Caught in the Middle: The Boycotted Students of NYU Tel Aviv

by Ethan Seavey

Tel Aviv Port. Photo by Ethan Seavey

The door to the lounge is heavy. Six students enter and sit on large bean bags and a small couch and two cots. They laugh as someone struggles to connect their computer to the television. Behind or between them is a plate with writing in Hebrew, directing attention to the metal door set into the floor. It leads to the common room on the floor below as I’ve been told. The television is turned on and the lights are turned off; but no, the room does not become a dark void with their focus turned to the screen. Eerie green light radiates from the corners, where glow-in-the-dark tape has been pasted. Here, the common room is a bomb shelter. The students who live here brush it off; but I, the visitor, cannot shake the idea of that heavy door slamming shut and the lights going out and the room filling with green and the cots being shared by the six of us.

The students at NYU Tel Aviv are caught in the middle. Fortunately they have not been in any danger—unlike many because of the conflict between Israel and Palestine—but in Tel Aviv they are stuck in the center of the rising tensions within their academic community. In May 2021, a letter was drafted calling for members of the New York University community to support academic non-cooperation with the campus in Tel Aviv until Israel is de-militarized and Palestinian students are offered equal opportunities for education. Over a hundred faculty signed the letter, and it’s safe to say that the sentiment is shared by a lot of students as well.

I knew about this before I made the journey from Paris to Tel Aviv to visit my boyfriend in this past month. He’s a student of NYU Tel Aviv. COVID blocked travel for the past few months, but Israel opened up to tourists in November, and I took the many bureaucratic steps necessary to visit him for a very short weekend. Read more »

Complementarity and the world: Niels Bohr’s message in a bottle

by Ashutosh Jogalekar

Niels Bohr (Getty Images)

Werner Heisenberg was on a boat with Niels Bohr and a few friends, shortly after he discovered his famous uncertainty principle in 1927. A bedrock of quantum theory, the principle states that one cannot determine both the velocity and the position of particles like electrons with arbitrary accuracy. Heisenberg’s discovery foretold of an intrinsic opposition between these quantities; better knowledge of one necessarily meant worse knowledge of the other. Talk turned to physics, and after Bohr had described Heisenberg’s seminal insight, one of his friends quipped, “But Niels, this is not really new, you said exactly the same thing ten years ago.”

In fact, Bohr had already convinced Heisenberg that his uncertainty principle was a special case of a more general idea that Bohr had been expounding for some time – a thread of Ariadne that would guide travelers lost through the quantum world; a principle of great and general import named the principle of complementarity.

Complementarity arose naturally for Bohr after the strange discoveries of subatomic particles revealed a world that was fundamentally probabilistic. The positions of subatomic particles could not be assigned with definite certainty but only with statistical odds. This was a complete break with Newtonian classical physics where particles had a definite trajectory, a place in the world order that could be predicted with complete certainty if one had the right measurements and mathematics at hand. In 1925, working at Bohr’s theoretical physics institute in Copenhagen, Heisenberg was Bohr’s most important protégé had invented quantum theory when he was only twenty-four. Two years later came uncertainty; Heisenberg grasped that foundational truth about the physical world when Bohr was away on a skiing trip in Norway and Heisenberg was taking a walk at night in the park behind the institute. Read more »

‘Victim blaming’

by Peter Wells

Dafne Keen as Lyra in ‘His Dark Materials’

In Philip Pullman’s 2019 novel The Secret Commonwealth, the hero, Lyra, aged around twenty, suffers an attempted rape. If I say it is the most convincing description of a sexual assault I have ever read, this is not to say much, as I have never been raped, though in my youth I had some unpleasant encounters with predatory men that gave me some inkling of it. Anyway, it’s a creditable effort by Pullman to depict a nightmare experienced much more often by women than by men, and he should be applauded for attempting to help his readers (male readers especially) to imagine it.

The scene begins in a train, where Lyra finds herself, far from her own country, in a carriage occupied by soldiers whose language she does not know. There have already been grins and nudges, and alcohol has started to circulate.

