They focus on three "enemy combatants:" two US citizens, Jose Padilla and Yaser Hamdi, and a legal resident, Ali al-Marri.  >>>>>

“Mr. Dawkins?”

Mike Dawkins could hardly see the guy through the blinding lights. Every now and then, he thought he saw the shadow shift, but that was about it. He didn’t know where he was, but he thought he might be underground. It smelled like mud.

“That’s me.”

“Where is she?”

“I’d tell you if I knew.”

“Would you?” Came the innocent question.

“I would.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Mike leaned forward, ropes digging into his wrists, “Do you have any idea the kind of trouble that kid put us through? I wouldn’t hesitate.”

Mike stayed there for a moment, staring into the light, trying not to blink. He wasn’t sure if this guy could see him or not. Then he sighed, and sat back. He knew better. He wasn’t in much of a position to get aggressive. There was too much at stake.

“They’ve all caused you trouble, Mr. Dawkins. And yet some of them you still protect.”

Mike didn’t say anything.

The shadow moved and the door closed behind it. The lights went off, leaving Mike in complete darkness.

Especially interessting from an Israeli point of view, where many pro-torture academics try to devise schemes which would, they say, enable an absolute legal prohibition on torture  to co-exist with allowing its use in “ticking bomb situations”. Some have proposed  that while torture should be prohibited by law absolutely, if a leader orders  torture in extreme situations, his act would later undergo “ex post-facto ratification”. Others propose a modification of deontological morality so as to  allow torture in extreme situations, as long as it is not “officialized”.

This dubious approach is also embraced by the Israeli Supreme Court which ruled on the 6th of September 1999 that in  “ticking-time bomb” situations, a General Security  Service interrogator who tortures (or, in the words of the Court, who “applied physical interrogation methods”) would then be considered by the Attorney-General, and if need be by the courts, where “his potential criminal liability shall be examined in the context of the ‘necessity’ defence” – a criminal law defence which, as currently held in Israeli law, justifies actions in extreme situations if they produce the “lesser evil”. Predictably, the ruling has lead to many cases were the GSS was using “exceptional  interrogation measures”.

Complaints are transferred by the Attorney General to a GSS official who works in the Ministry of Justice ("Mavtan" – the Official in Charge of Investigating Detainees' Complaints). The GSS official is responsible for investigating both his GSS colleagues and the detainee who registered the complaint. The conflict of interests in this matter is clear and as a result, not one GSS interrogator has been criminally charged in recent years following complaints

A rallying cry for the Democrats is that McCain voted 95% of the time with Bush, but it's actually more like 90% when you look at all eight years of the Bush presidency.  Both sides like to to play fast and loose with statistics, but what the Left doesn't tell you is that Obama himself voted 40% of the time with Bush proposals during his short time in the Senate (most of which has been spent campaigning for President).  Like to play with numbers?  Remove the all-wise and all-knowing Obama's 40% from McCain's 90% and you get him being "McSame" as Bush only half the time.

But let's get real for a moment, shall we?  Listed below (in no particular order) are some of the policy areas in which McCain and Bush differ:

National Defense/Foreign Policy

McCain is much more hawkish than Bush.  For example, he pushed for more troops and a different battle strategy in Iraq for nearly four years while Bush sided with Donald Rumsfeld.

McCain says he'll pursue a legally binding accord between the U.S. and Russia on limiting nuclear weapons. His proposals to eliminate tactical nuclear weapons in Europe, strengthening of the Non-Proliferation Treaty, increased financing for the International Atomic Energy Agency, and his calls for nuclear talks with China also set him apart from President Bush.

Abortion

Though both McCain and Bush are essentially pro-life, McCain compromises on that position from time to time.  For example, he supports embryonic stem cell research.

Climate Change

McCain supports a cap-and-trade program that would set a national ceiling on carbon emissions and believes that global warming is a crucial issue, perhaps even a national security issue.  Bush does not.

Energy

McCain urged the Bush administration to waive requirements for high ethanol production, blaming the alternative fuel for driving up food prices.

Federal Taxes & Spending

McCain is a strong opponent of pork-barrel projects and other wasteful spending.  Bush is not.

McCain initially opposed the Bush tax cuts in 2001 and 2003 (mainly because there were no concurrent spending cuts included in the bills), but says he will support their continuance to avoid a tax increase during tough economic times.

Interrogation Tactics

McCain has battled the Bush administration on a number of bills to end torture by U.S. interrogators.  For example, McCain considers waterboarding to be illegal.

Illegal Immigration

McCain is in favor of securing the border first, then working out some kind of citizenship program for the illegal immigrants who are already here.  Bush has generally opposed upgrades to border security.

Gay Marriage/Civil Rights

McCain voted against a proposed amendment to the U.S. Consititution backed by President Bush banning same-sex marriage, saying that it should be up to the states.

Now, can I get that McSame without cheese?  Hold the mayo and put a few extra pickles on, too, if you don't mind.

I will not tell location or names in the story to avoid problems of any kind.

It was at bachelor's party and I was doing my job (even though I was invited we wanted to photograph it too). When we reached the girl's house, we parked the car in front of the building and started unloading the equipments (Cameras, video and a torch). Suddenly a person approached (seemed to be an undercover soldier wearing like a civil). He asked us what are we doing and where are we going. We explained about the party and that the girl's house was up there (the girl was also on the balcony and we had 5 girls with us on the street).

They took our identity cards and placed 2 soldiers next to us on the street. Then a higher ranked official came and asked the 2 soldiers if they checked us if we had anything; they said YES even though they did nothing.
Then we were taken inside a closed region and they directed us into a building. We went to the 2nd floor and we stood in the corridor. From the written words on the door; I'm remembering "مكتب مكافحة" only.

They handcuffed my cousin and while they were handcuffing me, my cousin repeated for them that we are not thieves to get handcuffed and we are here to work (photograph). When the soldier finished handcuffing me and he was going to start handcuffing my friend, another soldier came and ordered him to remove the handcuff since we didn't do anything. So they removed the handcuff (mine was not being removed so I helped the stupid soldier to remove it).

Then they took my cousin inside and while they opened the door, I noticed pictures of suspects on their board (there's one that we have seen on the Internet too - I'll comment about it later). My friend and I were left in the corridor. They asked us to empty our pocket and direct our face to the wall. We stood in that situation for 30 minutes.

The door was opened once again and I heard someone shouting what's the name of your cousin. My cousin answered from inside. They called my name and took me inside to a dirty room where another soldier was being punished just like us (watch the wall). He asked me the following questions:
- What do you work?
- Where were you in the morning?
- Which road did you take to come here?
- Did you go anywhere before reaching here?
- Did you all (3 of us) came with the same car?

These are acceptable question. But later when I talked to my cousin. He told us what he was asked. It's really shame to ask questions like that!
The question was:
- To which political party do you belong to?

After the interrogation, I was asked to wait in another room (again a dirty one with TV, Microwave and a table). I was asked to sit next to a soldier who was watching TV. So I watched the sport section of LBC news with the soldier. He was curious about the story so I told him what happened (he didn't understand the word bachelor or few foreign words I used so I had to explain them in Arabic).
He said (with the exact words): "kabbarou el 2essa".

