anni di piombo or cloak and dagger

Prompted by the events and outcome of the Korea War, the US Central Intelligence Agency operating under the aegis of NATO and the Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe (SHAPE) coordinated with Western European intelligence agencies to raise a secret “stay-behind” paramilitary force, whose sleeper cells were to be activated in the event of a Soviet invasion to bolster a resistance movement.
The existence and scope of these units remained unknown until October of 1990, just weeks after the reunification of Germany and the dissolution of the Soviet Union, with the revelation of the prime minister of Italy and admission of a project under the codename Operation Gladio (from the Latin gladius, a short double-edged sword and standard issue for Legionnaires). Although involvement in the political turmoil and terrorism that characterized Italy’s civic landscape from the 1960s through the mid-1980s (called the Years of Lead for the bombings) was quickly downplayed and then ruled-out completely, as the international reach and collusion of the organizations became known—it went by different handles in each country where it was based but the Italian guise, Operation Gladio, became convenient short-hand for similarly vetted groups, and particularly because the social unrest and left-wing violence was especially tumultuous in Italy—attention turned back to the potential for governmental manipulation and intimidation. Other alleged undertakings seemed only for engendering chaos, a pact of panic to justify those security measures, suspicions and misgivings long since become a habit. Never deployed in response to an invasion nor ever the subject of deep political scrutiny even after the disclosure, there was of course the incentive to turn a defensive stance into an offensive posture and keep certain elements, socialist or left-leaning, out of European politics. Such Machiavellian mission drift is a common occurrence, and the US has remained evasive on the clandestine ventures that went on for decades. The fact that the tactics that the operatives reputedly employed comes from a playbook, a field manual, that was a supposed hoax leaked by the Soviets to members of the press willing to bite that outlines the strategic tensors of propaganda and terror is a just a rehashing of previous disinformation campaigns, the US maintains, does not mean that there is not something beneath this recursiveness and divestment. The legacy of Operation Gladio is poorly defined and often forgotten—indeed most referenced as an analogy—but does appear in reporting from time to time.

it happened on the way to the forum: dynasty or i quote in elegiacs all the crimes of heliogabalus

After Julius Caesar claimed autocracy and posthumously set the precedent of dynastic rule, it was in essence just a generation that separated the empire from the relative beneficence of Caesar's heir, Octavian called Julius Augustus whose long reign, political networks and civil reforms were just revolutionary enough to endure and to weather future crises, from the absolutely corruption yielded by absolute power and inheritance. Octavian groomed his successors with great care in hopes of ensuring a smooth transition of power and keeping Rome's political model, social services and borders in Octavian's image—plus all in the family. His heirs-apparent, however, did not live to see through Octavian's dominion, both his natural sons who had been educated, trained and primed for leadership, and in the end, Octavian was compelled to rewrite his will to name his step-son, Tiberius—ancestor of Nero and daughter of Livia by her first marriage, as his successor. Interestingly, though Octavian himself warned against harbouring creatures of the court that held illegitimate or behind-the-scenes authority, Octavian also adopted his widowed wife Livia as his daughter, so that she might retain some of the unofficial powers that she wielded, becoming known in all circles as simply the Augusta.