The bottle went around the compartment again; the talk became louder and looser. They were talking about her, there was no doubt about that: their eyes moved over her body, one man was licking his lips, another clasping the crotch of his trousers.

Lyra attempts to escape, only for the man opposite to push her back into the seat and say something to the man by the door,

who reached up and pulled down the blind over the corridor window. Lyra stood up again, and again the soldier pushed her back, this time squeezing her breast as he did so.

Then the assault proper begins, as all the soldiers launch themselves upon her. Read more »

Rorty’s Ways of Arguing

by Tim Sommers

This past Friday, 3 Quarks Daily linked to a review by George Scialabba of the recent posthumous publication of a Richard Rorty lecture series called Pragmatism as Anti-Authoritarianism. The review was called, “Should Philosophy Retire?” I promised myself I wouldn’t respond to it. That I wouldn’t respond, for example, to the claim that philosophy “led Western thought into a dead end and should be retired”.

Or Scialabba’s claim that Hume, Mill, and William James would agree with this, and Rorty’s that Dewey, Wittgenstein, and Heidegger would too. But when Scialabba went on to insist that Rorty is “widely-revered”, I had, at least to ask this much. “Widely-revered” by whom? Not by philosophers, surely.

But let me start by saying something positive about Rorty. Rorty is a clear, crisp, concise writer whose  prose style fits firmly within the analytic tradition. Analytic philosophers are seldom credited as great writers, but the best are great. “I prefer desert landscapes,” Quine said in explaining his thinking, but it might as well as been his prose he was describing. “To be is to be the value of a bound variable,” was his answer to the mystery of existence. “Science,” he wrote “ is not a substitute for common sense, but an extension of it.” And Donald Davidson, another great writer, spare but whimsical, famously wrote that “Conceptual relativism is a heady and exotic doctrine or would be if we could make good sense of it. The trouble is, as so often in philosophy, it is hard to improve intelligibility while retaining the excitement.” (Keep that one in mind for later.) Rorty had a similar style and a similar talent for turns of phrase. “The world does not speak,” he wrote, “Only we do.” Since Rorty was one of the few analytic philosophers widely read outside the field, I think he is, as a writer, if not a thinker, our prose emissary to the wider academic world.

It was Rorty’s argumentation that was infuriating. Read more »

Philosophy of Right: Hegel in the 21st Century

by Chris Horner

Among the books of the nineteenth century that have something important to say to us now Hegel’s  Elements of the Philosophy of Right  (1820) deserves a prominent place. It’s not the obvious contender for a popular read in the 21st century. He doesn’t make it easy for himself, if getting readers was the aim as his  ‘grotesque and rocky melody’ (Marx) takes some getting used to, and one has to work a bit to to grasp his arguments. So its not a surprise that is more written about than actually read. This is a pity, as it is right up there with Plato’s Republic and Hobbes’ Leviathan as one of the great works of ethical and political philosophy, with arguably even more direct and relevant things to tell us about our society than those other two classics.  It’s a text that has been seriously misunderstood and misrepresented – most notoriously by those who represent him as having announced ‘the end of history’.  It is true that something, for Hegel, is coming to an end in our time, but it isn’t exactly history.  Hegel gives us an acute and pressingly relevant diagnosis of both the promise of modernity, and the contradictions that threaten it. Citizens in the age of Trump, Johnson, Xi Jinping and Biden would do well to attend to what he has to say in these pages. 

It is a troubling text for liberals, not because it is anti liberal in the sense of being opposed to the values liberals hold dear (dignity of the individual, freedom of conscience, rights and so on) but rather because its author regards the insights of liberals as dangerously limited. Liberalism, with its focus on the freedom of the individual, sees the function of the state as guarantor of the freedom of the individual, in the context of a civil society and free market. But for Hegel, genuine freedom means more than this. Read more »

Do People Care About Foreigners?

by Varun Gauri

Do most people care a whit about foreigners? Would they be willing to reduce their own countries’ well-being for the benefit of foreign nationals? Global cooperation entails a variety of incentive-compatible deals among nation-states, but it rests, ultimately, on cosmopolitan values. If people can’t be bothered with the citizens of other countries, the prospect for long-term, stable solutions to crises like climate change, pandemic diseases, migration, and trade policy may be bleak. 