Meanwhile all our equipments (each worth more than $3000) were thrown on the ground next to me. The interrogator came back (it seems he also asked question to my friend who was still in the corridor), he started clicking buttons on the camera. I asked him what he was try to do. It seemed he wanted to check the pictures we have taken. I clicked the button to check the photos and there was 1 photo only (which was taken in another region). I had memory cards in my hand too (which were empty since we still didn't start) but the stupid soldier didn't even check those.

Overall, after staying there for 1.5 hours; we were given back our identity card and we were allowed to leave and take pictures in the building where the girl lives.

After losing hope from the Internal Security Forces (incident happened to a friend last year), I have lost hope in those stupid soldiers in the Lebanese Army.

Coming to the part that might interest you the most.

Remembering this sketched photo?

It was sketched after they attempted to assassinated Elias el Murr. His picture was on the board of the "moukafa7a" room. So it seems they haven't even caught the guy after 3 years from the attempt.
There were more pictures and writings but I wasn't thinking about checking them while entering the room but I noticed the above picture since it was familiar.

Maybe I'll check them in case I visit them during the week or next Saturday during the wedding ;)

I

Coming to terms with this terrifying predicament can benefit from a primer that renders naked the forms of raw power used by the global elite in advancing its agenda for full spectrum dominance. This will enable us to determine if we are in fact helpless and to use care and deliberation in finding the means to take our power back.

This has included interrogation by the FSB security service, defamatory state television coverage, a warning for home worship and a fine for preaching in public. The congregations concerned all belong to the Baptist Council of Churches, whose communities do not register with state authorities.

In one example, two FSB security service officers in Kurgan Region separately questioned two Yurgamysh church members for four hours about internal church matters. Regional state TV later broadcast a program on the church called "Criminal News". This made unsubstantiated allegations, such as that children from the church are "retarded, downtrodden, dress differently from other [school] pupils and often have to repeat the year," and that church members live off illegal business.

The region's parliament is to consider proposals "to protect citizens from religious sects" on 30 September. Proposals include compulsory notification of the existence of an unregistered religious group and compulsory registration for communities with ten or more members.

Report from the Christian Telegraph

DHAKA, Bangladesh, October 1 (Compass Direct News) – Police have submitted a charge sheet to a district court accusing two persons of raping a pastor’s daughter in the village of Laksmipur, said a state prosecutor.

Sayed Tariqul Islam told Compass that police submitted the charge sheet on Sept. 7 based on an extensive investigation following a DNA test that turned out positive. Pastor Motilal Das, who has long received threats from villagers upset with his success as an evangelist, said that local residents gang-raped his 13-year-old daughter in an attempt to drive him from the area.

State prosecutor Islam said Shakil Ahmed Shebul and Dulal Miah are charged with raping Elina Das at 3 a.m. on May 2. If convicted, they will receive life terms in prison, he said.

“The DNA report is everything to prove them guilty, and I expect that they will be punished with life-term imprisonment,” said Islam.

Previously a medical college had submitted a false forensic test report indicating no evidence of sexual assault. Villagers in Laksmipur, in Fulbaria sub-district 120 kilometers (75 miles) north of Dhaka, believe relatives of the accused men paid off the Mymensingh Medical College Hospital Forensic Department to fabricate the false test results.

Pastor Das has said relatives of the alleged rapists have offered him a large sum of money to withdraw the case or settle out of court – while continuing to threaten him. He had found his daughter lying unconscious in front of his house early in the morning of May 2, he said, after five men from Mymensingh district raped her.

The charge sheet submitted by police and the positive DNA report state that the girl’s clothes were torn and marked with the semen of Shebul. A close neighbor of Pastor Das, Shebul applied for bail on Tuesday (Sept. 29), but the court refused to grant it, said Islam.

Miah remains at large. Local police inspector Tarapod Shikder told Compass that assiduous efforts were underway to arrest him.

Pastor Das told Compass that he was dismayed that the charge sheet did not require Shebul to be taken on remand by police for interrogation.

“If the arrested person was held on remand for interrogation, police would get more information regarding other rapists,” Pastor Das.

Inspector Shikder told him that police had already taken Shebul on remand for interrogation and obtained little information, Pastor Das said.

“Nonetheless,” Pastor Das said, “the charge sheet will help to heal the scars of my grief-stricken daughter if proper justice is done.”

Upset Neighbors

Defending the initial false DNA report, Forensic Department head Akhteruzzaman Talukder of Mymensingh Medical College Hospital had told Compass that he did not find any gang-rape injury or trace of forced sexual activity.

Pastor Das’s daughter “might have had a love affair with someone in the village,” Talukder said. “Her lover might have been guarded there by his several friends. When the family members came to know the incident, they cooked it up as gang rape.”

Pastor Das and Muslim villagers were extremely upset by the initial forensic report. He subsequently had his daughter’s clothes tested for DNA profiling at the National Forensic DNA Profiling Laboratory of Dhaka Medical College Hospital.

His Muslim neighbors, he said, consider the positive DNA test a ray of hope for proper judgment. Pastor Das acknowledged his gratitude to some of the village neighbors who gave him moral support during that time.

“I cannot express my gratitude in words to some of my Muslim neighbors in the village who gave me courage and moral support to go forward when I got the false forensic report from Mymensingh Medical College,” he said.

When Pastor Das initially went to police to file charges, he said, police were reluctant to register the case.

“Police told me that it was a false case,” he said. “They also said that it was a fabricated drama. Police spoke with my daughter in filthy language and showed prurient interest in the details of the incident in front of us rather than filing the case quickly.”

The U.S. Department of State’s 2008 International Religious Freedom Report, released in Sept. 19, notes that Bangladeshi government officials, “including the police, were often ineffective in upholding law and order and were sometimes slow to assist religious minority victims of harassment and violence.”

The day of the alleged rape, the U.S. Commission on International Religious Freedom announced annual recommendations for countries to be designated “Countries of Particular Concern,” but it did not include Bangladesh.

Rather, the commission put Bangladesh on its “Watch List” due to the nature and extent of violations of religious freedom engaged in or tolerated by the government. Other countries on the Watch List are Afghanistan, Belarus, Cuba, Egypt, Indonesia and Nigeria.

According to USCIRF, Islamist radicalism and violence, the threat of serious violence and continued discrimination against members of religious minority communities remain significant concerns in Bangladesh.

Story from Compass Direct News

Captain sat quietly in the center most seat taking in the movie. Feeling the stickiness of the floors and feeling the booming rumble of the sound system. Reliving the feelings he had back when he was a child. The memories of that bygone era quickly brought a smile of joy across his face. However, the smile quickly evaporated from his face as he saw Sandusky walking up the stairs. He always wondered where Sandusky got his suits from, and how he got so many. He wasn’t sure which one, but he knew they were designer labels. That was one of the misconceptions many made about Sandusky. He looks like an ordinary business man on the outside, but on the inside he is a pure killer. If were to spot a glint of light coming off of the desert eagle he keeps on him at all times, then you know you are about to die.

“What are you watching?” Sandusky asked in his heavy Russian accent sitting next to Captain.

“Twister, it’s one of my favorites,” Captain said

“Ah,” Sandusky said only half interested, “Anyway, Demetri cannot get the subject to talk. Cat said to come get you.”

