Walking the Berkshires

"Seagulls Sing Your Hearts Away"

"Bring tea for the Tillerman
Steak for the sun
Wine for the women who made the rain come"

The grand encampment of Barker and Ogden kith and kin over the 4th of July weekend at Windrock involved so many friends and relations one needed a scorecard to keep track of them all.  Fortunately, my cousin John's wife Megan used her graphic design skills to collect and display two family trees with names dates and thumbnail photographs for practically everyone in 5 generations from my maternal great grandparents on down to a baby on the way.  Several of us provided the genealogical data and tracked down needed images, but the end result allowed us all to puzzle out such things as who went with whom and what a 2nd cousin once removed looks like.

I took fewer photographs of the festivities than I had intended, or rather I focused on recording certain stages while actively participating in others. I have no pictures of the extraordinary drip castles on the unexpected sand bar revealed by an unusually low tide, nor the swarms of children who helped to construct them or dig quahogs rooted out by searching toes.  I did not get pictures of the intergenerational baseball and soccer games that sprang up on the lawn.  I had many conversations with wonderful people, and so have no regrets on that score.

"Seagulls sing your hearts away
'Cause while the sinners sin, the children play"

There were some things that defied photography, like the phosphorescence that made the still waters glow for midnight swimmers, and the fireworks that erupted up and down the shore on both sides of the bay and behind Great Neck. 

No one, I believe, wanted any pictures of the most dramatic and terrifying event of the weekend, when the Angle of Death dipped so near we could feel the beating of its wings. My cousin Colin broke out in hives and soon went into anaphylactic shock in the water where quick heads, sound medical knowledge and other people's EpiPens kept him alive until the EMTs arrived.   My cousins John and Margaret happened to be with Colin when he collapsed and pulled him to shore, and they were outwardly shaking (as were we all inwardly) for hours afterward.  In our number there were an EMT, a doctor, and the head ER nurse at the local hospital (who as it happens is also Colin's mother).  My cousin Jay and my cousin Leila's husband Pete the EMT together had three EpiPens and it took two of these to have any effect.  But for them and the grace of God, we would have suffered a terrible tragedy.  The next morning when Colin walked toward us like Lazarus with his family as we laid my grandmother's remains in Earth, he was greeted with shining eyes and a round of spontaneous applause.  There was even more joy and thanksgiving in the church that Saturday from this largely secular family as we celebrated my Grandmother's life and our personal Passover.

"Oh Lord how they play and play
For that happy day, for that happy day"

There are three stones where my grandparents remains reside.  One of these is the veteran's stone that acknowledges Grandpop's service in the Pacific during WWII.  There is now another paired with it that lists Gran's full name and the Hebrew word "Mizpah", with which she used to close many a letter to loved ones away from home.  It may be translated:

"May the Lord watch between me and thee, when we are absent one from another."

The third stone comes from Windrock itself and is newly etched with her first and maiden names and years of birth and death.  It says Barker on another of its faces, and on the top are two words - "Gone Fishing" - which are less irreverent than they seem.  My Uncle Rob, when a young boy, learned about the water table in school and decided that when people are buried they could go fishing there.  This so tickled my grandfather that he said he would like those words on his tombstone, and this was remembered many decades later and dutifully done. 

Those two inscriptions are fitting bookends for these two extraordinary lives, the earthy and the ethereal, and are streams that run deep in all of our veins.

"Oh Lord how they play and play
For that happy day, for that happy day"

                                  - Cat Stevens

Simple Gifts

This past weekend, our vast and extended families and lifelong friends gathered at Windrock on the shores of Buzzards Bay to honor the memory of my grandmother and reaffirm our devotion to each other.  Someone may have an accurate count, for we managed to feed a legion at least with food to spare, but I am certain we topped 100 on Saturday.  It was the sort of event that saw people pitch in at all levels, often seeing gaps and stepping in to fill them, like the elderly college friends of my eldest aunt who helped me fill three hundred baked stuffed clams.  There are many, many memories, and I'll write more about the gathering, but for the moment I want to share a few examples of the offerings of love and gifts of tremendous talent that were so evident this weekend.

