In 2002, at the age of 28, Zoltan Istvan began working as a reporter for the National Geographic Channel, writing articles, taking photos and creating short video stories for their news show National Geographic Today and website.
In all, he wrote about 40 articles and filmed a dozen videos for National Geographic over nearly a 5 year period. Many of the articles and the photos he took also went out for The New York Times Syndicate, where National Geographic writers like himself worked directly with New York Times Editors. The well-known editor John Stickney was his (see below). Some of Zoltan’s Nat Geo videos were syndicated via the Associated Press Television Network.
Zoltan travelled to about 50 countries for National Geographic, and the majority of these years he lived in cheap hotels, jungle camps, or on his sailboat. Suffient to say, it was perhaps the most exciting, dangerous, and rewarding time of his life. And because he pitched almost all his stories to his editors, he wrote about exactly what he wanted to: from Witches Market in Bolvia to pirates in Indonesia to enviornmental issues in the 2020 Athen’s Olympics to religious war in Kashmir. All his photography–thousands of photos–was on slide film.
For many years, most of Zoltan’s stories, photos, and videos could be seen on the NationalGeographic.com, and they were seen by millions. But after Fox & then Disney gained ownership over the channel, nearly all those stories disappeared in 2018 as the website was revamped. Thankfully, the Wayback Machine has archived many of those stories, and he has cached screen shots of the others, or emails of final drafts from his editors. He also has copies of most of the Nat Geo video work. Finally, a few stories, like his essay on the Killing Fields in Cambodia, the perils of bull riding, and his video on illegal deforestation in Paraguay remain on the Nat Geo website and its social media.
He does hope to eventually write a book tenatively called Four Years Before the Golden Rectangle, chronicling the travel stories behind some of his most well-known Nat Geo stories. In the meantime, this page on the website will do it’s best to capture and share his varied work for National Geographic.
Directly below is a list of the Nat Geo articles he published (including some of the photography via his slides), followed by his stories he could find on the net. Then futher below is all the Nat Geo TV and video episodes he could find. A sampling of his photography is below that. Finally, follows a list of all Nat Geo / New York Times Syndicate stories he could find, supplemented by article texts when available.
National Geographic articles from their site:
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2003/05/0530_030530_tvwitchdoctors.html
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/01/0107_040107_tvbombdigger.html
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2003/09/0905_030905_tvlauca.html
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/02/0225_040225_TVbullrider.html
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/01/0121_040121_tvcoastguardrescue.html
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/02/0220_040220_TVcobra.html
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2003/07/0731_030731_tvhidrovia.html
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/02/0204_040204_tvfirefighter.html
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2003/10/1002_031002_iraqlions.html
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2002/12/1219_021219_tvpiracy.html
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/03/0310_040310_TVsubmarine.html
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2003/04/0418_030418_tvmareki.html
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/04/0427_040427_tvtestpilots.html
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2002/11/1105_021105_TVVolcanoboarding.htmlu
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2002/11/1125_021126_TVVanuatu.html
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2003/07/0703_030703_laketiticaca.html
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2003/03/0313_030313_tvpakirefugees.html
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/01/0128_040128_tvcommericalfisher.html
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/05/0521_040521_tvoracles.html
*******
Zoltan Istvan’s National Geographic TV and web video stories:
*******
A small sampling of Zoltan’s Nat Geo photography (they’re screen shots from the web, so the resolution is very low):
Zoltan filming war refugees
Zoltan volcano boarding for Nat Geo
Zoltan outside of Muzafarabad, Pakistan
Zoltan in Pakistan, Kashmir
Zoltan covering WildAid in Cambodia
********
Zoltan Istvan’s New York Times Syndicate stories via National Geographic:
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2003/12/1204_031205_tviberianlynx.html
Tratan de salvar al Tigre Europea
Zoltan Istvan
Con 7.5 kilos de peso, Cromo, un lince ibérico de ocho meses de edad capturado en una
zona agreste, tiene el tamaño de un gato doméstico. Pero sobre sus hombros carga una
pesada responsabilidad.
Cromo es el único lince ibérico en cautiverio. La especie de Cromo enfrenta un peligro
cierto de extinción, dicen las autoridades. Por lo tanto, son cruciales más nacimientos.
El lince ibérico es en ocasiones llamado el Tigre Europeo debido a sus manchas y a su
destreza como cazador. Los machos alcanzan los 90 centímetros de largo, 60 centímetros
de altura y llegan a pesar 14 kilos. En una época su ámbito se extendía hasta el sur de
Francia. En la actualidad, el lince ibérico vive en bolsones aislados, en Portugal y en el sur
de España.
Un censo de 1998 indicó que hay 1,200 linces ibéricos viviendo en estado salvaje. Otro
censo, hecho en el 2002, indicó que la cifra era de apenas 300. Cualquier animal cuya
población es inferior a los 1,000 es considerado en peligro de extinción.
“Las últimas cifras indican que habría unos 150” linces ibéricos, dice Eduardo Goncalves,
director de SOS Lince, un grupo de protección de la fauna silvestre en Lisboa, Portugal, y
coautor de un nuevo libro acerca del lince, titulado “El tigre de Algarve”.
“Pero inclusive esas cifras podrían ser muy optimistas. Nos hallamos claramente en la
etapa de pre-extinción del lince ibérico”, señala.
La muerte por inanición, por caza furtiva, y por accidentes de tránsito, son las principales
razones de la extinción del lince ibérico. Y el desarrollo urbano y la construcción de
carreteras han reducido su hábitat. El año pasado, incendios forestales en Portugal
consumieron 242,000 hectáreas, desalojando al lince y a los animales de que se alimenta.
“El conejo salvaje, alimento favorito del lince, está también amenazado por enfermedades e
incendios forestales”, dice María do Rosario Rodríguez, directora administrativa de la
Asociación de Municipalidades de Alentejano Norte, una organización que ayuda a
proteger el hábitat del lince.
En el zoológico de Jerez, su director Iñigo Sánchez y un equipo de zoólogos y veterinarios
están desarrollando un programa de cría de linces. La intención es adquirir 12 gatos
saludables, la cifra mínima para un exitoso programa de cría.
Hasta ahora, tienen cuatro hembras y a Cromo.
Desde 1994 el zoológico ha estado albergando y en ocasiones cruzando al lince rojo
americano, un pariente cercano del lince.
“Estamos aprovechando de nuestra experiencia en la cría de nuestros linces rojos y de los
consejos obtenidos de expertos de todo el mundo”, dice Sánchez. “Somos cautelosos, pero
tenemos esperanzas de que si adquirimos todos los linces necesarios, estaremos en
condiciones de ampliar la población en sitios silvestres”.
Cromo comparte su hábitat con Attila, un joven lince rojo nacido en el zoológico. Sánchez
espera que Attila y Cromo aprendan a socializar de manera conjunta. Por lo tanto, cuando
Cromo llegue a los dos años de edad, y esté listo para acoplarse con una hembra, conozca
los buenos modales de los gatos.
