Secular Humanism 2.0

by Kevin S. Baldwin

I recently found myself in the unusual position of almost agreeing with Michele Bachmann. Wait: Before you stop reading this or welcome me to the fold, let me explain. I was reading a recent article in the Los Angeles Times about Bachmann's enthusiasm for the ideas of Presbyterian Pastor Francis Schaeffer and his disciple, Nancy Pearcey (The LA Times article was informed by a New Yorker piece ). Basically, they all believe that the secular humanistic values that developed during the Renaissance and Enlightenment were bad because they turned people away from the inerrant truth of the Bible. If only we could turn back the clock to the Middle Ages (cue Monty Python's “bring out your dead”)!

Bachmann “How could I agree with this?” you may ask. I didn't really, but it got me to thinking that maybe what's wrong with secular humanism is not secularism nor humanism, but that its humanism as practiced, is to the exclusion of other species and a disregard for the biogeochemical processes upon which we all depend. No, I am not suggesting eating crunchy granola, while holding hands, singing “Kumbayah,” and celebrating Gaia. Looking backward to the Middle Ages or even to pagan times isn't the solution to what ails us: Looking forward to a more inclusive, humble, secular humanism may be.

To the extent that reductionistic science has allowed us to focus on components and variables that we can understand and manipulate to our benefit, and economics has allowed us to ignore the resulting negative externalities, we have dramatically improved some aspects of our lives at the cost of decreased biodiversity and altered biogeochemical processes. When the blind spots of science and economics have reinforced one another, the result has not always been good. When science and economics have hybridized in a complementary manner, the results have been more productive, e.g., environmental economics and biomimicry.

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The Great Land Grab: Bhatta And The Route of War

by Maniza Naqvi

Lyariexpresswayij9Nearly 80 percent of the war supplies, non lethal war supplies, as they are called, for the US led coalition troops fighting in Afghanistan, snake through the city of Karachi. Much of the containers and oil tankers to the north from the Port either go through the Northern Bypass or through the National Highway from the oil terminal in Keamari. The Lyari Expressway does not carry heavy traffic although it was meant to and by night its southbound track shifts to becoming a northbound route carrying lighter cargo from the port to the Super highway which leads all the way to the Khyber Pass in the North at the border with Afghanistan. If the war in Afghanistan stops then the violence in Karachi and in Pakistan will subside. Just think what this war machinery moving through Karachi means for the city and what impact it has on the security, society and on the economy when it moves through the country going from the south of the country to the north to the Khyber Pass. Safe passage of these precious goods is assured through the city by gangs of extortionists and enforcers who collect a fee—Bhatta from the war enterprise. These gangs have deep connections to the militaries, international mercenaries and political parties. Their leaders are the biggest Bhatta collectors in the chain and are given safe haven to live in Dubai and in London. International business interests and local armed mercenaries have made Karachi their base to protect their war supplies. There is big money to be made. Karachi has always been of interest to Empire and it has never let it go. Their bidding is done through petty gangs across the city who have also learned to collect Bhatta from ordinary citizens, households and shopkeepers. These extortionists know how to enforce their rules: Non compliance means death.

Hundreds of residents of Karachi have lost their lives to violence in July and August of 2011 alone. Since the beginning of the US led war in Afghanistan in 2001 thousands of citizens of Pakistan and Karachi residents have been killed. The war in Afghanistan in the 1980s had a similarly gruesome impact.

The Lyari Expressway was meant to carry heavy loads and its northbound traffic from the port of Karachi was opened in December 2009. The Expressway was meant to be able to shift goods to and from the port on a high speed route bypassing the congested streets of the city center. But the Northbound route has not become fully functional yet. Nor can the Expressway carry heavy loads such as oil tankers. The Lyari Expressway was highly controversial when it was under design and it was opposed by citizens and community action groups, urban planners and activists because it displaced thousands of people, their homes and livelihoods, and it threatened to change the social fabric of the city. But it was built anyway under the Military regime of General Musharraf. Some who opposed the expressway were killed including one who belonged to a well known family and was also a political and social leader and activist who opposed the construction of the Expressway. He was found dead in 2002 inexplicably and improbably by having committed suicide by hanging himself in the guest room of his family home. Another person among many an FM station talk show host who was spoke up against the Expressway on his show was beaten up and threatened that he would be pushed off the roof of the building where the radio station was housed. Construction of the Expressway began in 2002. The bomb blast and the fire in Bolton Market which occurred during a Moharram procession in 2009, many believe, simply cleared out the shopkeepers and traders who had earlier refused to move out of the way of the Lyari Expressway’s planned support route.

The Lyari Expressway’s primary purpose was and is to provide a swift route for goods moving from the port to the rest of the country up north and bringing supplies down to the port. It carries to and fro from the port precious and high value imports and exports: the supplies going to the war and as most Karachi residents are convinced heroine from Afghanistan trucked back to the same waiting ships that bring in war supplies. Hardly any civilian city traffic can be seen on this Expressway.

The forces that rule Karachi thrive on the enterprise of war in Afghanistan. They dream of making Karachi a Dubai or a Singapore or a Hongkong. They in turn are linked to the petty street and neighborhood thugs linked to organized gangs and gang bosses who owe allegiance to these bigger bosses. They all owe each other. They are in the business of land grabbing, logistics, finance, drugs and weapons trade.

