The flutter of a butterfly…

The butterfly effect is a common trope in popular science and fiction that attempts to convey a hard-to-grasp scientific fact: a very small change in the initial conditions can create a significantly different outcome. The phrase refers to the idea that a butterfly's wings might create tiny changes in the atmosphere that may ultimately alter the path of tornado a large distance away. 

A small twist of fate can alter a lot for one person but I have always suspected the impact of  one event on the course of the entire world. Can one person, one event, one random turn, truly alter the course of history? Aren't we all just pieces in one gigantic puzzle linked together in a million tiny ways but unable to influence the picture as a whole. But then, once in a while, I encounter examples where one person does manage to alter the entire course of history - unintentionally perhaps, but irreversibly altered nevertheless. 

In many ways, the story below - laced with irony, rebellion, intrigue and love - symbolizes the Economist's law of unintended consequences. Ever since I first heard the story, I have been trying to reconcile the monumental impact of this one man, Gavrillo Princip and this one chance event on the world as it exists today. The thing that caught my attention in this story was not the action of men because they failed in their own ways. But it was the role of chance, randomness or luck that truly stood out for me. 

Gavrillo Princip (1894-1918), was a Bosnian Serb who was responsible for the assassination of Prince Archduke Ferdinand, heir to the throne of Austria-Hungary and his wife, Sophie, Duchess of Hohenburg. Princip was born in a family of serfs at a time when Serbia was in a tumultuous state of transition. 

In 1878, under the Treaty of Berlin, Austria-Hungary received the mandate to occupy and administer the Bosnia while the Ottoman empire retained official sovereignty. As part of the same treaty, Serbia was accorded the status of a sovereign state which soon transformed into a kingdom under Prince Obrenovic who ruled within the borders set by the treaty. However, this peaceful state of existence changed when as part of a military coup, the king and the queen of Serbia were violently murdered and Peter I was installed as the new king. This new dynasty was friendlier to Russia than to Austria-Hungary and over the next decade, disputes erupted as Serbia moved to reclaim its former fourteenth century empire. Serbia's military successes in these campaigns further emboldened the nationalistic elements in Serbia and the serbs in Austria-Hungary who were irked by the Austro-Hungarian rule. 

As a christian serb (serf) family living in northwestern Bosnia, the Princips (and other serbs) were often oppressed by their muslim landlords and forced to live off the little land they owned. This led to large scale discontent against the Austro-Hungrian empire. At the age of 13, Princip's brother moved him to Sarajevo and this gave him more opportunities for protest. In 1911, Princip joined the Young Bosnia, a society that wanted to separate Bosnia from Austria-Hungary and to unite it with the rising kingdom of Serbia. The following year, Princip was expelled from school for being involved in demonstrations against the Austro-Hungarian authorities. Coincidentally, after the Balkan wars in 1912-1913 the Austro-Hungarian administration in Bosnia and Herzegovina became extremely serbophobic and declared a state of emergency as the governor closed many schools and Serb societies and inflamed the historic anti-serb rhetoric. All this further fueled the young Princip and he left Sarajevo to arrive in Belgrade. He then volunteered to join Serbian Guerrilla bands fighting under the leadership of Major Vojin Tankosic, who was a member of the Black Hand - the leading terrorist organization in Serbia at the time. Three young men, including Gavrillo Princip at the age of 19, were thus trained, armed and tasked with the assassination of Prince archduke Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary by Major Tankosic. These young men were a product of their times as they sought freedom from the Austro-Hungarain empire to unite with the serbs, in hope of a better future. 

Gavrillo Princip, PC: Wikipedia 

Franz Ferdinand's life too is a charming story in itself. He was born in Austria to the younger brother of the emperor Franz Joseph, Archduke Karl Ludwig and was thus not the direct heir to the throne. However, in 1889, his cousin, Crown Prince Rudolf committed suicide and this left emperor Franz Joseph's younger brother (and Franz Ferdinand's father) next in line to the throne. When his father, Archduke Karl Ludwig, died of typhoid fever in 1896, Franz Ferdinand became the prince and heir to the throne. 

            

Archduke Franz Ferdinand, PC: Wikipedia    Duchess Sophie, PC: Wikipedia 

As a young man, Franz Ferdinand had met Countess Sophie Chotek at a ball in Prague but was forbidden to marry her as she was not a member of one of the reigning dynasties of Europe. Sophie and Prince Franz stayed in touch through letters and their relationship blossomed, away from the eyes of the court. Deeply in love, Franz Ferdinand refused to marry anyone else and after numerous appeals from him and his royal friends (Tsar Nicholas II of Russia, German emperor Wilhelm II and Pope Leo XIII all appealed his case), emperor Franz Joseph finally permitted the prince to marry Sophie. He however imposed a condition that the marriage would be morganatic and that their children would have no succession rights to the throne. Sophie was further forbidden from sharing her husband's rank, title, precedence or privileges and could normally not appear in public with him. Despite these brutal restrictions, the two married in 1900 and stayed together for the rest of the lives (and even deaths).  