In series of large, representative surveys from Spain, the United Kingdom, Germany, China, Japan, the United States, Colombia, and Guatemala, my recent paper with Xuechunzi Bai and Susan Fiske finds more support for moral cosmopolitanism than a quick scan of the news headlines might lead one to suspect. 

Broadly speaking, respondents everywhere distinguish preventing harm to foreign citizens, which almost everyone supports, from redistributing resources, which about half of respondents endorse. These two psychological dimensions of moral cosmopolitanism, equitable security (preventing harm) and equitable benefits (redistributing resources), are correlated with attitudes toward contested international policies, such as support for international organizations, reducing a nation’s carbon footprint, enforcing anti-bribery rules, and expanding international migration. The equitable benefits dimensions also predicts the likelihood of sending real resources to international, rather than domestic, NGOs, as well as support for the global distribution of masks to fight Covid-19. The equitable security dimension predicts responses to a thought experiment protecting foreigners, as well as support for vaccinating the world against Covid-19. In short, people tend to temper their altruism with a dose of moral parochialism, or patriotism, when redistributing benefits, but they are moral altruists when preventing harms.  Read more »

Skink

by David Oates

A scar is a shiny place with a story.

A skink is a story you could never imagine.

It leaves a bright streak across your vision and an after-image you might notice even years later, neon greeny blue flashing amidst weed and dry stone and buckbrush and bending sumac trees. Our mountains were called the San Gabriels, a name somehow just barely noble enough for these creatures. In their foothills skinks appeared to us like tiny fragile dragons, fully astonishing, sinuous, and menacing. They liked to writhe. Would bite, the bony jaws clamping onto a fingertip, a ten-year-old’s screaming terror – until it was seen that the grim little mouth could not break the skin. The beast just hung on there, flailing, until screams turned to laughter and showing off, “Lookit, lookit, lookit. . .!”

If someone tried to tell you about skink, it would sound like a lie, an exaggeration. Just seeing it certainly outstripped the lame awe-mongering of, for example, Superman comic books.

And made you wonder what else might be out there.

When my mother’s voice rose up on a summer eve, and we had been allowed to play outside after dinner. When I noticed the mourning doves silhouetted on telephone wires above us, repeating and repeating their strangeness and sadness. Perhaps I would see her standing in the illuminated doorway, in the warm air full of chaparral scent drifting downhill off the mountains. Her voice calling then falling still, while the blue-black sky gathered evening under itself. And us in it.

Then the boys would come barging back into the house, and the mood would break and be replaced with all the reassuring commotion we could muster.

 Once in a while my mom would accidentally back into the truth, like hitting something in the garage with her fender. “Well, we raised them by hand, so. . .” This was not really apology, just what we were: three dusty, slightly used boys, with dents here and there and unstraightened teeth. Read more »

Charaiveti: Journey From India To The Two Cambridges And Berkeley And Beyond, Part 20

by Pranab Bardhan

All of the articles in this series can be found here.

When I first attended the occasional Harvard-MIT joint faculty seminar I was dazzled by the number of luminaries in the gathering and the very high quality of discussion. Among the younger participants Joe Stiglitz was quite active, and his intensity was evident when I saw Joe chewing his shirt collar, a frequent absent-minded habit of his those days. Sometimes one saw the speaker incessantly interrupted by questions, say from one of the big-name Harvard professors, Wassily Leontief (soon to be a Nobel laureate). At Solow’s prodding I agreed to present a paper at that seminar, with a lot of trepidation, but fortunately Leontief was not present that day.

At Harvard the economist I knew best was Steve Marglin whom my friends, George Akerlof and Mrinal, had introduced me to. He was at that time regarded as a whiz kid who was one of the youngest tenured professors at Harvard. He had earlier spent some time in India and became an admiring friend of Punjab’s strong-man Chief Minister Partap Singh Kairon. He was very friendly with me and Kalpana (Steve gave her useful comments on her dissertation), but I had seen him behaving somewhat abrasively with others, including senior professors.