Whoever can ensure the war supply routes is king. Whoever can do that extorts Bhatta. This is the artery that feeds the heart of the golden goose. The Lyari Expressway in parts of the city is elevated above rooftops and in others runs alongside densely packed neighborhoods and passes through and over all the areas of Karachi currently in flames. The war supplies are swiftly moved on cargo trucks by night over this flyover that passes on a raised structure through the heart of the city passing alongside the large slum of Lyari, then through all of the city’s neighborhoods—while the war supplies move unobstructed from the Karachi port towards Afghanistan a war rages in Karachi including turf battles and land grabbing and strong arming to ensure territorial rights for guaranteeing the safe passage of the war machinery. The war supplies for Afghanistan bring death and destruction as their daily traffic to Karachi.

A drive on the Expressway feels eerily like on an exclusive and unobstructed rollercoaster ride dipping and rising alongside and above the city from the port on either side are the sprawling, densely packed and heavily congested neighborhoods and traffic congested streets of Lyari, Ranchore Lines, Soldier Bazaar, Liaqatabad, Nazimabad, Orangi, Sohrab Goth, Gulberg all the way till it reaches the Superhighway on the city’s outskirts.

Karachi a city of nearly 20 million people spreads out on either side of the expressway and convulses with its toxic impact. The graffiti on the massive structure’s concrete walls—and pillions hint of the rage that seethes around it. Each night while millions of Karachi residents try to sleeps or lie awake unable to sleep because of the heat and power cuts or anxiety over the raging violence in the streets—the war supplies slip by –slithering quietly and silently from the Port through and around the city swiftly, smoothly, safely.

Karachi was a tiny fishing village more than 150 years ago. It became a lucrative piece of real estate for Empire as its trading outpost and a cantonment town when the war began in Afghanistan between Britain and Russian in 1850s for territorial control of Central Asia. Then Great Game of Empires was on as it is now. The Empire owned Karachi then as it does now. Traders flocked to Karachi from other parts of India to position themselves as suppliers and servicers of the war around the newly built port which was built for the purpose of war supplies to be able to supply the war. Mercenaries and the army of the British Empire was housed in barrack in the city—in places named Abyssinia Line and Ranchore Lines. War had always benefited the city. In 1838, the British afraid of the Russian Empire’s expansion to the Arabian Sea, occupied Karachi and the city served as the landing port for their troops for the First Afghan War. In 1843, they annexed Sindh and shifted the capital of the province from Hyderabad to Karachi. Then the British made Sindh a district of the Bombay Presidency and Karachi was made the district headquarters. Troops were stationed in Karachi and businessmen from all over the country arrived to cater to the needs of the army, an opportunity not to be missed. Karachi started to become a vibrant town, particularly the part where the military barracks and commercial activities merged particularly at the confluence of the military barracks and commercial sector. This area became known as Saddar, the Presidency. Karachi is built on and continues to expand on the land grabbing effort called Empire and War—and within it, the forces that rule it—have grabbed land from small villages called Goths to expand its boundaries the biggest land mafia is probably the military with its Defense Housing Societies where the elite of the city live. Land is grabbed from the poor and it is grabbed from the sea. Reclamation of land from the sea continues unchecked and unregulated with no regard to the environment or to city planning. It is handled improperly, senselessly and dangerously with construction beginning even before the land has dried.

Karachi has always been the conduit for the supplies of war. In the powerful, muliti layered and international mercenary war machinery these local guarantors of safe passage of war goods are just petty thieves and gangs, extortionists who murder and collect Bhatta—extortion fees. But in the lives of Karachi and Pakistan’s citizens they are the biggest bosses, the most powerful forces of rulers and administrators, the police, the army, the politicians.

Whoever can ensure safe passage for war supplies extracts Bhutta from the war enterprise and controls Karachi . And this system extends all the way North along the supply route on the Super highway which cuts through the entire country from Karachi to Khyber Pass. All the way to Khyber Pass from the Karachi port extortionists, enforcers and service providers for the war machinery. Extortion cascades from the top down—from the Generals to the political leaders to their minions of militias and gangs. Extortion. Bhatta.

The routes of war supplies and their traffic must be part of the story of why there is such murder, mayhem and criminal violence in Karachi. The violence must be seen through the prism of war and land grabbing. The war is profitable for all those involved in making it happen. As long as the war goes on the gangs in Karachi and Pakistan will be encouraged to keep fighting and killing each other for the profitable business of collecting Bhatta for ensuring safe passage for these goods and to keep the conveyor belt for war supplies running smoothly. An analysis of what is happening in Karachi which looks for its root causes in poverty, ethnicity, population and a lack of services tells only a very small part of the story. This suits the enterprise of war because it ensures that the route for war continues uninterrupted.