Captain sat in his chair quietly contemplating if he really was willing to miss the rest of his movie for a routine interrogation. Finally he let out a large sigh and said, “Fine. Maybe this one will be more interesting than the last guy.”

Captain begrudgingly rose from his seat and shuffled toward the stairs. Sandusky leaned back in the theater seat so he could enjoy the rest of Captain’s movie.

“Have fun,” Sandusky yelled unsure if Captain could still hear him.

Captain walked down the hallway passing ten year old movie posters for horror films and romantic comedies. He walked out what used to be the side exit of the movie theater, but now leads to the command hangar. The warehouse was mostly blanketed in shadows, with only the important equipment illuminated by industrial fluorescent light that hung from the ceiling, and the dozens of cracks let in soft sunlight and rain water from outside. One of the pools of light surrounded a set of three conjoined shipping containers. There were two doors cut into the opposite sides of the containers, one marked “Interrogation Room” the other said “Observation room.” Captain walked in to the interrogation, and was met with the back of Sandusky’s large Italian brother Dimitri. Captain could see the blood (which was not Dimitri’s) dripping from his knuckles. Even though he was disappointed that he had to miss his movie, Captain was glad he stepped in when he did, as the strap used to restrain Dimitri’s 9mm Sig Sauer p220 in its waist holster was unhooked, and Dimitri was no doubt moments away from killing the subject. Captain could see the look of pure frustration and rage on Dimitri’s face in the one-way mirror on the opposite wall.

“Dimitri, I’ve got it from here. Why don’t you go take a walk?” Captain said resting his hand on Dimitri’s shoulder.

“Okay boss,” Dimitri acquiesced. Dimitri turned his attention back to the man he was savagely beating only minutes before Captain walked in, “I’ll see you later,” he said with a large threatening smile on his face.

The man handcuffed to the chair gave no other response beyond spiting a mouth full of blood in the large Italian’s direction. Dimitri raised one bloody middle finger as he walked out of the room and Captain closed the door behind him. Captain sat across the table from the prisoner in a metal chair identical to the one the beaten man was restrained to.

“So, Mr.… um… Glass was it?” Captain asked. The man gave a nod in response. “Right Mr. Glass as you undoubtedly know, you have some information that I need. You must also understand that I don’t want to kill you.”

“That’s good, I’m kinda partial to living, but you are going to have to do better than some low level thug. Have you considered making an offer?” Glass facetiously asked.

“Oh trust me, I can do much better, however I am going to go beyond my normal methods and give you an offer.” Captain calmly said. He reached under the table, and pulled an abnormally large revolver from the holster strapped to his leg. “ya see this? This gun is very special to me. One of my best friends made it for me before he died. Unlike most revolvers that shoot anywhere between 22. and 50.calibur rounds this one fires 12 gauge triple-ought buckshot shells. Unfortunately due to the short barrel this gun is almost useless at long range, but when I’m this close…” Captain lets his voice trail off as he held the gun up to Glass’s head.

“You know if you blow I can’t tell you anything,” Glass said trying to hide the fear in his voice.

“Yeah I know, and that’s your offer. You are going to tell me everything I want to know or I will take my gun here and blow your fucking dick off, and then I’ll kill you,” Captain said as he kicked Glasses chair back toward the wall and pointed the monstrous revolver at Glass’s crotch. Glass looked up at Captain wide eyed with fear hopping up and down in his chair in a futile attempt to escape. Captain walked the around the table, put his foot on the chair between Glass’s legs, and held the gun even closer to his crotch. “I am going to give you to the count of five tell me what I want to know. One, two, three, four,” Captain pulls the hammer back on the gun.

“Okay, Okay, I will tell you what I want you to know. I don’t know Mr. Gray’s schedule personally, but the man who does has a base in an abandoned building in the middle of Old Cincinnati. His name is Jackson,” Glass quickly said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Yes I’m sure”

“Good,” Captain said as he pulled the trigger. Glass let out a blood curdling scream, his eyes welling up with tears. He banged his head against the metal wall be hind him trying desperately to forget the pain. Captain holstered his gun and looked into the one-way mirror as if he could see through it. “Send Dimitri back in with a cup of acid for our dickless friend here, then get rid of his body.” Captain looked back at Glass. “Enjoy the rest of your day Mr. Glass. I’m going to go watch the rest of my movie.”

On the other side of the one-way mirror in the observation room Captain’s second in command Cat and his support officer Jax impassively watch Captain leave the room and Glass squirm in pain.

“You owe me a hundred bucks. I told you he would shoot him,” Jax said holding his hand out waiting for his payment.

“Yeah, fuck you too,” Cat said slapping a hundred dollar bill in Jax’s and walking toward the door. “Go get working on the plan to extract Jackson, I’m going to go find Dimitri to finish off Glass and clean up the interrogation room.”

“Can do, boss lady,” Jax said leaning up against the window.