Steve’s early work was on investment and evaluation of development projects. Then by the late 60’s his research and politics took a major turn in a heterodox, radical direction. When he gave me the first draft of his later widely-known paper titled “What Do Bosses Do?”—arguing that the Industrial Revolution was less a technological advance and more an organizational restructuring, with capitalists getting dominant control of the labor process– I was quite impressed reading it. Read more »

Monday, November 22, 2021

It’s not easy to live in a Mystery

by Charlie Huenemann

Over years of teaching philosophy, I have observed that people fall into two groups with regard to the Biggest Question. The Biggest Question is one that is so big it is hard to fit into words, but here goes: When everything that can be explained has been explained, when we know the truths of physics and brains and psychology and social interactions and so on and so forth, will there still be anything worth wondering about? I am assuming the “wonder” here is a philosophical wonder, not the sort of wonder over whatever happened to my old pocket knife or whatever. It’s the sort of wonder that has a “why-is-there-something-rather-than-nothing” flavor to it. It’s the sort of wonder that doesn’t go away no matter how much is explained.

Swirly, isn’t it? No, not really.

Some people think that on that sunny day when everything that can be explained has been explained, well then, that will be that. We will understand why things have happened, and how we came to exist, and what we should do if we want to be healthy and happy, and why works of art move us as they do. It’s not that such people are in any way shallow or unimaginative or tone deaf. They are open to the most wonderful experiences of life, along with the most heart-wrenching and most tragic. It’s just that they think these experiences can be explained and understood in all their glory through that explanation. If there is anything “left over” — some stubborn bit of incredulous wonder we just can’t shake — then that too will be explained through some feature of human psychology, like the way those patterns still seem to swirl in a static optical illusion even when you know the trickery behind it. The feeling that there is a Mystery can itself be explained as an illusory sort of feeling, an accidental by-product of the cognitive engine we happen to think with.

But other people think that the Mystery is not an illusion or accident, and that there still would be something worthy of genuine philosophical wonder even when the grand explainers have completed their grand task. Maybe the Mystery is worthy of some kind of worship or spiritual reverence. Maybe it can be reflected in a poem or in music or in a painting, or even in a shared and silent moment with friends. Maybe it is exactly what remains when all explaining is done — as Wittgenstein the Sage once wrote, “Not how the world is, is the mystical, but that it is”. In his terms, the Mystery is precisely that of which we must remain silent, simply because no amount of talking will capture it. These people would say that the first group of people are the ones with the illusion: namely, the illusion that what can’t be explained isn’t real. Read more »

Sometimes It’s Just Math

by John Allen Paulos

In politics, business, and education, the issue of how to ensure proportional representation of groups is often salient. A salient issue, but usually an impossible task. Why?

Since group identity and wokeness arouse so much emotion, a “geologic upheaval of thought” as Proust characterized it, it’s probably best to discuss a couple of simple illustrative scenarios abstractly. Consider, for example, a well-meaning institution, the Earnest Enterprises Foundation say, operating in a community that contains a numerically dominant majority group, Maj, and two subgroups – a substantial minority group, Min, and a smaller minority group, Sm, which has members in group Maj as well as members in group Min.  Let’s assume that the group Maj constitutes 75% of this imaginary community, Min the remaining 25%, and let’s also assume that 10% of the community belongs to group Sm, whose members are known to be somewhat marginalized and less likely to self-identify as Sm, self-identity being a somewhat nebulous notion. This latter assumption introduces complications since the extent to which the groups differ, self-identify, and intersect is unknown to the foundation or even to the community. Let’s further assume that only 4% of group Min members self-identify as Sm and 8% of the group Maj members self-identify as Sm.

Making a well-intended attempt to assemble a workforce of 1,000 which “fairly” reflects the community, the foundation most naturally (but not necessarily) prioritizes the Maj-Min dichotomy and hires 750 members of group Maj and 250 members of group Min. But this is problematic since just 10 members of the group Min (4% of 250) would self-identify as being in group Sm, AND 60 members of the group Maj (8% of 750) would self-identify as being in group Sm. Thus ONLY 70 or 7% of all 1,000 workers would be self-identified members of group Sm.