Also by Maniza Naqvi (here):

Educating Steve Jobs

by Sarah Firisen

Steve-jobs-appe

First it was Libya, most recently it was Hurricane Irene, but in the middle of the week the single biggest news item, at least measured in terms of newspaper real estate, was that Steve Jobs has stepped down from running Apple. Is it stretching superlatives to say that he may be the one person alive who has most changed the course of history? As Joe Nocera said in the New York Times this week, probably more than anyone else alive, Steve Jobs has known the feeling of what it's like to have changed America, and probably the world. We can debate whether or not the personal computer as it is now has changed the world for the better, but it must be beyond dispute that it has changed it dramatically for most people.

So, let's make the sad assumption that Steve Jobs has stepped down from Apple irreversibly, what now? Where's the next Steve Jobs coming from? Clearly, the industrial world needs more Steve Jobs, but specifically, America needs more. What does it take to turn out, not only the next Steve Jobs, but perhaps a generation more likely to create multiple “Steve Jobs”-like innovators than the generation before? I don't know exactly, but I'm pretty sure that, whatever it is, we're not doing it as a society.

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Monday, August 22, 2011

Mathematical learning (and math as a hobby)

by Rishidev Chaudhuri

Math It is an oddly well-kept secret that mathematical learning is a very active process, and almost always involves a struggle with ideas. To a large extent, this is due to the nature of mathematical intuition: grasping a mathematical idea involves seeing it from multiple angles, understanding why it's true in a broader context and understanding its connections with neighboring ideas. And so, when you sit down to read through a proof or the description of an idea, you rarely do just that. Instead, digestion more often involves settling down with a pen and a piece of paper and interrogating the concept in front of you: “What is this statement saying? Can I translate it into something else? Can I find a simpler case that will help me gain insight into this general context? What about this makes it true? What would be the consequences if this statement were false? What contradictions would I encounter if I tried to disprove it? How does this concept reflect those that have gone before? How do the various assumptions used to prove this statement factor in? Are all of them necessary? Are there other ways to frame this fact that seem fundamentally different?” And so on. And this interrogation often involves taking your pencil and paper on long digressions, slow rambling explorations of ideas that help clarify the one you're trying to understand.

Similarly, proving a mathematical statement or solving a problem is an unfolding of false sallies and blind alleys, of ideas that seem to work but fail in very particular ways, of realizing that you don't understand a problem or a concept as well as you thought. And again, these are not wasted. In almost every case, if someone were to just give you a proof or a solution and you didn't either try to come up with it first or actively interrogate it once you had it (which is almost the same thing), you'd learn that the statement was true, but learn very little about why it was true or what it meant for that statement to be true. And much of the learning in a math class happens not in the lectures but afterwards, in the time spent on problem sets (and, if you had a choice between attending the lectures and doing the problem sets, you should always pick the latter).

Unfortunately, most people make it through a high school mathematical education without being taught this. This has unfortunate consequences and makes mathematical learning exceedingly vulnerable to expectation and self-belief, so that it is often seen as something you either can or can't do, and many people see the struggle as a sign of a lack of ability rather than as an intrinsic part of the learning. There are certainly children who, for whatever accident of genetics, upbringing or attentional prowess start out by being quicker at math. But this seems swamped by differences in temperament and confidence, or by the effect that initial quickness has on confidence. How you engage with the setbacks of learning seems more important than how quick you are1.

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Things You Cannot Believe

by Scott F. Aikin and Robert B. TalisseImagesCAV32H3R

Early in the 20th Century, the British philosopher G. E. Moore noticed that sentences of a certain form have a quite peculiar feature. Consider:

I believe it is Tuesday, but today is Monday.

Today is Monday, but I do not believe that.

I believe that today is Tuesday, but it’s not true that today is Tuesday.

These statements, when considered as first-personal assessments, instantiate what’s been called Moore’s Paradox. Taking ‘p’ as a variable standing for any well-formed declarative sentence, we can say that Moore’s Paradox is generated by any statement of the following form,

I believe that p, but not-p.

What is peculiar about statements of this kind is that although they may be true, you cannot believe them to be true in your own case. Although you may, indeed, be mistaken about what day today is, you cannot assess yourself as being mistaken about the day without undoing your belief about what day today is. When we assess one of our beliefs as false, we typically thereby dissolve the belief. Put otherwise, there are some truths that cannot be believed. That’s the paradox.

What are we to make of this? Philosophers have proposed various accounts of the significance of Moore’s Paradox. One clear implication is that beliefs are intrinsically truth-aiming. When one believes, one aims to believe what is true. This is why falsity is a decisive objection to a belief. When one finds oneself driven to affirm something that one regards as false, the language of belief no longer seems appropriate; one instead employs diagnostic terms, such as affliction, addiction, and delusion. We may say, then, that truth is the norm of belief.

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Monday Poem

Which matters more, Philosophy or Ecology?

How many thoughts can dance on the head of a
radioactive pin, and for how long?