Part 1 of 3

Stay tuned for the *complete* audio of the Race and Poetry panel @ PennSound [http://www.writing.upenn.edu/pennsound/x/King.html or on a "bigger" page, waiting to hear]. In the meantime, *incomplete* video @ Blip.TV [http://amyking.blip.tv/ - better quality & only 3 long parts] or YouTube [http://www.youtube.com/user/amyhappens] with 7 shorter videos. The Wilders have also put up video.

~~~~

* Brent Staples -- Barack Obama, John McCain and the Language of Race

* Maureen Dowd -- Aaron Sorkin Conjures a Meeting of Obama and Bartlet

* Yahoo top news today on Frederico Garcia Lorca -- Great poet's grave stokes Civil War dispute

Cette présentatrice s'est véritablement révélée sur France 5 il y a quelques années. Elle était déjà passée sur Canal Plus voici deux ou trois ans. Elle présentait une émission axée, en partie, sur les femmes. Pour ne pas dire le féminisme, étant donné qu'elle-même - d'après ce que j'ai cru comprendre - se sent féministe dans l'âme. Et en me souvenant de ses prises de position féministes, je me suis posé à haute voix une question totalement incongrue et dénuée de toute pertinence. Toutefois, permettez-moi de vous la soumettre quand même. 

Puisque les féministes sont attachées, notamment, à la protection du corps de la femme, et plus particulièrement lorsque ce dernier est en contact avec un mâle, est-ce pour autant que la pratique de la levrette est incompatible avec la cause féministe ?

Si une féministe passe, par hasard, dans le coin, qu'elle n'hésite pas à me répondre.

MALATYA, Turkey, September 15 (Compass Direct News) – Testimony in the murder case of three Christians here indicates the attack was premeditated for at least two suspects, despite the defense team’s insistence that the killers acted spontaneously.

The 11th hearing on the murders at a publishing house in this southeastern city 17 months ago took place Friday (Sept. 12) at the Malatya Third Criminal Court. Two Turkish Christians who converted from Islam, Necati Aydin and Ugur Yuksel, and a German, Tilmann Geske, were brutally tortured and killed on April 18, 2007.

Mahmut Kudas, one of the three witnesses called to testify, said murder suspect Cuma Ozdemir met with him the week before the murder and said that he was going to tell him something important.

“If you don’t hear from me by Friday, someone will call you and tell you the location of a letter. Get the letter and give it to the person who called you,” Ozdemir said to Kudas on April 13, 2007, the Friday before the attack on the following Wednesday, according to his testimony.

When Kudas asked him why, Ozdemir replied, “There are 49 house churches and priests in Malatya.” When Kudas asked him what he was thinking of doing, he replied, “Those who know this will die. I will become a martyr.”

Kudas, 20, lived in the same dormitory as many of the other suspects. When he asked Ozdemir if Emre Gunaydin, the suspected ringleader of the murders, was the leader of this operation, Cuma Ozdemir nodded in confirmation.

The five accused murderers are Hamit Ceker, Cuma Ozdemir, Abuzer Yildirim, Salih Gurler and Emre Gunaydin. They were all between the ages of 19 and 21 at the time of the murders.

Another witness, Mehmet Uludag, a former classmate of some of the suspects, said he also spoke with Ozdemir before the murders. Uludag said Ozdemir told him that he and two others were about to do something big.

Ozdemir then instructed Uludag, 20, that he would leave a letter at an undisclosed location and that he must call Muammer Ozdemir – who is expected to testify at a future hearing – to learn the whereabouts of the letter. The two must then deliver the letter to the police or the gendarme, Cuma Ozdemir told Uludag.

“If I come through, I will explain all this to you. If I am lost, then read the letter. It will explain everything,” he reportedly told Uludag.

On the day of the murders, Uludag sent Muammer Ozdemir a text message asking for the whereabouts of the letter. The latter told him it was under a bed in the dormitory, but Uludag did not retrieve it since he was questioned by the police the same day.

Aiding Murderers

The letters in question are similar to those mentioned by suspect Hamit Ceker in a previous hearing. He said in his interrogation that the night before the murder, he and another of the defendants had sat in the hall of their dormitory, writing a letter to their families in case things did not turn out well.

Both Kudas and Uludag said they did not report this suspicious behavior, as they believed Cuma Ozdemir was exaggerating rather than engaged in a conspiracy.

In forthcoming hearings the plaintiff attorneys will try to accuse these witnesses of aiding and abetting the murderers, said Orhan Kemal Cengiz, leading the team of plaintiff lawyers.

“They knew what was going to happen, so they should have talked to prosecutors or police officers,” Cengiz told Compass, criticizing the witnesses for withholding information.

The third person to testify in the trial was Gunaydin’s former girlfriend, Turna Isikli, 21. She said the day before the murder Gunaydin sent her a text message and said, “Tomorrow I will be interrogated.” She said she thought this referred to a meeting with his father about issues related to school.

Accusations, Tempers Flare

The testimonies indicate that at least two of the suspects planned the murder of the three Christians, contradicting their earlier statements that they came to the publishing house with no intent to kill the evangelicals.

In a Jan. 14 hearing, accused killer Hamit Ceker claimed the group of five men only planned to seize incriminating evidence against the Christians, although they carried guns, rope, knives and a pair of plastic gloves.

In a subsequent hearing on June 10, the five men declared their innocence and blamed one or more of the others. Most of the blame fell on suspected ringleader Gunaydin, whom the suspects claimed murdered the three Christians. The other four suspects said they only obeyed him for fear of his alleged police and mafia connections.

Gunaydin has claimed that all five planned to raid the office together. In a May 12 hearing he implicated suspect Salih Gurler for leading the attacks, saying violence exploded when Aydin slandered Islam and said Jesus was God.

Tensions flared at one point in Friday’s hearing when Gunaydin noticed one of the plaintiff attorneys drinking from a water bottle. Pious Muslims are currently observing the month of Ramadan in which eating and drinking are prohibited from sunrise to sunset.

“This is the month of Ramadan and we are fasting, but you are drinking water across from us,” Gunaydin said. “Show a little respect.”

“What shall we do, make them fast?” responded judge Eray Gurtekin, according to Sabah national daily.

Gunaydin also raised eyebrows when he stood up and lashed out at plaintiff attorney Ozkan Yucel when his cellular phone rang in the courtroom. He said, “Turn off your phone, you are disturbing my concentration.”

The case took an important twist in the 10th hearing on Aug. 21, when prosecuting attorneys suggested that shadowy elements deep within the Turkish state orchestrated the murder.

In the last hearing plaintiff attorneys requested the case be integrated with an investigation into Ergenekon, an ultranationalist cabal of retired generals, politicians, journalists and mafia members under investigation for conspiracy in various murders.

In January police uncovered and started arresting members of Ergenekon. A criminal investigation has linked these members to high-profile attacks, murders and plans to engineer domestic chaos and ultimately overthrow the government.

Ergenekon was not mentioned at Friday’s hearing because the plaintiff lawyers have not received the investigation file from Istanbul. They requested the file at the Aug. 21 hearing in Malatya.

The far-reaching conspiracy and its connection to the Malatya case, however, has had a positive impact on the criminal proceedings, plaintiff lawyers say: The judges are far more cooperative than the beginning of the case, in which they frequently rebuffed demands from the prosecution for evidence and witnesses.

“This last hearing was the first time the court accepted nearly all demands from us,” said plaintiff attorney Cengiz. “They are taking the case much more seriously now because there are many indications this is not the work of five youngsters but of dark forces behind the scenes.”

Protestants Targeted

The recent hearing comes amid complaints from Turkey’s tiny Protestant community that it is being targeted for violence.

On Sept. 5 the Turkish Alliance of Protestant Churches filed a complaint to the Prime Ministry’s Human Rights Directorate that security forces were not offering them adequate protection in the face of increasing attacks, according to Sabah.

Turkish police responded to the complaints and released information on recent attacks against Christians. They said a majority of attackers were not arrested, and those that were detained merely paid a fine and were later released.

Susanne Geske, wife of the martyred Tilmann Geske, filed a lawsuit against the Turkish Ministry of Internal Affairs on Wednesday (Sept. 10) for not taking preventative measures against the murders. The lawsuit calls for 630,000 Turkish lira (US$507,000) for physical and immaterial compensation.