Un monitor de video registra eventos en el sitio las 24 horas del día.
Con tan escasos linces en estado silvestre, una de las misiones del centro de cría es mejorar
la cepa genética del gato. El descubrimiento de algunos linces “totalmente negros” en zonas
agrestes muestra el impacto de la endogamia.
“Con la mengua del código genético, los linces están perdiendo la resistencia ante las
enfermedades”, dice José Aguilar Iñigo, veterinario del zoológico de Jerez, encargado de
alimentar y de cuidar a Cromo.
El zoológico de Jerez y SOS Lince están coordinado esfuerzos para crear una red de
reservas de linces donde haya también animales que les sirvan de alimentos. Hay además
una campaña de educación para proteger a los linces. Uno de los factores más importantes
para que el gato sobreviva es que las comunidades estén al tanto de los problemas que
enfrenta el animal. Con tan pocos linces en zonas silvestres, la muerte en una carretera o la
captura por parte de cazadores furtivos puede poner en peligro el futuro de un grupo de
gatos en toda una región.
Los defensores del medio ambiente también están presionando a los gobiernos de España y
Portugal para que cesen de construir carreteras en territorios donde viven los linces,
repriman a cazadores ilegales, ayuden a reabastecer las poblaciones de conejos salvajes y
construyan reservas. De lo contrario, los únicos gatos que sobrevivirán serán aquéllos en
cautiverio, como Cromo.
“Europa ha criticado a países en vías de desarrollo por no proteger a grandes gatos en vías
de extinción (como tigres y jaguares)”, dice Goncalves. “¿No es irónico que un gran gato se
extinga en nuestro umbral? Bueno, eso es lo que ocurrirá si no se hace más para salvar al
lince ibérico”.
Visite www.nationalgeographic.com/channel
Zoltan Istvan for National Geogrpahic:
La pequeña ciudad himalaya de Leh, en el estado septentrional de la India de Jammu-Cachemira, cercana a la frontera con el Tíbet, se despierta a la entonación de oraciones musulmanas e hindúes radiadas desde la mezquita y templos principales.
Para las nueve de la mañana en las calles pululan vendedores, turistas y soldados. En otro sitio de Cachemira, un conflicto político de más de medio siglo de duración podría eclosionar en una guerra nuclear entre la India y Pakistán. Pero Leh, con su herencia budista dentro de un estado predominantemente musulmán, si apenas cae en cuenta.
“Aquí no existe la violencia”, menciona Tsewang Dorjey, guía conductor de turistas occidentales por los monasterios budistas en los alrededores de Leh. “Las luchas y los problemas están en Srinagar o Kargil, no aquí en Leh”.
A 11,500 PIES DE ALTURA
A una altitud de 11,500 pies sobre el nivel del mar, Leh domina un panorama de los Himalayas, copeteados de glaciares. El Dalai Lama mantiene una residencia de verano apenas en las afueras del poblado.
Durante siglos Leh y la región circundante de Ladakh formaba parte del Tíbet. La Ruta de la Seda pasaba por Leh. Con una historia profundamente enraizada en el budismo tibetano, los pobladores de Leh tienen una reputación de tolerancia y amabilidad hacia sus vecinos y visitantes.
DE NOCHE Y SIN MIEDO
Leh es uno de los pocos lugares de la Cachemira hindú en donde los soldados frecuentemente van desarmados, donde las gentes de diferentes antecedentes religiosos compran en las tiendas de unas y otras, y en donde los turistas occidentales caminan por las calles ya tarde de noche, sin miedo.
El conflicto hindú-musulmán se centra en la Llanura de Cachemira, cercano a Srinagar. A no más de cien millas de Leh, la gente de Kargil se preocupa por el intercambio de disparos a lo largo de la línea de cese al fuego entre Pakistán y la India.
Leh, arropada en una esquina del estado, es el hogar de una antigua y autóctona comunidad cultural tibetana budista. “Están cultural y geográficamente aislados del conflicto y han podido conservarse al margen”, hace saber Elliot Sperling, profesor asociado de estudios tibetanos de la Universidad de Indiana en Bloomington.
La población de Leh va en aumento. Actualmente son 27,000 habitantes, tres veces más que a mediados de los 80. Parte de la razón de ese crecimiento demográfico obedece a la inmigración de gente de negocios tanto hindú como musulmana que ya no quiere vivir y trabajar en localidades inestables de Cachemira.
COMIDAS Y NO BOMBAS
“¿Por qué tener un puesto de verduras en cualquier otro lugar de Cachemira?, se pregunta Mahmud Khan, musulmán dueño de un pequeño tenderete que se mudó a Leh desde Srinagar. “Aquí mis clientes se preocupan por la comida y no de las bombas que pueden explotar a espaldas de ellos”.
Durante los veranos, los turistas fluyen a Leh. Los hindúes de Nueva Delhi y de otros sitios de la India acuden a henchirse de aire fresco y seco. Budistas de cualquier parte de Asia acuden a explorar y a rezar en los monasterios de los siglos XVI y XVII, conocidos como “gompas”. Los turistas occidentales acuden a deambular por entre uno de los más bellos paisajes a nivel mundial para pasear.
“Leh es un magnífico lugar donde establecer campamento base para excursionar desde él entre los Himalayas”, afirma Kevin Davison, caminante inglés. “La gente del pueblo es muy amigable y sumamente realista”.
LOS ANTECEDENTES
Los problemas en Cachemira se originaron en 1947 cuando Gran Bretaña separó su imperio hindú entre India y Pakistán, en gran parte por densidad de población hindú y musulmana.
A los pocos meses de la división, la India y Pakistán ya estaban en guerra para la retención de Cachemira.
En 1949, las Naciones Unidas indicaron que la gente de Cachemira sostuviera un plebiscito para determinar el futuro de ese estado. El estado de Jammu y Cachemira, incluyendo la región de Ladakh, han permanecido en manos indias. Pakistán retiene Azad Cachemira, una pequeña sección del suroeste de Cachemira, y las Áreas del Norte, hogar del famoso K2.
No ha habido plebiscito.
Durante los últimos 14 años, los enfrentamientos bélicos se han intensificado entre la India y Pakistán al cobijo de terroristas islámicos activos con su “jidah” en contra del gobierno de la India y las tropas de éste en Cachemira.
Aun así, tanto Leh como la región de Ladakh permanecen siendo un oasis. “Creo que la perspectiva budista de tolerancia y amabilidad es parte de la razón por la que las cosas se mantienen estables en esta región de Cachemira”, sugiere Alex Gillespie, candidato al doctorado en psicología y antropología de la Universidad de Cambridge y que ha investigado la interrelación de los turistas y la gente nativa en Ladakh.
La geografía y el clima también ayudan a mantener la paz. Ladakh está muy alejada y es muy pobre en recursos naturales de modo que la Llanura de Cachemira, altamente poblada y exuberante, representa un trofeo más codiciado.