In 1913, in the midst of the crisis in Serbia, Emperor Franz Joseph commanded the archduke to observe military maneuvers that were scheduled for June 1914 in Bosnia.  June was also a time of great unrest in Serbia as it commemorates the 1389 Battle of Kosovo against the Ottomans when the Sultan was assassinated by a Serb. This was a time for serbian patriotism and military observances. Although, Duchess Sophie could never share the archduke's rank and splendors as the prince; she would not let him travel alone as she feared for his safety amidst all this turmoil. In fact, if you were to believe historian AJP Taylor, love was the reason they met their deaths on this fateful day in June - "[Sophie] could never share Franz Ferdinand's] rank… could never share his splendors, could never even sit by his side on any public occasion. There was one loophole… his wife could enjoy the recognition of his rank when he was acting in a military capacity. Hence, he decided in 1914, to inspect the army in Bosnia. There at its capital Sarajevo, the Archduke and his wife could ride in an open carriage side by side…Thus, for love, did the Archduke go to his death".

On the fateful morning of June 28, 1914, The Archduke and his wife arrived in Sarajevo by train and the entire motorcade including the governor of Sarajevo began its journey as per a pre-announced program. Six armed assassins including Princip were positioned along the motorcade route with a single target in mind - Austria's heir apparent, Archduke Franz Ferdinand. 

The first two assassins along the route failed to act but the third assassin, Nedeljko Cabrinovic, who was armed with a bomb decided to take action. He threw his bomb on the motorcade but unfortunately the bomb bounced off the convertible and exploded under the next car in the motorcade. This blast caused a major furore as 16-20 people were wounded. The assassin Cabrinovic swallowed his cyanide pill and jumped into the nearby river to evade the police. Unfortunately for him though, the river was running dry and only 6 inches deep and the cyanide pill did not quite work.  He was thus taken into custody and severely beaten. A disaster seemed to have been averted as the assassination attempt appeared to have been foiled. The motorcade sped away to arrive at the town hall for the scheduled reception where the Archduke (understandably) complained about the reception accorded to him - "Mr. Mayor, I come here on a visit and I get bombs thrown at me. It is outrageous." After a few soothing words from Sophie, he finally thanked the people of Sarajevo for their ovations "as I see in them an expression of their joy at the failure of the attempt at assassination." 

After the commotion of the explosion and the rally, Franz Ferdinand and Sophie gave up their planned program and decided to visit the wounded from the bombing at the nearby hospital. The remaining assassins had all dispersed to avoid capture and it seemed that the  plot was indeed foiled. 

Now, this is where fate makes an unlikely entry and alters the course of events. 

Once the Archduke and Duchess board the motorcade, the accompanying general orders that the royal car be  taken to the Hospital through a route that avoids the city center. However, the driver of this motorcade, Leopold Lojka did not get the order and took a wrong turn into the Franz Josef street which had a cafe. Fortuitously enough, after the failed assassination attempt, Gavrillo Princip had wandered to a nearby food shop - Schiller's Delicatessen on the same street. As the universe conspired, it was at this point that the Archduke's motorcade made the wrong turn. The driver, upon being told about the changed route was trying to reverse the car when the engine stalled and the gears locked giving Princip an unexpected opportunity. Taking the chance, Princip stepped forward and fired two shots from a distance of about 5 feet. The first bullet wounded the Archduke in the jugular and the second inflicted an abdominal wound on the Duchess (who some reports say was pregnant at this time). Both victims remained seated upright but died while being driven to the Governor's residence for medical treatment. As reported by Count Harrach who was with the motorcade, Franz Ferdinand's last words were "Sophie, Sophie! Don't die! Live for our children!" followed by six or seven utterances of "It's nothing" in response to questions about his pain. 



Princip and the other assassins were meanwhile caught and imprisoned for high treason. At his sentencing, Princip stated that his second shot was aimed at Governor Potiorek than the Duchess. Princip was 19 years old at the time of the assassinations and was thus too young to receive the death penalty. In fact, he was 27 days short of his twentieth birthday which would have made him eligible for death penalty under the Habsburg law. Instead, he received the maximum sentence of twenty years in prison where he contracted tuberculosis and died on 28 April 1918. Princip had stated under cross-examination: "I am a yugoslav nationalist and I believe in unification of all South Slavs in whatever form of state and that it be free of Austria." Princip, was a young terrorist who wished for nothing but the betterment of his people. 

