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Author Archives: Therese Trouserzoff

Orwellian Policy Leaves Indigenous Australians with Nothing to Say

01 Sunday Nov 2009

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Politics in the Pig's Arms

≈ 11 Comments

Yirrkarla Primary

Yirrkarla Primary

By Warrigal Mirriyuula

There’s a kerfuffle going on at the moment up in The Northern Territory and like a lot of things Territorian it seems this one is also a fundamental disconnect between the whitefellas and the blackfellas.

You see, as part of Rudd’s much-spruiked but as yet unseen Education Revolution it has been decided, in consultation with the NT Parliament, that the kids of blackfellas are effectively illiterate because English is their second language and they don’t do so well on standardised tests used to determine literacy in white schools. Hardly surprising you say and of course you’d be right.

Age appropriate tests in their indigenous languages shows the kids to be just as bright and eager to learn as white kids in eastern schools. Funny that.

So what’s the kerfuffle about? Well it’s now been decided that the previous policy of bi-lingual language classes will be scrapped and all indigenous children will be taught in English exclusively for the first four hours of the school day. For those students for whom English is entirely foreign, and that’s lots of NT blackfellas, there will be indigenous interpreters to help students with little or no English skills. Not so radical you might say, given that if those kids want to integrate into the broader Australian society they’re going to need substantial English language skills.

Early indications however are that in those schools where this policy has already been implemented the children are voting with their feet. By the end of those four hours the classrooms are almost empty. In those schools, which are resisting the introduction of the policy, attendance is up

Where the children are taught in their first language and English is only taught after the kids have a sufficient grip on the grammar, vocabulary and narrative development of their own language, the literacy outcomes for both their own languages and English are improved significantly with students fluently using both their own language and English better. Sounds “win/win” to me.

So why, as Professor Charles Grimes and The Australian Society for Indigenous Languages suggest, has this anti intuitive course been charted. Beats the shit outa me, and the good Prof. too. Apparently it also caused Marion Scrygmour, The former NT Education Minister, some trouble. She admitted to Dr. Brian Devlin of Charles Darwin Uni.’s language department that the policy was made too quickly.

She said, ‘Look, I fucked up’,” Dr Devlin reported, but apparently not so badly that this dumb and damaging policy be dumped and the former bi-lingual process be reinstituted.

” I think what she was referring to is that there was a lack of consultation beforehand and that the application of her four-hour English directive of October the 14th had many unintended consequences.”

“It had certainly put her offside with traditional Indigenous people out in the communities.” the good Prof went on to say. Scrygmour is an indigenous woman herself, so this just gets curiouser and curiouser.

There is a groundswell of opinion suggesting that there are many factors not related to education including health and home conditions that affect school results.

“You could say as a ballpark figure that 80 to 90 per cent of the kids at this school would have a hearing impairment of the middle ear, infections or perforated eardrums at some time in their school career,” said the acting principal of the Lajamanu school, John Lane.

“The UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People says that Indigenous people, minority people, have the right to decide the way that they have their own education, including the role of their own language in that.” Says Prof. Grimes. Pity policy makers haven’t read that declaration recently.

As any one who has ever had to learn a language will tell you, learning a foreign language is difficult because you have to understand it by deconstructing your understanding of your own first language. If, however, you have little or no understanding of the structure and dynamics of your own language, learning another will be effectively nearly impossible

At this time there are very few surviving indigenous languages that are used in a traditional cultural and social setting on an everyday basis and most of these are in the NT. Recent studies have shown that at this time indigenous languages are just managing to hold their own against English, but there can be no doubt that if this “English First” policy continues the number of languages and the speakers of those languages will decline.

As well as being comprehensively ill informed, this policy is simply racist. It’s more “pillow softening” and seems to assume that indigenous languages are somehow second rate. It constitutes a fundamental attack on what it means to be indigenous in this country. It is Orwellian in that it seeks to limit and control the language tools available to describe the complex relationships in indigenous society and the relationship between indigenous society and the broader Australian society. Something which their own languages do very well, certainly better than English ever could.

There are many aspects of indigenous life and experience, religion and cosmology, let alone their prodigious understanding of Australian ecology, that simply cannot be translated directly into English without losing depth and complexity. Should the day come when there are simply no indigenous speakers left we will all, whitefellas and blackfellas, be forever and irrevocably separated from that experience and cosmology, that understanding. Its meaning and utility will be lost forever.

The indigenous people of this continent have, over more than 60K years, made Australia penetrable, open to understanding and it is in their languages that the last vestiges of that understanding are to be found. To allow this policy to contribute to the continuing decline of indigenous diversity and self expression would seem an act of the most heartless and stupid “ethnic cleansing by neglect”, and the very people so cleansed would have no means to critique their circumstances, except of course in English.