Tiberius proved less than harmless, and always the reluctant emperor, ceded much of the day-to-day matters of governance to a single adviser, who gladly took on the extra responsibilities and quickly identified and then indulged a native sense of paranoia. Tiberius' angst was not completely unwarrented of course, as his mother, the Augusta, had conspired to make sure her son became emperor, going so far—some believe—as having Tiberius' step-brothers taken out of the picture and even poisoning the old Octavian before he changed his mind about Tiberius, and the city was full of intrigues, including the self-fulling hatred that grew amongst the citizens once the emperor's adviser started the campaign of purges to execute or exile all those suspected of treason against the regime. Eventually Tiberius grew wise to the reality of the plot against him and had the adviser dismissed and tried as an enemy of the state himself, but by then it was far too late. Tiberius had his own son, the general known by his cognomen Germanicus, put to death for not following protocol and representing a threat to his father's authority. Rome had suffered a demoralising loss a decade prior in the Teutoburg Forrest to the commander of the Germanic tribes Hermann (Latinised as Arminius). Germanicus made a few winning forays on to the Eastern banks of the Rhine and was an inspiration to his troops and to the public, including making good on some old promises of pensions and better pay—out of his own personal fortune without bothering with bureaucratic embargoes. Recognising that Germanicus was far more popular than the emperor, presented a risk of a military coup, like forefather Julius Caesar, and had violated one of the terms set forth in Octavian's last will and testament, not to expand the boundaries of the empire. The Rhine remained the furthermost frontier of the empire but the adventures of Germanicus, if left unattended, might have expanded German control. Moreover, Tiberius dispatched Germanicus' family to ensure no further resistance was nascent—sparing only Germanicus' youngest son (and young daughters) since he did not pose any sort of challenge to the paranoid emperor. In fact, after Tiberius left the capital on a permanent basis to rule in absentia from his palace in Capri, he decided to do some estate-planning of his own and adopted his young grandson, whom Tiberius recalled fondly had accompanied Germanius on his expeditions, and was outfitted with a little legionnaire's uniform—including a tiny pair of boots, lending him the pet-name, Caligula. Once, for all intents and purposes, retired from political engagements and away from the city, Tiberius, with young and already traumatised Caligula to watch, was able to engage freely in his favourite pastimes—tossing slaves off the cliffs of his mountain top retreat in the gulf of Naples. Once Tiberius died, Rome believed that this new ruler, Caligula, would restore civil order and herald a new period of peace and prosperity. That delusion was short-lived, however.
The public was made to endure a long succession of madness, precocity and wantonness with only the very briefest of respites and naïve honeymoon periods after new families killed each other off. In the spirit of “the king is deal; long live the king” statues erected erected to certain regimes throughout the empire, on the streets and in temples, were often without thought for the historic record beheaded and replaced with the likeness of the new emperor—which is why archaeologists find a lot of disembodied busts and unofficially treated to purge the career of their predecessors. There was even a legislative mechanism for erasing the past, called damnatio memoriae, but this statue seemed to have been enacted only sparingly—at least as far as we know, since if it did work according to the letter of law, we would never know about it. This striking from the record was imposed on the assassins of Julius Caesar, to include the proscription on the pain of death that no one from his clan ever be called Marc Antony—although later pardoned and rescinded. After the horrors of Tiberius, Caligula (who bankrupted the empire, among other things), Nero (who is reported to have burned down Rome in order to make space for the palace he wanted to construct for himself and burned Christians for candlelit dining), the first emperor whose memory was to be condemned to oblivion was a man from Emesa (Homs) in the province of Syria called Sextus Varius Avitus Bassianus.  Domitian came first but as his condemnation was spearheaded by a Senate bitter for being completely bypassed by someone who refused to recognise the charade of democracy, and this selective memory was even less potent than usual.

He was given the regnal name of Elagabalus—or Heliogabalus to make the Persia name of the sun deity sound a bit more solar to Greco-Roman ears), after his service as a priest to that order in his homeland, who venerated a meteorite which was sent to Earth from the Conquering Sun, and tried to introduce this religion to Rome. For someone who historians tried to toss down the memory-hole, there are surely some other lascivious details about his emperorship aside from his proselytising, including his male-lovers and the grace-and-favour postings they received, his desire to “mate” with the Vestal Virgins to produce “godlike offspring,” and reputedly making a brothel of his palace. Although any and all of the claims cannot be elevated above the suspicion of embellishment, maybe the act that besmirched his reputation the most, aside from being a foreigner and as gender-/role-challenged as Cleopatra, was allowing his grandmother and mother to participate directly in the Roman Senate. After Elagablus' reign was cut short, his religious trappings were sent back to Syria, women were barred from the Senate and his existence erased. Though extant there's only the strain of his name sung in the Major-General's Song in the Pirates of Penzance and a Gilded Age cult following for his decadent parties, damnatio memoriae, de facto or sanctioned, seems to leave a lot of blanks to fill in.

this day in pfrc history

One year ago: Bavarians are going to the polls on the opening day of Oktoberfest. Some perennial events always take place in pairs.

Two years ago: H and I share a round-up of Frankonian churches. Conservative estimates place the property value of the land that the Church owns in Germany at around two hundred thirty billion euro.