It follows that, despite their best efforts, Earnest Enterprises would still be liable to charges of bias. It could obviously be accused by its Min employees of being anti-SM since only 4% of the Min employees (10 of 250) would be in group Sm, not the assumed community‑wide 10%. Interestingly, the foundation’s group Sm employees could likewise claim that the foundation was anti-Min since only 14.3% of the self-identified Sm members (10 of 70) would be from group Min, not the community‑wide 25%. Read more »

Monday Poem

“Facts are surprisingly delible things.”
………….
Bill Bryson, author

“Trump won.”
……….…Fox Skews

Facts Are Delible

facts are not indelible after all—
imagine that

now U S headspace is one of delibility,
if such a word exists
—but of course it may, nothing
moors every word to dictionaries:
fresh definition embraced, case closed.
now we just say: fact’s indelibility is erased

what’s interesting though is that
those who scorn indelible facts
genuflect before them when fact is essential
—no heart transplant’s performed through routines
of delible facts, that’s a certainty; nor have
kidneys enjoyed dialysis through ignorance,
or deliberate, delible inconstancy
—nor does any pact, personal or political
survive in a miasma of delible truth or law
by which, instead, we suffer lives of
tooth and claw

Jim Culleny
11/19/21

Notes on Trains, Nostalgia and a Surprisingly Long Journey Home

by Nicola Sayers

Clickety clack, clickety clack. All aboard the twilight train, a Scottish man with a deep voice announces over the sound of a train heading off into the night. This story is the only one on the Moshi app that I can happily listen to over and over as I wait for my kids to fall asleep. I lie on the floor of their bedroom and think of Before Sunrise, a movie that takes place mostly in Vienna but whose defining image is of the opening, the eroticism of the young couple’s meeting on the train; I think of the sweeping, freighted snowy train journey of Dr Zhivago; I think of Anna Karenina, standing defiantly on the train platform, and of her eventual death. I think, too, of the apartment in Chicago that I so miss, of the view, and the sound, of the L-train clattering loudly past the window at five minute intervals. And I think of a train journey I once took across Europe. 

That they would use the sound of a train for a children’s bedtime story is unsurprising. It is repetitive, soporific. But to me, lying there, it is enlivening, as though I might myself just hop on board the twilight train and be transported right on out of here: away from this room, this moment, this world. 

*

It was the end of  the Christmas holidays a few years ago, and I was due to fly back from Stockholm to London, a flight I have taken dozens of times. The familiarity of this particular journey usually alleviates the mild fear of flying I sometimes suffer. Waiting at the gate I felt completely relaxed, and I boarded happily. But after boarding and sitting down in my seat for a few minutes I was hit, for whatever reason, by a paralysing fear. This was not something that I could breathe through; I had to get off the plane. So I sheepishly exited back down the jetway, watched by many curious eyes as I took refuge behind my escort, the flight attendant, like a celebrity might behind their bodyguard, or a criminal behind their captor. Cast back into the waiting area and left to my own devices, I uploaded a series of badly designed apps and began to plot an alternative route home from Arlanda airport to Oxford, England. 

The story of my two day journey home across Europe is, I confess, an uneventful one. If it has anything to offer it is simply in the account of the minutes and hours that make up such a journey, and of the very particular ways in which travelling long distances by train today alters your sense of space and time.  Read more »

The List

by Deanna Kreisel (Doctor Waffle Blog)

Modern life would be impossible without pet theories. (One of my pet theories is that everyone has pet theories.) How could we make sense of the quotidian horror and cruel contingency of our lives under late capitalism without a little magical thinking? Everyone has a soul mate out there somewhere. There are two kinds of people in the world. The CIA is tracking our Amazon purchases. Black is slimming. One of mine is that during the course of a lifetime, everyone gets one fabulous found item. (Granted, some people may get more than one, but that is rare and clearly bespeaks a karmic debt.) Some may go looking for theirs—like a detectorist unearthing a hoard of Saxon gold—which is not exactly against the rules, but vaguely contravenes the spirit of the theory; most often, however, it comes when you least expect it. I am happy to announce that ten years ago I found mine and so now I can relax. I wish I could say it was a pilgrim shoe buckle or a lost diamond tennis bracelet, but in some ways it was even more valuable—it has, in the ten years since its discovery, afforded countless hours of speculation and amusement. My Found Object is a shopping list.