Los inviernos en Leh son tan crudos que fuerzan al aislamiento. La nieve por lo normal corta los caminos hacia el mundo exterior durante seis meses.
“Leh es uno de los lugares más seguros en donde estar en toda la Cachemira”, afirma un soldado hindú al que no se le permitió dar su nombre. “Cuando uno se encuentra en las líneas del frente, siempre sueña en un sitio como Leh”. 
http://mensual.prensa.com/mensual/contenido/2003/08/31/hoy/revista/1218159.html
http://www.greenworld.or.th/1_gwm_12-4.htm
^IN PARAGUAY, FOLK HEALERS
CONFRONT
^IN PARAGUAY, FOLK HEALERS
CONFRONT MODERN MEDICINE@<
^By ZOLTAN ISTVAN@<
^National Geographic Channel@<
^c.2003 National Geographic Channel@<
^(Distributed by The New York Times
Syndicate)@<
¶
¶ Before dawn, Nidia Ferreira opens her small
shop, Pepe, and organizes
a shipment of medicinal plants delivered to her doorstep.
¶ Pepe is on J.A. Flores Street in Mercado
Cuatro, the main marketplace
in Asuncion, Paraguay. Down the block are
more than 100 other sellers
known as medicine women _ folk healers. The street
tables and baskets brim with
plants and herbs from all over Paraguay.
¶ “Hundreds of different types of medicine
plants are sold here every
day,” Ferreira says. “Sellers often come here by
bus for a few days,
then
go back to their homes in the countryside.”
¶ Business is good. But folk healing is in
transition in Paraguay.
¶ Medicinal plants are in vogue _ so much so
that some plants are facing
near-extinction because of the demand. At the
same time, Paraguayans
are converting to modern medicine.
¶ In Paraguay’s Yvytyrusu National Reserve, a
walkabout with Sunilda
the medicine woman leads to a plant called Cola de
Raton (Rat’s Tail),
useful for fever.
¶ Sunilda is the main provider for her family.
But, partly because of
competition from other medicine women, she
faces a scarcity of the plants
that she has picked for a lifetime.
¶ “Every day I have to search farther from my
house than before just
to find the plants I’m after,” Sunilda says. “The
deeper into the forest I go,
the more poisonous snakes there are, too.”
¶ The plants suffer from the demand, says
Gesine Hansel, a
German-born
researcher in Yvytyrusu for Alter Vida, a
Paraguayan conservation
organization. Hansel wrote a master’s thesis at
Gottingen University on
the
marketing of Paraguay’s medicinal plants.
¶ “If too many women pick the plants just to
be sold in markets, the
plants will go extinct in this area,” Hansel says.
“A more
plant-friendly
approach must be taken if the medicine women
want to have an income
from
these plants in five years.”
¶ Curaei Vendramini, a medicine woman in
northern Paraguay,
understands
the problem and may have a solution.
¶ Rather than picking plants in the forest, she
has succeeded at
growing
many of them in her garden _ creating a nursery.
Now she bottles plant
extracts for her patients and for the market.
¶ “Nurseries will be the future for many
medicine women _ especially
if
all the plants in the forest get picked too much,”
Vendramini says.
¶ Flovio Burizuelo, a respected holistic doctor
RIGHT WORD in the
Mercado Cuatro, applauds the nursery idea but
worries about a larger
issue.
¶ “Shamans and medicine women are
increasingly trying and favoring
modern
medicine, such as antibiotics,” Burizuelo says.
“This could have
serious
consequences for traditional and natural healing
methods _ and for the
medicine-woman culture as a whole.”
¶ In the isolated village of Pt. Colon in
northeastern Paraguay, Ana
de
Jesus Benitez, a medicine woman from the
indigenous tribe Enxet,
explains
why perspectives are changing.
¶ “Last week the village chief’s 7-year old
daughter died from a
fever,
Benitez says. “We gave her medicinal plants but
they weren’t strong
enough
to save her. We needed modern medicines and
a doctor.”
¶ Only 20 years ago, doctors and what people
called “strange painted
tablets” were looked down upon. Now few
Paraguayans want to be without
them.
¶ “I first tried the ‘head-ache’ pills (aspirin) 10
years ago,” says
an
elderly medicine woman in the Mbaracayu
Biosphere Reserve who gives her
name only as Ida. “They work much better for
my arthritis than the kapi
una
I cook with my tea.”
¶ Ida’s neighbor, Fernanda Ayala, also a
medicine woman, defends the
tradition.
¶ Ayala and her husband, Gervasio Noceda, a
shaman who contributed to
the
Spanish book “Medicine Plants of the Guarini
Community of Tekoha
Ryapu,”
are skeptical of doctors and modern medicines.
“Guarini” refers to an
indigenous people of Paraguay; Tekoha Ryapu
is a village.
¶ “We want to stay open to changes in
techniques for healing,” says
Ayala, who learned about medicinal plants from
her mother and
grandmother.
“But the only real medicines that can be trusted
are natural ones that
grow
and can be picked.”
¶ Ayala may be swayed soon, though. Her
son, one of the few educated
people in the vicinity, is the administrator of
Tekoha Ryapu, and he
advocates the use of modern medicine.
Copyright 2003 CanWest Interactive, a division of
CanWest Global Communications Corp.
All Rights Reserved
The Gazette (Montreal, Quebec)
January 18, 2003 Saturday Final Edition
HEADLINE: The Tourist Fields: The Killing Fields of Cambodia are one of the most horrific legacies of
the 20th century. Now they are a tourist attraction, and that’s good, the locals say
SOURCE: National Geographic
BYLINE: ZOLTAN ISTVAN
The sight of 8,000 human skulls in a glass shrine stuns visitors into silence. Outside, where cattle usually
graze, human bones sometimes come unearthed after heavy rains.
In Cambodia, 15 kms from Phnom Penh, the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek have become a tourist
attraction, horrifying and fascinating. Choeung Ek is one of thousands of other such sites around the
country where the Khmer Rouge practiced genocide during the late 1970s.
“There are two things you must see in Cambodia,” says Scott Harrison, a traveler from Australia.
“Obviously one is Angkor Wat. But the other is the Killing Fields outside Phnom Penh.”
In the chronicle of 20th century horrors, Cambodia ranks high. For much of the last three decades,
Cambodia has suffered through war, political upheaval and massive genocide.
Recently Cambodia has begun to revive. Its dark past is part of the reason: Tourist curiosity about
Cambodia’s genocide has become big business.
“Tourism has increased by 40 per cent every year since 1998,” says Chhieng Pich, economic counselor at
the Cambodian embassy in Washington, D.C. “Nearly all tourists that visit Cambodia will go see Angkor
Wat. Over 30 percent will visit the Killing Fields, too.”
Few sights in one country can differ more markedly. Angkor Wat, the early 12th-century temple
rediscovered in the 19th century (and designated a World Heritage Site in 1992 by UNESCO), reflects a
profound spirituality.