Geske’s lawyer, Ibrahim Kali, told NTV, “It is the basic duty of a government to protect the rights of life and freedom of religion and conscience. But the government did not protect the liberties of religion and conscience of those close to my client.”

The next hearing in the Malatya murder case is scheduled for Oct. 16.

Report from Compass Direct News

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Reflections And Decisions

I was sitting in my favorite bar, located in the center of Guangzhou's expat area. It was around 9:00 pm and the previous four days' madness was sweeping over me, causing one of my nearby friends to comment, "you look stoned!". In fact, I was lethargic, drained from the emotional roller coaster ride of having to spend three days at my bank trying to access my own money, turning in a police report on my stolen goods and finding out what I must do to replace my passport. One of the nameless Filipino bands that pepper the city's five star hotels was playing half hearted on the small stage behind me and the place was almost empty, or barely occupied--either way you looked at it, be an optimist or a pessimist, it was dead, and that was fine by me. I'd had enough excitement for the week.

Six days before, on Friday, I was in very high spirits. My 45th birthday was two days away and I was going to spend it with friends in Hong Kong. I had been badgered, or actually seduced, into trying my luck in that beautiful city on the urgings of Hugh, an exuberant Canadian who had lived in China long enough to get married to one of the locals. He had started out almost exactly as I had, teaching ESL (English as a second language) in the mainland of China.

It turned out his wife had family connections in Hong Kong, so not long after they were married, they both high tailed it to the decadent city of movie Kung Fu masters and Canto Pop stars. The first time I went to HK, I was enthralled by the sheer up and down of it all; it is amazing how many high rise buildings they can fit into such a small space by the bay. What struck me the most was how absolutely organized it was. In the Chinese mainland, people will run over you, and they don't even have to have a vehicle--they'll just bump you to death in pedestrian traffic! God love the British for their anal attitudes, because in HK, people cue, cue and then cue some more. The orderliness to it all was enough to convince me to move there. But HK also has its urban appeal, the flashy neon Chinese signs and myriad milk-tea cafes and noodle bars and electronic shops and book stores, real books in real English! It wasn't until after my second year in the mainland that I finally went and stayed more than a day in HK at Hugh's place. Before I had only done a visa run--arrive in the wee hours of the morning, spend the day browsing, sightseeing and shopping, then return to the mainland by bedtime. Once I stuck around and looked about more than just Kowloon, but onto the Island itself I was thoroughly convinced that was the place for me.

I had also recently returned from a much needed holiday near Nanjing, in An Wei province, where I stayed for one month during the annual Spring Festival. It had been my first time to experience a real winter in China, having lived in South China for the previous four plus years and all that crisp winter air had seemingly infused me with new energy and a more positive outlook. I would walk around the city's main park, where there was a large central lake that sported a huge metallic dragon fountain in its center. There were only a few old locals who dared to come out in the biting wind, and even they looked at me, peaking through their scarfed faces at the crazy lao wai who dared to freeze his ears and nose off in the crisp freezing air of An Wei.

Living in Guangzhou was like living in a Florida swamp. The moment you came out of the shower during the late spring and all of summer through early autumn, your shirt would cling to you as new beads of moisture popped out from your skin soon after dressing. The air was so thick I felt like those gape mouthed gold fish I always saw in the ponds in the city parks, gasping for air in the fetid green murk they lived in; I feel for ya brother fish. I grew up in a semi arid land of the Texas panhandle and I was always told--desert people never get used to humidity, and I believed it. Yet here I was, contemplating moving even further south to an Island closed in on three sides by lush greenery and high rise buildings guaranteeing me a sultry, water logged life style. But I wanted the civility of the place. Even though I loved Guangzhou, I had enough of the rudeness of its ignorant peasant class citizens. Even the new middle class of Canton wasn't much better. It was not uncommon to see a beautifully dressed woman on a public bus, heading to work in high heels, fake Gucci clutch bag and fake DKNY ensemble, digging deep into one of her nostrils with a finger, then studying the prized goober afterwards, as if it were a trophy. Or a well dressed business man standing at the cross walk, looking about at everyone as he pulled his shirt tails out and up to his chest, rub his protruding gut and then, without warning, hock up an enormous gooey life form from his throat and spit it two feet from him, regardless of anyone nearby. Even aunties or grandmas in charge of toddlers were guilty. They would take their charge curbside and hold the little rascal by the thighs, exposing the kid's ass to the air and deposit a smelly lump or two street side. And unlike dogs in New York or Chicago, these women didn't clean up after the deed was done.

As I sat among my drinking buddies, some of them beer drinking females, I was a little giddy knowing that HK was only hours away and that come early morning, I would be sitting in a comfortable train and heading for a wonderful week away from the smell and chaos of the mainland, trading it for a different organized melee beside Victoria Harbour. We toasted my trip, some asked special favors--bring back some hard biscuits and jam from an English friend, bring back a money clip for an American, because he couldn't find one anywhere in the mainland, antacid tablets for another, chili powder for someone else. I was writing all this down at the bar on cocktail napkins, the ink oozing into dark blue splotches in places because of spilt beer on the wooden surface.

"Michael, come up and sing with us!" The lead singer of the band beckoned. I was in a terrific mood so why not? I jumped up on the small stage and me and Melissa sang a duet of sorts, "Hotel California", a song that is played in every bar, every karaoke joint and every five star hotel and nightclub--the Chinese can't get enough of it! For some reason though, it is the only Eagles song they know. In fact, if you ask a Chinese, "What other Eagles song do you know?" They will ask, "Who is Eagle?" It's the same with the Carpenters, Simon and Garfunkel, Elvis and Elton John. Pop music came late to China, so even today in the twenty first century, young twenty something locals croon to American songs more than thirty years old!

After singing a couple of songs and having a few proffered shots o Yeager from friends for my effort, I felt it was high time to eat, so I said my farewells and headed out the door toward a street famous for its late night food.

Xiao Bei Lu is home to nearly all the Muslim cultures as well as African, Indian and smatterings of other ethnic western groups. It is also where most of the drug trafficking and money laundering goes on in Guangzhou. The road is dissected by the main thoroughfare, Huanshi Dong Lu and so it seems, the trouble. I am not implying that because they are dark skinned groups there, it begets trouble, it's simply a matter of business choice; a large number of Africans, Turks and Pakistanis deal in hash, coke and acid in the area.

I was on the quieter, less troubled side of "small north road", the literal translation of Xiao Bei Lu. The south side beyond the main road housed most of the previously mentioned foreigners, while the north side consisted of small shops, banks, schools, and restaurants. This is where I was. The safe side.

At night that safe side of the street changes into Wai Sik Kai, or food street, as the Cantonese call it. Around 9:30 pm after the car traffic dies down, vendors come out and line up along one side of the road. Here you can find some of the best smelling and tasty food, either being cooked on the back of a bicycle or a real honest to goodness grill on iron wheels. One of my favourites is the grilled oyster on the half shell, it is loaded with coarsely chopped garlic, salt and a bit of cilantro. skewered, roasted meats of all kinds and a few almost unidentifiable abound on smoking, sizzling grills and the scent is intoxicating. By no means are there a lot of vendors. There are perhaps eight carts selling food there. There are areas of Guangzhou where entire streets are closed off at night, tables and low stools are put out and people will fill the roads curb to curb, spitting out their chicken bones or whatever they feel needs to be expelled from their throats until the wee hours of the early morning. But don't be mislead by the lack of manners, the experience is well worth it and can be highly addictive.

