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Foreword
Small island developing states (SIDS) are not in the spotlight of develop-
ment studies, even though the social and economic development con-
straints that these countries face are among the most difficult in the world.
These are sovereign small island states, isolated geographically, which fall
largely in middle-income categories. Nevertheless, they are often without
a strong physical or institutional infrastructure, and most are vulnerable to
external economic fluctuations and natural disasters as well as disease bur-
dens. This book of original essays goes a long way towards providing a
better understanding of these challenges and the policy answers that are
now in play in these countries.
The major impediments to development in small islands have to do
with their isolation and their vulnerability. International climate meetings
have remained ineffective on global environmental issues that have severe
consequences for the very existence of these small island states. Matters
are made worse because the development of their economic base—often
sea-fishing, international tourism and plantations—poses formidable chal-
lenges and is often at odds with their environmental management efforts.
Arguably, the biggest challenge of all is on the near-term horizon. SIDS
are on track to become the early sufferers from global warming and sea
level rise, and already are confronting a steady increase in the frequency
and severity of natural disasters, including cyclones and floods.
The chapters in this book take on some specific problems of individual
small island countries and link them back to the basic theme of vulnerabil-
ity to environmental degradation and to weakening economies. These
include the mounting threat of climate change, heatwaves, overcutting of
v
vi FOREWORD
natural forests, and the stress on the population that comes from attempt-
ing to overcome such issues through policy experiments. The solutions
offered in these essays vary from tailoring the traditional approaches to
better fit the case of SIDS (e.g., establishing better resilience measures and
better merging natural resource policy and economic development policy)
to avoiding over-tourism and embracing “blue and circular economies”
which focuses on reusing all waste.
This set of 21 original essays offers a new look at how small island
economies might balance their economic and environmental goals in a
context of extreme vulnerability. Not surprisingly the chapter authors are
drawn from several disciplines including economists, government practi-
tioners, ocean governance commissions, and environmentalists. The book
is a sequel to the volume Saving Small Island Developing States:
Environmental and Natural Resource Challenges edited by Shyam Nath,
John Laing Roberts and Yeti Nisha Madhoo (2010), published by
Commonwealth Secretariat, UK.
I would like to take this opportunity to record our sincere thanks to every-
one who contributed to the development of this edited volume over sev-
eral phases. During my visit to Mauritius in 2013 to attend a workshop on
youth and sustainable development organised by Indian Ocean Commission
(IOC), Raj Mohabeer, Chargé de mission of IOC, shared this idea with
me and John Laing Roberts. Discussions with John Laing Roberts who
has long-time expertise with SIDS while working with Commonwealth
Secretariat, London, and IOC in Mauritius went a long way in getting
ahead the idea of a sequel of an earlier volume with an interesting new
title. This idea however remained latent until a team of economists headed
by Simon Feeney of RMIT University, Australia, visited Amrita University
to forge a collaboration in mainstream economics and supported this idea.
Our efforts got fresh stimulus when Satya Paul from the Western Sydney
University and the University of the South Pacific, Fiji (now with Australian
National University), joined the stream with his new ideas.
At this stage in 2017, a tremendous ray of support from the Chancellor
of Amrita University, Mata Amritanandamayi Devi, World Renowned
Spiritual Saint, speeded up the momentum and encouraged the idea
through the creation of Amrita Center for Economics & Governance.
Migration of Yeti Nisha Madhoo from the University of Mauritius to India
to join the Center with her expertise on the economics and ecology of
islands provided further impetus to this endeavour.
Subsequently, we contacted the experts working in the contemporary
issues of small islands. We are thankful to the experts not only for accept-
ing our invitations but also for writing chapters well on time despite their
vii
viii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
hectic schedules. In this process, our task was facilitated with the great
help of Augustin K Fosu of United Nations University, Helsinki, Finland,
Oliver Morrissey of Nottingham University, UK, and Larry D Schroeder
of Syracuse University, USA.
We also place our thanks to Raj Mohabeer and IOC Headquarter in
Mauritius for initiating and supporting the idea of a roadmap for sustain-
able development of small islands.