–Roshi Bob

Hawk

Does Philosophy Matter

It’s high summer
wild green thrusts itself
against the bounds
of clipped lawns
Huns of sumac
amassed at a farm’s edge
surge toward logical
rows of beets and
well-reasoned
ranks of peppers
ignoring the protocol
of invitation under
the wingspread
of a hawk clueless
about the theological
knots of Aquinas
—a hawk who can’t imagine
the ontological argument,
who just wheels like
Gump’s feather rising
and falling on a whim
of wind scanning for lunch
without thinking I think,
therefore I am, being
without the anguish of Hamlet’s
big question; someone whose
knowledge is written in cells
—a bird whose understanding
is unscorched by the burning of books
unscathed by the thoughts of the dead,
the ideologies of idiots,
the desperation to say
what cannot be said
— someone snared nevertheless
in the terminal webs
of bi-pedal thinkers who
plumb and mine the shadows
in their heads

by Jim Culleny
8/5/11

Reflections on an Airport Groping

by Quinn O'Neill

Screening_in_DTW_Airport Eager hands caressed the small of her back, made their way over the crest of her buttocks, and temporarily cupped them like a pair of cantaloupes. Sadly, this isn’t an excerpt from a cheesy Harlequin romance, it’s airport security in 2011. The buttocks were mine and I didn’t enjoy the experience at all.

I’d read about this sort of thing happening to other people, but somehow it didn’t seem real until it happened to me. Ironically, it was the first time I’d ever felt the urge to become violent in an airport and it was inspired by airport security measures. Mostly my anger was directed at myself. I didn’t approve of what had taken place and yet I stood there and let it happen like a Victorian bride thinking of England on her wedding night.

My experience was undoubtedly mild compared to some of the more invasive gropings that have taken place at the hands of TSA employees. I was felt up at a Canadian airport prior to a domestic flight and so my “pat-down” was presumably of the standard variety, although more invasive than I’d ever experienced. Now, as I contemplate a move to the US from my current home in Montreal, my biggest fears relating to travel aren’t of terrorism or plane crashes, but of inevitable violations of my privacy at airport security gates.

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The Existential Equation – The Irish Pre-famine Population and the Dilemmas of a 7 billion person world

by Liam Heneghan

The Irish Famine of 1846 killed more the 1,000,000 people, but it killed poor devils only. —Karl Marx, Capital Volume 1 (1867)

Behold the potato chip! It’s the perfect substrate for immersing in delicious oils, an adroit vehicle for conveying toothsome flavors to the mouth. If one eschews the oils and the suspicious flavorings, the potato is almost a complete meal in itself. Mashed along with a little buttermilk it fueled, as is claimed with some hyperbole of course, the construction of a British empire. Viewed with a squint, it is as if the Irishman with spade in hand was the subterraneFamine0001_4an potato tuber’s extended phenotype – another starchy being anxiously grubbing back into the dirt. Hundreds of thousands of potato-fed and buttery Irishmen left for Britain during the 19th Century to find employment as navvies and there they dug ditches, canals, and built a railroad system. And during and after the Great Potato Famine (1845-1849) millions more left for North America and elsewhere.

For me this is personal. Because of the enormous productivity of potato – an acre of potato producing more calories than thrice that of grain – I am now living in the US. I am, if my assessment is correct, the very last of the post-potato-famine migrant from Ireland. As soon as I left (in 1994), the exiles commenced their return, and though migration out of Ireland has begun again it is no longer, it seems to me, the same demographic pattern initiated by the failure of the potato crop.

My principle concern here is not the potato nor the Irishman nor the empire: I am interested in revisiting the demographic implications of events surrounding the Irish Potato Famine; examining the way in which economic and social historians have assessed the population growth running up to the famine before the horrible consequences of the potato failure unfolded. Let me make my main point here: nothing could be seemingly simpler to come to grips with than the pattern of a population growth in the century leading to Irish famine, and the increasing reliance of the poor on a single crop and the subsequent crash of the population after the failure of the crop. And yet despite the beguiling but horrifying simplicity of the pattern almost no aspect of the story is as easy to explain as it may seem. To keep this post to modest length I am discussing only the debates over causes of population growth before the famine here and will post follow up comments on my blog in the coming months about the population disaster that followed the potato failure – another complicated story.

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It’s a bug’s life

by Misha Lepetic

Anyone who can be replaced by a machine deserves to be.
~Dennis Gunton

Slime_mold A noteworthy popular intellectual trend in recent years might be called “How Everything Works, In Spite of Itself.” Roughly, the trajectory can be described by James Gleick’s Chaos, which appeared in 1988; M. Mitchell Waldrop’s Complexity in 1992; and Steven Johnson’s Emergence, debuting in 2001. On the even more popular side, one can glance at Gladwell’s Tipping Point and Surowiecki’s Wisdom of Crowds, although more serious readers ought to be referred to Stuart Kauffman’s The Origins of Order. What unites these works – or rather, the trend that these books represent – is a perennial desire to see our world defined in terms of simple rules that, once intuited, reveal themselves as pervasive and universal. What are the consequences of this point of view, as we attempt to better understand societies and urbanism?

In a very real sense, this desire for heuristic happiness can be drawn straight back to the Enlightenment, Kepler_mysterium_cosmographicum if not even earlier. One can imagine Kepler experiencing equal parts delight and relief when his (only three, and very simple) laws of planetary motion persisted in their universality; or Newton’s, when he was able to derive these laws from the inverse square law of gravity. Whew! Kind of a shame to have to leave those Platonic solids behind, but there is something to be said for simplicity.