My Uncle Rob crafted a box for my grandmother's cremated remains out of hemlock and ceder wood from our property.  My mother says there never was a tree that Gran didn't like, and these two woods were beautifully paired.  When my Grandfather died, Rob also made a lovely box for him, and the night before the internment a group of family members went around adding representative things to its contents - sand from the beach, paint chips from the house - and decided that the most appropriate place for it to remain that night was on the seat of the old antique tractor in the barn.  In Gran's case, her box rested on the mantle in the living room with the glorious views of the lawn and bay she so loved in life, with a few representative geraniums standing in for the phalanxes of flowers she habitually stacked several ranked deep before the picture windows.  At the graveside there was another red geranium, and a bowl of specially collected jingle shells from the beach that children added at the internment.  The sexton at the Agawam Cemetery made the hole with such precision that her box almost touches that of her beloved Bob, who predeceased her 17 years ago

As much as Gran loved flowers and trees, her eyes went joyfully to the skies, following every silver contrail or lingering sunset with fresh delight.  She and my Mom shared an unabashed love for birds, from chickadees at the feeder to darting tree swallows out by the garden.  Ospreys, though, had even greater meaning.  They mate for life, and at Windrock though they never established a nest on the pole erected for that purpose after Grandpop died, they hover and glide on the southwest breeze and our hearts lift with their wild cries.  My mother the quilter made this stunning creation of a pair of these marvelous birds and it now hangs in the living room at Windrock.  There is the bay, the mound of rocks that form the breakwater, and the bracken and scrub at the edge of the bluff.  She has absolutely nailed the birds, and the symbolism of the bird flying homeward into the frame to rejoin its partner so perfectly captures the hope of reunion, in this place for our family and in the next world for my grandparents.

Photographs do little justice to her tremendous  talent, but by all means click to enlarge.

This is a family that sings at the least provocation, and my Aunt Happy is always game to accompany a full-throated sing-along as evening shadows fell. The first night, we worked our way through old favorites - The Ship Titanic, The Sloop John B - and new ones, like the Canadian Sea Shanty with blue-wooded call and response my cousin's son Elihu leanred and taught us all:

"Oh, the year was 1778, HOW I WISH I WAS IN SHERBROOKE NOW!
A letter of marque came from the king,
To the scummiest vessel I'd ever seen,

God damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns , shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier
The last of Barrett's Privateers."

We are partial to nautical disasters, down-and-out ballads and standards of the American songbook.  I myself lead is in a grand version of Rocky Raccoon.

The greatest gifts of all were the gifts of self, the old friends and family both proximate and distant who all made the effort to come together at this extraordinary place to celebrate an extraordinary life that touched us all and abides with us still.  Every one of my mother's living cousins on her mother's side and many of their spouses, children and grandchildren came, and the lion's share of those on her father's side.  Every one of my first cousins and their families came.  My second cousins Tigerhawk and the Charlottesvillian were there, and it was such fun to watch their children and ours - third cousins! -engaged together in play. 

In the interest of bilateral relations I happily accepted the proffered Tigerhawk T-shirt (photo credit TH, who took it with his camera phone and e-mailed it to me moments later) and wore it with pride in the knowledge that blood is thicker than water and good people trump partisan politics every time.   I cleverly distracted my generally liberal family members with platters of stuffed quahogs, and after all, our dear grandmother was the most independent of Republicans.

Many people worked over many months to get the old place into the best shape it has been in decades for this event.  In honor of that effort, inside and out, I took this picture - a view that would have been impossible before my father undertook much clearing of scrub oak and poison ivy.   Garden beds were planted, and marigolds ringed the glacial rock in the lawn  as had been done by my grandmother in earlier times.  This winter and spring saw three bedrooms utterly renovated and the place has never looked better.  Long may it remain the land that sustains our souls and draws us back to each other.

You and Me, Kid

Today I spent several quality hours with my little girl at the ER in Wareham, MA.  A nasty belly button infection needed seeing to and turned out to be (surprise) probably Lyme, her fourth bout with this endemic plague in as many years.  Except for a hot and ouchy middle she was such a chipper little trooper, full of stories and talking with everyone she met as if they had been old friends rather than strangers in the doctor's office.  Her knees were all banged up from barnacle scrapes in a wavy ocean and she didn't mind a bit.  We made up stories about women pirates - she knows all about the historic ones - and now Emily is medicated and hopefully on the mend.