Assassination illustrated in the Italian newspaper Domenica del Corriere, 12 July 1914 by Achille Beltrame.

As fate conspired, this single event - the assassination of the Archduke, triggered a chain of events that resulted in the first world war within a month. Austria-Hungary blamed Serbia and dragged Germany into the war. Russia responded and France got involved leading finally to the entry of Great Britain. The war began one month after this assassination and continued for 4 years leading to one of the bloodiest wars in world history that spanned almost the entire world in one way or another. The first world war, of course, was directly responsible for the Second world war which ultimately shaped the world as it exists today. And so, one can extrapolate that the gun shot that was intended to start a local protest by killing the Archduke actually triggered a whole lot more than that. 

Ironically, Princip was saved from the death sentence by his young age but he only lived long enough to witness the horrors of the first world war and the millions of deaths that directly resulted from his actions. I cannot be certain but I am fairly sure that given the benefit of hindsight and knowing the consequences of his actions, Princip might have chosen to not fire his gun on that fateful day. Because if you extend the chains of causation - the current middle east crisis, the Israel-Palentinian conflict, the cold war, Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Pearl Harbor, The third Reich, the treaty of Versailles, the first world war - they all occur at the other end of that one gunshot! 

I have long suspected the impact of individual agency on the course of world history because it often seems that our actions are often drowned by those of the multitudes around us, especially when it comes to changing the world. And yet, when I come across examples like this, I am forced to believe in the agency of one - for better or for worse. The agency of one, aided by the randomness and chaos that drives us is sometimes just as powerful as the flap of that butterfly's wings. 

Post-Script: 
My journey into understanding the first world war began through a podcast (Hardcore History by Dan Carlin) but it soon led me to dig deeper in books by John Keegan (The First World War) and Barbara Tuchman (The guns of August). This story has particularly captured my fascination even as I have dug-deeper and read more about it in wikipedia and other media outlets. 

Reference Sources: 
1) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archduke_Franz_Ferdinand_of_Austria
2) G. J. Meyer (2007). A world undone: The story of the great war, Bantam Dell.
3) John Keegan (2000). The First World War.

4) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Assassination_of_Archduke_Franz_Ferdinand_of_Austria
5) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gavrilo_Princip
6) http://www.firstworldwar.com/bio/princip.htm
7) http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/jun/27/gavrilo-princip-sarajevo-divided-archduke-franz-ferdinand-assassination
8) http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/jun/27/guardian-1914-analysis-archduke-franz-ferdinand-shooting

Samsara - a personal journey around the world...

I have always acknowledged the power of visual imagery.
And despite my preparedness for it, I am overwhelmed and pretty much reduced to melancholy as I watch these hauntingly beautiful snapshots - shot over a period of 4 years - from 25 countries around the world.

That is Samsara for you!
Art through visual snapshots that transports you to some of the most spectacular places on earth within a span of ninety minutes. And yet, it is not a travelogue or documentary or even a story. It makes you find the words for the story even as it compels you to make the story. 

Samsara is only what you make out of it - left to your own means. Some could just appreciate the cinematography and camera angles while some others could be struck down by a sense of despair, gloom and hopelessness - as one stands witness to humanity gnawing through its very own foundations. As much as I hate to use the word, Samsara to me, IS a spiritual journey. It is a personal journey even though it traces the past, present and perhaps the future of the rest of humanity. 

As I sat in a darkened room, watching these images streaming by, accompanied by nothing but hauntingly appropriate music in the background, my only thought was - "Imagine if some aliens from another galaxy or if our future generations, after an apocalypse like event, were to watch this to try and understand the world as it exists today:
What would they think? That we drove ourself to extinction and that we were a weird and extremely social herd of men and women who couldn't/wouldn't/didn't think!!!"

That is what Samsara is. A brutally honest and yet spell-bindingly beautiful portrait of us, as a people, a race and a community. It is us, as we exist, today, in at least 25 countries around the world. 

Samsara is art - not because of the stunning images shot on 75 mm film - that makes it rather special too; but Samsara is art because it doesn't tell you what to think. It floods you with these diverse images and leaves you to make sense of it. I left disappointed and disillusioned by everything I saw. Maybe you will not.  Maybe you will manage to see the human ability to survive and thrive despite the odds. Or maybe you will be consumed by a sense of despair stronger than mine. Nonetheless, it is a journey I will strongly recommend.

There are images that you see and then there are stories that you build 

Stories of: (Spoiler alert!!!)

Regimented battalions of hundreds of thousands of men, working like machines repeating the same task over and over, and over - until the world's end - only to get their two square meals. 

Imagine an army of perfectly sculpted, identical looking, pretty but unthinking women - trying to fit the stereotypes of the world. 