Finally, we acknowledge the support of Palgrave, particularly Sandeep
Kaur and Arun Prasath for processing and monitoring the publication of
this volume.
ix
x Contents
Index417
Notes on Contributors
xiii
xiv NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS
xxi
xxii List of Figures
Fig. 12.2 A highly logged forest landscape (a) and a large forest tract
deforested for temporary log storage (b) in Solomon Islands 221
Fig. 12.3 Ecological restoration approaches widely used in tropical
landscapes. An integrated approach whereby several
techniques implemented concurrently can potentially aid
success in heavily logged forests 224
Fig. 14.1 Waste per capita per day and gross (GNI National Income)
per capita (IOC Region). (Source: World Bank Database
2019)253
Fig. 14.2 GNI and CO2 emissions (IOC Region). (Source: World
Bank database 2019) 254
Fig. 15.1 Ecological footprints and Human Development Index.
(Sources: Global Footprint Network 2019; UNDP 2019) 273
Fig. 16.1 Donors of climate finance and sector allocation to Tonga
(million US$, 2010–2014). (Source: Atteridge and Canales
2017—OECD DAC CRS database) 291
Fig. 16.2 Vulnerability index for Tonga, 1976–2015. Note:
Year 1 = 1976, Year 39 = 2015. (Source: Created by the
authors from publicly available data) 292
Fig. 16.3 Time profile of overseas development assistance (ODA) to
Tonga. Note: Year 1 = 1976, Year 39 = 2015. (Source:
Created by the authors from publicly available data) 293
Fig. 16.4 Oil price (OILP) dynamics overtime. Note: Year = 1,
Year 39 = 2015. (Source: Created by the authors from
publicly available data) 294
Fig. 16.5 Annual change in global temperature (CGT). Note:
Year 1 = 1976, Year 39 = 2015. (Source: Created by the
authors from publicly available data) 294
Fig. 17.1 Inbound tourism. (Source: Malta Tourism Authority [2018].
Tourism in Malta—Facts and Figs. 2017)310
Fig. 17.2 Seasonal tourism, 2017. (Source: Malta Tourism Authority
2018)310
Fig. 20.1a Environmental Health and Economic Indicators—Linear Fit
Line. (Source: Computed) 376
Fig. 20.1b Environmental Health and Economic Indicators—Quadratic
Fit Line. (Source: Computed) 377
Fig. 20.2a Ecosystem Vitality and Economic Indicators—Linear Fit
Line. (Source: Computed) 379
Fig. 20.2b Ecosystem Vitality and Economic Indicators—Quadratic Fit
Line. (Source: Computed) 380
List of Tables
xxv
xxvi List of Tables
xxix
PART I
1.1 Introduction
The world has witnessed the transformation of the major powers from
agrarian societies to industrial giants and an emergence of a new interna-
tional economic order which puts emphasis on the philosophy of develop-
ment. The early and celebrated economic models are unable to forecast
that the growth rates of output are not sustainable if the quality of envi-
ronment declines. These economic models posit that production basically
comes from different combinations of labour and capital that are embod-
ied in technology. Capital has been the subject of the main focus in several
forms such as physical capital (machinery), financial capital (savings) and
human capital (investment in education and health). Thus, according to
the conventional models, if the labour and capital are organized efficiently,
S. Nath (*)
Amrita Center for Economics & Governance, Amrita Vishwa Vidyapeetham
University, Kollam, Kerala, India
e-mail: shyamnath@am.amrita.edu
J. L. Roberts
Indian Ocean Commission, Ebène, Mauritius
e-mail: john.laing@hotmail.com
Brahms’ style is very distinct. His pianoforte music calls for a special
technique, quite outside the ordinary. Nothing of the style of Chopin
or Liszt is evident, even in a work like the Paganini variations, which
is essentially virtuoso music. These peculiarities are already evident
in the first two sonatas, the works in which Schumann saw such
great promise. The sonatas are worth study, not only from the
historical point of view, but as unusual and beautiful music.
