The Currency of Paper

by Alex Kovacs

  In 1975, East Timor had been the site of an attempt to create a Communist government. Therefore the American supply of arms and silence in the face of atrocity can be seen within the pattern of the U. S. destruction of Communist governments, including those which had been formed for example in Chile, Nicaragua, Grenada, and Guatemala. East Timor was an example of the British collusion in these actions.

  In 1994, Alan Clark, who had served as the Conservative Minister for Defence Procurement from 1989 to 1992 made the following statement on British national television: “My responsibility is to my own people and my own constituents, and I don’t really fill my mind with what one set of foreigners is doing to another. One has to say, what is it that is so terribly special about the people of East Timor to the people here?” Such statements betray an insolent, callous disregard for the sanctity of human life. When paying a visit to Indonesia in 1985 Thatcher bluntly stated that “East Timor is not a matter for Britain.” This small-minded indifference to the wider world seeped through into many spheres of British life during this period.

  The Iran-Iraq War lasted from 1980 to 1988 and was instigated by an Iraqi invasion of Iranian territory. Despite this, throughout the ’80s, high-ranking members of the British government repeatedly visited Iraq to discuss, amongst other things, the sale of arms. A Joint Commission was set up, meeting annually to make trade agreements. As a consequence Thatcher gave Iraq a £250 million loan to help its ailing war-time economy. This was followed by a meeting in Baghdad in 1988 which resulted in a deal that allowed £340 million of export credit.

  During these years only “non-lethal” military equipment was to be sold to Iraq, although this definition rather obviously ignores the fact that all military equipment is lethal. Tanks, land rovers, radars, and uniforms were all dutifully supplied. Computer-controlled lathes and high precision machine tools were also sold. These were used to make components for shells and missiles. Sales to Iraq of this equipment totalled £31.5 million in 1988. Throughout the Iran-Iraq conflict the British government allowed Iraqi military personnel to be trained by the British armed forces or at Ministry of Defence establishments. At one point in the early ’80s around 4,000 members of the Iraqi military were being trained in the U.K. yet despite this long term support of the Iraqi regime, as soon as Iraq invaded Kuwait in 1990 it seems they were no longer permitted to use any of the arms that had repeatedly been sold to them by the Western powers.

  The largest arms deals in world history were conducted between the U.K. and Saudi Arabia in 1986 and 1988. These resulted in the sale of hundreds of military aircraft and naval vessels worth £40 billion. The deal became known as “Al Yamamah,” which means “The Dove.” This deal was only secured after Thatcher abandoned a holiday and entered the talks herself. It seems that this ensured an enormous and illegal “commission” for her son Mark who is estimated to have made £12 million during negotiations. Much of the deal was paid for in oil. Saudi Arabia agreed to supply the U. K. with 600,000 barrels of oil a day, a quantity which continues to account for about one third of all oil consumed in the U. K. at the present time. Shell and British Petroleum were given the rights to this much sought after substance. All profits, after deductions had been made by the oil companies, would then be given, via the government, to British Aerospace. It should not be forgotten that to trade with Saudi Arabia is to sanction a government which has no qualms about imprisoning or torturing its opponents.

  All of these arguments and more took up the entire fourth floor of the museum. Whilst Maximilian felt it was a shame that the exhibition would not be seen by the public immediately, he still saw it as his own contribution of protest to a highly significant period in British political and social history. Even if it was to be some years before the museum had any visitors, he firmly believed that anyone seeing his exhibition in years to come would still note the importance of what he had to say.

  Interview Performed by a Computer

  (1995)

  (The following “interview” took place after Maximilian formulated approximately one thousand potential questions to ask himself. Once he had completed this task, he fed them into a computer programme that would choose and present them to him at random. He waited six months before undergoing his self-interview, as he thought this would be the minimum span he would need in order to forget most of what he had wanted to ask.)

  In what ways do you think that robots will influence the future?

  For some time now I have been convinced that the future will be populated by many robots. This belief was shared by many other people during the 1950s, although I feel that the prevalent sense now is that such an idea is foolish and old-fashioned. Still, I persist in believing that robots will one day take over the majority of menial occupations, but only when humans well and truly lose their taste for enslaving one another.

  Have you had any significant thoughts related to laundry in recent days?

  I believe that the frequency with which bed sheets are cleaned, the style of ironing employed, the smell of steam and cleanliness which may or may not emanate from them, and the skill with which they have been deployed upon a bed . . . all of these things are reliable indications of the health of a given individual.

  Are you a misanthrope?

  I think, unfortunately, my answer must be given in the affirmative. From a very early age I began to loathe much of what I saw of the world. Almost everyone I knew seemed quite incapable of looking beyond the confines of the social and economic class to which they’d been confined. There was no question of reformation. My contempt for those surrounding me grew into feelings of rage directed at almost everyone, at a society that refused to progress. This is still how I tend to feel about things. And yet, at the same time, there are undeniably feelings of pity lying within me. My desire to be a philanthropist is also a strong force that drives me. This is because I want to live in a different society. And because I want to help those who feel oppressed by the structures of this society.