Tonight as I tucked them into the tent out in the evening wind before the big house full of our vast and gathering clan, we heard what I first took for thunder but then realized was the fireworks display across the bay.  Out of the tent we tumbled and off to the bluff, where my son climbed into my arms in his thin pajamas and I tried to block the wind while kicking myself for neglecting to fetch along his sweater.  I think of them as hardier than they are, even though Elias shrugged off a bee sting on his cheek yesterday.  So we walked back into the shelter of some ceders and watched the rockets red glare with fireflies hiding from the wind in the grass and under the trees.  We stooped and cupped one in our hands, careful to give it room to breathe and glow.  "I love you, Dad" he said, and I held him close and lost my heart all over again.

More F&I from Fort Ti

There are so many memories of the French and Indian War Grand Encampment at Fort Ticonderoga last weekend, and great images to go with many of them.  This mixed fife and drum corps includes both French and British musicians and came down the road to welcome us on our arrival.  Musicians have a special place in period reenactments, and we heard many impromptu performances by soldiers and civilians in camp as well as on the battlefield.  The highlanders had their pipers on the field, but the skirl of their pipes was drowned out by the musketry. The sound of the drums, however, carried far.

The fort itself was just as popular with the thousands of participants as it was with regular visitors.  I came upon these Grenadiers from His Majesty's 40th Regiment of Foot viewing the portrait and personal effects of an obscure Virginia Militia Colonel who had fought with Braddock at Monongahela in 1755.

The Rangers had their own section of the British camp.  Here members of Rogers' Rangers prepare for the coming battle after the noonday meal. Fort Ti is behind them on the hill, and offers a new profile with the addition of a newly reconstructed building on the east side of the parade ground. 

The highest ranking British officer I saw at the encampment was a much more diligent commander than his counterpart, General James Abercromby, who was not even present at the front during the fruitless assaults he ordered all afternoon against impregnable French positions.  This fellow, on the other hand, was in the thick of things.  Here he addresses some of the drummers from the various regiments, and I overheard him caution that the field was full of briers ands thistles that would make it hard for those without gaiters or leggings.  The green-coated drummer of the Highland Grenadiers in his socks and kilt gamely said that the thistle was the flower of Scotland, to which the general wryly replied that it was a Scottish flower to a certain height, but then became an English spear.

Abercromby and the rest of the 16,000 man force he lead against Montcalm suffered an early and devastating loss when his second in command, Brigadier General Lord Howe, was killed in the opening skirmish after the British made landing at the north end of Lake George.  The 250th commemoration features an opening reenactment in the park by the falls of La Chute in Ticonderoga.  The French have just fired on the advancing British and Howe is down.  The three brown coated light infantrymen in this picture removed his body and placed it beneath a shady tree and guarded it until the 45 minute battle was concluded.  The truth is that all was chaos and blundering in the woods after Howe was shot, and there is still considerable controversy over what became of his body.

Black powder is pretty strong stuff, and reenactors fire much smaller loads than would have been used in actual battle.  Cannons in particular take a fairly small charge and still make a heck of a racket.  One of the peculiarities of firing blanks from muzzle loaders is that they sometimes produce beautiful smoke rings that rise above the fray as can be seen at right where the French have just fired a volley at the British.  It is sometimes known by the charming name of Holy Smoke.

The La Chute battle was actually easier to view than the massive reenactment the next day at the Fort.  Even so, there was action across the river where the Rangers moved on the French flank.  There were only a handful of Native Americans in these engagements (Montcalm had just 14 with him at Carillon), but one is visible in the British line, crouched down and firing at will.  He also riffled the "corpses" looking for trophies, which I thought was a good depiction (though he ought to have had plenty of willing accomplices in the camp followers and king's men).

I recognized two or three of these guys, though, from the reenactment Viv and I saw last September at Rogers Island in Fort Edward.  The fellow in the center was one of these, and at the Grand Encampment he was a designated safety officer, shown here getting his yellow arm band.  The reenactor holding his rifle and the one painted red and black in the center (and also sporting the requisite nasal piercing) are others I remember from that day.  This time they fought with the British, but then they were with the French.

The French sent out a small detachment of skirmishers while the rest of their forces filed in behind this spectacular redoubt, build with volunteer labor especially for this reenactment. Driving in these pickets was the only success of British arms on this day. 

