The Great War for Civilisation

I’ve been reading ‘The Great War for Civilisation’ by Robert Fisk. I first came across his work during the initial stages of the recent invasion of Iraq by the US at the Information Clearing House website. At the time, most of the Western media’s coverage was so awful that I spent hours looking for news which, at the very least, wasn’t annoying. The Indian media wasn’t too bad but it wasn’t very much of a story here: most of the coverage focussed on India’s refusal to help GWB and what that might mean for Indo-US relations. (Incidentally, that’s one of the few times I’ve ever felt proud of the Indian government: I can’t imagine how we would ever have been able to justify supporting BushBlair & Co. to ourselves).

I read Mr Fisk's articles regularly along with a few diaries such as that of Riverbend whose blog ‘Women Unlimited’ has now published as a book although having read the blog, I haven’t read the book. His reports were the best I could find — he was always very well informed and very humane without being soppy.

His father was in World War I. He speaks of him quite a bit in this book: they seem to have shared a rather complicated relationship. The title is from an inscription on a medal which his father was awarded, if I remember correctly, and the book itself is a mixture of political history and personal commentary.

I couldn’t read it all the way through without taking a break though: I found it brutal. For example, the book contains very detailed descriptions of torture which left me feeling ill. They’re not, for lack of a better word, ‘sensational’ in the way you would expect them to be in a best-selling novel; for the most part, they’re mere statements of fact which speak for themselves. Very loudly.

I’m not even going to attempt to review the book but it has made think about how much difference it makes to have an understanding of history. I’ve often wondered whether the coverage of the last war was the result of hope triumphing over all common sense, desperation on the part of the Western journalists to believe the rants of assorted politicians, or just plain stupidity. I’ve now begun to wonder whether part of the reason why most journalists came up with such ridiculous reports is because they simply didn’t know enough about the region, its history, or its culture.

There’s a book I saw sometime ago called ‘Blood and Sand‘ by Frank Gardner, a BBC journalist. I’d like to read it sometime although it will probably be a while before I pick it up: the recent history is the Middle East is chilling.

Addendum: My brother just read 'Blood and Sand' and tells me that it's very good.