There are three sonatas, the first in C major, opus 1; the second in
F-sharp minor, opus 2; the third in F minor, opus 5. The Scherzo in
E-flat minor, opus 4, belongs to the same period. In the very first
Brahms reveals himself; by the bare statement of the first part of the
second theme; by the double thirds of the second part which conceal
the sixths of which he was so fond; by the strangely hollow effect of
the chromatic scale, not long before the end of the first section, with
the sustained A below and the thin spacing of the whole; by the wide
accompaniment figures at the end of the first movement. The
octaves and sixths at the beginning of the Scherzo, the hollowness
later on in the movement, the extraordinary distance between the
hands in the thirty-sixth and thirty-seventh measures of the second
part, these are characteristic of Brahms’ way of writing for the
pianoforte. The trio of this Scherzo, by the way, might alone have
accounted for Schumann’s enthusiasm. The broad sweep of its
melody, the intense harmonies, the magnificent climax, have the
unmistakable ring of great genius. At the end of it may be noted a
procedure Brahms often employed: the gradual cessation of the
movement of the music by changing the value of the notes, more
than by retard. The last movement is splendidly vigorous. The chief
theme may have been taken from the theme of the first movement. It
gallops on over mountain and hill, full of exultation and sheer
physical spirits. The coda is a very whirlwind. Brahms told Albert
Dietrich that he had the Scotch song ‘My Heart’s in the Highlands’ in
his head while he was writing this finale; and the spirit of the song is
there.
The second sonata is as a whole less interesting than the first. The
first theme is not particularly well suited to the sonata form; there is a
great deal of conventionality about the passages which follow it. Yet
the transitional passage is interesting, and the deep, bass phrases,
so isolated from their high counterpoint, are very typical. One theme
serves for andante and Scherzo. In the latter movement the trio is
especially beautiful. It might easily be mistaken for Schubert.
The third sonata shows a great advance over the first and second.
The passage beginning in the eighth measure of the first movement
is in a favorite rhythmical style of Brahms. The right hand is playing
in 3/4 time, the left hand seems to be rather in 2/4. This is because
the figure of which it consists proceeds independently of the
measure beat. So later on one finds groups of six notes in 3/4 time
arranged very frequently in figures of three notes. In fact, the mixture
of double and triple rhythm is a favorite device of Brahms throughout
all his work. Two of the Paganini Variations are distinctly studies in
this rhythmical complexity—the fifth in the first set, the seventh in the
second set, in both cases the complexity being made all the more
confusing by odd phrasing.
The Andante, especially the last part of it, and the Scherzo of the
third sonata are among the most beautiful of Brahms’ compositions.
What the sonatas chiefly lack is not ideas nor skill to handle them,
but success in many parts in the treatment of the instrument. The
scoring is often far too thin. No relaxation is offered by passages of
any sensuous charm. One follows with the mind an ingenious
contrapuntal working-out that sounds itself empty, or leads to hollow
spaces.
The Ballades, opus 10, for example, tread heavily on the keyboard.
The first B major section of the second, with its appoggiaturas, its
widely separated outer parts now in contrary motion, now moving
together, and the mysterious single long notes between them, is
marred by the low, thick registration of the whole. There is a similar
thickness in the second section of the last ballade; an opposite
thinness in the middle section of the little intermezzo. Yet it would be
hard to find more romantic music than these Ballades, anything more
grim and awful than the first, more legendary in character than the
second, more gloomily sad than the last. There is a touch of sun in
the first melody of the second. Elsewhere we are in a gray twilight.
There are three earlier sets of variations, opus 9, opus 21, Nos. 1
and 2, which are small beside the two later sets just discussed. As
far as pianoforte music is concerned, the variations on a theme of
Handel, and the subsequent variations on a theme of Paganini,
represent the culmination of Brahms’ conscious technical
development, the one in the direction of intellectual mastery, the
other in the direction of keyboard effects. Behind them lie the
sonatas, the scherzo, and the ballades, all in a measure inspired, yet
all likewise tentative. After them come numerous sets of short pieces
which constitute one of the most beautiful and one of the perfect
contributions to pianoforte music.
These sets are opus 76, Nos. 1 and 2; the two Rhapsodies, opus 79,
and the last works for the instrument, opus 117, opus 118, and opus
119. There are few pieces among them which are unworthy of the
highest genius matched with consummate mastery of the science of
music. The two earlier collections, opus 76 and 79, differ from the
later in something the same way that Beethoven’s opus 57 differs
from his opus 110. They are impassioned, fully scored, dramatic, and
warm. The two Capriccios, Nos. 1 and 5 in opus 76, are
distinguished from his other pieces by a fiery agitation. The keys of
F-sharp minor and C-sharp minor on the pianoforte lend themselves
to intense and restless expression. In the former of these two pieces
more is suggested than fully revealed.