The principles derived by scientists working in the fields of chaos and complexity offer similar mercies. The desired outcome is more or less as follows: create a game of as few rules as possible, that in turn creates outcomes that are intricate, beautiful and pleasingly lifelike. Computer-assisted simulations such as Tim Conway’s Game of Life and Mitchell Resnick’s StarLogo have catalyzed the demonstration of how lifelike patterns evolve from simple rules. These simulations not only provide legitimate insights into real world processes, but also speak to us in a titillating fashion, inviting us to observe and name the resulting shapes generated by generations of cellular automata interacting with one another.

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The Humanists: Nicolas Roeg’s Walkabout

Walkabout
by Colin Marshall

None of us really think about it anymore, especially if we grew up in Crocodile Dundee’s pop-cultural heyday, but… how weird is Australia? This land mass, just large enough to qualify for continent status, hanging out by itself underneath Asia? Starkly arid and desolate, for the most part, between its eastern and western edges? Ten thousand miles from England, yet full (in a sense) of Brits? Without a doubt, Australia makes the short list of countries that can freak you out if you think hard enough about them. It doesn’t sit at the top — stiff competition from Turkmenistan, Paraguay, and North Korea — but which filmmakers bother to actively engage with it? The Mad Max pictures grew more grotesque as they went along, but in a speculatively flamboyant way that didn’t really engage the actual weirdness. Baz Luhrmann seems to hold a grasp on some of his homeland’s deep askewness, but his movies tend to convert it into mere eccentricity.

But if we’re keeping it to high international profiles, we’ve got to talk about Nicolas Roeg. Despite suffering the apparent disadvantage of growing up in London and not, say, Alice Springs, he nevertheless managed, in his solo directorial debut Walkabout, to deliver an Australia never seen before — or, for that matter, since. More specifically, he delivers an Australian outback, and a drama in it, never seen before or since, dropping a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl and her six-year-old brother right into the thick of it. Cinephiles, or even enthusiasts of modern myth, know the rest of the story: the uniformed, near-albinistically white siblings — credited only as “Girl” and “White Boy” — just about succumb to dehydration when they come across a young Aboriginal tribesman — “Black Boy” — who ultimately leads them back to their civilization, though only after a series of fatal failures to communicate.

That plot opens up a minefield of potential cinematic embarrassments, including but not limited to telling the story with a standard “survival” movie or, worse, telling it with a standard “noble savage” movie. The Girl and the White Boy owe their lives to the Black Boy, true, but Roeg doesn’t convey it with a broadside against Western civilization, colonial arrogance, excessive whiteness, or what have you, even though those seem like tacks the film has to take. I’d dragged my feet on seeing it for the first time because of my fear that Roeg, who had become one of my favorite filmmakers immediately after I saw The Man Who Fell to Earth, would succumb to obvious moralistic clichés. How foolish of me; watching any given Roeg film should assure you that, even when he uses time-worn components of plot or character — and he usually does — he fits them together with a box of tools all of his own cockeyed invention.

How do we know Walkabout won’t put us through a typical plodding spectacle of uptight urbanites reluctantly chomping down on sticks, leaves, and bugs at the urging of cautious but giving sun-browned natives brimming with simple wisdom from generations of close communion with Mother Earth? The signs come early and often, starting with the way the brother and sister wind up stranded so far into the outback in the first place. We see their buttoned-down father express squinting, frowny displeasure at his job, home, and family, and it feels like the brim of a very old hat indeed — until he drives the kids out into the country, tells them to set up a picnic, and then pulls out his revolver and opens fire on them. They run; he keeps missing, perhaps deliberately. By the time he’s set fire to the car and done himself in, the Girl and the White Boy have nowhere to go but away, as far and as fast as they can manage.

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2008 Aftershocks and the World Economy

by Michael Blim

World_economy_433075 Call them aftershocks: the sovereign debt crises and the return to zero growth and recession in developed countries, along with the current world stock market “correction.” Add in the wry spectacle of the flight to U.S. bonds as doubt that America will ever pay off its debts, and you have the rather sorry description of a world economy still reeling from the earthquake of 2008.

Different sets of players do their bits. Economists and the world financial elite keep trying to treat each crisis discreetly, finding a cause here, a remedy there, and hoping that the rest of the world economy will keep vamping as they fix each one. Financial market traders, selling on good news, and buying on bad, or the other way around if it suits them, put words to the numbers. “The markets are worried about Libya,” ‘the market is pricing in the impact of unemployment rates on overall demand,” and so on. The “market” in this turn of phrase is like an open-source mind transforming words into numbers, which of course makes one wonder how those chatty traders have mind enough to change the numbers back into words again. Finally, nightly news reports put the two tracks, words and numbers, back together, and each of us tries to understand what just happened, and with more preoccupation what might happen tomorrow.

Each of the estates in their way is trying to handle the aftershocks of the crisis that began in the fall of 2008. The economists and financial elite are trying to end them, or contain their damage. The market players are betting on scenarios that will make them money. And the news media are trying to write the story as others tell it to them.

