end with the 1953 Anglo-American coup against Mossadegh – who had presumed to nationalise the oil industry – and the restoration of the Shah. The rest, as it were, is history.

If Axworthy’s book is history at its ripping yarn best, Hooman Majd offers a more conversational way into the history of Iran in The Ayatollah Begs to Differ, with anecdote, colour and paradox splashed over a contemporary canvas. His is a genial and companionable book.

American citizen and grandson of an ayatollah, Majd is well placed to provide a privileged glimpse into Iran and Iranians. Whether asking theo-bureaucrats faux-naïve questions or smoking opium with mullahs in Qom, après-ski partying with the secular elite or discussing a dissident’s hunger-strike at the Bobby Sands burger joint in downtown Tehran, he captures the ambiguity and plurality of today’s Iran, roundly refuting the widespread notion that it is totalitarian. He depicts this “culture that is, it’s true, proud beyond the comprehension of most westerners”. He conveys brilliantly the weird mix of breast-beating and vulnerability, the superiority and inferiority complexes that inform popular and political culture. Westerners who tend to seek out only Iranians who talk and think like themselves should use this as a guide.

Majd is also superb at taking the real measure of Iran’s contemporary institutions – a bewildering blur of men in turbans to most outsiders – and at identifying the material as well as spiritual interests of, for example, the Revolutionary Guards or Pasdaran. Axworthy, too, explains well the mercantile underpinnings of the Islamic Republic, in which the bazaar, through its alliance with the politicised clerics, finally came into its kingdom (he has another vivid vignette on Ahmad Kasravi, a nationalist writer involved in the Constitutional Revolution, who penned a famous pamphlet called “What is the Religion of the Hajjis with Warehouses?”).

To be set against this is a powerful message of religious revolution – set out by shrewd, neo-Khomeinist populists such as Ahmadi-Nejad in a combative language stripped of elitism that alienates us but resonates with the Iranian and Muslim masses – which we ignore at our cost. As Azimi formulates it: “Having invoked justice as a pivotal notion almost defining its raison d’être, the Islamic regime proved singularly unsuccessful in establishing a more just and equitable society. Promising to redress this situation was at the heart of Ahmadi-Nejad’s rise.”

David Gardner is the FT’s chief leader writer and author of ‘Last Chance: The Middle East in the Balance’ (IB Tauris)


FT: Shrinking Singapore

Shrinking Singapore

Published: April 14 2009 09:44 | Last updated: April 14 2009 10:45

Singapore, one of the world’s most open economies, fittingly expects to be one of its fastest sinking. After a ghastly first quarter the government now forecasts full-year shrinkage of between 6 and 9 per cent.

What to do? By “re-centring” the policy band that pegs the Singapore dollar to an (undivulged) basket of currencies, the Monetary Authority of Singapore gains a pitifully modest devaluation – estimated by analysts at around 1–2.5 per cent. MAS was careful to attach some suitably tough language, in effect putting currency traders on notice that more aggressive action will not follow.

In truth, there is not a great deal more Singapore can do. Sharper depreciation may help exports tick up, but any gains would be modest so long as global demand is in hibernation. Meantime, a weak currency would encourage capital flight, already an Asian leitmotif of global risk aversion. Net capital outflows for the region as a whole were $145bn in the second half of 2008, according to the World Bank, or more than net inflows in the whole of 2007.

The city-state has few other tools at its disposal. It has already pushed the boat out on fiscal stimulus, where it is among Asia’s biggest spenders with a $13.7bn package worth around 8 per cent of gross domestic product. The breakdown of first quarter GDP illustrates the difficulty of stimulating demand in an island of under 5m people.

Swooning external demand resulted in the manufacturing sector falling 29 per cent, almost treble the contraction in the fourth quarter of 2008. Construction bucked the trend, up 25.6 per cent, due in part to a strong pipeline of housing projects. But the fact that home prices continue to fall, down 14 per cent in the first quarter according to official data, means this offers limited comfort. Scariest of all, of course, is Singapore’s role as a leading indicator for the Asian economy. Expect more downgrades to follow.

BACKGROUND NEWS

Singapore’s trade-dependent economy contracted by a record 11.5 per cent in the first three months of 2009 from a year ago as exports fell by 17 per cent in March, the 11th consecutive month of declines.

The sharper than expected deterioration in the economy’s performance, after it contracted by 4.2 per cent in the fourth quarter of 2008, forced the government to revise downward its full-year forecast to between minus 6 per cent and minus 9 per cent, making it Singapore’s worst postwar recession.

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