What would it then mean to be a blackfella, if you had no way of accessing the fundamental tools that make that meaning real and define who you are?  By making English the de facto indigenous language we are saying that there’s nothing worth saving and keeping in any of the remaining indigenous languages struggling to be heard against the white paradigm; and that’ll break blackfellas hearts all over again, all over the country.

Like I said, it just beats the shit outa me.

Pyne Sets New Standard – Poodles in Shadow Cabinet

01 Sunday Nov 2009

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Politics in the Pig's Arms

≈ 16 Comments

StandardPynePoodle

Poodle loses face in shadow cabinet reshuffle

Warrigal gives Pyne a pounding….

Well, it was red faces all around in the shadow cabinet pack this weekend as the alternative government’s latest parliamentary tactic unravelled.  Sources close to the Opposition Leader revealed that his desire to “find out how Kevin does it” had been mistranslated by the shadow cabinet into a plot to infiltrate the Rudd household by insinuating another dog therein.

The plan apparently was for the member for rolling over and having his tummy rubbed to bound up to Kevin and …. roll over and invite Kevin to rub his tummy …. and then follow him home.   All went well until the Rudd’s cat Jasper took exception to an additional canine in the fold.  Jasper was quoted as saying ” No more f*cking mutts under my roof, Dad”.  Which suggests that the Prime Minister still needs to be more particular about his choice of words in front of the pets.

As the poodle bounded across the lodge linoleum, Jasper sunk his claws into its trailing bits, resulting in a sudden loss of face….. and another sudden loss of face…. and a third loss of face with the Opposition leader denying all knowledge of the plot and mumbling something about Godwin Gretsch.  Dissenting witnesses insisted that the Opposition leader was in fact complaining about testicular discomfort.

Poodle breeders were aghast and accused the member for  rolling over and having his tummy rubbed of lowering standards.  This point was echoed by the Opposition whip who rolled up a newspaper, smote the member for rolling over and having his tummy rubbed on the muzzle and told him that if he ever made another poodle in the shadow cabinet, it would be off to the vets for the big sleep.

Dogged Neocon numbers men are reportedly circling and sniffing arses in search of a new leader for their pack.

Australian Political Jihadist Infiltrates Saudi Cabinet

30 Friday Oct 2009

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Politics in the Pig's Arms

≈ 24 Comments

Suspected Australian Political Jihadist Walid Toquay

Suspected Australian Political Jihadist Walid Tokay

Please note, this is a fake politician – Digital Mockery by Warrigal

In late breaking news, our freelance Pig’s Arms Middle East correspondent Armin di Nihill reported this morning that a senior figure sought by the APF – Sheik Walid Tokay has reportedly been arrested by Saudi Super Secret Spy Society (SSSSS) agents when he tried to infiltrate the Saudi cabinet.

Apparently Sheik Tokay was only discovered when he threatened to cross the floor and vote against his own party on a matter of conscience.  This was unprecedented in Saudi politics.  Not crossing the floor – because there is no other side, but actually having a conscience.

More surprising was the revelation that Sheik Tokay is also embroiled in an emerging scandal referred to in the Saudi official media Al Wankar as the “Money for Wheat Scandal”.  Al Wankar cartoonist, Effdog Moon says that details are sketchy at this stage, but there has been a suggestion that an un-named boat person has been photographed by the SSSSS exchanging a brown paper bag suspected of containing hard currency – for a box of Wheatbix.

There is also a suggestion that Effdog Moon was in fact merely drawing his own conclusion and the photograph was simply a supermarket transaction.

Cyrus Chapter 12 Cyrus to the Rescue

28 Wednesday Oct 2009

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Cyrus the Great: Chronicles

≈ 28 Comments

....." Croesus has taken Sinope"

....."Croesus has taken Sinope"

By Theseustoo / Astyages

“So…” Cyrus said thoughtfully when the messenger had finished his report, “Croesus has taken Sinope and enslaved the region of Pteria in Cappadocia!” Harpagus nodded grimly but remained silent, though equally pensive; his own spy net-work had already verified the report’s accuracy.

Although both men were staring intently at the world map which was spread out before them on the tabletop, neither of them really needed to look at it in order to find either the region or the city. Indeed both had been world-famous long before Croesus had ever decided to attack them. Several centuries of peaceful trade, which had come to characterize the whole region, and which had been facilitated by the dominance of the Assyrian Empire, had made Cappadocia, and especially Pteria, both very wealthy and very famous.

And even when the Medes finally overthrew their Assyrian overlords, rather than interfere with the running of a country which had hitherto always been a voluntarily tributary nation, the Median kings simply adopted the same policies as their predecessors; allowing them the same terms of fealty as they had under the Assyrians. As a result, this region was permitted an unusually high degree of local autonomy. Their ‘conquerors’ had been quite content to accept only tribute in coin and kind from this region; exempting Pteria from the usual annual levy of troops for the army of the Great King, whoever that happened to be at the time.