The weather turned ominous after a brutally hot day and began to rain after the battle was well engaged.  I saw units with hats over their gun barrels or marching with their muskets reversed to keep their powder dry, and a drummer with his uniform coat over the drumhead.  The rain kept the smoke near the ground, giving an especially eerie quality to the scene of battle.

We were in a much better position to view the British than the French.  Had we stuck around for the second day and its repeat performance of this battle, we might have tried out the view from the other side of the works.

I can't tell which regiment these men are depicting because they have left their uniform coats with their telltale facings back in camp because of the heat. His Majesty's forces may appear to be dressing down, but in fact modifications were made to their uniforms to account for the challenges of forest fighting.  Col. Gage's 80th foot were trained as Light Infantry, an innovation that would have a great impact on British armies and their adversaries in the coming decades.

This was the Highlanders' battle, though: the one in which they were sent in as reserves and cut to pieces in repeated charges into the entanglements.  We had been playing and singing The Piper's Refrain all weekend, thinking of Duncan Campbell and his many fallen companions.

I'm already starting to make plans to be on the Plains of Abraham in Quebec in 2010.  Maybe this time in garb...

2008 French and Indian War Grand Encampment, Ticonderoga

This past weekend, our family pitched our tent in the Adirondack woods by a pond named for a Captain in Rogers' Rangers and attended the largest French and Indian War reenactment ever held, anywhere.  The Grand Encampment at Ticonderoga this year was the 250th anniversary of the Battle of Carillon, and reenactors came from as far away as Australia to participate. 

The size of the thing was truly amazing.  This shot taken from the newly restored northern bastion of Fort Ticonderoga shows only the British camp and sutlers tents: the French and civilians each had camps of their own and there were thousands of these in attendance.  There were, in fact, more than 500 British, Provincial, French and Indian combatants engaged in the opening skirmish at La Chute on Friday (above) and more than 2000 the next day at the reenactment of the British debacle before the French redoubt and abatis at what was then called Fort Carillon.

We drove up in modern mufti, for I have not yet made the...my wife assures me "investment" is not the right word...commitment to this hobby, much as it appeals to my lifelong love of living history.  F & I is a family friendly time period, with many families coming in garb and staying in character.  I saw a girl younger than Elias bowing a reel on a tiny fiddle, and many women blending into the ranks ala Deborah Samson as well as in 18th century gender roles.

There were a colonial doctor and his lady, who walked serenely through the brutal heat and later downpour on Saturday, as well as a good number of barelegged painted savages.  Truth be told, though the full kit can run you into thousands of dollars, there were plenty of folks just wandering around in hunting shirts and loin cloths.  I would also observe that at least on the British side, there was a preference for representing the various ranging companies disproportionate to their historic numbers in the King's forces.  The British regulars, while impressive, constituted perhaps 40% of the total forces available on Saturday to assault the French.

As in the actual battle, when British commander General Abercromby left his artillery train with the boats at the North end of Lake George, only the French had cannon.  They also had the advantage of an extensive log breastwork and abatis on which Abercromby sacrificed over 2,000 of the 8,000 troops he sent in frontal assaults all afternoon on July 8th, 1758.  The heaviest casualties were taken by the 42nd Highland Regiment, which loss half of those it sent into action.  There were four reenacting companies of the Black Watch present for the 250th, including grenadiers in bearskins.  We stopped in Fort Edward on the way home to pay our respects at the grave of one of these Scots, the fabled Duncan Campbell of Inverawe about whom I have written before. Here's just a taste...

   

Interview with a Blogger

I am flattered to be profiled with an interview today at a blog and environmental forum called My Greenpeace Buddies.  I was approached to share my thoughts as a blogger who writes about ecological matters, among other things, and was happy to oblige. 

Given my strong preference to focus on areas of common interest rather than positions - except in those cases where reason is clearly out of the question, such as where a certain southern African dictator is concerned - the interview goes strongly down the path of being "occasionally nettlesome" but "fairly non-partisan".  I talked about how individuals and institutions change their behavior and some of what is and is not helpful in that regard. 

I suspect this may be the only time that my right-of-center cousin Tigerhawk gets an acknowledgment in this or indeed any environmental forum.  Anything for bilateral relations, dear readers. And yes, I do know the difference between "affect" and "effect"...just not when I wrote out my responses.  Plus, I found an opportunity to quote from The Last of the Mohicans and it wasn't anything about noble savages.  Fellow English Majors can rest easy that my undergraduate degree is in no immediate danger of revocation.  Mugabe's, however, is another question.