Yet the estates have neither fixed “the problem,” nor assuaged the fear that the 2008 economic earthquake was the global North’s “big one,” and that the world as we know it has undergone a profound and fundamental change. The great tectonic plates upon which the world economy stands have shifted its center south and east to the “emerging economies.” And the collision between the emerging and developed economies, the cause of the quake, has left the latter so deeply damaged that the failure of successive rescue efforts threatens the short-term viability of the world economy itself.

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Poem

“THE PRESIDENT IS HUMAN. HE GETS SICK”

— White House Press Secretary Responding to Reporters' Questions in The New York Times, January 9, 1992

A thousand tiny dots of light:
I diminish the noise.

Duped smirk on aging face,
eyes eclipsed by spectacles,

The President,
previously recorded,

vomits,
moving his lips slowly.

Watching me watching him
he holds my stare

kindly, gently.
Reading my thoughts,

George Herbert Walker Bush
C
O
L
L
A
P
S
E
S.

By Rafiq Kathwari / rafiqkathwari.com / @brownpundit

Tips for (Fiction and/or Comic) Writers

by Tauriq Moosa

Putting one word, one letter, after the other in order to make a coherent sentence is something most of us can do: you are currently doing it now, except you are forced to ride the tracks of comprehension as laid down by words I choose. There are some of us, stupidly, who are aiming to make this into our profession, in whatever medium most suits our tastes, personality, and continual interest. Having recently begun a thesis, I needed a way to not view writing as a, sometimes, tortuous process, dealing with multiple medical and philosophical and political documents. I decided to dabble in writing comics or, rather, graphic novels.

It’s quite a strange move for me, considering I’ve only started reading comics recently. But that’s not what matters.

What I’d like to do is convey some tips to those looking into writing fiction, in general, and comic fiction, in particular. Because I don’t think people interested in writing creatively are necessarily interested in graphic-novel writing, I will separate the general and specific tips I’ve picked up.

However, here is a disclaimer: I am not a published or recognised writer. I am a complete amateur. Indeed, I have a number of synopses and plot outlines, but no firmly attached artists or publishers to any of them. Finding artists, when you cannot draw, cannot pay, or are an unknown is one of the most difficult aspects of comic writing. This is my current problem, but then I’m in two minds about this as I will explain later. What I am presenting to you is the end results of hundreds of articles I’ve read and discussions I’ve had with more successful people. So I'm not going to keep writing “…but that's just my view at the moment” or “…but do realise this is one person's perspective…”. You've got you're disclaimer. Move on.

TIPS FOR WRITING (FICTION)

1. Read.

This is the second most insulting instruction you can give to someone interested in writing (I’ll tell you the most insulting one at the end). However, it is not unheard of for writers to be lazy or non-readers. I’m thinking of the great Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778), who wrote beautifully and powerfully, but was not himself an avid reader.

By read, I mean read everything. Published authors and editors constantly state that being unaware of the medium is common problem. You could at the very least simply retell an existing story. Or you could be unaware that your “highly original” idea has not only been duplicated, but told by a writer infinitely more talented (this happened to me and an Ian McEwan story).

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India’s Innovation Path

by Aditya Dev Sood

Clean uii.jpg

One day, I came home from school to a big commotion in the living room. My dad was working with an electrician and a mason, and they were together struggling to figure out how this enormous apparatus was going to work. What is it, I asked? A split-unit air-conditioner, my dad said! The thing was a deep and dark gray, with fierce frowning fins all around. It sat in our living room that day like a fine objet, detached slightly from the wall into which its cables would soon run, locking firmly into the masonry and coming out the other side, into the sunless side yard we then had, where I also parked my bicycle. The thing was powerful alright, having been designed for industrial use, and it hummed quietly to itself, rather than roaring and groaning in the way air-conditioners usually did back then. No one in our friends or family circle had ever seen or heard of a split-unit AC, and it was quite the source of living-room family pride.

My dad had bought the thing at an auction at the American embassy, which was upgrading from these four-year-old split-units to central air-conditioning. He must have paid, maybe forty thousand rupees for the thing, almost two thousand bucks in 1980s US dollars. But even this second-hand industrial unit must have seemed a good investment, as compared with the kinds of ACs that were available in the market then — old technologies that were made even more expensive by heavy import duties. And when I think back on it, I realize that many of the appliances and consumer goods we enjoyed in our home came from these sales at diplomatic compounds, or else imported by someone else and then sold locally. Our enormous six-burner stove-oven, our banana-yellow Isuzu car, our small upstairs stereo system, our several VCRs, even my silver ten-speed bike, all of these appurtenances came into lives second-hand, through foreign contacts. Nothing like them was then available in India's local markets.

Eventually our stove-burner was rusting out, so we had to send it to the welder to get a new sheeting on the back, the better to keep the rats out of the kitchen. The Isuzu was in and out of the shop a lot, and we once considered switching out its engine with a new local one. And when the woofer on the small stereo tore, I took the two speakers to Lajpat Rai Market to have them replaced with a spare ripped out of another speaker. To participate in consumer culture in India back then was like living in a Mad Max movie — the fragments of a more advanced technological and material culture surrounded us, and we made tactical use of whatever we could find. But we seemed doomed never to be able to inhabit that technological horizon. The technology of everyday life seemed to come to us from far away, and always without proper distribution, support, service.