Similarly the Median kings had wisely decided to adopt the bureaucratic system Hammurabi had established centuries ago, and which had been copied by the Assyrians. Although the Magi were a Median tribe, as a result of their centuries-long interest in gathering knowledge, they were first adopted as a bureaucracy by the Sumerian; then by the clever policy of intermarrying with, first the Sumerians, then the Assyrians and finally the Medes, the Magi ensured the preservation not only of their tribe but also its immense store of knowledge; and the political influence this gave them; theirs was thus an extremely rich cultural heritage.

This administrative bureaucracy and the network of the King’s Highways had facilitated Assyria’s ultimate subjection, domination and exploitation of immense tracts of territory and the variously assorted cultures which had become the Assyrian Empire. When Media rebelled she simply carried on using the Magi to run her administration. Thus the manner in which the province of Pteria had been administered had remained almost completely unchanged even after many dynastic changes.

For these reasons there had never been any need to send more than a small military force to garrison and oversee the region; and these had become soft through their habitual life of near-indolence. So many countries had depended on this region for their trade that the Syrians, as their neighbours the Lydians called the Pterians, felt they need not fear attack from any nation, for fear of angering all her other trading partners and thus inviting a military catastrophe.

Thus, before Croesus’ sudden invasion, this region had been a veritable oasis of peace in a harsh and extremely violent world. So, for many generations, there had been little need for her men to develop warlike tendencies. Thus a local branch of the imperial tax office and a rather small garrison of local troops was all there was in Pteria to represent the authority of what was now the Persian Empire.

Pteria’s importance to the Empire as a source of revenue was not lost on either Cyrus or his general, Harpagus, who both immediately realized that unless something was done to remedy this situation the loss of this region would severely restrict Cyrus’ imperial revenues. Harpagus now voiced his concern,

“We cannot allow him to gain too firm a hold there…” he said firmly, “He could dominate all the landward trade-routes from Pteria, and thus he’d control a large proportion of our revenue.”

Cyrus looked up from the map and gazed levelly into the eyes of the man who had saved his life and gained him an empire; and who had, since then, become his most valuable and trusted advisor; he said, “Harpagus, assemble the army at once; we’ll march for Sinope immediately! We’ll raise levies of extra troops in the countries we pass through on the way; voluntarily if they choose; by force if they don’t!”

With a respectful bow, Harpagus left the hall to obey his king’s orders, as Cyrus turned to a second messenger who was patiently awaiting his turn to speak, “Now, you…” Cyrus demanded, “What news do you have from Ionia and Aeolia? Will they accept my offer of alliance? Are they prepared to revolt against Croesus of Lydia?”

“My lord,” the messenger answered a little hesitantly, “they both refuse; they remain loyal to Croesus…”

“Stubborn Greeks!” Cyrus exclaimed, frustrated. Yet he was unable to hide his admiration for their loyalty, in spite of his frustration. But as he continued his tone became far more menacing, though it remained tinged with sadness, as Cyrus vowed, “Well! We’ll teach them that stubbornness is not always a virtue!”

 

***   *****   ***

 

Love Letter to Virginia Trioli

26 Monday Oct 2009

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay

≈ 72 Comments

Virginia Troll

Virginia Troll

Dear Virginia,

I think it’s time that you and I stopped beating around the bush and that we both recognised my deep and abiding passion for a wonderful librarian-style woman, only slightly my senior.  And how could I possibly be anything but head over heels when I rush to switch on the morning alternative television massively relieved to discover  that Aunty has not replaced you with Scarlett Johansson – as was mooted in the Pig’s Arms men’s convenience last weekend ?

Now, I know that some men (Manne for example and I use the term loosely) has said that he prefers to get up to a woman who looks slightly less like she’s slept in her suit in the park and been dragged backwards through a hedge after a rough night on the tiles, but not me.  I adore those 40 shades of verdant hessian couture draped resplendently over – can I say boldly – a woman’s bosom ?  I’m sure that with so much of the morning news being about combat, that  I should expect a woman to win a man’s heart through hand to hand combat with another woman.  And I’m not for a minute suggesting that Jennifer Kyte, that winsome former 80’s siren could ever give you the slightest tussle, let alone win hands down.  Not even mentioning Jana Wendt.

I think we have to face the reality that going to air before the wardrobe and make-up people have returned from their go-slow protest against Mark Scott’s latest round of cuts, is a pretty tough gig.  But it’s definitely one that you bring off with a certain je ne sais quoi.

I remember with a great sigh the day you left radio.  It was me sighing, not your lovely warm nasal symphonic tones.  But I was richly rewarded when there, seated in dignified repose next to Joe Gilanese was not some minor goddess like Katherine Zeta Jones, but YOU !  Looking for all the world that you were still on radio.  Still talking to me.  Only me.  And certainly not the autocue.