  Do you believe in what is popularly called madness?

  Undoubtedly. There is a line that certain people cross. Once resident past that boundary, they exist beyond the perimeters of our culture. Very often there is no escaping this predicament.

  What is your favourite form of transportation?

  My time spent riding underground trains in the late 1950s was a source of great pleasure. I love the forms, the colours, the generous expansiveness of the London Underground map. I remain pleasingly overwhelmed by the number of neglected areas still to be found on it, and by the thought that all of these places are teeming with multitudes of lives. I love the fact that each train carriage contains an entirely different conjunction of people who have been thrown together at random. I love the dark smell of the machinery, the speed at which the trains hurtle through tunnels, the feeling of lurking beneath roads and buildings and pavements.

  What frightens you?

  Many things. The obvious disparity between different social groups. Ugliness of conduct. Observing the features of someone clearly enamoured with themselves and thus lacking all sensitivity towards others. Military atrocities. Any behaviour or thought, in fact, which is at all comparable with that of the military. The inability of human beings to leave aside their violent urges. The inevitability of death and its looming closeness with each passing moment of time. The arbitrary forms that nature takes, including, most prominently, as far as I am concerned, the shape of Homo sapiens.

  Do you consider yourself to be an obsessive?

  I don’t think I could plausibly deny it. Nevertheless, I think it’s easy to misuse the word . . . If we wanted to be kind we could use the word “dedicated.” I think that would be the fairer thing.

  Do you believe in the quality of “respectability”?

  Usually this is a term which describes the façade that people throw over themselves in order to justify a series of behaviours which when scrutinized might seem considerably more dubious than at first sight. Those who seek res
pectability are often amongst the most contemptible people in a society. These are the people who tend to elect right-wing governments, who oppose individual liberties, who adhere to religious fictions. This does not mean that there are no people worthy of “respect.” But that is surely a different quality altogether.

  What bores you?

  Whenever during the course of my life I’ve succumbed to watching television, I’ve become consumed almost instantaneously by a sense of monotony that I found quite astounding. Extended coach journeys, the pages of scientific textbooks, lengthy church sermons, and the experience of waiting in supermarket queues are also examples of things that have induced particularly debilitating attacks of tedium.

  What embarrasses you?

  Above all, my body.

  What are your feelings about the suburbs?

  I must admit, somewhat reluctantly, that the suburbs have always held rather an extraordinary fascination for me, despite the parochial attitudes held by those who live there (or the attitudes, in any case, popularly associated with such people). I don’t really quite understand why anyone would want to live in a place that is basically a non-place, the absence of definitive location. A neighbour to nothingness, one is so easily tempted into joining the dance of absolute emptiness. Still, I have long believed that the atmosphere of these districts has a strangely calming, even blissful aspect, lulling one into a sense of security that I cannot help but find attractive. Peculiarly, I’m sure this is more or less the same view taken by the majority of the long-term residents.

  How do you respond to allegories?

  The allegory is one of my least favourite narrative or pedagogical forms. I am reminded of Latin lessons in badly heated rooms. Tight-fitting uniforms. Preachings about the nobility of masculine endeavour. That sort of thing.

  What is triviality?

  The absence of all significance. Perhaps the one thing that every last element of existence has in common.

  If you knew that you were about to die, how would you respond?

  With the terror of being conscious of the moment of its happening. I’m sure that all of my thoughts would be directed towards that end alone. Ideally, in such circumstances I would like to feel a certain levity, a Buddhist sense of calm, a state that I have been attempting to achieve through meditation for a number of decades now, but which nevertheless seems to evade me because I remain genuinely terrified of death. Many of my projects over the years were begun in order to attempt to transcend the fact of death, to obliterate its power through action, but whatever one does, death still insists on approaching and one cannot ultimately win when one attempts to challenge it. I’ve tried to do everything that I felt I had to do before dying.

  What is sunlight?

  Purity born of violence.

  How would you describe yourself?

  There is something to be said for the opinion that my life has been one long, sustained farce.

  What do you feel the greatest advantages of invisibility would be?

  I think my greatest fascination would simply be with watching people as they spent time alone. Individuals behind the closed doors of their rooms, resting with their own thoughts and engaging, doubtless, in all sorts of extraordinary behaviours.

  How would you describe your relationship with money?

  I never think about it anymore. I really have nothing to do with it. After a while, even being a counterfeiter—and the steps one must take to avoid being prosecuted for such—becomes second nature, like crossing the road safely or blowing out a match. Consequently, I think my relationship with money has been, uniquely, a very happy one—not because I have it in abundance, because all I’ve ever had was the faith that other people have put in my having it, but because I have managed to destroy its influence upon me.

  Do you believe in ghosts?