Medium: Blue ball-point ink on wide-margin 3-ring notebook paper
Location: Shopping cart bottom, Save-On Foods, Cambie Street, Vancouver, BC
Finders: Doctor Waffle and Mr. Waffle, while grocery shopping
Date: 7 August 2010

[Handwriting #1:]

  • Milk -> a big one (we can do it)
  • Ketchup
  • Bread
  • Frozen veggies?
  • Yogurt (probably strawberry)
  • Diet coke
  • Juice
  • Cheese variety -> the good stuff
  • I WILL GET WINE
  • Cracker variety
  • Salamie like last time
  • Some type of cracker spread
  • Smoked salmon
  • Ceareal ! a good for you kind.
  • Peanut butter (REAL) no kraft BS
  • Strawberry jam
  • Low fat ice cream
  • Chicken breasts
  • Is the pasta sauce in the fridge any good?
  • if not … more sauce.
  • Ground beef & pork
  • Lets make meet balls? Ill get a recipe
  • Croutons & salad dressing

[Handwriting #2, scrawled at top of sheet:]

Sorry Baby got home
at 9pm. Will go
shopping Wednesday

[Handwriting ambiguous, at very bottom of sheet:]

I HAVE $45.00 —
BEANS

Even after countless re-readings and hours of in-depth analysis, this document still has the power to move me deeply. (I am not being facetious.) As soon as my spouse and I finished reading the list multiple times and wiping the tears of laughter from our eyes, we immediately uploaded it to Facebook. Our friends were as transported by the list as we were, and for the next couple of days produced exegesis and commentary worthy of Maimonides. Who are these people? What is their relationship? Why did the list’s original addressee not get to the grocery store (and did he ever)? Why are they so obsessed with eating healthfully, yet also stock their cart with fatty meats and cheeses? What is the meaning of the mysterious addendum BEANS? And perhaps most importantly: how on earth did these people expect to procure the items on this list for $45 in Vancouver, a city where a pint of Ben and Jerry’s costs upward of ten dollars? Read more »

Books For All Occasions

by Mary Hrovat

My books are arranged more or less the way a library keeps its books, by subject and/or author, although I don’t use call numbers. I also have various piles of current and up-next and someday-soon reading. In addition, I have a loose set of idiosyncratic categories that guide my choice of what to read right now, out of several books I’m reading at any given time. I choose books for occasions the way more sociable people choose wines to complement their menus.

Books To Read With A Meal

I read while I’m eating, even though I’ve been told it’s a bad habit. I prefer not to read grisly books during a meal: no noir, nothing about the digestive system or skin diseases (eyeball diseases, brain diseases…really, nothing medical), no travel books of the sort where terrible accidents are likely. I think I tried to read Jon Krakauer’s Into Thin Air with a meal and couldn’t.

It’s best if I read something that doesn’t make me cry while I’m eating, although that’s difficult these days because so many things make me cry. (My sister died this summer. Also…you know, everything.)