Drop in if you like and check it out.

Name That Ruin

Extra points for its history. 

Tenting Tonight

We are heading for the Northway and the massive French and Indian War Grand Encampment at Fort Ticonderoga this weekend to commemorate the 250th anniversary of the Battle of Carillon.  We will be observers at this event, as were one or two of my ancestors: certainly Reverend Jonathan Ingersoll, Chaplain in Colonel Eleazer Fitch's 4th Connecticut Provincial Regiment, and possibly Lieutenant Elias Dayton of the Jersey Blues who was there the next year when the British took Ticonderoga.  Given my wife's French Canadian heritage, it is possible that some of her ancestors fought with the French.  In any case we'll be camping at Putnam Pond and enjoying the scenery and the gun smoke and a few days away from things like cell phones and blogging. 

Anticipate many pictures on our return.

Sir Robert No More

Sir Robert Mugabe, Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath since 1994, is to be stripped of that honor by Great Britain.  Not that this will matter to him in the least, but it has certainly taken far too long for Britain to get around to disassociating Zimbabwe's brutal dictator from this title.  UMass barely beat the Brits to the punch in revoking Mugabe's honorary degree on June 12th, which he had held since 1986.  The Edinburgh University yanked his 1984 honorary doctorate still earlier on July 17th, 2007.  A belated groundswell?

Not really, as  Michigan State University still refuses to revoke Mugabe's honorary degree. 

Also today, the massive mining concern Anglo American announced it is investing in a Zimbabwe platinum mine to the tune of US$400 million, which is mighty white of them.   Divestment be damned in the global marketplace.  And what's good for Barclays is good for Zimbabwe, right?  But at least they don't have to call him Sir or Dr., anymore.  That's gotta hurt.

"We Apologize Because This Is Not Who We Are"; What Southern Africa Really Owes Zimbabwe

The African National Congress, South Africa's ruling party, has issued a strongly worded statement condemning repression of democratic rights in Zimbabwe under Robert Mugabe.  Meanwhile, the President of South Africa, Thabo Mbeke, who lost control of his own party last December, has remained silent.  In neighboring Namibia, the Prime Minister Nahas Angula voiced concern last week about the upcoming runoff elections in Zimbabwe and called for increasing the number of observers. 

Since then, of course, the opposition leader has pulled out of the elections and fled to the Embassy of the Netherlands in the wake of surging violence and police action against members of his party.  Namibia has not condemned Mugabe's regime either, and its Defense Force Chief has just returned from a 4 day trip to Zimbabwe where he assured the Zimbabwean media:

"The relationship between Namibia and Zimbabwe is growing from strength to strength. We share so many things. We have so many things in common. We would want to build on that relationship,"

What southern Africa nations share with Zimbabwe, in addition to a common history of liberation struggle and instability during the Cold War / Apartheid years, are complex economic dependencies, most significantly with regard to access to electrical power.  This month Namibia doubled its power imports from Zimbabwe. 

"[In March],Nampower advanced US$40 million to Zimbabwe to assist with the refurbishment of four electricity generating units at its coal-fired Hwange Power Station in return for a guaranteed supply of 150 megawatts for the next five years.

NamPower's managing director Paulinus Shilamba said the rehabilitation of the first unit has been completed, allowing for the increased power production.

Shilamba said the utility was not concerned that the deteriorating situation would affect Zimbabwe's ability to honor the agreement despite the power station being plagued with breakdowns and a shortage of parts in the country.

"They (Zimbabwe) have been very good in fulfilling their commitment and we have a lot of confidence in these guys," Shilamba said."

Even as many world powers call for the isolation of Zimbabwe, including a unanimous vote of the UN Security Council which said that "a free and fair election was impossible if violence and intimidation continued",  Russia, China and South Africa blocked stronger language in the UN measure that would have recognized opposition leader Morgan Tsvangirai as "the legitimate president, until another fair election can be held."  China and South Africa are Zimbabwe's biggest trading partners, and both are heavily invested in the regional economy. 