Three years ago: Germany is undergoing a brain-drain, with recruiting and keeping talented individuals. Immigration policy reforms are geared towards attracting professionals but there are many challenges in the practical execution of these plans.

Four years ago: a reporter embarks on an odyssey to the autonomous Mount Athos to gain some insight in the culture that helped contribute to the Greek financial crisis.

it happened on the way to the forum: diomedes or totem and taboo

Learning about Roman history, there are quite a lot of places to keep in order—both as battlefields and storied colonies—but one particular locale that seems to come up frequently seemed relatively unsung and little celebrity, so I became curious about this port they called Brundisium (from the Greek for a deer’s head, referring to the shape of the habour).
The modern-day Brindisi in in Apulia on the heel of Italy, facing the Adriatic, is mentioned quite often—like when the Senate, fleeing from Julius Caesar after he crossed the Rubicon, abandoned the capital for Greece and generally as a destination for jaunting off in order to embark for the eastern lands. I discovered, however, this city at the terminus of the Via Appia, has a very rich history and mythic endowment as well. As the Matter of Rome itself has foundations in Trojan refugees, Brundisium too was established by a hero of the Iliad—one Diomedes, an Achaean warrior counted in the pantheon of the best along with Odysseus and Ajax for his strategic and physical skills, and the only mortal with the distinction to having fought alongside the goddess Athena and wounding an immortal, Ares. After this battle, Diomedes is bound to the Goddess of Wisdom for all eternity, but the divine the connection to southern Italy and greater Rome, one has to go back further to Athena’s birth and upbringing. Having emerged fully formed from the forehead of Zeus, Athena, though radiant and wise, did sort of miss out on social development, and in order to imbue her with some graces, she was raised by human foster parents alongside their own daughter, Pallas. One day Athena and Pallas were playing a bit rough, and not realising her own strength—or her foster-sister’s fraility, and the goddess accidentally killed the mortal girl. Athena was devastated and took the name Pallas Athena evermore and fashioned a wooden statue of her, the Palladium, which later fell from the sky and was taken as the omen to found the City of Troy. The icon was said to protect the city and it was revered as a symbol of state and Troy could not be taken so long as it remained within the city walls. Diomedes (who got several warnings from Athena about being too rough and about not killing or maiming any of the central characters) and Odysseus snuck into the city and wrested the Palladium away from Debbie-Downer Cassandra (Ajax was instrumental in seizing the statue but was punished with a divine madness later for having violated the altar where it was displayed), who was the only other person who knew that the relic ensured the safety of Troy but no one listened to her.
After the war and the Greeks dispersed, Diomedes migrated to the Italian coast, having been unseated as king of Argos during his decade absense, and as the talisman, a monkey's paw, was bringing him no great fortune (probably due to the unsavoury though preordained manner in which it was purloined), Diomedes surrendered it to his enemy, Aeneas, as the keystone of his new settlement, Rome.  This treasure appears in official manifests for well of seven-hundred years of documented history, but it was perhaps lost to the ages with the sack of Rome by the Visigoth hordes in 410 AD.  Some believe, however, during the waning years of the Western Empire that Constantine, an avid collector, smuggled the Palladium to Constantinople, as a blessing for the Eastern capital and it is buried under his column, still standing in modern-day İstanbul.

kriegsbilder oder epimetheus

Once events begin to slip from living memory, I think either myths are made or tenants too difficult to reconcile are transformed into something spontaneously decisive and regarded with some kind of groundless anti-legend. Tragically, I believe that World War I is starting to be understood as the latter—while knowing that this is a heading that can be reversed.
The State Ar- chives is hosting a small exhibit of the ephemeral—periodicals, political cartoons, caricatures and patriotic posters gathered from all corners of Europe, highlighting the works of graphic artists Max Beckmann, Ernst Barlach, Käthe Kollwitz and Max Liebermann from 1914 to 1918—which are important moments, the scattered sibylline leaves of yesterday's unwanted newspapers, to reflect on.
History, with is its causes and effects removed from witness though we all live with the aftermath, can seem a bit academic and arbitrary, but seeing that the same surety and detracting prescience was in circulation back then too makes the past breathily close and a-pace with usual tumult of commentary and the media echo-chamber.
The proximity of that target of acquaintanceship and familiarity can always be set just a little further back.

