Aung San Suu Kyi, Ordered Loves, and the Shape of a Life

I came across these few lines from 2013 while clearing out old files — fragments from long‑ago emails that I can never quite bring myself to delete. They have the same quality as forgotten photographs: a recognition and reminder of the people we were and the times we lived in.

 I just heard Aung San Suu Kyi and her Desert Island Discs. I enjoyed the choice of Here Comes the Sun, and of Pachelbel’s Canon. I was intrigued by her choice of a Tom Jones standard, which actually she had not heard before (!). I was not so happy with John Lennon’s Imagine – sadly becoming more of a dirge which has not stood up to time, I think. 

I was very struck by her assertion that her father was her “first love and best love”. She was two years old when her father was assassinated, so I am fairly sure her memories of him are all received ones. I then think of her reasons to “love the army” – which essentially centre around the fact that this is “his” army, her father’s army. 

Her life and drive thus seem to me to be a powerful meditation on all-pervading presence of an invisible, absent father ( who, moreover, was sacrificed in blood for the sake of a people) from whom she feels blessed by an unconditional love. 

Maybe because of this, those Bible readings she did for her ailing Grandfather spoke to her in equal measure to the teachings of Buddha. Either way, what also comes through – and her voice betrayed this often – is a hardness against sentiment and familial love, which, in her life, has had to play second fiddle absolutely. I wonder how her sons are doing.

The life which Aung San Suu Kyi embraces is one which puts the whole business of family life and personal relationships in a second-place perspective. 

The programme is here

Confucius, China, and the Question of Influence: A Reflection Six Years On

In those 2020 lockdown days, I wrote this: Churchill and the World as a Struggle against Totalitarianism (link opens in new tab)). Included are some words about China’s influence in the UK — particularly through its education system and the pressures placed on Chinese students studying abroad. 

At the time, my concerns were framed in fairly robust terms: ideological conformity, academic freedom under threat, and the long reach of a totalitarian state. Looking back now, six years later, I can see that my instinct was not simply geopolitical – it was closer to Confucius than I realised. 

Churchill, Confucius, and the Question of How We Judge the Past

Today, on VE Day, I’ve been reflecting on how we might look at Churchill — and leadership more broadly — through a Confucian perspective that asks not for perfection, but for the fulfilment of one’s role with integrity, courage, and a sense of the moment.

That reflection is outlined here. It’s not about defending or condemning Churchill, but about asking a deeper question: How should we judge the past, and what do we owe to those who carried burdens we can barely imagine?