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Monday, August 15, 2011

Messengers from the RNA world

PrimordialSoup The classically understood flow of information in present day organisms flows from DNA to RNA to protein. However, RNA can both store heritable information and carry out biochemical activities, and is thus capable of the functions principally served by DNA and protein. The RNA world hypothesis proposes that life based on RNA predated the current tripartite arrangement. However, the RNA world is not exclusively confined to the distant past. Recent studies of non-coding RNAs show that the roles of RNA have continued to evolve and expand alongside DNA and protein.

It’s become increasingly clear that genomes contain quite a bit of DNA which does not code for protein, but is nevertheless transcribed into RNA, yielding an abundance of RNA transcripts– and that this tendency gets more pronounced in more complex organisms. In humans, approximately 10- to 20-fold more genomic sequence is transcribed to non-coding RNA than to protein-coding RNA. One interesting non-coding RNA category is the micro-RNA (miRNAs), a class of short RNAs which can dock onto and affect other RNA transcripts. A very recent essay in Cell magazine proposes that these miRNAs form a sort of exchange currency in the cell, in that longer RNA species (including non-coding forms) regulate one another’s behavior by controlling levels of the miRNAs. Increased abundance in any “target” RNA will remove miRNAs from circulation, with consequences for other targeted RNAs.

One exciting feature of this hypothesis is the central role posited for mi-RNAs– very broadly affecting both coding and noncoding RNAs while remaining essentially intrinsic to the RNA economy. (the miRNA life cycle in present day life depends on proteins at several crucial steps, but target recognition itself is thought to be protein independent.) This is of particular interest since mi-RNAs may be relics of the RNA world. mi-RNAs have been indentified in all living realms and in viruses, and their recognition sequences are remarkably conserved, suggesting they derive from ancient common ancestors (or from co-evolving groups). Along with transfer RNAs and ribosomal RNAs, mi-RNAs may be a fundamental legacy of early terrestrial life.

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The Devil Still Pirouettes Among Us

Mlkfreeatlast.jpegby Fred Zackel

Next week, on August 28, 2011, the National Mall in Washington D.C. will be unveiling the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial. This day will also mark the 48th Anniversary of the famous “I Have a Dream” speech.

America has been unimaginably lucky. Some of our Presidents were great writers, and some were great speakers. Dr. Martin Luther King, Junior’s writings, plus his speeches, stand with the best from our Presidents.

Martin Luther King, Jr. Check out his Letter from the Birmingham Jail. He wrote it on whatever paper he could find in jail. Read it aloud. Feel the rhythms on your tongue and hear his voice. See how wide-ranging his intellect was. The depth of his arguments. See how persuasive he was. And the breadth of his empathy for humanity.

Put yourself in jail, in his place, and imagine the best you could do under those same situations. He began writing his famous letter on strips of paper slipped to him in jail. More amazingly, he even apologized for its length: “I can assure you that it would have been much shorter if I had been writing it from a comfortable desk, but what else can one do when he is alone in a narrow jail cell, other than write long letters, think long thoughts and pray long prayers?”

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Midnight’s problem child

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by Omar Ali

Pakistan and India are celebrating the 64th anniversary of “Freedom at midnight” with their usual mix of nationalism and jingoism (Bangladesh seems to ignore this nightmarish dream anniversary and will be mostly ignored in this article). The fashionable opinion about India (within and without, though perhapsless on the Indian left) seems fairly positive; about Pakistan, decidedly muddled if not outright negative. Is this asymmetry another manifestation of the unfair assessments of an Islamophobic world? Or does this difference in perception have a basis in fact?

I am going to make twin arguments: that the difference in everyday life, everyday oppressions and everyday successes is LESS than commonly stated (though a gap may finally be opening up), but at the same time, the asymmetry in their ideals and foundational myths is much greater than outsiders tend to see. Outsiders in general tend to see other nations as generic “nations”; they assume (usually unconsciously) that the default “national interests” are likely to be reflections of the same set of assumptions everywhere. My argument here is that this is frequently true and is true enough of India and Pakistan in many cases (e.g. in negotiations over river waters), but there are some unique elements in the Pakistan story that slowly but steadily push in a less desirable direction, even as the normal evolution of society brings in modernization and economic growth; and unless these are damped down, these “unique elements” have the potential to sink Pakistan. On the other hand, if these can be ignored or painted over, then Pakistan too can become just another “normal” South Asian country, faced with similar problems (some worse, some much less than its neighbors), to which similar solutions can be proposed.