ecumene

Vox features a collection of several maps to illustrate the rise and fall of the Roman Empire, on the anniversary of the death of Caesar Augustus, our Octavian. It seemed like a fitting and timely supplement to plot the development of conquest and eventual decline, including facets of its equally important legacies that shape the ways of the world today. Ecumene is a geographical term adopted from the Greek οἰκουμένη referring to the known universe, and the origin of the word ecumenical.

it happened on the way to the forum: ubi et orbi or as the empire turns

After real and perceived achievements during the Gallic campaigns—helped through self-propagrandisement, Caesar made excursions across the Rhine, which was the superstitious northern boundary of the Empire and beyond which lie the Germanic tribes—marshalling his engineers to construct a bridge in less than a month to support the movement of forty-thousand soldiers and their wagon train, only to tear it down again once the troops were paraded in Teutonic territories—and their point was proven.
Caesar’s legions went on to land on the mythical Isle of the Britons—though no colony was established there until Hadrian’s time. Though essentially exiled from Rome, Caesar and his troops were generally enjoying their time in the field and wanted for no hardships. Despite the fact that neither the general nor his senatorial opponents really respected the jot and tittle technicalities of the law—unless it served them well, Caesar, with his string of successes, was fully confident that he would be allowed to serve a second consecutive term as pro-counsel on the frontier of Gaul, as the second five year term would bring Caesar to the ten-year limitation of standing for counsel of the city. Realising Caesar’s intentions, the Senate demanded that the general disband his legions and issued his recall to Rome. Caesar refused to return to Rome unless he was allowed to retain the protection of his armies—since he would no longer be immune from prosecution, and while the Senate probably would not have crucified this war-hero, Caesar would be compelled to retire from political life, a prospect which probably struck him as worse than death.
Facing the eventual attrition of his legions (the Senate starving them out and no relief fighters coming if not an attack from the army of the republic—though such an assault would be without precedence), Caesar decided to act immediately and marched his legions south. By crossing the Rubicon, going from the province of Gaul into the Empire proper, Caesar mobilised a Roman fighting force against Rome itself. It was no bluff, but the Senate, not knowing the size of the army on the march, fled to Greece and abandoned the city, bringing along most of those with means with them and leaving Rome defenseless and empty. In truth, neither side wanted the bad publicity of open fighting between factions, and Caesar was keen on forgiveness, generally pardoning his enemies—at least the leadership, no matter the transgression. Caesar declared himself dictator of the deserted city, and appointed his long-time brother-in-arms, a brilliant strategist though hopeless dissolute in his private life, Mark Antony as caretaker, while he went to pursue the opposing armies, under the direction of Pompey, a once loyal member of Caesar’s coalition of three, the Triumvirate. Caesar chased Pompey to Egypt, where the defender of the Republic, bereft of his military and leader of a Senate only in name sought refuge. The kingdom with its capital in Alexandria, ruled by the Greek Ptolemaic dynasty since its founding by Alexander the Great, had maintained an uneasy peace with Rome as a client state, bribing diplomats for their continued independence and keeping Rome at arm’s length. Pompey believed he could find some supporters there—especially if he could vouchsafe their sovereignty. Once Pompey arrived, however, he was immediately beheaded by a faction loyal to Caesar who believed that they were executing Caesar’s wishes—and he might be able to forgo an unwelcome, prolonged visit—besides Egypt was in the midst of its own civil war and did have the time to deal with Roman intrigues, just as Rome—appointed as executor of the Egyptian ruler’s last will and testament had been too busy with its own constitutional crisis to enforce the other’s wishes. When the last ruler of Alexandria died, as was tradition, joint leadership passed on to his children, young Ptolemy XIII and his older sister Cleopatra.
The royal advisors, knowing it would be an easier matter to control a ten-year-old rather than the experienced and savvy Cleopatra sought to divest her of all power. In the midst of these maneuvers, Caesar arrived in Alexandria, looking for Pompey. When Caesar was presented with his old associate’s head, the sole-survivor of the Triumvirate was mortified—possibly more remorseful for having lost the chance to forgive his rival and be an all-around good-winner. Caesar had the assassin executed and because of the boy-king’s advisors’ involvement in the act, sided with Cleopatra (also admiring her moxy in being snuck back into the capital, hidden in a linen basket) and helped her regain her place on the throne. Since destined to wed her brother, in order to keep the royal succession in the family, and grateful for the support, the young queen became quite enamoured with the old general—and for the first time in a decade, Caesar took a vacation—in the form of a month-long luxury cruise down the Nile. Although it was surely relaxing and resulted in the only male child, Ptolemy XV Caesarion, that Caesar was to sire (known, at least), the general saw no reason to squander a chance to make an impression upon the countryside, with some four-hundred ships regaled in the wake of Caesar’s yacht. Here was another land where Roman presence was entrenched. After this liaison and enemies dispatched with, Caesar returned to Rome to relieve the remaining populace from the terror of Antony, who carried himself with hedonism and casual disregard for the common-man as well as any future emperor. Caesar was cheered and even mostly when he presented Cleopatra—except by his wife and those suspicious of this Eastern temptress.  Wave after wave of tribute-parades were celebrated but the thronged masses grew weary of the spectacle when the floats started depicting those local personalities who fell from grace.