The fragrant and tantalizing smells that are carried on the smoke that wafts from numerous carts lining the street throughout Guangzhou rival the food in many fine restaurants. When you look around at the other diners, you get a sense of why you came. Everyone's mood is carefree; smiles paint their faces, and the sound of laughter and the "clack! clack!" of mai jang bricks bounce off the soot covered housing blocks, making everything seem a little less dirty, a little less poor in the shadows of the Misty Guangdong night sky. It's China at it's best.

As my order cooked away on two separate vendor's grills--one had the garlic infused rock oysters and young spring onions I liked, the other had the skewered, spicy chicken quarter, I stepped into a nearby shop and bought a bottle of Jiujang piju (Pear River beer) to wash it all down. I sat at a low, folding table on a kiddy stool which my knees always protested, and attempted conversing with an ancient old woman across from me. She had her entire mouth ensconced within a grimy bamboo tube, a smaller bamboo piece jutting up midway down that held the tobacco. After discharging her smoke, she would grin with a near toothless smile ear to ear, laughing at me, then she'd do it again. I sat at that table and ate while watching the night scenery. A beggar shuffled by me, rhythmically wagging his hand before me; I ignored him. A couple of migrant workers looked on from the shadows of a building around the corner. They weren't eating, so I got up and approached them, handing each one 5 RMB. He tried to refuse, but his friend beside him began thanking me in old Chinese style: a closed fist with the other open hand laying across it, shaken several times before him, chest level. Their eyes lit up, smiling and they quickly scurried off to a cart further down the way, no doubt a better bargain awaited them there. I don't usually tolerate beggars--many of them are professionals, with homes, wives and children. They dress in somewhat dirty rags and wander streets frequented by the myriad ranks of foreigners in Guangzhou. I can spot the truly destitute and will usually oblige them. The two men that I had helped feed that night were dirt poor migrant workers who were waiting in the wings for scraps left behind. The two of them could eat off that money for two days if they spent it right.

Feeling well fed and growing tired of sitting on my tiny plastic stool, I decided I needed to treat my feet and now slightly aching back to a traditional Chinese foot and back massage.

Wiped Out!

Rubbed the Wrong Way

This place was convenient to areas I liked to frequent so I often went there after hours and that is how I found the massage place. It was located on a narrow slit of a street between mouldering dark unlit buildings. The only bit of colour there was the massage place itself. Here among dingy walk-ups, their muted windows encased in rusting iron gratings, stood a beautiful young Chinese girl dressed in a glimmering gold satin ball gown, fit for Cinderella. She stood behind a small wooden podium, a brightly colored neon sign above her head, flashing the parlor's name. The pseudo-princess escorted me inside and upward, away from the grim alley below.

The massage venues in China can run from the seedy low-lit places that one of my Australian buddies calls, "A rub and tug joint", to very posh establishments, with showers, robes and in some cases, full buffets and humidors, stocked with real Cuban cigars! My parlour of choice fell far short of the latter and a bit better of the former; no locker, no buffet, but pj's, some orange slices and thin plastic cups of luke warm green tea.
All I wanted was a soothing massage as a nice end to a perfect evening. This night should have been no different than any other time I had went there. I asked for one of two girls that I knew and was then led to a private room, where I sat watching bad Chinese TV for fifteen minutes. A girl pulled back the curtain over the doorway and entered. I had never seen her before--no problem I thought, so in broken Chinese, sign language and a little English I explained my wishes to her. I did know how to say in Chinese, "A little harder" (Chong yi dian) and "A little softer" (Qing yi dian), essential for surviving a Chinese massage, the latter phrase being the most frequently used. I can't recall ever once telling one of the strong handed, country girls who were most likely less than six months off the farm, she wasn't grinding her elbow, thumb or finger joint deeply enough into the soft tissues of my body.

This was a real massage place, not a rub joint. If I wanted that I could go for the full treatment from any number of young country girls that lined practically every large pedestrian bridge on this side of town after the sun began to set. Guangzhou is thick with hookers and many if not most are all young women sent in from the poorer countryside of other neighboring provinces. Guangzhou is a city built on commerce and there are thousands of foreigners living there who are quite willing to part with their money for the pleasure of an 18 or 20 year old angel of the night, but that is another story for another time.

Shortly after serving me the prerequisite warm tea and fruit, the masseuse returned. She was pushing a large wooden bucket on wheels, filled with fragrant hot water, in which she soon placed my feet. The water it's said, contains 20 some odd herbal medicines, all I know is that it felt fantastic. She watched T.V. for about ten minutes on the opposite massage chair while I fell willing victim to the water's intense heat and ancient Chinese chemistry. She removed the tub shortly after and returned with fresh tea,insisting I drink, and began her magic on my soft, water-wrinkled feet. The girl stared at me closely in an odd way as she worked, unlike the other girls, who usually looked over their shoulder watching the TV as they mindlessly squeezed and poked at my body parts. I began drifting in an out of lucidity--was I really that fatigued? And why was she smiling so coyly at me? Soon the unfathomable noise from the TV and its lurid color images and my masseuse all began to swim and merge in a muddled visual mess before me. I was either seeing things or I was dreaming. Then came oblivion...

Morning arrived with a dull headache and a throbbing sensation behind my eyes and at first I was not sure of my surroundings. "Ah! The massage parlour" I thought to myself. I sat up groggily, and looked around for my clothes, which I had folded neatly hours before and placed under the massage chair. The one big disadvantage to this cheaper place was no storage lockers, so I made do by always carefully concealing my clothes beneath the very low recliners, rather than the small cupboard nestled between the chairs. When the chair is fully reclined, as it had been while I was conked out, the clearance underneath is only three inches. It would have been impossible to pull them out from under without snagging the chair, because the various things in my pockets made them too thick. The only way to remove them would be for me not to be on the chair, or for someone to stealthily remove each item from the pockets before pulling them out.

When I raised the chair from it's bed position to the sitting arrangement, I stood staring for a few brief seconds at the floor; only my shirt was laying there--no pants! I looked over to the other side by the wall, but that was pointless. I lifted the chair now, looking under the front part, but there was nothing there either except some long time resident dust bunnies. I realized in that moment that I had been robbed of not only my pants, but my wallet that contained $2,000 U.S. dollars and my bank card, my mobile phone and worst of all--my passport! I went into instant panic! I threw back the flimsy bamboo drape that acted as a door over the entryway and walked down the hall dressed in the thin, pajama shorts I had changed into prior to my massage. I called out in Chinese, "Xiao Jie! Xiao Jie!" (Miss! Miss!). At once down the hallway ahead I heard the scurrying of tiny feet coming toward me. Around the corner came two young Chinese girls looking bewildered. I pointed to my bare legs, swept my arms about the room and shouted frantically, "Where are my pants! Where are my...things!". They looked at me as if I were some psycho, but one approached me and followed me back to my private room. I lifted the chair and pointed to the dusty floor, then swept my arms around the room and repeated what I had said in the hall but with more panic in my voice. The girl looked at me with big soulful eyes, nodding her head up and down and then turned and ran out and down the hall, her friend in tow.Soon a gentleman in a suit, clutching a staticy two way radio appeared. I explained to him my things were gone. We then sat down across from one another, he contemplating the matter, his elbow on his knee, a finger tapping at his protruding lips, brows knitting. He said something into his radio, and after a few seconds received a short reply. He had inquired as to when I checked in and who had given the massage. If he seemed surprised or unhappy by the news I couldn't tell. Then he asked what was missing. I explained that my pants, my money, my passport and my wallet and phone were all gone. I showed him how I had placed them under the chair. He then asked for my phone number. He dialed it