The two ‘Rhapsodies,’ opus 79, are among the best known of
Brahms’ pianoforte works. Both are involved and difficult; but the
form and the ideas are broad and consequently more easily grasped
than in the shorter pieces. Moreover, they are frankly vigorous and
passionate; and the B major section of the former, with its bell-like
effects, and the broad middle section of the latter, like the gallop of a
regiment across the steppes, are relatively conventional.
All are unusual music, all masterpieces. There is the utmost skill, as
in the canonic figures in the first intermezzo of opus 117, in the
middle section of opus 118, No. 2, and all through opus 118, No. 4.
There is a legendary quality in both opus 117, No. 1, and opus 117,
No. 3. In the latter the A major section is extraordinarily beautiful and
without a parallel in music. The last set is perhaps as a whole the
most remarkable. There are three intermezzos and one rhapsody. In
many measures of the first intermezzo the harmonies seem to unfold
from a single note, to be shed downward like light from a star. The
music drifts to a melody full of human yearning, rises again in
floating harmonies, drifts slowly downward, too heavy with sadness.
In the second and third the mood is happier, cool in the second,
smiling in the third. The final rhapsody is without a trace of
sentiment, healthy, sane, and enormously vigorous. Something
stands in the way of its effectiveness, however. It is coldly
triumphant. If there is any phase in human feeling which is wholly
strange to music, it is the sense of perfect physical condition,
entailing an unruffled mind and the flawless working of the muscles,
without excess, with only the enthusiasm of physical well-being, and
this entirely equable. The rhapsody in E-flat, opus 119, No. 4, is thus
normal.
The features of Brahms’ style are clearly marked. There are the wide
spacing of accompaniment figures demanding a large hand and the
free movement of the arm, the complicated rhythms, the frequent
use of octaves with the sixth included, the generally deliberate
treatment of material, the employment of low and high registers at
once with little or nothing between, the lack of passage work to
relieve the usual sombre coloring. The enthusiast will have little
difficulty in imitating him. Yet it is doubtful if Brahms will have a
successor in pianoforte music. What makes his work tolerable is the
greatness of his ideas, and this greatness makes them sublime. His
procedures in the employment of another will be cold and dull. It is
safer to imitate the virtuoso style of Liszt, for that has an intrinsic
charm.
There are two concertos, one in D minor, opus 15, and one in B-flat
major, opus 83. Brahms performed the first himself in Leipzig and
was actually hissed from the stage. Yet it is a very great work, one of
the few great concertos written for the pianoforte. A certain gloomy
seriousness in the character of the themes stands in the way of its
popular acceptance, and there are passages, notably in the middle
movement, the ungainliness of which not even the most impassioned
fancy or the deepest seriousness can disguise. The second concerto
is longer and more brilliant. This, too, must be ranked with the earlier
one, as one of the few great concertos, but chiefly by reason of the
noble quality of the ideas, the mastery of art and form. Brahms’
treatment of the piano is nowhere conventionally pianistic. This
second concerto is more than exceedingly difficult; but those
qualities in the instrument which add a variety of color and light to
the ensemble are for the most part not revealed in it. There is
consequently a monotony that in so long a work is likely to prove
tedious. A few figures and a few effects are peculiar to the
pianoforte. These should rightfully be brought into prominence in a
concerto. Mozart, Beethoven, and Schumann were able to do this,
not in the least subtracting from the genuine value of their work, but
rather adding to it. Brahms was less able to combine beauty and
conventionality. Yet such a passage as the return to the first theme in
the first movement of the second concerto shows a great
appreciation of color; and there is a grandeur and dignity in both
concertos, a wealth of romance in the first and of vitality in the
second, as well, in the presence of which criticism may well be silent.
[34] Part of the quotation is given in our ‘Narrative History,’ II, pp. 308f.
CHAPTER VII
CHOPIN
Chopin’s music and its relative value in musical value; racial and
personal characteristics; influences and preferences; Chopin’s
playing—His instinct for form; the form of his sonatas and
concertos; the Polonaise-Fantaisie; the preludes—Chopin as a
harmonist; Chopin’s style analyzed: accompaniment figures, inner
melodies, polyphonic suggestions, passages, melodies and
ornaments—His works in general: salon music; waltzes;
nocturnes; mazurkas; polonaises; conclusion.