Can I say that I am so smitten that I find it nearly impossible to tear myself away from the small digital Samsung (free with the purchase of a largish LED television of the same make).  I sit there for hours in my singlet and socks despite the deafening call of the bathroom, the minor nuisance of working for a living and the poison pen letters from the little old lady – and her cat – across the road – who even as we speak have their noses pressed to the front window in anticipation of a glimpse of chest carpet.

Virginia, I know that Joe has that coquettish Italian charm.  I know that he has a conmanding grasp of the NEWS, but if you are willing to expand your horizons and take a fresh listen to one of your old radio fans, I know you wont be disappointed.  Return my affection and see what rising up the charts with a bullet really means.

Your greatest fan,

Mistral

HELL HOSPITAL Episode 2

26 Monday Oct 2009

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Hell Hospital

≈ 11 Comments

.... an X-rayted washroom

.... an X-rayted washroom incident

By Theseustoo

(Disclaimer: this series of stories is completely fictional and none of the persons, places or institutions in these stories are real, but figments of my own imagination. Any similarity to any real person, place or institution is entirely coincidental.)

Loose-lipped Loreen did not earn her nickname by giving away secrets; oh no! She herself had plenty of secrets and knew enough to understand that if one wants to keep a secret, then it is vital to keep it secret that you have a secret to keep. For example, she had told no-one of her vision; a religious epiphany she was certain, in which the hospital’s patron saint, Helvi appeared unto her and said,

“Look, Loreen, I want you to keep an eye on my great-great-great-great-great-grand-niece Paula… If someone’s not there to prevent disaster she’s lethal. But if Paula should actually kill someone it would invoke the ancient curse of the family demon, Count Vladimir the Vacuous (more commonly known as Vlad the Sucker); and bring about the destruction of the hospital as we know it… Oh, and if you don’t do as I say, and Paula is responsible for a patient’s death, then I shall personally see to it that the Devil reserves a particularly hot spot in Hell for you! Usual reward for success, of course… pearly gates and all that… harps… wings… long white smocks… haloes etc…”

Well, patron saints are patron saints aren’t they? And they are there to be obeyed, thought Loreen; besides, she herself was a terrible sinner, so she did not wish to endanger the evidently good chance of going to heaven in the afterlife, which St Helvi’s orders had implied. That other place didn’t sound like much fun at all to her; and ever since her epiphany she had followed her charge around the hospital, trying her best to undo any damage Paula may  do to her patients or their chances of recovery. St Helvi would send her secret messages through her horoscope in ‘Take Five’ magazine to keep her ahead of the game…

Thus far she had been successful, but it was a full-time job; and it was often ‘touch and go’, as in her most recent episode with Mr Peabody and the biro-tube… Luckily, as one of a small army of the hospital’s cleaners she had the freedom to virtually roam the premises at will; nobody notices a cleaner and they never look out of place; thus they are virtually invisible.

“But by crikey!” Loreen exclaimed to the little statue of St Helvi that she kept in her bedroom, which had been transformed, ever since her first vision, into a shrine to the hospital’s patron saint, “If you hadn’t sent me that warning, I might not have had a chance to hide in that closet and get a biro-tube ready. And it was a bit cryptic wasn’t it? ‘Today the pen is mightier than the sword to heal a dangerously closed wound…’ If I hadn’t been paying attention I might have missed that one! Next time try to make your message a bit more obvious! Amen!”

*** ***** ***

Paula was not having a good day. It had started with the usual burnt toast, hurriedly stuffed into her mouth as she rushed out still only partially dressed to her car; as usual she was running late… And as usual, she found herself doing up her bra-strap at the traffic lights at Gepp’s Cross on her way in to work. A truck had pulled up alongside; the truck-driver wound down the passenger-side window as he leaned over and said, “G’day luv… you make my day you do… every day, same time, same traffic-light, same brunette adjusting her bra-strap! Gives me a giggle every time! Sets me up right for the day…”

Paula had prepared a mouthful of abuse to hurl back at the truckie, but just then the lights changed and she was obliged to settle for flipping the bird at his rear-view mirror.

Of course she was late arriving at work and this put the Director of Nurses’ nose out of joint for the whole day… and then they’d put her on a ward with a Nigerian student nurse who apparently had some difficulty with the English language. Paula had been in the Med-Room washing her hands after Mr Peabody’s enema. She took great pride in being as careful with her personal hygiene as any surgeon; and she scrubbed her fingernails diligently as the water flowed over her hands and down the sink; the plug of which was placed on one side of the sink which occupied the middle of the Med-Room’s workbench…

Just then a yell came from the student nurse on the ward, “HELP!”