using his own phone and after a few seconds, he looked at me, then began to speak softly back into his radio, putting his hand over the phone. He then asked, "You give how much?" I didn't grasp this at first then realized; the brazen thief actually answered my phone and now wanted payment for the return of my things! I told the gentleman I only wanted my passport and phone's SIM card. He nodded solemnly and then talked on the phone again.He closed his phone and told me they wouldn't accept that--I should offer some money. Because they had my wallet with the bank card in it, I couldn't retrieve money! I said to call them to bring my bank card and I would give them 200 RMB; they already had $2,000! Then I explained to the man how much had actually been on me that night. His eyes widened, then he seemed to gage me differently. On his second call the idiot thieves asked for my PIN number! I jumped up and took the phone from him, yelling into the mouthpiece in Chinese, "Do you think I am stupid? Give me my passport! Bring me my SIM card! 200 RMB is all!" The thief hung up. I decided it was pointless after that. I pointed to my bare legs and asked if they had something I could wear so I could leave. The man talked on the radio and within a few minutes another man came in with a pair of packaged shorts. As I started to put them on, a girl came in with my missing pants in her hands! I quickly grabbed them and searched the pockets, only to find a 10 RMB note in a front pocket. We all went next door where the girl had found them and we all looked under and behind and on top of everything, but no luck. Why? I was thinking; the thief had readily admitted as to having my things.I thanked everyone and left the place and headed to the only place I could think of--McDonald's. To fully appreciate my situation, understand that I was to be heading to Hong Kong that day. That was the purpose of having all that cash with me. I began to think, who knew about this? Who tipped off the massage girl I was loaded? Who knew I would be coming there? Had I said something earlier to someone I shouldn't have? For the first time in my four years in China, I felt totally venerable and exposed. And my suspicions about a shifty friend began to grow and fester in my thoughts; I was in a city of thieves after all, and only two people knew about me carrying all that money that night. Sipping coffee and staring out the large plate glass windows that looked out onto the ever busy Huangshi Dong Lu, I contemplated my future.

The Boys In Black

How Best to Waste Your Time In China

The first thing that occurred to me was to go to my bank and see if I could somehow cajole them into getting my money out of my account, even though I had no I.D. and no bank card. I did however know they had several photo copies of my passport on file. Whenever I received a wire transfer from the USA, they required me to bring them two copies of both my passport photo page and copies of my China visa. At this point they should have had a small bundle of them.

In Guangzhou, as in most larger cities in China, the main banks were open through the afternoon. When I entered the bank I was in luck; only two people were there and they were finishing up their transactions. When I approached the teller, a young man, he smiled and asked in English, "How are you today!" It was a small comfort and one of the reasons I liked using this small branch of the Agricultural Bank of China. I explained briefly what happened, leaving out the "where it happened"--I didn't think telling them I had been ripped off at a massage parlor would go over very well. There were only two tellers on duty and it appeared, no superiors. The man was very polite however and asked for me to return the following day, Sunday, as they were open from 9:00 am until noon. I thanked them both and left, heading straight to my second home, Xiao Shan (little hill) Bar, the place I had left the night before.

The area around the Garden Hotel and the Baiyun Hotel across the way, which both flank Huanshi Dong Lu, is thick with expatriate hangouts and foreign businesses. The McDonald's where I got my morning coffee that day sits on the ground floor of the Suifeng (CITIC) building, which houses several country's offices, such as the American Chamber of Commerce. The Garden Hotel has the Japanese Consulate. Next to the Baiyun Hotel, noted as being the very first high rise in Guangzhou, sits the infamous Friendship store, built in 1959. And running behind that is Tao Jin Lu, a long narrow road with many shops, cafes and a few clubs and bars. The first Starbucks opened up near the Garden Hotel and within the neighborhood mentioned, there is a Pizza Hut and a KFC and another McDonald's and a Subway "Sub " shop.

So it is no wonder tons of foreigners are to be found in this area. The first time I came to Guangzhou, as I was living in the countryside at the time, I found the Hill Bar, the oldest expat bar in the city, nestled in its lovely little park, right in front of the Baiyun Hotel. I distinctly recall that day I walked into the place. It was early afternoon, and there were a half dozen people inside, two at the bar and another four at a table. The place had posters of American and English rock bands and celebrities all over the walls: The Beatles, Elvis, Jerry Garcia, Marilyn Manson, Marilyn Monroe and John Wayne. The music playing though, didn't match the decor--Back Street Boys! The entire place is done up in an orangy stained wood. Several large, picture windows surround the place, giving the cramped space an airy jungle feel, as they all look out into the lushness of the park that surrounds it. A Plexiglas ceiling over the main floor space completes this odd but comfortable bar. Fortunately these are covered with hanging red awnings to deflect the full brunt of the noon day sun. The bar itself is an L-shape, seating about 10 to 12 people. Behind the bar are dozens of the prerequisite liquor bottles, and running it all are the cutest, young girls in the entire neighborhood.

Almost all the girls are from other provinces, typical of Guangzhou, whose floating population is in the millions. I watched a few of them grow up there; a girl named Flower and a girl named Fiona started when they were only 16! They were indentured servants--"bought" from their family to work in servitude until the debt was paid off. The girls all lived in a dormitory-like environment, with several bunk beds in a two bedroom apartment. They didn't make much, but the free English lessons more than made up for it, and plenty of expats slid money to them on the sly--tipping isn't done in China. I adored Flower, because I watched her go from a somewhat shy girl who could only say, "Hello Miko!" and "Goodbye Miko!" in the first month, to "How are you today? You're looking a bit fat!" and "I am studying computer now." Fiona was a shop-a-holic and a fashionable girl. Every month she would come in with a new ensemble and proudly show it off to the rest of us. Fiona knew how to work the clientele to the point that she rarely ever spent her own money on clothes. Flower simply behaved like a little angel, with a curiosity that touched everyone she met. But neither girl ever fooled around; they were traditional girls in that sense. They both had dreams, but each had their own plan. Fiona wanted to return home to marry. Flower on the other hand, wanted to work for a foreign concern and stay in the big city. Seven years later, and she is still a bartender at Hill Bar--the only one left. Fiona went on home, presumably to get hitched.

The other expats I met in the Hill gave me an education on living abroad. Finding that place was one of the smartest thing I did in my five years in China. I made connections that led to good jobs and found new places of interest to go on the advice of my new friends, as well as some good "do's and don'ts" from long timers. So it was there that I spent my first several hours of the day, nursing a few beers until one of my closest friends showed up, an Australian tennis coach by the name of Desmond. When he heard my story, he plucked out a couple of 100 RMB notes and told me, "a man has got to have money for beer!", and we toasted, not to my misfortune, but to a better day. He always had a way about him; I can't ever recall him ever being in the dumbs or in a sour mood. If he did he never showed it. He was also incredibly humble. He was very vital to Chinese national tennis--he coached both the Jr. boys and girls national teams, and two of his girls won medals in the Athens Olympics!

We small talked and continued drinking into the early afternoon. Then I decided to take a "'walk about" as Des would say, and get some fresh air and perhaps a bite to eat. Heading further down Huanshi Dong Lu, I ended up in a small little hide away grill and bar called Sleeping Wood. It was owned by a couple of talented Chinese with design backgrounds, and it showed. The interior was all red brick and wood, based on some the architecture of some housing that Point, one of the owners, saw in the province of Yunnan. Also, there were many decorations about the walls, in window sills and on shelves from that area. They have a small menu of well prepared western food, and I always find the place a great comfort when I am missing home.