Imagine ghost cities and towns - abandoned, destroyed by natural disasters with names of their own. Disasters that left behind nothing but a haunting presence of all that was and could have been. 

A world where tiny, multi-storyed, one room shanties are built with corrugated tin pieces glued together and tied by ropes - threatening to collapse at a moments notice - all in the shadow of giant, multi-storey, apartment complexes that are furnished with swimming pools, gardens and other amenities. 

A world where animals are bred only to be consumed by the select few who can afford. Where life is dismembered, packaged and sold faster than it can be grown. Where life is sometimes just food. 

Where history from hundreds of years stands witness to the atrocities of the present. Where nature unleashes its fury every now and then but human will always strives to overcome it. 

When men are united by the name of an unseen god and by a book of prayers than by the plight of a fellow human. Where men and women, live in fear - trained and ready to fight/kill at a moments' notice.  A world where borders are made in stone and sand and yet they are strong enough to separate people of the same kind.

A world where body art continues to make statements - of power, culture, and individuality - in the oldest of tribes to the youngest of civilizations. 

Where creation with meticulous labour and exquisite attention to detail is only the first step towards destruction - a symbolic, cyclical ritual that we, as a race, seem to initiate everywhere. 

A world whose lungs are fast being choked with the overwhelming amounts of garbage generated everyday. A world which looks gloriously beautiful and hideously ugly - both at the same time - through the eyes of the unspeaking, unflinching camera. 

A world where the cities buzz through the day and are glittering by the night; in hues of red, orange and gold - looking quite vulgar and expensive.

History...

There is something about history that is always just out of your grasp - all pervasive and still elusive.

My journey began in a country that was steeped in history.
History that dated back to several millennia. A history of migration, invasion, war, disease, annihilation, colonization, liberation and modernization.
It is a country with so much history that it lies unseen, uncared for, and unheard; by the streetside - like a homeless traveling through time, our heritage lay neglected. Allowed to disintegrate at a steady pace.

Where I grew up, history was omnipresent and unavoidable - lining the streets, dotting the towns and villages. Hundreds of years were summarized in passing. A few sentences were all they would merit because there was so much time to be covered.

History had dug its roots so deep here, that we wanted to break free.

Some of us would run from this very history to embrace other cultures and civilizations.
Some others would feel the weight of these age old customs, traditions, rituals and cultures binding them, tethering them to the dark and irrelevant mistakes of the past. Their wings were clipped and weighed down by the past.

Some others considered history to be the dead weight that was preventing the country from rising to its true potential - a kind of baggage that must be shed before we were drowned by its weight. For some others, it was an albatross around their neck - a reminder of all that went wrong and can go wrong in the times to come.
And yet, for some, there was glory in this view of the past. Lessons to be learnt from these labor pains; from the innocence of infancy to the adolescent rebellion and finally to the crisis of growth and maturation in the mid-life civilization.

No one was completely right or wrong.

History is a double edged sword.

India, has a heritage dating back more than 7 millennia and in this long window of time - a lot has happened. From the birth of civilization as we know it to the discovery of science and technology - there have been many great things that have come out of this great land. But, these achievements are also tainted. They bear the burden of the caste system, of oppression, retarded social structures, discrimination against women and religious intolerance.

Waves of migration, invasion and trade brought many different cultures to our doorstep making this country an eclectic melting pot. Its identity has changed and evolved with the times and people could find an identity convenient to them depending on how far back in time they went.
An identity that was once strong, self-assured and open, is today tipping over, crumbling under its own weight. What was once whole, strong and pliable, is being forced to be rigid, definite and precise today. And in the process, it has become a shackle to be broken. An image to be destroyed. A myth to be debunked.

And as I struggled with my own share of this burden of history and heritage, my journeys brought me to a country where history is revered, is sought after.

Simply because it is non-existent. Unlike India, where centuries were the currency of time, here, time is measured in years. The roots of these modern day cities extend only a few decades in time.
And so, the people here search for their roots. They treasure their old letters and photographs, the books and the names, the homes and the churches - whatever little they could find, was their anchor to their past. These few things are their connection to their history, to their past and to their ancestors. Their glorious present searches for an anchor, something to call its own - a rich, glorious past. They go looking for that lost time. They are not dwarfed or burdened by their history or its mistakes. Somehow, a successful present seems to atone for a lot of the past.

And still, there are other countries where the past is a burden to bear. A mistake to learn from. A mistake never to repeat. Not just for its own people, but for humanity itself. And so they run from their past even as they try to accept it.

And so, despite being its constant, unchanging, unwavering entity, history remains elusive and amorphous - subject to interpretation.
Sometimes it is the yoke that leashes you while at others it is the anchor that you seek. Sometimes, it is a burden to lose and at others, it is the foundation that you seek.