The sudden yell was most unprofessional, Paula thought, as she nonetheless rushed out of the Med-Room and into the ward, to be confronted with a student nurse and a patient, rolling around on the floor under a piece of equipment which was supposedly designed to make lifting patients into and out of bed an easier task.

This piece of equipment was, however, designed for use by two nurses and the student nurse had been attempting to operate it on her own. Paula, with something a little short of patience, helped the student nurse to her feet and then helped her get the patient back into bed; finally she gave the student nurse a stern lecture on safety procedures and the proper use of equipment, having completely failed to notice that as she’d left the Med-Room, she had inadvertently knocked the plug into the sink with her elbow and, with a facility which would surprise everyone but the originator of Murphy’s Law, had somehow found its way into the plug-hole, where it rested snugly.

By the time Paula returned to the Med-Room the water had filled the sink, and was now doing a fair imitation of Niagara Falls as it carried various medical documents onto the floor where they now floated in several inches of water. Along with the documents the water had washed a red stamp-pad into the growing flood on the Med-Room floor, and this was swiftly turning the water a beautiful shade of arterial red and permanently dying the hitherto pure-white tiles a delicate shade of pink.

Paula instantly turned off the tap and started looking for something or someone to clean up the mess. She saw a cleaner observing her with something between amusement and pity on her face as she pre-empted Paula’s inevitable request, “Don’t look at me, mate!” said Loreen as Paula’s eyes met hers beseechingly, “I got my regular work to do; I’m not here to clean up after you nurses… Ask the Union! You clean up after your own mess!” And with that, she had turned and left, though she returned a moment later with a mop and bucket.

Thinking Loreen had relented, Paula thanked her effusively, “Oh! Thank you THANK you! I knew you were only kidding…” but Loreen just put the mop and bucket down right in front of her and Paula’s face fell as she was obliged to catch hold of the mop to stop it toppling out of the bucket as Loreen simply said, “Who’s kidding?” and walked away.

***   *****   ***

As Fresh as Mike Daisey

26 Monday Oct 2009

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay

≈ 11 Comments

Mike Daisey

Mike Daisey

This is just a few words to introduce an acquaintance of mine.  Mike Daisey.

Mike is one of the great raconteurs.  He specialises in the wonderful art form – the monologue.  His pieces go for hours and he works as you see him above.  Sitting in off-Broadway and many other theatres on the West coast.  He railed against the machine all through the Bush era, and has a diverse range of topics often rooted in history, or maybe history and philosophy of science.  He has about six lines on a single sheet of paper as a backup – and extemporises.

I once heard him  do an extended piece on Tesla versus Edison and another on the Death of Theatre.  Another presentation had the L Ron Hubbard people up in arms and produced a staged mass walkout – that phased him for a few nano seconds.

I met Mike Daisey through his book “21 Dog Years at Amazon” – meaning that he lasted 3 human years as a minion in Jeff Bezo’s monolithic (and Mike might say “evil”) empire.  He was doing phone support – and his stories I found particularly resonating since I had done a similar job – for just one year (1983) for the now infamous Jodee Rich – when he owned “Imagineering”.  That is before he trashed that corporation – which was also before he masterminded the more specular disaster “One-Tel”.

We (that is, Mike and I) exchanged a few Emails about our shared experiences.

One time at Imagineering, the marketing people asked tech support (Steve and me) to write “something technical about new products”.  We had 1,200 products and 900 dealers Australia-wide to deal with.  We were up to our nipples in deeply frustrated novotech retailers and the marketing guys wanted us to do their jobs too !  So we made up a few products, we invented problems with the made up products and also the solutions to the imaginary problems with the non-existent products.  Hence my diatribe on the Hashimoto Krakatoa K1 printer interface with the Venetian blinds in the EEPROMS.  The marketing people published their technical gurus’ sage words and we got some hilarious responses from people who could clearly see that it was totally fabricated – and a joke at the expense of our own marketing wankels.

That was not long before Steve attempted employment suicide at work by responding on the telephone to an irate and abusive dealer with a huge problem that she could “F*ck off because we don’t sell that product”.  He had had enough – but they just gave him a friendly caution, a few beers and a couple of paid days off.  Ah, the good old days…… of acute technical scarcity …..

This was rather more direct action than appeared in Mike Daisey’s story, but I’m sure you get the drift….

He was in Australia last year – but foolishly only went to Melbourne (sorry, ‘Mou).  I gather he’s planning a more comprehensive return for a flash-in-the-pan season.

Anyway, you can sample Mike Daisey’s material at http://www.mikedaisey.com/monologues.sht

You might really enjoy him.  On the other hand – you might intensely dislike his work.

Sometimes I do both.  Mostly not.