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Ecce Homarus

Justin E. H. Smith

[This is a short excerpt from my current book project, Language and Animals, about which you will be hearing more soon. –JEHS]

Susenier-A Still Life with a Lobster-1 Some decades after M. F. K. Fisher, following Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, implored us to 'consider the oyster', David Foster Wallace asked us do the very same thing with a lobster. It was not at his request that I first did so, and neither was he the first to make the request. In the Essay on Classification of 1851, the Swiss zoologist Louis Agassiz also asked us to consider the lobster, but what he really wanted was something rather more radical: he wanted us to consider the lobster alone, to consider the world as if the lobster had no relatives, no exoskeletal cousins next to which we might be able to make some sort of sense of this odd creature:

[S]uppose, for instance, that our Lobster (Homarus americanus) were the only representative of that extraordinarily diversified type [the 'Articulata'], –how should we introduce that species of animal into our systems? Simply as a genus with one species by the side of all the other classes with their orders, families, etc., or as a family containing only one genus with one species, or as a class with one order and one genus, or as a class with one family and one genus? And should we acknowledge, by the side of Vertebrata, Mollusca, and Radiata, another type, Articulata, on account of the existence of that one Lobster, or would it be natural to call it by a single name, simply as a species, in contradistinction to all other animals? (Agassiz, Essay on Classification, London, 1859, 5).

If you think the lobster is peculiar, just imagine how peculiar, how utterly non-pareil, it would be if it were the only articulate (i.e., exoskeletal) animal in existence? How could we even begin to say what it is if there were nothing else like it?

We might ask something more radical still: Ecce homo. Consider the human. Next, consider the human alone, without any animal relatives, endoskeletal or otherwise. What would such a creature be like? Standing in relation to nothing that is like it, and at the same time not it, how would we know what sort of being we were beholding?

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The Lost City of Ugarit

By Namit Arora

With Syria in the news, I’ve dusted off an account I wrote a few months after my visit there in Feb 2001. I’ve also created an 8-min video from my archives, using music by Fairuz for soundtrack. While I look at contemporary Syrian society and politics, the bulk of my narrative is on Ugarit, a nearly 4,000-year-old city held to be the birthplace of the alphabet. We know a fair bit about it from its surviving clay tablets, written in this first alphabet. One tablet even has this timeless reminder to men: ‘Do not tell your wife where you hide your money.’

The road to Lattakia goes over the Anti-Lebanon Range. I had left Aleppo under a blue sky at noon; now a thick fog rolls in, tall conifers appear in the valleys, visibility drops. The pop Arabic music in the bus gets louder but does not deter my fellow passengers from dozing. Handsome villages with brick houses, clean streets, and small domed mosques appear now and again. The bus stops at a rest area with gift shops and restaurants and arrives in Lattakia by early evening. I take a cab to the city center and find a hotel. It is my tenth day in Syria.

Lattakia lies on the Mediterranean coast of Syria and is one of its most modern towns. I see well-groomed women flaunting their feminine charms in tight jeans, sleek coats, flowing dark hair, makeup, décolletage. It feels like Eastern Europe. The evening prayer from a mosque comes wafting down rooftops just in time to remind me: I am in an Islamic country. Its socialistic aims clearly run counter to those of radical Islam, virtually absent in Syria. Just days ago, curiosity led me to ask a few urban young men: which Arab country has the hottest women? The winner: Lebanon, Syria next, and tied for third spot: Tunisia, Jordan, Kuwait. I imagine local young women waging a million mutinies daily—in dress, movement, occupation, choice of mates. Each new threshold crossed a potential source of angst and family drama. An intricate web of connections, customs, certitudes, all subject to modernizing change.

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When Self became Art and Buttons Became Tender

By Haider Shahbaz

In 1917, Marcel Duchamp contributed Fountain, a urinal, to the exhibit of the Society of Independent Artists. The Society was ‘independent’ – but not that much. They rejected the urinal, insisting it was not art. Duchamp defended the piece by Mr. Mutt (his alter ego) in the following words: “Mr Mutt made the fountain with his own hands or not has no importance. He CHOSE it. He took an article of life, placed it so that its useful significance disappeared under the new title and point of view – created a new thought for that object.” Stein

Gertrude Stein is similarly a characteristically modern writer in that she is producing art from everyday life. She is choosing everyday objects and then creating thoughts for them. Her work, ‘Tender Buttons’, is divided into three parts: Objects, Food, Rooms. The aim is to describe everyday objects and spaces that Stein is familiar with and lives in. These are domestic objects: A cup and saucer, a long dress, sugar, milk and rooms come together to be assembled in Stein’s mind and to leave it as written art. These domestic objects are the essential components of her everyday experience. However Stein does not simply borrow from experiences and people and try to reproduce them on paper in their traditional way of description. Stein is aiming for the pure self, the completely subjective rendition of the commonplace object as it exists inside her. In order to do this, she is breaking down life into its components of experience, into sights and sounds and resemblances and repetitions. For example, she describes a petticoat in a single line, extremely personally, as such: “A light white, a disgrace, an ink spot, a rosy charm.” Like Walker says, commenting on the Cezanne and Picasso stills hanging on Stein’s walls in Paris, “…this text is far from a literal transcription of the immediate sense-data that enter the ‘stream of consciousness.’ Like the Cezanne and Picasso still lifes of apples that hung on the walls of Stein’s atelier, it is a deliberate artistic model, not a naïve reproduction of the ‘real’.”(134, Gertrude Stein, Jayne L. Walker. UMP, Amherst, 1984). Thus, the petticoat becomes subjective, it becomes Stein’s interior, Stein’s ‘self’. ‘Tender Buttons’ is about this particular rendition of the commonplace into an artistic subjective model. For Stein, art is the rendition of everyday life into highly individualized descriptions of that life.

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