It’s even harder to tell when something you’re reading is going to make you laugh. I was reading a novel by Barbara Pym in a restaurant once and found something so hilarious that I had to set the book down and stop eating for several minutes while I laughed. Every time I thought I was finished laughing, I’d pick up the book, and there was the funny bit again to set me off. I can’t remember what was so funny, but I’m smiling as I type this. Thank you, Barbara Pym. Read more »

Subdivisions

by Mike O’Brien

I’ve been reading some articles about dehumanization lately, mostly by the popular philosopher (I doubt he would object to that characterization), David Livingstone Smith. I had already spent some time in that domain, given the preponderance of politics in my early post-secondary studies and the looming questions of how humanity’s greatest intramural atrocities came to pass. The vast post-WW2 literature on racial ideology is, of course, very much called for; the Holocaust was a singular event that begs to be understood and prevented from reoccurring. But moral imperatives, useful as they are in spurring action, tend to muck things up when the work turns to matters of descriptive accuracy and conceptual clarity. I’ve witnessed some very silly and non-helpful things said in my own preferred sandbox of animal ethics, which would never have been expressed save for the driving impetus of moral compulsion. The more desperate the moral situation, the more tolerant I tend to be of moralizing intrusions into descriptive questions. I draw the line at philosophers muddling philosophical discussions with other philosophers, the one situation in which one ought to dispense with ordinary moral manners and state the case as one sees it, as terrible as it may be.

I won’t delve too much into the particulars of Livingstone-Smith’s take on dehumanization, as I’m not really reacting to his work so much as reacting to a general approach of which it is typical. Briefly, he has argued that dehumanization is one (but not the only) important way in which human beings are “othered” and thus made suitable, even deserving, objects of cruelty and destruction. The main philosophical point beyond this commonplace notion is that dehumanization is not a metaphor (Xs are like rats in such and such a respect) or rhetorical excess (Xs are a disease that infects our society!), but rather an earnest categorical shift whereby the dehumanizing imagination really does believe that X-type people are not human, despite evident similarities to the observer’s own type of people. Read more »

Eurovision

by Mindy Clegg

In 2015, Slovenian industrial band Laibach released Spectre. Known for their cover songs, their eighth studio album consisted primarily of originals. One track, “Eurovision”, posits that after years of building up a pan-European organization, disaster looms for this decades long project. The song—released prior to Brexit—seems a warning, similar to their 1989 Belgrade concert where they performed a speech that juxtaposed the words of British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain and President and Serbian nationalist Slobodan Milošević as a warning against ultra-nationalist language.

Today Europe feels on the brink of falling apart. Brexit helped destabilize the EU. Many of the former Yugoslav countries—many of whom expressed interest in joining the EU—continue to struggle with the fallout from the wars of the 1990s and early 2000s. Belarus’ actions on the Polish border bring to light the EU’s problems with the issue of migration. These and other troubles could deconstruct the EU project altogether, which could cause other problems. Read more »

Carbon Isotopes, Baseball and Poseurs

by Mark Harvey

Lauren Boebert

Growing up in western Colorado, my baseball team traveled around the state playing against the tiny towns of Rifle, Grand Valley, Rangely, Delta, and Meeker. We had a good team and when I was playing, our coach was an ex-Houston Astros pitcher who brought real science and sophistication to our practices. Having an ex-pro coach our team was something that we probably didn’t appreciate enough but it definitely lifted our game. As teens, we found ourselves learning the same major league skills of run-downs, sacrifice bunts, adjusting infield depth and very complicated hand signals. The coach, Joe Arnold, had a consistently disapproving face, and paradoxically we had a strong desire to win his approval. The expression never changed, and we probably never fully won his approval, but we got quite good at executing major league strategy despite our ungainly adolescent bodies.

We needed the skills because our opponents in the tiny mining, ranching, and farming towns around western Colorado all seemed to be four to five years ahead of us in physical development, fearless, ruthless, hard-throwing kids. One time when an opposing team was warming up, I honestly wondered why one of the parents was on the field. Then I realized it wasn’t a parent, just a six-foot-two, seventeen-year-old with a five o’clock shadow at 2 p.m. on a hot Colorado afternoon.

That man-child (more man than child) was a pitcher in the town of Grand Valley. Grand Valley is now called Parachute, named after the creek that comes out of the mountains to its north. Grand Valley was a much better name for the town and I don’t know which public relations guru changed it. I don’t remember the name of that kid but I’ll call him Stan because if he wasn’t named Stan he must have been named Billy or Jimmy. He definitely wasn’t named River or Rowan and his parents definitely never felt a need to “validate” his feelings. Read more »