Cyrus – Chapter 11 Croesus Invades Cappadocia

25 Sunday Oct 2009

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Cyrus the Great: Chronicles

≈ 36 Comments

Seafood of the Gods - or Mermaids for Voice

Seafood of the Gods - or Mermaids for Voice

By Theseustoo

Digital Food Stylist – Warrigal

Croesus had lined up his army on a low hill overlooking the coastal city of Sinope; on the Euxine Sea. They had arrived the previous evening. Now, as the sun started to climb above the blood-red horizon, well fed and rested, they were drawn up in battle formation, awaiting only their king’s command to attack the city. As Croesus sat on his horse in the centre of the front rank, intensely regarding the town which was their goal, Sandanis rode up to him,

“Your majesty has chosen the ground very well…” he said, “This region is called Pteria; it is the strongest position in all Cappadocia; if we defeat the Syrians here and capture their city of Sinope, the rest of Cappadocia will soon fall, giving us a strong base to defend against Cyrus, who will surely come in response to our invasion…“

Croesus nodded silently; his mind already focussed on the battle ahead. To the trumpeter at his side, he quietly said,

“Sound the advance!”

At this the trumpeter played a brief fanfare; repeated it twice and then concentrated on keeping close to his king so he could relay his king’s orders to the army as they marched determinedly towards the poorly-defended city.

***   *****   ***

It had not been much of a battle, thought Sandanis as he watched his men looting the city. Indeed he’d been surprised how poorly defended such a crucial city had been. Although her walls were high and strong, yet they were ill-maintained; worse still, her menfolk had become fat, lazy and careless as the result of several generations of peaceful trade between Lydia and the Asian Greeks. They had not been anticipating any attack, let alone an attack from what had hitherto been the friendly trading nation of Lydia. Croesus’ cavalry simply rode into town through the open gate, followed closely by the Lydian infantry and rapidly seized control of all strategically important administrative centres. Completely unprepared for Croesus’ attack, Sinope’s small garrison quickly capitulated.

But Sandanis realized that Sinope occupied a strategically crucial position on Cyrus’ trade routes; controlling all trade going through Cappadocia, which in turn was the gateway to many countries in the region. This enabled Croesus to put an effective embargo on all trade heading eastwards along the King’s Highways; the network of ancient roads which the Sumerian king, Hammurabi, had built to encourage regional trade and facilitate his government of what several centuries earlier had been the largest empire in the world.

Staging posts had been built at regular intervals along all of these smoothly-paved highways, where fresh riders and horses were permanently stationed, thus providing a reliable and speedy messenger service throughout what under Cyrus would become the Persian Empire. But if these roads were the very veins and arteries of the Empire, its heart and mind was the bureaucracy he’d established and housed within the Great Tablet House. In this huge complex of educational and administrative buildings Hammurabi had installed the whole tribe of the Magi as his court astrologers, teachers, scholars, archivists and bureaucrats; choosing the Magi specifically for the talents with which they were already particularly gifted; the result of their ages-long quest for knowledge.

The roads made trade safer and easier; and at the same time it facilitated troop movements, enabling the Great King’s armies to travel from any state in his fast-growing empire to any other state in a matter of several days, or at the most a few weeks, whereas similar journeys made before the King’s Highways were built had often taken several months. These roads were thus crucial as a means of social control for they allowed the ruler’s armies to quickly and easily reach any potential rebellion. At the same time the roads had increased the wealth which paid for the vast armies which had made the vast expanse of Hammurabi’s empire possible.

Indeed, it was accurately said that the Kings’ Highways were the net which had held first the Sumerian, and then the Assyrian Empires together; just as it now held the Persian Empire together, even though Cyrus had greatly extended her borders. Already, Sandanis now realized with a start, Cyrus had conquered more territory even than Hammurabi; and the King’s Highways now stretched unbroken as far north as the Hellespont; and almost as far south as the Sinai and now eastwards too, through Media and Persia. In spite of himself, Sandanis was very impressed at this marvel of both social and physical engineering.

But, as he supervised the blacksmiths, who were currently riveting heavy iron fetters onto the wrists and ankles of the surviving Sinopeans who were about to be sold off as slaves, Sandanis thought grimly, these roads would also make it much quicker and easier for Cyrus to reach us.

“No matter” he thought; “…we’ll be ready”.

***   *****   ***

Cyrus Chapter 10 – A Spartan Alliance

22 Thursday Oct 2009

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Cyrus the Great: Chronicles

≈ 18 Comments

Taygetos Mountains with contemporary Spartan ruins

Taygetos Mountains with contemporary Spartan ruins

By Theseustoo

The Council of the Areopagus was the most important decision-making body in Lacedaemonia; it had convened a special meeting to hear Croesus’ messenger. The council chamber was an enormous, circular building, inside of which circular benches, currently full of curious Spartan councillors, arose in concentric tiers around the small, central, speakers’ floor. As he entered the council chamber, the herald could not help but notice a huge bronze vase which stood off to one side just inside the chamber’s entrance.