The Killing Fields documents death. From 1975 to 1979, Pol Pot and his Khmer Rouge soldiers killed 1.7
million Cambodians, or 21 per cent of the population, according to Yale University’s Cambodia Genocide
Program.
A soccer-field-sized area surrounded by farmland, the Killing Fields contain mass graves, slightly sunken,
for perhaps 20,000 Cambodians, many of whom were tortured before death. The bordering trees held
nooses for hangings.
A memorial building stands in the centre of the Killing Fields. Many of the skulls inside were pulled from
the mass graves.
Hundreds of Cambodians now make a living by guiding visitors through the Killing Fields and other
genocide-related sites. Many guides tell harrowing personal stories of how they survived the Khmer
Rouge, often by becoming refugees in Thailand.
Guides explain that bullets were too precious to use for executions. Axes, knives and bamboo sticks were
far more common. As for children, their murderers simply battered them against trees.
The grisly memories translate into income. “Tourist dollars and capitalism are helping me come to terms
with my country’s history – and my own,” says a Cambodian guide at the Killing Fields who did not want
to give his name. He lost his grandfather and uncle to the Khmer Rouge.
“It’s good tourists are coming here interested in Cambodia’s past,” says Stephan Bognar, a liaison officer
for WildAid Cambodia, a nonprofit conservation organization. “They’re boosting the country’s economy
and helping out the people.”
Another notorious site is the Tuol Sleng Museum of Genocide in Phnom Penh. Once a high school, Tuol
Sleng became a torture camp, prison and execution centre. Today the place looks benign, with palm trees
and grass lawns in a suburban setting. From the outside, Tuol Sleng could be a school anywhere in the
world. But inside are weapons of torture, skulls, bloodstains and photographs of thousands of people who
were murdered.
The scene just outside is also heartrending. Amputees of all ages beg near refreshment and souvenir
stands where tourists congregate.
The Khmer Rouge may be long gone, but the land mines they laid are still killing and maiming.
In a country where the annual per capita income is $260 U.S., begging can pay off.
“Beggars can easily make $3-4 a day,” says Lim Sehyo, a Phnom Penh taxi driver and guide. “If you work
it out, that’s over $1,000 a year.”
As taxis full of tourists arrive at the Killing Fields, guides and beggars approach. Horror, memory,
education and livelihood co-mingle at the site.
https://www.phayul.com/news/article.aspx?id=439&t=1
IN GERMANY, A COLD WAR NO-MAN’S-LAND TURNS GREEN
By ZOLTAN ISTVAN
National Geographic Channel
c.2003 National Geographic Channel
(Distributed by The New York Times Syndicate)
It was a Cold War scar that separated East and West Germany for
four decades _ a narrow strip of land 866 miles long, from the Baltic Sea to
the Czech border, land-mined, barb-wired and guarded by about 38,000
soldiers from both sides.
Now, though, the zone that Germans called the “Death Strip” is soon
to bloom end-to-end in a new incarnation _ the Gruenes Band, or Green
Belt.
Inspired by the German project, a new international movement, Green
Belt Europe, is under way to preserve the entire 7,000-mile-long Iron
Curtain border strip, from the Barents Sea to the Adriatic.
The German greening points the way. “It’s going to be Germany’s
longest nature sanctuary,” says Hellmut Naderer, an agricultural engineer
and head of the conservation department at the German state
environmental bureau in Plauen. “We’re connecting piece after piece of the
former border until there is just one long green belt for wildlife and plants to
thrive in.”
A bird’s-eye view shows a green swath cutting across the German
landscape. Patches of forest and vegetation interrupt towns, villages
and farmlands. The strip’s width varies from 30 yards to 1,000 yards. About
60 percent of the area is forests, grasslands, lakes and rivers,
encompassing 109 different habitat types.
Animal populations within the Green Belt are sometimes three times
as large as those just a few miles away. Creatures thrive there because
business didn’t locate too close to the border _ for fear of proximity
to “the enemy.”
Among countless other creatures in residence are species on
Germany’s endangered “red list,” including the fish otter, black stork,
red-backed shrike and flowing water dragonfly.
Bird watchers have long noticed that the no-man’s-land is a
sanctuary. During the Cold War era, hunters were kept away.
“Animals and plants that couldn’t survive on East and West
Germany’s extensive farmlands found the Green Belt a haven of protection,”
says Liana Geidezis, a wildlife biologist and project manager of the Green
Belt project, in Nuremberg, which has helped coordinate the conservation
efforts.
The idea for the conversion has circulated for 30 years. In 1989,
German conservationists appealed to the government to preserve the
Former border as a wildlife sanctuary. In 1998, BUND, a German
conservation organization in Berlin and now the administrator of the Green
Belt project, stepped up the process by leading a fund-raising campaign
that enabled the purchase of select pieces of land in the zone.
Because the government owned more than 65 percent of the land, BUND
and other German environmental organizations like NABU in Bonn
campaigned hard to persuade the government to donate border land.
This year, at a “Perspectives on the Green Belt” conference in
Bonn, Juergen Trittin, Germany’s environment minister, announced that the
federally owned land would be given to the conservation organizations and
to the German states encompassing the border. “It was a big success for
Germany’s Green Belt and the conservation groups,” says Geidezis, who
has worked on the project for five years.
Now the Green Belt may replace the entire Iron Curtain, the former
border along the so-called Communist Bloc countries.
Already, a Russia/Finland green belt project is under way. Czech
Republic conservationists recently held a first meeting to discuss
Greening the common border with Germany and Austria. Conservationists
are hoping that Hungary and other Eastern European countries will follow
suit.
Green Belt groups are also working with government agencies to
preserve historic sites and memorials along the border. For example, at
the Grenzland Museum, along a former border strip in Eichsfeld, Germany,
conservation and nature displays stand next to Cold War machine guns and
military uniforms
“It’s really been exciting to see the government and the
conservation groups come together to preserve both nature and the special
history of the old border,” says Horst Dornieden, Grenzland Museum
director. That a Death Strip can become a Green Belt is a potent symbol of
reunification and rebirth.
http://thestar.com.my/lifestyle/story.asp?file=/2003/12/16/features/6642501&sec=features
FOR THE ATHENS 2004 GAMES, ENVIRONMENTAL STAKES ARE HIGH
By ZOLTAN ISTVAN
National Geographic Channel
c.2003 National Geographic Channel
Distributed by The New York Times Syndicate
> Long before the 2004 Summer Games,
> environmentalists and Olympics
> developers have dueled over whether a new venue
> imperils an environmentally
> sensitive, historically significant area 24 miles
> from Athens.
> The Schinias Rowing and Canoeing Olympic Center
> is under construction
> in a marshland and pine forest _ the last
> significant coastal wetland in
> Attica. The center includes two man-made lakes each
> more than a mile long,
> stands for 15,000 spectators, dining facilities and
> a helicopter pad.
