A Don’s Life

Running a Classical conference: the inside story

We have just finished hosting our Classical conference in Cambridge -- three days, 400 delegates, so not big in American terms, but big enough for us. Just showing up at a conference is a quite different experience from going to a conference that you're actually helping to organise. When you're part of the home team, it's all a bit of a worry. In particular you're desperate that every paper, every event will be really good. (Lets face it, when you're just an ordinary attender, part of the pleasure is the tut-tutting over a drink about those papers that were truly horrendous ...it's not so when you're responsible for the whole show).

The truth is, I confess, that I was a bit of a minnow in the organisational team, and only really took reponsibility for the two evening "Open Fora" (one on Socrates and one on the Future of Pompeii); all the same it is was sufficiently anxiety inducing and time-consuming to mean that I hardly got to any of the papers I wanted to hear or to speak to many of my mates.

As I've explained before, the idea of these was to open the conference to a wider public than just the signed-up conferees, and to put some interesting non-classicists into bat. Simple idea, so why so time-consuming? Well, on the one hand, all the usual potential disasters that needed averting (one of the participants had to withdraw for utterly cast-iron reasons with two days notice....bless her <we all do, for many reasins>, Germaine Greer stood in almost no notice at all, but it was an unpleasant Saturday afternoon). But even without that, if you're not practised at it, just getting 4 people to converge on the same place at the same time, feed them, get them jollied up to talk engagingly, and then get them away again, easily becomes a full time job for a few days... believe me!

So what was the verdict?

Museum photographs

We have the "Triennial Conference of the Hellenic and Roman Societies" in town (more on this later). And the opening party was in the Fitzwilliam Museum, with the splendid array of cakes that you see in the picture, and a jolly good get together in the Courtyard restaurant, at which I took a number of snaps of the assembled classicists.

But as soon as I wandered into the galleries, where we were allowed to view the art while quaffing our wine (jolly nice), I was firmly told: no photographs in the galleries. Though before the ban I did manage a nice shot of Professor Neer in the Greek and Roman Room, as you see.

 The puzzle to me is: Why no photographs? I can see that Museums don't want to have visitors taking pictures that they then publish for free. But that is easily prevented by the usual "no flash, no tripod" rule. And some say that it is a question of the loans on display ... the lenders have given permission for their property to be shown to the public but not photgraphed by them. If so, why?

And more to the point, why do Museums have such different policies?

Why bother to visit the Colosseum?

OK it's one of the most memorable buildings in Rome -- indeed in Western culture. And the reason I co-wrote a book on it, is that I truly believe that its history from ancient gladiatorial arena to 19th century botanical garden is more fascinating than most people realise. It looks absolutely tremendous from the outside. But is it really worth a couple of hours queuing to see the very battered ruins of the interior?

I'm not so sure.

I have just been in Rome for a few days, doing a recce for a new little tv series on ancient Rome (from the point of view of ordinary Romans, not the emperors and generals etc). I'm not going to give away exactly what we've been seeing -- it will ruin the surprise when you watch (how's that for a tease!). But what has struck me as we have gone round the city of Rome is the mad concentration of tourism.

Everyone wants to see the Colosseum, the Forum and Palatine (all those are on a combined ticket -- which you can buy online: good tip)), the Capitoline museums (on the Campigoglio) and the Vatican. There are crowds of people, and a dreadful line to get in at almost all times of the day (the later the better is my experience). But go to the wonderful collection of sculpture in the Palazzo Massimo (near  the main train station) and you will not have to queue for a minutes, and you will find some of the most stunning works of Roman art to have survived (Livia's Garden Room from Prima Porta is here, for example, and you can't get better than that).

Archaeology and the Big Society and metal detectors

The main Saturday morning news featured the troubles of professional archaeology. There were now, we were told,  7% fewer professional archaeologists than however many months ago and indeed archaeology was "more reliant on volunteers" than it had ever been before.

My guess is that this did not make the nation's heart bleed. I suspect that most people did not realise that there was a "profession" of "professional archaeology" - and many of those that did would not have rated its importance along with teachers and nurses etc. Which is a pity.

The professional archaeological 'units', spread across the country, have done more than most to ensure that the deep past has not been bulldozed. In fact, most of the new understandings of the early history of London has come from the work of the professional team at the Museum of London (and I wonder what is happening to them in the big MOL shake up). And the same goes for other units in loads of ancient towns and regions. They have dashed into the sites in advance of building development, and extracted all kinds of information from them.

The problem for these units is the recession: not only does the government think that archaeology is the kind of icing on the cake that can be cut, but if little development is going on there are fewer sites for the units to rescue.

So far, so good.

But the idea that archaeology is now more reliant than ever before on volunteer labour is only the idea conjured up by a very short memory indeed.

News from Athens

I have been in Greece for a few days, and made the usual 'pilgrimage' to the Acropolis. A few years ago I posted about the Museum and the row that was then raging between Vangelis (Greece's best known musician) and the Museum authorities. They wanted to bulldoze Vangelis's nice house (above) whoch stands between the Museum and the Acropolis itself (and so from the lower floors spoils the vista between the two). Understandably, Vangelis rather fancied staying put.