The crowd may have been starting to appreciate the countermands of his opponents and seeing the triumphs in the sobre and disappointing light of a man responsible for so much bloodshed and sorrow by his singular refusal to give up the limelight. Possibly due to having a scarcity of choice, Caesar announced that he would be launching a campaign to pacify the Balkans, whose amity emerged as a threat out of nowhere. Those elements that remained that feared Caesar's tyranny—he had indeed resigned from his self-proclaimed earlier dictatorship but later had it reinstated for life, knew they had to act quickly before Caesar once again repaired to the borderlands, and contrived a simple plot, with no thought for succession-planning. The conspirators resolved to rid Rome of a usurping king, thought that is exactly what they got for the rest of the Empire's career, and lured Caesar to the Senate on the eve of his departure with a fabricated bill that required his attention. Despite portends from friends and family, Caesar did not want to be seen as standing-up the Senate again and went to his chambers. Caesar was stabbed thirty-four times. Eulogised by Antony, Caesar's will was unsealed and bequeathed Rome quite an unexpected cliffhanger: Caesar's last testament called for the posthumous adoption of his nephew Octavian (though Caesar recognised potential), a frail and rather unspectacular youth, and left the lion's share of his fortune and estate to him. Antony, Caesar's loyal confidant and trusted second in command felt more than slighted by this omission. Almost right away, the alliance between Octavian (who took his adoptive father's name) and Antony fell asunder, with Antony consumed with retaking the reigns and rich rightly his. Finding one another in similar straits, feeling betrayed by the same man, Antony took up with Cleopatra and retreated to Egypt.  Together, with the Egyptian queen elevated to Antony's co-general, the two raised an army to wrest power away from Octavian.  Though the Senate, despite being defanged themselves, had long since stripped Antony of all executive powers, he and Cleopatra declared that Caesarion, Caesar's illegitimate son, and the twins that were the result of Antony's affair, were princes and princesses of the Roman provinces.

This announcement particularly incensed Octavian, being that Antony was married to his sister, and though adultery was tolerated in Roman culture provided it was done sufficiently on the sly, Octavian began to style Cleopatra as some sort of wicked enchantress, like Circe, and had the formerly loyal Antony under her spell.  After a failed sea-battle, the duo were eventually cornered in Alexandria, hiding out in the chambers of a tomb that Cleopatra had been building for herself, nothing as conspicuous as a pyramid, however.  Forlorn at their poor prospects and cramped-quarters, Antony called for Cleopatra, but weary, she sent a slave to inform Antony that she was already dead.  Wracked with grief, Antony stabbed himself and hearing his death-moans, Cleopatra came running to comfort Antony.  Cleopatra was captured at that instant and had no time to follow his example.  Faced with the prospect of being paraded around Rome as a prisoner, Cleopatra had a deadly asp smuggled into her cell in a basket by a slave and poked at it until it struck.  In rapid-succession, our Roman adventures present themselves a lot like the plot from a soap-opera, and there is much more below the surface and popular idioms.  Hopefully for you too, such a portrayal might be inspiration to learn more.

nova scotia

Depending on the outcome of the coming referendum, how will Scotland address our friend? Oh don't mind her—that's just Elizabeth, the queening-lady.