> “It’s an outrage,” says Demetres Karavellas,
> director of the World
> Wildlife Fund, Greece, based in Athens. “The
> Schinias site hosts 176
> species of birds _ many that are rare, one locally
> endemic fish species and
> one of Greece’s three remaining Stone Pine forests
> on sand dunes, a
> priority preservation habitat for the European
> Commission. Nothing should
> be allowed to be built there.”
> Biodiversity and history overlap at Schinias. In
> 490 B.C., Athens
> defended itself against invading Persians at the
> Battle of Marathon, which
> partly took place in the Schinias wetlands.
> “It’s just another reason why the Olympic Rowing
> and Canoeing complex
> should not have been built there, says Irini
> Gratsia, an archaeologist for
> the Hellenic Society for the Protection of the
> Environment and the Cultural
> Heritage, in Athens.
> “Excavations were not carried out in full and
> now that the artificial
> lakes are there, it may be impossible to find all
> the remains,” Gratsia
> says. “In addition, think of the symbolic value of
> the place. Would the
> Americans build a stadium on their Gettysburg
> battlefield for the Atlanta
> Olympics?”
> For five years, environmentalists and
> preservationists have battled
> against the new site.
> In partial response to the opposition movement,
> a presidential decree
> in 2001 created the National Park of Schinias, with
> specific allowance for
> the Olympics.
> The Schinias complex is nearly complete, and a
> successful competition
> has already been staged on the new lakes.
> The Olympics hardly represent the only threat to
> the environment in
> Schinias. Development has come in the form of a
> small airport, housing,
> farming and landfills. And motocross riders created
> trails in the area.
> Olympics officials feel that they heeded the
> opposition.
> “Archaeological and environmental issues were
> carefully considered
> beforehand,” says George Kazantzopoulos, manager of
> the Athens 2004
> Olympics’ environment department.
> The new park, Kazantzopoulos points out, “gives
> far more protection to
> the area than there ever was before.”
> To opposition leaders the park with its Schinias
> Center was simply a
> sop to lower the political hurdles to construction
> in Schinias.
> “When other national parks gets created, dozens
> of workers and
> bulldozers don’t start driving through it, creating
> a massive sporting
> venue complete with restaurants, a gas station, and
> mass-transportation
> means in a forest,” says Karavellas.
> “That’s not how protected areas are supposed to
> be treated. This
> decision sets a dangerous precedent for all Greece’s
> other national parks.”
> In response to environmental concerns, the
> Olympics committee has
> introduced conservation measures. Fire-safety
> sprinklers now dot the Stone
> Pine forest. And all construction is outlawed,
> except for the Olympic
> venue.
> “Honestly, look at some of the issues at hand,”
> says Kazantzopoulos.
> “If anything archaeological was found, experts were
> called in immediately
> to determine its importance.”
> Kazantzopoulos points out environmental
> benefits: replenished water for
> the pine forest, which farm use had increasingly
> been draining; more
> conservation for wildlife and plants; and better
> oversight of tourism.
> “At the end of the Olympics, Schinias will be in
> better shape than when
> we first came,” Kazantzopoulos says.
> One more benefit of the duel over Schinias is
> that officials in
> Beijing, looking forward to the 2008 Games, have
> taken notice. China hopes
> to avoid pre-Games contention by choosing venues
> carefully.
*****
CAMBODIANS SEEK A BALANCE BETWEEN AGRICULTURE AND WILDLIFE
by Zoltan Istvan
National Geographic Channel
c.2004 National Geographic Channel
(Distributed by the New York Times Syndicate)
In the Cardamom Mountains of southwest Cambodia, many farmers can
cite
the exact amount of time they spent in labor camps under the Khmer
Rouge.
“Three years, eight months and 20 days,” says Kley Phim. She and
her
husband live in the Thmar Bang district in the Koh Kong province _ 40
years
ago, a major rice-producing region for Cambodia.
The couple is trying to rebuild a farming life destroyed by Pol
Pot’s
regime. “My husband’s mother was killed by the Khmer Rouge in the
village
of Arrang,” says Phim.
Land mines and unexploded ordnance still worry farmers in the
neighboring fields. But another challenge is how to balance the demands
of
development and the environment.
The region’s agriculture is flourishing _ and threatening some of
the
most pristine forests in Asia, the habitat for 14 endangered species,
including the Asian elephant, Indochinese tiger and the Siamese
crocodile
(once presumed extinct).
The 17,000-square-mile Cardamom region, with peaks up to 5,000
feet, is
home to 30 percent of Cambodia’s tigers. One of the last elephant
migration
routes in Asia passes through. Increasingly, farmers cross paths with
families of elephants.
Sometimes the elephants are shot if they destroy crops. Poachers
prey
on the elephants _ as food and for the illegal wildlife trade.
When the Khmer Rouge took over, many villagers were forcibly
relocated
to labor camps. Fields lay fallow. Now the Chai Phat region is striving
to
regain its stature as one of Cambodia’s major rice production centers.
During wartime, few companies, national or international, received
commissions to log the forest.
Traditionally, Chi Phat farming succeeded because of what
environmentalists call “shifting agriculture”: New forest plots are cut
down every year to open up the most nutrient-rich soil, then not
reused.
Two decades ago, when Chi Phat residents began returning, they
followed
that pattern.
“Every time trees are cut down to make a new rice field, animals
lose
their homes and the forest is compromised,” says Ty Sokhun, director of
Cambodia’s forestry and wildlife department, which supports programs in
the
Cardamoms that teach farmers about sustainable agriculture.
More than 700 families live in the Chi Phat community, which
consists
of the villages of Chi Phat, Kamlot, Chom Sla, and Tenk Laak.
“Few of the farmers have land titles to the forests they are
cutting
down,” says Ai Ouy, Chi Phat commune chief and farmer. “No one really
knows
who the land belongs to so people just cut it down for themselves and
use
it for that year.”
The government wants to preserve the mountains and the animals
there.
Surveyors have been trained to help farmers determine land boundaries,
a
way to manage “shifting agriculture.” Conservation International, with
an
office in Phnom Penh, and other groups are providing support.
But in Chi Phat community meetings, farmers are passionately
debating
the land-reform program. Many farmers fear that the government may
restrict
access to their fields _ and to the forests they plan to cut down in
the
future, which they’ve long considered their own.
“I would like to have a title to the land my family and I live and
work
on,” says Phim. “But what if they cut the size of our farm lands in
half?
Or what if they say we have to move since the land isn’t really ours?”
Ouy understands the forests and wildlife around his community are
disappearing. He tries to talk with villagers about the problem in
community meetings.
“Villagers are poor,” Ouy says. “Many are struggling just to get
by.
Shifting agriculture is something the people have practiced for a
hundred
years. It’s going to be difficult to stop them from doing it.”
Yuth Phouthang, the district governor of Koh Kong province, who
issues
land titles in Chi Phat, is hoping that if the villagers learn
sustainable
agriculture techniques, farmers will prosper _ but not at the expense
of
the forest.