There was a lot of mud slinging on both sides. Vangelis insisted on the architectural distinction of his house (true from the front, not from the back) and that the design brief for the Museum had made it clear that the house (and its next door neighbour) should be preserved. The opposition said that Vangelis was (ab)using his influence and his international contacts in keeping his own house standing, when the cityscape demanded the reverse. Has it been the house of any old Athenian, it would have been bulldozed long since.

Anyway, Vangelis won. And all the notices that used to cover the front of the house, explaining the case for preservation have gone.

Instead, as you can see in the picture, there is nowa nicely traditional anarchist slogan -- "Eat the Rich" -- plastered on the facade. Whether this is aimed at the super-rich Vangelis or at the super-rich bankers/euro--exploiters or whoever, is not clear.

As for whether Greece is obviously suffering, is constantly in mid-riot and denuded of tourists ... the answer is no. I am sure that Greece IS suffering (and Greek friends tell bad stories of redundancies, strikes, and no money to keep basic services going). But on the main tourist sites, you would not actually know (except the number of guards with whistles peeping at offending tourists who stray where they shouldnt seems strikingly reduced) .. and the usual places were all packed as usual.

Which is either testimony to a very efficient cover up, or to the fact that somehow life does (at least) APPEAR to go on, even when the infra-structure is in mid-collapse.

 

 

No confidence in David Willetts

We are about to vote in Cambridge -- on a motion of no confidence in David Willetts, the Universities' Minister. I have to say that I was not hugely keen on this motion. It's not that I feel any confidence in so-called 'two brains'. Far from it. But I am not sure that having a vote of the Regent House (that is more or less -- and in some significant senses LESS -- the Cambridge university academics as a democratic parliament) is the right way to go about showing one's lack of confidence.

I know that Oxford have just voted that way. But it does feel a bit like all those student motions I eagerly supported in the 1970s..."This JCR has no confidence in the recent government of Chile", "This JCR reaffirms its support for the people's struggle in South Africa". We meant it all frightfully sincerely, but what good did it do except make us feel more virtuous? And wasn't there a sniff of arrogance in our thinking that OUR no confidence somehow counted.

OK, I realise that Cambridge is much more involved in what Willetts is doing than our JCR was involved in Chile (however naively well meaning our vocal intervention might have been; and it didnt go any further than voices). But I have some sympathy with those who argue that the university's way of engaging with government policy, and showing its opposition, should be to respond critically to the recent white paper... and explain why this represents reactionary, unthought out and damaging higher education policy

But now that the motion of no confidence has come to a vote, despite my qualms, I shall be voting against Willetts -- and urge the rest of my colleagues to do the same.

Why?

Hello Southern Sudan

This is just a brief post. The daughter is in Rumbek in Southern Sudan. She is doing her PhD research and learning Dinka. We all agree that you cant work on a culture without knowing what it speaks, but learning Dinka isnt quite like learning your ordinary sort of languages which (if worst comes to the worst) always have a Teach Yourself Book. So she is there doing a course with the nice missionaries, and then is based round about for 9 months or so. (OK it makes field work in Italy look a bit tame.)

Parents of young anthropologist/historians learn NOT to worry. But there she is miles way even from the capital in Juba (where the celebs and William Hague and the rest will be turning up to all kinds of jollities). But if you want to know what is happening in the real country, and how the celebrations go in Rumbek amid the curfew and electricity outages and all the rest, she will be writing about it here.

The big independence day is this weekend. So good luck to one and all there.

(The picture at the top is the road by the airstrip....at Rumbek itself.)

PS 11 July -- here is her account of the celebrations in Rumbek, plus great pics.

University perks

I am not expecting huge support on this one, but let me try anyway. Give us a hearing.

In the old days (that is until last year), after we had done our examining in the summer, we would (in my Faculty at least) have a dinner.. a nice one, a modest one, but an important one. Like the system or not, examining is a stressful process for examiners as much as students. It was wholly good to get together and share a glass or two, to talk over what we had done and why we had disagreed on the 2.1/1st borderline or whatever. The oldies explained to the young examiners what the process looked like in the fullness of time, and the young examiners (who are usually hell of a lot tougher than the old ones) explained to the oldies why they had lost the plot. In the end it was a good learning process overall (in service training by another name) and it bonded everyone again in a basically positive way. It was cheap at the price -- and certainly no more expensive than the average office party.

This has now been deemed a taxable perk (because the examiners are not the whole Faculty... if the whole Faculty were invited, it would count as an 'office party' and be allowable). And so I have my first taxable perk 'bill'.

I confess I feel pissed off.

Graduation

 
Our students graduated this weekend, in their black dresses, gowns and fake ermine.

Overall, I think we do it pretty well in Cambridge. First of all, we do it in late June/early July. The kids take their exams, we mark them, they graduate, and if they are lucky their parents load their stuff up in the car and take them away.

All this within the space of a month. It is hard work (for us as much as for them), but so much better than what happens at many, if not most, other universities in the country, where the students come back in the autumn to graduate. That would seem weird to me...by then you are on with the rest of your life, the last thing you want to do is get up in fancy dress to pick up a degree certificate. But maybe I am not one to judge, as in 1977 I couldnt face any of this hullaballoo and told my parents that noone graduated at the senate house any more..and made my own way home.