Antropologiske betraktninger om pelshvaldrift

Author: pelshvalen (Page 30 of 42)

Pause fra uenigheten

Siden vi nå alle – nesten alle – er enige om så mye for tiden, skal jeg ikke skrive om mine yndlingstema.

Jeg skal isteden be dere se på et bilde jeg fant på denne nettsiden. (Jeg oppgir kilden i håp om at jeg ikke bryter åndsverksloven.)

MO200410112240007AREn annen grunn til at jeg setter inn linken er at den lange billedteksten er minst like interessant som bildet. Greia er, nemlig, at nesten alle medlemmene i “Oslokonsortiet” er med.  Svært mange av navnene hørte jeg ganske nylig i en NRK-dokumentar.

Underteksten til dokumentaren “Hakekorsets profitører”: 130.000 krigsfanger arbeidet som slaver og tvangsarbeidere i Norge under den andre verdenskrigen. 18.000 av dem døde.

Ett annet sted fant jeg:

Hakekorsets profitører” er historien om hvordan Statens Vegvesen, NSB, NorskHydro og andre, brukte slavearbeidere og tvangsarbeidere i arbeid for Nazi-Tyskland.

Dokumentarfilmen vises på Teknisk museum, der det for tiden arbeides med en utstilling om den tyske Organisation Todt og tvangsarbeidet i Norge under andre verdenskrig.

Jeg limer det inn, alt sammen, vel vitende at jeg driver reklame( for en NRK-dokumentar), fordi jeg …
Vel – jeg, for min del ble ganske paff når jeg så dokumentaren.

Oslokonsortiet besto av Norges mektigste menn rundt krigen (finanseliten). Dem skulle man altså ikke ha stolt på.

48 780 personer ble straffet under landssvikoppgjøret. Gutta på bildet var ikke blant dem. Det var derimot mange forelskede unge piker og en del personer som ikke hadde gjort noe straffbart, men som var på politisk bærtur (kanskje fordi de var blitt mobbet på skolen eller av naboene).

Selv om Oslokonsortiet hadde begått krigsforbrytelser, slapp medlemmene straff. De beholdt sin innflytelse også etter krigen.

***

I uken som gikk blåste det en aldri så liten storm rundt spaltisten Knut Olav Åmås. I atikkelen Norges anonyme overklasse satte han fingeren på at det finnes 22000 personer med inntekt mellom 5 og 25 millioner kroner /ÅR.

***

Mitt spørsmål er: Hvis vi kan enes om at politisk makt kan gi økonomisk makt, og økonomisk makt kan gi politisk makt (jeg tror de fleste samfunnsvitere er enige om dette), kan vi da si at det er et “demokratisk problem” at et såpass stort segment av befolkningen har mye større økonomisk makt enn flertallet? Jeg beklager at jeg bruker klisjeen “demokratisk problem”. Det er fordi jeg må legge bånd på meg for å la være å uttrykke den mistroen jeg har til folk som tjener for eks. 50 ganger mer enn gjennomsnittet. Kan det være ærlige penger? Eller ligger det for eks. slavearbeid bak, som under krigen?

 

… der de er

Flyktningene fra Syria er for en stor del i Libanon. Som barn bodde jeg i Libanon i et halvt år. Det var det deiligste landet jeg hadde opplevd. Jeg har en masse lysbilder som min far tok, og jeg kan forsikre at de understøtter den dag i dag at Libanon var et deilig land.

På skolen hadde jeg lest bibelfortellinger, og mange av dem hadde skjedd nettopp i Libanon. Der var det høye fjell med huler hvor det enda bodde munker. Mye av landskapet var goldt – men i kløftene rant det bekker og i dype huler fantes det kilder.

Siden den gang har jeg lært at det var fra Libanon de flinke fønikerne kom. Fønikerne bukket under i en av de utallige invasjonene som har korsfestet landet helt opp til vår tid. Det var nemlig et sted som absolutt alle ville ha.

Landet er omtrent på størrelse med Rogaland fylke. Fjellene er høyere enn i Rogaland og kyststripen er smalere. Kyststripen har såkalt “milde” regnfulle vintre (sånne som blåser rett gjennom deg), men i fjellene snør det. Det er ikke noe særlig å bo i telt i Libanon i mange måneder. Selv ikke i norske telt.

Finansministeren må eventuelt investere i brakkebyer. Hun vil hjelpe 26 ganger flere mennesker der enn det regjeringen vil tilby husly i Norge. Det tilsvarer 208.000 brakker, som må forsynes med strøm til oppvarming (strøm er dyrere enn i Norge og mangelvare) og vann (som det ganske sikkert er mer av i Norge). I tillegg må det opprettes skoler og helsetjenester. Områdene må beskyttes militært mot angrep fra voldelige grupper.

Jeg vet ikke hvordan tomteprisene er i Libanon, men det jeg vet er at mens det bor omtrent en halv million mennesker i Rogaland, så bodde det i Libanon rundt 4 millioner i 2010. Siden er det tilkommet rundt 2 millioner syriske flyktninger. Jeg vet ikke hvor i Libanon finansministeren har tenkt å plassere 208.000 brakker.

Så lurer jeg også på hvordan finansministeren vil forklare for de libanesiske myndighetene at det ikke er plass til noen tusen syriske flyktninger her i Norge som er et av de landene i verden med lavest befolkningstetthet.