“Right now it’s difficult to teach so many farmers to break their
old
habits,” says Phouthang. “Many of the people just want to be left alone
to
farm in peace. But we’re hopeful in time they’ll change and stop
cutting
down the forests.”
*******
REGIONAL CONFLICT WORSENS THE PLIGHT OF KASHMIR REFUGEES
^By ZOLTAN ISTVAN@<
^National Geographic Channel@<
^c.2003 National Geographic Channel@<
^(Distributed by The New York Times Syndicate)@<
Seven miles outside Jammu, the summer capital of Jammu and Kashmir,
India’s northernmost state, a slum has risen _ Nagrota refugee camp, home
to about 5,000 Kashmiri Hindus known as Pandits.
Nagrota is just one of scores of other camps in the Jammu region that
house as many as a quarter-million Pandit refugees. The Pandits trace their
heritage back 5,000 years. Until the late 1980s, when Islamic militants
began to force them out, they lived in the Kashmir Valley, only 50 miles
away.
To the Pandits’ dismay, the camps are developing into a permanent
community, complete with postal addresses.
At Nagrota, just off the Srinagar-Jammu national highway, the Pandits
live in cramped, two-room concrete dwellings built by the Indian
government. The roads are dirt, and trash is everywhere. Running water and
electricity are uncertain.
“It’s a far cry from our former lives, where we had money and owned
farms and large houses,” says Bansi Rania, a Nagrota resident since 1991.
“I don’t know when we’ll get back home. I don’t even know if our homes and
farms are still there.”
Kashmir remains one of the world’s most volatile areas, contested by
two nations with nuclear weapons. And of course Afghanistan shares a border
with Pakistan.
In the Kashmir Valley itself, almost all the remaining Hindus are
Pandits _ less than 20,000 of them, according to Michael Scott, policy
analyst at the U.S. Committee for Refugees in Washington. Though the valley
is in Indian hands, the Indian army can’t fully protect the Pandits there.
“I’m afraid to go into the valley,” says Janak Smjh, a truck driver who
once lived in Srinagar _ the heart of the Kashmir Valley _ and now a
resident of Bhour, another refugee camp. “I’m afraid to even drive through
it. You never know when someone will shoot at you or throw a rock at you.”
The outbreaks of violence dim the Pandits’ hopes.
“If the Indian government can’t assure the safety of the Pandits in the
valley, then it’s doubtful the people will be able to return anytime soon
to their homes,” says Vijay Nagaraj, director of Amnesty International
India, in New Delhi.
Scott points out that the conflict in the valley has taken on a life of
its own. “Whether or not the people are pawns in the struggle between India
and Pakistan may be subject to debate, but there is no doubt that they are
victims of that struggle,” says Scott. “They may fall victim as well to
even broader geopolitical struggles, as repercussions from Afghanistan and
the end of the Taliban regime in Kabul are felt in the region and the
valley.”
The roots of the Kashmir dispute go back to 1947 when Britain
partitioned India and Pakistan, largely along the lines of religion.
Kashmir, with its Muslim majority, became part of India. War followed _ and
Kashmir was divided between India and Pakistan. China controls a small
section of eastern Kashmir.
From 1989 to 1991, Muslim militant groups, fearing absorption by India,
drove the Pandits from their homes.
Rania remembers the horror. “The violence and the threats in the valley
were getting worse every month,” he says. “People were told by Islamic
terrorists to leave their homes in two days or be shot.”
The horror continues, and the refugees’ plight deepens. “Very little
has been done for refugees in the Kashmir conflict, either by the Indian
government or by international governments,” says Chand Ji Khar, a Pandit
and president of Vitasta Samaj Seva, an Indian social organization in Jammu
that works for the welfare of Kashmiri Pandits.
“Most of the efforts of Vitasta Samaj Seva are spent on trying to
rebuild our lives and communities here in Jammu _ not on getting back home
anymore,” Khar says. “There is still too much violence going on in the
Kashmir Valley for Hindus to live there safely.”
The memory of better times lingers for a Kashmiri Muslim houseboat
owner on Dal Lake in Srinagar (who didn’t want to give his name for fear of
reprisal by Islamic militants).
“I’m appalled by what’s happened to the Kashmiri Pandits,” the
houseboat owner says. “I’m appalled by this whole war. I hope the Pandits
can soon return home and that the extremists will leave them alone. For
centuries the Kashmir Hindus and Muslims lived in peace. I hope we can do
that again.”
*******
COASTAL OIL SPILLS REMAIN A WORLDWIDE MENACE
By ZOLTAN ISTVAN
National Geographic Channel
c.2003 National Geographic Channel
(Distributed by The New York Times Syndicate)
In 1978, off the coast of Brittany, the Amoco Cadiz tanker ran
aground,
dumping 220,000 tons of crude oil — one of the world’s worst oil-spill
disasters.
International volunteers, emergency personnel and citizens of
Brittany
raced to the white sand beaches to help save the area. Most volunteers
brought only shovels from home and buckets to collect the oil.
“Since that time, not much has changed in the technology of coastal
oil
cleanup,” says Edward Owens, a geologist, principal of Polaris Applied
Sciences in Bainbridge Island, Wash., and a specialist with more than
three
decades’ experience in oil-spill cleanups, including the Exxon Valdez
in
Alaska in 1989. “Ninety percent of coastal oil cleanup is often still
manual, just as it was with the Amoco.”
A report from the World Wildlife Fund-Spain dramatically underscores
the
threat of oil spills: “The Prestige: One Year On, a Continuing
Disaster.”
This month last year, the Prestige — 26 years old, single-hulled
(today
stronger boats are double-hulled) and laden with 77,000 tons of oil —
snapped in half off the northwest coast of Spain.
“Since the start of the Prestige disaster, around 25,000 sea birds
have
been found dead or injured as the result of exposure to the pollution,”
writes author Raul Garcia, marine officer of WWF-Spain.
Not only seabirds suffered.
In January, as a result of the Prestige, the French government
banned
the harvesting of some oysters and other shellfish near Bordeaux.
Scores of
fisherman who bring in an annual haul of 12,000 tons of oysters from
the
area could no longer earn their living. Tourism also suffered.
Once a spill happens, several forces come into play, the report
points
out. Nature itself can help restore a shoreline. The heavy wave action
along the Brittany shore has sped recovery.
Where man rushes to help nature, results are mixed. Cleanup methods
depend on the toxin and shoreline at hand.
After a spill, scientists frame what is called a net environmental
benefit analysis, weighing factors like animal and plant populations,
budgets and socioeconomic concerns.
“Generally, whatever toxic element you have, you want to wash it up,
pick it up, or suck it up as quickly as possible with as little damage
to
the environment as possible,” Owens says. “And this is usually best
done
manually since only the human eye and hand is sensitive enough to
protect
living creatures and the ecosystem.”