As he walked by it, the vase towered more than two cubits over his head. He briefly wondered how the metal-workers had managed to cast such a huge item. But, if the size of the vase impressed him, its craftsmanship was superb; with its highly polished outer rim exquisitely decorated with various kinds of animals; all embossed in remarkably lifelike poses.

He regretted that he had no time to examine the huge vase more closely, however, as he was immediately obliged to take the speakers’ floor; a rather small space occupying the centre and lowest level of the chamber; and announce his master’s purpose. The circular shape of the hall and the manner in which the banks of seats rose in circular tiers under a domed roof around this spot, on which the herald now stood, had all been cunningly designed to echo and amplify his voice. Even a voice speaking in normal tones would be carried easily even to the very uppermost bank of seats right at the back of the circular building, next to the outer wall. The herald cleared his throat in what he hoped was a professional manner and then spoke,

“Croesus, king of Lydia and of several other nations, has sent us to speak to you thus…” he began formally, to ritually distance himself from the actual contents of his message, and then gave his message verbatim:

“‘Oh Lacedaemonians, the god has bidden me to make the Greek my friend; I therefore apply to you, in obedience to the oracle, knowing that you hold the first rank in Greece, and desire to become your friend and ally in all true faith and honesty…’” But just as he was about to ask for the help Croesus had sent him to request, the Archon interrupted him gently; like a true friend, saving him the humiliation of having to ask for help by offering it freely.

“Put yourself at ease, herald; for you are among friends.”

The Archon stepped forward and, warmly embracing him, welcomed the Lydian almost as if he were the bearer of valuable gifts, rather than a suppliant sent by a besieged king to beg for help. But Croesus had prepared his ground well, the herald realised, as the Archon continued,

“Well do we remember Croesus’ great kindness to us; and his generosity in supplying us with the gold we needed for the statue of Apollo which even now stands in his temple at Thornax in Laconia.”

The herald was, of course, well aware of this gift and had even planned to remind the Lacedaemonians of it, if they should seem the least bit reluctant to honour the treaty on which they had already agreed. As this was now apparently quite unnecessary; since the Archon had himself chosen to demonstrate Sparta’s gratitude by mentioning it himself; with equal grace the herald simply bowed his acceptance of the Archon’s implicit thanks, as the latter continued,

“And as you have chosen to request our aid before that of all the other Greeks, we are happy to swear oaths of fidelity to your master Croesus, whom we have long admired. We have already heard about the oracle’s reply to his inquiry concerning the duration of his kingdom; and of his need for an ally, so we have been looking forward to your visit. Since everything appears to be favourable and Croesus himself is evidently favoured by the gods, Lydia can count on help from Lacedaemonia.”

Bronze Krater of Vix

Bronze Krater of Vix

At this point the Archon gestured to indicate the huge vase beside the chamber’s entrance and said, “See here this huge vase of bronze, decorated with figures of animals all round the outside of the rim, and large enough to contain three hundred amphorae, which we commissioned as a gift for King Croesus to commemorate our alliance. As you request, the Lacedaemonian army will join Croesus in Sardis in the spring.”

“Many thanks, my Lord Archon!” replied the herald, with immense gratitude and equal relief; shaking the Archon’s right hand with both of his own, thanking him profusely, as he said, “I will inform Croesus of your reply.”

With these words, the grateful herald turned and left the council chamber to return as swiftly as possible to his master in Sardis. Help would surely follow within a day or two; if not with the ebb tide following the one he calculated he could still just catch if he hurried…

***   *****   ***

Cyrus Chapter 9: The Only True Oracles

19 Monday Oct 2009

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Cyrus the Great: Chronicles

≈ 20 Comments

Couldn't find a picture of Sandanis.  Carols Santana instead.  Hope this helps.

Couldn't find a picture of Sandanis. Carols Santana instead. Hope this helps.

By Theseustoo

The king’s lightened mood had done the empire a lot of good, thought Sandanis, as he watched his master reading out the latest news from the oracle at Delphi. Feeling his empire threatened, Croesus immediately returned to work and, most energetically, he had quickly cleared up the huge backlog of official papers that were waiting to be signed and sealed; mostly referring to national projects, both military and civil, which could now go ahead, that had either stalled or been suspended while Croesus had wallowed in his grief.

But as he looked at Croesus now and saw the joy on his face as he burst triumphantly into the War Room, victoriously brandishing a pair of papyrus scrolls, Sandanis thought the melancholy Croesus of the past two years might have been a different man altogether.