There is also a strong sensitivity in southern Africa to interference in the affairs of sovereign nations.  Namibia, Angola and Zimbabwe overcame these qualms as participants in the The Second Congo War, which was as much a scramble for resources as an expression of solidarity and regional alliances.  Some of this reticence is cultural; with the exception of leaders like Nelson Mandela and Julius Nyerere, there is not a strong tradition of former African leaders making a successful transition to senior statesmen.  Some of it comes from looking over their shoulders.  And some of it is ideological - resistance movements that become ruling parties after achieving Independence are used to identifying external threats and avoiding turning the lens on internal shortcomings.

Alan Little of the BBC cautions his readers today; "Do not underestimate the psychology of Africa's liberation tradition." This tradition is also what makes this e-mail letter from a South African to Zimbabwean refugees who have suffered a murderous backlash in his own country so telling:

"...I have been pondering whether to write this email or not, but mainly because I was ashamed of what this beautiful countries (sic) of ours has become.

In your country:  My democracy was conceived when the MK soldiers fought alongside the ZIPRA forces in what was known as the Wankie Campaign in 1967.  My brothers and sisters were looked after in Lusaka and they were given shelter.  The blood of my brothers and sisters were spilled in Maputo in what was known as Matola raid on January 31, 1981 and your government gave them a state burial.  The blood of my people was spilled in Maseru in what was known as the Maseru Massacre and your government gave them a state burial.  The foundation of my democracy was laid in Mongoro Tanzania in 1969 in what was known as the Morogoro resolution.  Your country gave my people land for them to be educated at Solomon Mahlangu Freedom College (SOMAFCO) in Mazimbu Tanzania.  My soldiers were trained in Uganda, Lusaka, Angola, Mozambique, Algeria, Libya, Cuba, Russia.  They fought in Cuinto Canhavallo alongside their Angolan, Namibian as well as the Cuban comrades in Angola.  My democracy was delivered in Harare when the Harare Declaration was signed with the support of the Frontline States.  my Movement's Congress was held in your country in 1985 in Kitwe, Zambia.

Your people protected, clothed and loved my movement.  My people's struggle became your own struggle.  Not once did you call them with derogatory names.  Not once did you burn my brothers and sisters and not once did you say they are taking your jobs and women.

But most importnatly, I have a home in Harare at pastor Murefu's house, Zimbabwe.  I have a home in Lilongwe at Cyprian's house, Malawi.  I have a home in Kenya at Levi Nyambati's house.  I have a home in Lusaka, Chipata, Mapanza as well as Livingstone with the BBalo and the Mutare family respectively, Zambia.  My brother is lying in Mapanza, Zambia.  I have a home in Mozambique at Pastor Nhantumbo's family (May his soul rest in peace).  I have a home in Ivory Coast as well as DRC Kinshasa with Vincent Tohbi.  I am married to the grand daughter of the Sena people in Malawi, Mozambique as well as Zimbabwe.  My wife's maternal grandparents are in Swaziland.

My brothers, I apologize to you, your friends and your families for the barbaric action that you see in our country.  I apologize to Kenyatta, Nkrumah, Machel, Tongoara, Mwalimu Nyerere, Aostinho Nehto, Mondlane, etc.  I apologize on behalf of my leaders as well as my people that this is not who we are and this is not what makes us.  I apologize and I would like to tell you that this is not the view of my country, but the thuggery elements in our society who will use and drag our name in mud to achieve their evil deeds.  I would also like to assure you that our government as well as the members of our society at large, are working hard to root out these elements in our society.

We apologize because this is not who we are.

I hope you will find it in your hearts to open your doors and not to let these barbaric actions come between our friendship and all the wonderful things we have shared.  My home is your home and I trust and believe that your home will remain my home.  This I write from my heavy heart and i truly apologize on behalf of my firends, my family as well as all South Africans.

Freddy Tshikala, South African"

The return to the bad old days of regional instability and the specter of burning necklace victims once more in the townships have shaken people like Mr. Tshikala and those like him who were raised in a culture of pan-African resistance where "an injury to one is an injury to all."  They grieve for what Zimbabwe has become under Mugabe, their former comrade and supporter.  But they also grieve for what they have become, as nations and people who by their actions and inactions are now complicit in the repression of those who stood by them when the oppressor was always external and not one of their own.  Finding their courage and helping their leaders find theirs is the best hope for Democracy in the region. 

May it come in time for Zimbabwe.