An example is the spill from the tanker Erika off Brittany on
Christmas
Day in 1999 — 13,000 tons of diesel fuel oil.
More than 1,000 people, including many volunteers, rallied to help
clean
up the spill.
Crew members and volunteers wore chemical-resistant apparel,
including
goggles and gas masks, and carried shovels and buckets. Professionals
brought in liquid-sucking vacuums, biodegradable oil dispersants and
high-pressured hoses that shoot heated seawater.
A cleanup itself can threaten an area, too. In five of every 100
instance, heavy machinery comes in — many with sift/belt moving
devices to
pick up oil. But the 10-ton tractors can wreak havoc on already fragile
environments.
In the technology of cleanups, a promising innovation is a version
of
so-called bioremediation: pushing oil-tainted sand into breakers and
letting nature cleanse it there.
“This technique helps oil in water get metabolized by naturally
occurring bacteria and microbes — which then chemically change into
carbon
dioxide, a naturally occurring element,” Owens says.
Prevention, of course, is the best strategy. In the aftermath of
catastrophes like the Prestige and the Erika, organizations like WWF
and
Greenpeace have launched international campaigns that have made an
impact
on the European Commission, the institutional arm of the European
Union.
“I absolutely agree on the need for strong action now,” Loyola de
Palacio, EC vice president, wrote to Greenpeace. “We are accelerating a
number of measures, including the publication of an indicative black
list
of substandard ships that would have been denied access to European
ports
(under a new directive).”
Reform is on government minds for another reason. The bill for the
Prestige cleanup, according to the WWF-Spain report, may total nearly 6
billion dollars.
*******
IN PARAGUAY RESERVE, A LONE RANGER FIGHTS FOR THE ENVIRONMENT
By ZOLTAN ISTVAN
National Geographic Channel
c.2003 National Geographic Channel
(Distributed by New York Times Special Features)
In Paraguay’s Yvytyrusu National Reserve, dawn arrives in mist
rising
from the mountain rain forest.
In a faded uniform and worn leather boots, Mariono Alberto Martinez,
the
lone ranger in the 60,000-acre reserve, waits for his ride to arrive
along
the dirt road by his concrete home. On the window a sign says, “Those
who
take care of nature take care of themselves.”
Martinez, who holds a degree in agriculture and forestry, has worked
in
Yvytyrusu for 11 years. His mission is to protect the reserve from the
forces large and small that threaten it. Miners, loggers and poachers
covet
the natural resources there.
A jeep from Alter Vida, a Paraguayan conservation organization,
arrives
to collect Martinez — off for another round of visits to villages and
farmers to spread the word about the need to preserve the environment
so it
can continue to sustain man and wildlife.
Yvytyrusu abounds with armadillos, foxes, monkeys, snakes and seven
species of butterfly unique to the reserve. For 15 years no official
sighting of jaguars has been made, but two years ago, residents claim
to
have found jaguar tracks.
The reserve is a South American Eden. A favorite destination is
Salto
Suizo, a 100-foot waterfall. Nine Paraguayan rivers begin in this
region,
nourishing towns hundreds of miles away.
“But there’s less and less water every year,” Martinez says.
“Logging
and mining are changing the landscape. The pool at Salto Suizo is much
lower than it was a couple years ago.”
A major occupational hazard for Martinez is bribery.
In one instance that made the national news, Martinez reported a
bribe
attempt by a Brazilian businessman who, in a subsequent court case, was
barred from operating in Paraguay again.
“It happens to me two or three times a year,” Martinez says.
“Companies
and people come to me with gifts and cash and ask me to not report
illegal
logging and mining. But this reserve is my life. I’m not going to let
people destroy it for anything.”
Martinez’ job also requires diplomacy in working with the local
population — about 12,000, mainly subsistence farmers.
The ranger has authority to make arrests and to use a firearm, but
he
rarely carries his gun. When Martinez encounters local people cutting
down
trees or starting quarries, he resorts more to persuasion than
prosecution.
Martinez has known and worked with the people for years. He hears
the
story often: Somebody is sick, and emergency money is necessary. The
farmers can’t wait a whole season to sell their crops. A quick way to
pay
medical bills is to log a few trees or to dig rocks to sell to gravel
companies.
“Martinez’ job is not easy — he has to be a policeman, a friend and
a
teacher at the same time,” says Gesine Hansel, a German researcher and
project coordinator at Alter Vida who wrote her master’s thesis at
Gottingen University on Paraguay’s medicinal plants.
Hansel works with Martinez trying to help Yvytyrusu residents
develop
ways to grow sellable medicinal plants like doradilla (for stomach
pains)
and jaguarete ka’a (for indigestion).
The plants take up less land than other cash crops like cotton and
sugar
cane. Land is at a premium since expansion in certain protected areas
is
forbidden.
Also, farmers often practice methods that don’t take full advantage
of
their land.
A constant threat is slash-and-burn agriculture, when farmers open
up
new land illegally by clear-cutting the trees and burning the stumps
and
underbrush.
On any given day from a high peak, Martinez sees smoke rising from
recently logged areas in the reserve. Within days, forests become
smoldering wastelands.
“Some of the children want to stay here in the reserve and raise
families of their own,” says Yvytyrusa farmer Jose Hernandez. “They’re
going to need land to farm on. Everyone asks themselves: Is preserving
a
forest worth more than feeding your own hungry children?”
Martinez speaks at meetings in local schools to urge the farmers to
use
sustainable farming techniques like crop rotation.
He shows as well as tells. Martinez cultivates indigenous trees in
his
own nursery and brings along the seedlings, hoping to encourage farmers
to
plant them, too.
“I think the best way to try to solve the problems is by talking and
educating people on sustainable farming and safe environmental
practices.
After all, it’s not just my reserve, it’s theirs too. In 20 years,” he
says, “if there’s no forest and rivers left, we’ll all suffer — every
single one of us.”
*******
^IN URUGUAY, THE MUSIC KNOWN AS ‘CANDOMBE’ UNITES BLACK AND
WHITE@<
^By ZOLTAN ISTVAN@<
^National Geographic Channel@<
^c.2003 National Geographic Channel@<
^(Distributed by New York Times Special Features)@<
A warm night breeze floats through a poor, mixed-race neighborhood
of
colonial-era houses in Montevideo, Uruguay _ and carries the music of
liberation.
On Peatonal Curuguaty Street, hundreds of young people gather
around 10
drummers pounding out the scorching rhythms of the traditional music
known
as candombe.
Soon dancers surround the drummers and, then, spontaneously, the
crowd
becomes a carnival parade, snaking through the streets. As drummers and
dancers move from block to block, more Montevideans pour out and join
in.
The so-called Sunday night jam is the sight and sound of a new
society.
The crowd includes whites and blacks _ an integration almost unheard-of
25
years ago.
Like reggae in Jamaica, candombe energizes the movement to bring
recognition and a voice to the Afro-Uruguayans, as the descendants of
slaves call themselves. But this street music has become a cultural
outpouring that black and white Uruguayans now embrace as their
national
music.