I
No music for the pianoforte is more widely known than that of
Chopin. None has been more generally accepted. None has been
exposed so mercilessly to the mauling of sentimentality and
ignorance; nor has any other suffered to such an extent the ignominy
of an affable patronage. Yet it has not faded nor shown signs of
decay. Rather year by year the question rises clearer: is any music
more irreproachably beautiful? Less and less timidly, thoughtful men
and women now demand that Chopin be recognized truly as equal of
the greatest, even of Bach, of Mozart, of Beethoven. There are no
fixed standards by which to measure the greatness of music. We
adore the sacredness of forms and names. At the best we have a
sort of tenacity of faith, supported by a wholly personal enthusiasm.
To many this demand on behalf of Chopin will appear to be based on
an enthusiasm that is not justifiable; but by what shall enthusiasm be
justified? It is an emotion, something more powerful in music than
reason. One must grant that no pianoforte music has shown a
greater force than Chopin’s to rouse the emotions of the general
world. That it moves the callow heart to sighs or that the ignorant will
fawn upon it is no proof of weakness in it. Your ignoramus will dote
on Beethoven almost as much. Chopin’s music has depth upon
depth of beauty into which the student and the artist may penetrate.
It can never be fully comprehended and then thrown aside. To study
it year after year is to come ever upon new wonders.
It is urged against Chopin that he wrote only for the pianoforte. But
this cannot have any weight in estimating the value of his music. It is
generally acknowledged that the pianoforte is of all instruments the
most difficult to write for. Chopin was absolute master of these
difficulties, just as Wagner was master of the orchestra. He was
therefore in a position to give perfect expression to his ideas, as far
as color of sound is concerned. Mr. Edgar Stillman Kelley in his
recent book on Chopin[35] brings forward the interesting point that at
the time Chopin was composing—roughly between 1830 and 1845—
the orchestra would have been quite inadequate to the expression of
his ideas; both because of the imperfections of many of the
instruments and because of the lack of virtuoso skill among the
players. For Chopin’s music is above all things intricate. There is a
ceaseless interweaving of countless strands of harmony, a subtle
chromaticism of which the brass instruments would have been
incapable, and elaborate figures and passages which violinists would
not have been able to play. The pianoforte on the other hand was
relatively perfect. To it Chopin turned, as to a medium that would not
restrict his expression. And so accurately and minutely did he shape
his music in accordance with the instrument, that the many attempts
by clever and skillful men to arrange it for the orchestra have almost
entirely failed.
But neither the Italian opera nor the music of Hummel and Field was
the favorite music of Chopin. The two composers whose works he
accepted unqualifiedly were Sebastian Bach and Mozart. Here he
found a rich emotion and a flawless beauty of style. Here there was
no distortion, no struggle of ideas, no harshness. Here was for him
perfection of form and, what is perhaps rarest in any art, a just
proportion between form and content, an unblemished union of all
the elements which make music not only great but wholly beautiful.
Chopin spent the years of his boyhood and youth in Warsaw. In the
summer of 1829 he spent some weeks in Vienna, and played there
twice in public. In the list of those who were present at these
concerts—which, by the way, were wholly successful—one reads the
names of men and women who had known Beethoven and
Schubert, even friends of Mozart. He went again to Vienna in the fall
of 1830 and remained there, more or less idling, until uncertain
political conditions and an outbreak of cholera drove him in July,
1831, to seek Paris. Here he arrived about the end of September,
and here with few exceptions he lived the rest of his life.
II
It is evident that in many respects Chopin’s innovations sprang from
instinct. They are not the conscious putting to test of a theory of
reform, as are, in a small way, the Carnaval of Schumann, and in a
more grandiose one, the B minor sonata of Liszt. As regards form,
for example, he was in many cases not in the least dependent upon
past or contemporary standards. Such pieces as the Ballades and
the Barcarolle are without precedent. But they are the spontaneous
growth of his genius; not the product of an experimental intelligence.
The intellectually formal element which Berlioz, Schumann, and Liszt
made bold with, Chopin quite ignored.