I pulled myself up to the tiny bar--it only sits four people--and ordered a Tsing Tao draft, one of the few places in the city where you could actually get draft Chinese beer, and some Mexican food. I needed the solitude of Sleeping Wood for a little while and also the conversation of the assistant manager-bartender, Eric. His story is one of an energetic young Chinese man who knew how to take advantage of his surroundings and make the best of it. Originally he had learned his craft working at the now defunct Hard Rock Cafe in Guangzhou. He started as a busboy, then a waiter and finally a bartender, all the while honing his English skills at work and at home. English seemed to come naturally to him and his influences were deeply American in style. When I first met him, I had assumed he had studied in the USA, he sounded so authentic! Eric's demeanor also spoke volumes about him. He was a great listener and tactful with his advice, the consummate bartender. I didn't lay my troubles on him that day, I simply wanted a normal conversation and a quiet lunch with a good Chinese friend.

Later, I left and walked back the way I had come for only a half block. Across the street from the Holiday Inn, where the Sleeping Wood sits behind, is a small family owned convenience store. Out front were a scattering of the typical short folding tables seen in front of these type establishments, replete with tiny, plastic kiddy stools. Parked all along the street were a legion of taxis, and sitting at three of the tables were the drivers, some off duty, some just coming on, waiting customers from the hotel. It was still mid afternoon and I wanted to be outside, so I went into the open front store, bought three large local beers and a big bag of shell-in peanuts and joined the drivers out front. This was a regular tradition of mine and the men were always quite happy to see me. On a whim one evening, after leaving a rather dull and empty nightclub along the same road, I stopped by this place and sat down for a beer. I was at once welcomed to a table of drivers, eager to practice their English. I found it was also beneficial for me to practice my Chinese, so it worked out fine. When the light had faded I noticed a number of hookers showed up, also waiting for customers from the hotel, and they flirted me up for cigarettes and soda--no future client wants to smell alcohol on the breath of their future mistress do they?

As the afternoon wore on, my working class friends and I continued to sip beer and nibble our snacks and chat in two languages, three if you counted Cantonese. As the evening approached through a dimming haze, as if on cue a half dozen street girls showed up, sitting on some nearby steps, smoking, sipping soda that I bought, and looking bored. It was still too early to find work for either group--everyone was at dinner or winding down happy hour somewhere.

I returned to the Hill, which was in full swing by now and squeezed in beside another good friend, Mr. Y.Y. Poon. He always sat at the same place, near the cash register, where he held court with the afternoon cashier. Poon is a character of sorts. He was born in the mainland, but lives in Hong Kong. He travels extensively to America on business and is very much in love with the American west and the country music of Willy Nelson and other oldies. He prides himself on wearing "real" Levis bought in the USA, not copies from home. When in town, he would show up at Hill about 4:30 or 5:00 pm., sharing Chinese style snacks with the young girls: dried sour plums, dried cuttle fish, dried, shredded pork jerky. He would ask about my work and so on, but when 5:55 pm rolled around, he would pay his bill and go up the street fifty meters to another wonderful hang out, Elephant and Castle. There he watches the local news for an hour with the very pleasant and helpful owner, Kalvin.

After I told Poon of my robbery, he also asked, "Do you need some money? How much?" He was always very generous. One time I traveled with him back to Hong Kong, as I had to renew my visa. He was curious as to where I did it, so he came with me. The prices had changed though, and for what would have been the usual price for a six month multiple entry visa, now only bought me a single entry three month. Poon talked Cantonese with the young woman and inquired as to the price of the six month. He then pulled out his wallet and paid for my visa, waving me off, saying "You pay me when you have it." That was the end of it, then he took me to dinner at a very expensive Cantonese restaurant, where he managed their books. Young men in suits hustled around the room, whispering into mini headsets to unseen employees on the status of the meals of the Hong Kong elite who dined there. It was impressive to say the least. The manager, a lovely middle aged woman named Kim, sat with us for a round of tea and shark fin soup. We both then went shopping for an Austrian friend at a western foods market, who had requested certain delicacies only available in Hong Kong. Poon paid for everything and told me to tell our friend Mario, the recipient of most of the items, it was a gift from Poon. All in all, it was the best day I had ever spent in Hong Kong.

I accepted 300 RMB from Poon, who wouldn't hear it otherwise and continued the evening at the Elephant and Castle. In the back of their beer garden was a pool table, the only one around that any of us knew of, and playing there were three good friends, Canadian Dennis, Londoner James and Nigerian Kevin. They always huddled in the back, smoking hash and playing reasonable eight ball. Being in the mood I was, I didn't hesitate to partake of the smoke being passed around. Also being in the mood, I relayed my story, buying a round of drinks, either on Desmond's money or Poon's, I wasn't sure. I returned inside after our drink and talked with Poon and Kalvin. Many times Kalvin's family would arrive and he would invite one or two patrons to join them. Poon and I both had the fortune to eat with them this night and Kalvin's nieces were there, two young angels who were encouraged to speak English with Poon and I.

Word of my robbery had gotten around and a girl named Daisy, a girlfriend of another friend, encouraged me to make a police report. She said she would be more than happy to help out, so off we went in a taxi to the police station. The whole experience was a huge waste of time. When we arrived we were completely ignored for half an hour. Daisy, normally a polite and dignified Chinese girl, approached the desk, slammed her hand onto the top and demanded we be taken care of. Two policemen drove us to where the massage parlor was located. Prior to arriving at the police station, Daisy had stopped our taxi at the door of the massage parlor, getting the correct name and address.

Daisy told them to stop and pointed out the place, but they acted as if they didn't hear and kept driving. I tapped the driver's shoulder and told him in Chinese, "Stop! There! There it is!". Obligingly, they stopped in the middle of the road, the driver letting out a resigned sigh. The two officers conferred with each other in low quiet voices so neither Daisy nor I could hear. They made facial expressions and a few subtle hand and head gestures that also baffled us. The passenger cop took out his phone and called someone. He talked for a while, made eye contact with the other cop several times and then rang off. Then to Daisy and my surprise, they made a U-turn in the middle of the road and drove back toward the police station, never bothering to enter the establishment or question anyone who worked there. What was going on?

On the trip back Daisy confided in me that she didn't trust either one of them now and suggested that perhaps the police were involved in this in some way. "Maybe that's why nobody wanted to help us." she said, after giving them the parlor's name and address back at the station previously. That really made sense to me, because that morning the manager of the parlor refused to call the police, even though I repeatedly asked him to. He insisted there was nothing the police could do for me. And it was far from the first time I had been told stories by Chinese and other Expats about corruption in Guangzhou; the city seemed to thrive on it.

When we returned, the policeman who drove us went outside and made a number of phone calls, far out of any one's earshot. Anytime someone walked near, he would quickly fold up his phone, then resume the call when they walked away. Daisy and I both watched this go on with deep suspicion.

Again we were left alone for a unreasonable length of time and again Daisy expressed to a cop the lack of respect for my terrible situation. Within a few moments another officer in a bedraggled uniform, blood shot eyes and messy hair, took my statement. He asked for my phone number and for the second time that day, someone chatted with the thief. As the cop was talking, another policeman walked into the room, speaking loudly to the other officer. The cop on the phone quickly covered the phone's mouthpiece and motioned to the other policeman to be quiet, then he continued the conversation. Afterwards he advised me to make arrangements with the crook to meet in a public place where the police would be in waiting to catch him. I saw failure written all over this somewhat flimsy plan and I left with Daisy, completely disappointed.