“Candombe has always been a celebration of the black spirit,” says
Waldemar Silva, a director of candombe theater shows during
Montevideo’s
Carnival and throughout the year. “When that spirit was taken from
Africa
to Uruguay, it became a tool for change and for freedom.”
Candombe, traditionally played on a tambor-like drum, springs from
the
music, dance and drama of Central and West Africa, researchers say.
Candombe’s origins still resonate in certain rhythms and dance
gestures.
“Candombe is very interactive,” says Lyneise Williams, a doctoral
candidate at Yale University writing a thesis is on the Uruguayan
artist
Pedro Figari, who frequently painted candombe scenes.
“There is drumming, dances and performances with specific
characters.
As the drummers march down the street they will occasionally put down
their
instruments and act out scenes. Spectators will also join in, playing
the
role of a certain character.”
The slave trade shipped millions of Africans to the Americas.
During
the 18th and 19th century, slaves from Argentina and Brazil were
imported
to Uruguay. They brought their candombe with them.
During the 19th century, colonialists tried to ban candombe but the
slaves took it underground. The outlaw music, practiced in secret, came
to
symbolize defiance.
Today the Afro-Uruguayans number around 100,000, or about 6 percent
of
the population. Last year a U.S. State Department report on human
rights in
Uruguay pointed out that on average they earn less than 60 percent of
the
median income of the white population.
During the past 30 years, candombe has come into the mainstream.
Under
an 11-year military dictatorship that ruled Uruguay from 1973 TO 1984,
interest in the music intensified. Its rhythm and rebelliousness
influenced
white musicians and, with the addition of Spanish elements, it became
ever
more widespread.
“Candombe differs from one black neighborhood to another,” says
Williams. “(Those local forms) are in turn quite different from the
popularized fusion candombe that is Uruguay’s export.”
“Candombe has grown much larger than anyone ever thought it would,”
says Lagrima Rios, president of Mundo Afro, a black cultural and
political
organization. “At Mundo Afro we’re thrilled with its growth since
candombe
is still strongly associated with the Afro-Uruguayan cause for racial
equality.”
However, “it’s not like there’s enormous amounts of discrimination
going on against Afro-Uruguayans,” says Alicia Garcia Suarez, a
coordinator
for GAMA, a black women’s organization.
“It’s just the small things _ like many black women continue to be
maids for white people and their businesses because it’s too difficult
to
get jobs doing something else. It’s the same kind of work that black
women
have been doing for nearly three centuries. It’s time for a change.”
To its adherents, candombe symbolizes the imagination, energy and
passion of a people poised for change.
Candombe, on the tambor and on contemporary instruments, reigns at
Carnival and in everyday celebrations like birthdays. Clubs and bars
like
the popular El Pony Pisador feature it. Street performers play it for
the
tourists in the Plaza Independencia. The music also goes along when
protesters rally in front of Montevideo’s police headquarters.
Mundo Afro holds weekly classes on instruction in candombe drumming
that blacks and whites attend.
“The message is always the same,” says Luis Julio Acuna, who works
in
the Mundo Afro Media Center. “We try to teach the basics of the music
and
rhythm. But we also remind students of candombe’s history and its use
as a
tool to end racial injustice.”
On Peatonal Curuguaty Street, after the Sunday night jam moves on,
the
candombe spirit lingers in the air.
******
A SOUTH PACIFIC WAR JUNKYARD BECOMES A DIVER’S PARADISE
By ZOLTAN ISTVAN
National Geographic Channel
c.2003 National Geographic Channel
(Distributed by New York Times Special Features)
Under the aqua-blue waters of Million Dollar Point, on the South
Seas
island of Espiritu Santo, Vanuatu, the view is of countless schools of
exotic species of fish — swimming in multicolored splendor among the
hulks
of tons of rusting, coral-encrusted military equipment.
The mile-long graveyard of wreckage is the namesake for one of the
South
Pacific’s most unusual, and most renowned, dive destinations — and an
example of how nature can transform even the castoffs of war into a
haven.
Only a mile away from Million Dollar Point is another celebrated
dive
site — the S.S. President Coolidge, which sank in 1942 after
accidentally
colliding with Allied mines. More than 600 feet long, it is reputedly
“the
largest amateur divable shipwreck in the world.”
The archipelago of Vanuatu formerly was New Hebrides. During World
War
II, the islands served as a staging area for some of the most
far-reaching
battle campaigns in the Pacific Theater.
Up to September 1945, more than a half-million allied troops moved
through New Hebrides. A major Allied naval base, designed to hold
100,000
troops, fed, housed and supplied them in the town of Luganville on
Santo,
Vanuatu’s largest island.
After V-J Day, however, as a farewell to the war, American forces
assembled the military equipment on the island — millions of dollars’
worth — and drove or pushed it off a jetty into the water off the
eastern
point of Segond Channel, on Santo’s southern coast.
“I reckon that 99 percent of the junk was earthmoving equipment,”
says
Allan Power, a dive tour operator who has lived on the island since
1969.
“There are bulldozers, cranes, trailers, forklifts and trucks — also
electrical equipment, building materials, tires, generators, bags of
cement
and even crates of Coke.”
In 1983 the government of Vanuatu designated Million Dollar Point as
a
protected historical reserve — the better to preserve it for marine
life
that swims among the ghosts and the tourists who want to pocket World
War
II artifacts.
At low tide the shore is a litter of rusty wreckage — crane
loaders,
engine parts and axles. Underwater, though, the junk becomes a jungle
as
time, corrosion and coral encrustation soften and disguise the original
purpose.
There swim the denizens: angelfish, eels, groupers, triggerfish and
myriad other species above the hard and soft corals and sea cucumbers.
At 75 feet, divers congregate near an upright fork lift and take
turns
“driving” it. A half-minute’s swim away is a bulldozer that hasn’t
pushed
anything except memories for nearly 60 years.
In Santo’s dive bars a lively debate goes on about why all the
equipment
was junked.
The most common opinion is that it was too costly to ship everything
home to the states. Transport vessels were reserved for the thousands
of
soldiers on Santo, eager to get home.
Some island residents, though, grouse that when their forebears
refused
to buy the equipment at the going rate of eight cents on the dollar,
the
military drove it all into the drink, for spite.
The irony is that the waste has turned into an undersea treasure
trove.
“At the time it seemed like junking all the equipment was the worst
thing possible for a country that was developing,” says Barry Holland,
a
dive guide at Million Dollar Point. “But what people see now is that
the
impact on tourism has been significant.
“Hundreds of people travel every year to Santo to dive on the
President
Coolidge and Million Dollar Point. It’s really been a boost to the
local
economy and tourism is one of those businesses that just keep on
building.”
“Yes, at the time the locals were angry with the Americans for
wasting
such valuable equipment,” says Ian Mahit, a Vanuatu motel manager. “But
because of their actions Santo now has a steady business of tourism.”
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