“Well gentlemen?” the king began joyfully, unrolling one of the two scrolls, “What do you think of these latest oracles from Delphi? Listen to this,”

He began to read aloud from the scroll in a manner that clearly conveyed the evident amusement he felt about its contents; his voice was light-hearted and his manner droll as he read: “Wait till the time shall come when a mule is monarch of Media; Then, thou delicate Lydian, away to the pebbles of Hermus; Haste, oh! Haste thee away, nor blush to behave like a coward.”

Silently he waited for his officers’ reactions.

“Its mood certainly seems lighthearted your majesty…”  Sandanis responded cautiously, trying hard to share the king’s enthusiasm as he gave the monarch the benefit of his thoughts as they came to him:

“It describes your defeat, Majesty, but this can only be in jest, since it says it won’t happen until ‘a mule is monarch of Media’…” He laughed as the ridiculous image of a mule, braying loudly while seated on a throne and wearing a crown between its long ears, popped into his head, “That’s certainly an improbable event Sire; surely it can only mean that your kingdom will last forever?”

As he spoke he couldn’t help but be amazed at the extent to which the king’s mood had changed. Sandanis felt that there must surely be something more to this transformation than any natural good fortune. Surely, he thought, there must be something supernatural guiding Croesus, not only in this wonderful change in his mood and general demeanour, but also in the discovery of the only real oracles in the entire world.

“I agree your Majesty,” one the officers present chipped in, offering his support, “A mule is hardly likely ever to be made King of Media; what else could it mean but that your kingdom will last forever?”

“My own thoughts exactly!” Croesus crowed triumphantly, unable to disguise his enthusiasm, “And on top of this, as a result of the gift of two gold staters apiece that I gave to the people of Delphi, the Pythoness now grants us the right to precedence in our consultations, as well as the right to the most honourable seats at the festivals, exemption from all charges, and the perpetual right of becoming at our pleasure citizens of their town.”

The bestowing of such honours by the Pythoness, even on such a powerful king as Croesus, Sandanis knew, was unprecedented. But their meaning was rendered even more profound by the circumstances under which they were given.

Because their king had successfully discovered the only genuine oracles, Croesus’ generals all anticipated such great advantages that they agreed that it could only indicate the favour, if not the intervention of the gods themselves. And this in turn could only mean that the gods had quite evidently chosen Croesus of Lydia for their own special purpose.

Croesus had held a reputation as a holy man for a long time already; as both king and high priest, he had faithfully and diligently observed all the rituals which his exalted social position constantly demanded of him. Even in his grief, he had always given the gods their due; and was always more than generous in his frequent sacrifices and donations to all the temples, not just here in Lydia, but also everywhere he had contacts and did business. But was he really the Son of Heaven, Sandanis wondered to himself, as some of the lower ranks were already suggesting?

This was one question that Sandanis felt quite unqualified to answer; he distrusted such prophecies about the return to the world of ancient heroes, seeing in them little more than a salve for the hurt pride of the defeated. Yet he was also sure that if ever any mortal man could be said to deserve such an exalted title as ‘The Son of Heaven’, then it was Croesus. His king was generally regarded by all who knew him as a truly wise and holy man; and in the light of all these recent events, not only the king’s discovery of the only true oracles, but most particularly, the Pythoness’ reaction to that fact, it seemed to him as if even such an exalted title as this was indeed entirely warranted. Now Sandanis looked at Croesus with a new regard for him which closely approached awe, as he said, “Wonderful your majesty!” applauding these tangible results of his king’s wisdom enthusiastically, adding, “What better omen could we have been given than such friendship from the Pythoness herself? Now we must start to look for an ally among the strongest of the Greeks.”

“Indeed!” Croesus replied, “With omens like these I think we may start at once! Prepare your armies for an immediate assault on Persia’s tributaries in Cappadocia. Now Sandanis, which of the Greek states would you say is currently the most powerful?”

“Well, there’s Athens;” Sandanis replied doubtfully, “but they are experiencing severe difficulties under the tyranny of Pisistratos; Athens is presently divided into three factions; they are unlikely to be able to help.” After another moment’s thought, he said, “Currently the Lacedaemonians are by far the strongest of the Greek states.”

Croesus had already proven himself to be not only a great warrior and an irresistible conqueror, but also a wise and benevolent ruler; even to his subject states. This in turn had won him much support and loyalty even from the subject states of his empire; including the Greek states of Aeolia and Ionia. His reputation for wisdom had earned him not only much respect; it had even earned Croesus much wealth in the form of tribute and countless other gifts of rarities and treasures from all of his neighbouring states, whose rulers invariably admired his great wisdom and sought to ensure his continued goodwill towards them. Son of Heaven or not, it doesn’t matter, Sandanis decided; Croesus was a good master and a great king; he would follow Croesus to the very end; whatever that end might be.

“Very well, Sandanis,” Croesus said in determined tones, “We must persuade Lacedaemonia to help us! Scribe! Take down this message…”

***   *****   ***

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