  I do think that I have felt their presence from time to time, mostly in ways impossible to adequately communicate.

  How would you describe your relationship with the countryside?

  I am forever attempting to negate the countryside, to behave in a way that denies its existence. For nearly the entire duration of my life I have been fascinated only by the things which exist almost exclusively within the metropolis: mechanisation, anonymity, abstraction . . .

  What is the meaning of prosperity?

  Perhaps there are as many kinds of prosperity as there have been people who’ve known it. One can be a millionaire of glances, a millionaire of footprints, a millionaire of sighs . . .

  What is the purpose of hiding things?

  To maintain the possibility of the sacred.

  What conclusions can be drawn from the presence of linoleum?

  Very few definitive conclusions can be drawn. Nevertheless, linoleum tends to signify one or another form of impoverishment. Sometimes this is noble, but often it is terribly sad.

  How to Celebrate with Equanimity

  (1996)

  And so, all of a sudden, it seemed that the occasion of Maximilian’s seventieth birthday had been reached. He believed that it was necessary to celebrate this particular anniversary with as much effort and enthusiasm as he could muster. Anxious to mark the passing of time, he vowed to leave no stone unturned, so that he could truly say he had lived without regrets, fighting nobly against the death that would one day inevitably claim him.

  Awake before dawn, he commenced the day walking from Hackney to Mile End, observing the gradual shifts in light, the succession of empty double-decker buses, the early risers out and about walking their dogs. As soon as he found an off licence that was open he ventured inside and purchased a variety of bottles of ale—substances that he immediately began to consume.

  Before noon arrived he had already obtained a consultation with a telephone psychic, played half a dozen low-scoring games of pinball, walked through a number of the rooms of the National Gallery backwards, given what he considered to be a fine performance on the kazoo to the figures emerging from Leicester Square underground station, and somehow found his way to the roof of the Lang-ham Hotel where he commenced an episode of shouting, bellowing, and mumbling a tirade of obscenities into the bitter, raging winds of morning, somehow evading the attentions of all forces of authority.

  After lunch at Simpsons-on-the-Strand, he began accosting pedestrians who happened to be walking down Charing Cross Road, partly in the hope of meeting “literary types,” but mostly in the hope of finding a woman willing to fall in love with him and demand that this love find immediate physical expression. Mistaking him for one of the destitute, the individuals he approached were not about to supply the comforts that he longed for, but he did manage to engage one or two people in somewhat abrupt conversations that were generally cut short as a direct consequence of his reeking breath.

  By two o’clock he was busy writing letters of complaint to a number of publications and institutions which had long irritated him, even daring to sign them all with his real name and address. For the most part these all got to the point extremely quickly, as he did not feel that he had a great deal of time to waste on that particular day. Irate in manner, they frequently dissolved into acts of swearing and it did not usually take long for these pieces to trail away into the sort of incoherence that might be conceivably referred to as “insolent,” at least by those who did not support the terms on which such an approach was based.

  After walking out halfway through a matinée screening of 3D short films held upon a barge in Little Venice, he scoured the streets for the nearest public house he could locate. Approaching the bar in the first establishment he had discovered, he decided to order three drinks simultaneously, an act which resulted in the bartender having to work out a set of conflicting arguments in his head about the morality of serving such a person. Nevertheless, Maximilian achieved his aim and so took his victory prizes over to what he would claim as his own table for the rest of the afternoon. Inspecting a pile of women’s magazines stacked upon a shelf beside him, he was soon busy pondering o
ver the value of Lycra.

  Shortly after six o’clock, Maximilian found himself on his feet, spinning in circles, abruptly catching his fall by holding on to the bar, attempting but failing to achieve a coherent melody on his kazoo, then, stumbling a few steps rightwards, he was suddenly surrounded by human company. These unknown persons first led him towards a chair and then aimed a number of statements in his direction, words which managed to mingle a sense of amusement with a somewhat patronizing sarcasm. He was soon asked to leave.

  On his way out to the street he encountered a whippet, doleful-eyed and panting, tied up to a pole. Pity welled up within Maximilian’s breast and he struck up a very short conversation with the creature, which lasted until he was rapidly ushered away, during which moment he caught sight of a bus out of the corner of his eye, a vehicle that he then rushed towards with gay abandon, managing to board it without tripping over his trailing shoelaces. Giving a conciliatory nod to the driver as he wandered past, he took his place at the front of the upper-deck.

  Descending into heavy slumbers, he had a series of short, evidently interconnected dreams about taking a number of different hovercraft journeys. These were the first dreams that he had remembered upon waking for some years. Each dream possessed an atmosphere of disquiet, taking place within muted industrial shades of grey and dark-green. Somehow it was never clear just where the hovercraft might be venturing towards and why anyone might have embarked upon such a voyage in the first place, yet it was evident to Maximilian, although he could not say why exactly, that particularly sinister things were about to occur.