Dessuten, må jeg spørre hvordan finansministeren vil forklare for de svenske myndighetene – om det skulle bli nødvendig, for eksempel som følge av en naturkatastrofe – at det overhode ikke er aktuelt å la 2 millioner svensker slå leir i Østfold, Akershus og Hedmark.

Til slutt vil jeg få legge til at det ikke bare er for flyktningenes skyld at Norge må ta i mot Syria-flyktninger: Dersom Libanon kollapser, så blir situasjonen i Midtøsten enda mer antennelig, og vi bør ikke glemme at det enda finnes masseødeleggelsesvåpen − i praksis nesten over alt.

Floskeldirektoratet

Vet du hva IMDi er? Ikke det? Men du må innrømme det er et snedig ord. Nesten som Vex (eller burde det hete VEx?)

Integrerings- og mangfoldsdirektoratet. Høres bra ut, ikke sant? Og det har en flott logo. Velkommen til Norge, kjære flyktning, enten du er kommet fra det ene eller det andre landet. Vi håper du får det bra, og at du slipper å martres av fryktelige minner.

Jeg måtte i dag prøve å finne litt info på engelsk om kjønnslemlestelse og tvangsekteskap. Det var derfor jeg besøkte IMDi’s nettside. Øverst på menylinjen fant jeg “Engelsk” med et britisk flagg ved siden av. Jeg klikket på det og slik så siden ut:

IMdiJepp. Tom side.

Jeg må for ordens skyld legge til at det ikke fantes noen side på andre språk heller.

Dypere stakk altså ikke flosklene om integrering og mangfold.

 

 

Be happy + FAQ

I never understood the point of advertising. Oh, I’ll admit any day that if all my friends are raving about Vex – “and you know, it actually works,” – I might very well buy Vex regardless of what it’s for or whether I need it. But if some smooth humanoid that looks like Bambi pops up on my device and starts reeling off reams of pseudo-scientific twaddle about Vex’s riboneucleic effect on the peptic lumen of my wrinkles – not to mention if Bambi uses expressions such as “nature’s own” (in which case Vex is probably made of seaweed) – I’ll go and make a cup of coffee or turn off the device. Most likely the latter, because Bambi will be be sure to turn up again in the course of whatever it is I’m watching, and I won’t want more than one cup of coffee.

No, I never understood the point of advertising. Until now, that is. Now that I am actually paying a little attention to the ongoing election campaign in my country. (No need to look it up – just municipals, no big deal.) And now I finally understand the point of advertising.

You see, if you’re producing something you know will most likely not have the desired effect, you can’t let Bambi tell the public, “well, at least it probably won’t hurt you” or “it may stain your clothes”  or “be sure to bring an iron with you wherever you go”. With her gleaming unnaturally bright soft smile, she will – nay, she must – say that our wrinkles will disappear within 6 months, or that there is a 6-year guarantee or simply: no wrinkles. If you’re producing something that is essentially just seaweed or sawdust, your product’s survival hinges on your capacity to convince us, the public, what it is not, to wit: worth our money. Mind you, we, the public will be paying not only for the seaweed and the blender, packaging, pectin and chemical preservatives but for a bevy of lawyers hovering over every word uttered or written by your company. In spite of all their legalese precautions, there are always a few cranks around who will take you to court because they can effectively prove that the wrinkles did not go away, so you also need a few economists who can calculate the potential losses of the worst case number of lost lawsuits.

Q: But what if the campaigning politician is actually telling the truth, what then?

A: Stupid question. The only people who will vote for him or her will be friends and family. Who wants truth, for heaven’s sakes? Elections are like Christmas parties. We want gifts. That is what we have been taught to expect. Why would we otherwise take the trouble of standing in line somewhere to cast a ballot? We want something in return, don’t we.

Q: But surely there are some politicians and some voters who……?

A: Yes, yes, all right. Of course there are people, even some politicians, both on the so-called left and the so-called right side who seriously care – and many of them are even well-informed, take pains to stay informed and believe it is their duty as citizens to try to understand the complexities of our world. Nevertheless, the bottom lines of elections always tend to smack of seaweed or, worse, sawdust.

Q:Why? Anybody can have their say!

A: Yes, but not during elections. Elections are not about issues, but about what political party will get the job of governing the country or municipality. The people who talk are elected by their parties to say nice cheerful things that will make voters happy and vote for them, not the things that will depress voters.

For instance: Europe is tiny and there is a tidal wave of desperately poor and traumatised people rocking its fragile outer borders. Already, there are many cracks in the border, and people just go on dying by the thousands, attempting to cross. How do our politicians propose to deal with this issue? Some of them say (thankfully, many others do not agree) “We don’t want refugees here!” Have they ever taken a moment off from their politicking to imagine what would happen if the tables turned, if Europe were sacked, as the Roman empire once was, by very angry, very illiterate and very hungry millions? Where would we go? Who would give us asylum? Do you think voters want to hear about that?

True, these are only municipal elections, so the global situation is really not on the agenda. But the climate should be. Is my municipality willing to carry its part of the burden of changing the way we live here? This is a cold country. We use an awful lot of electricity. It is also a very long and sparsely populated country, so we use an awful lot of cars to get around. In 2014, carbon emissions from road traffic had  grown by 25% compared to 1990, while our total greenhouse gas emissions have increased by 3-4%. Do you think voters want to be told that from now on, they will not be allowed to drive to work?

So, yes, by all means, try Vex. Maybe the wrinkles will disappear, but if they don’t, don’t worry, be happy.

Grave robbery in Sweden

Of course, you don’t have to believe the common-law wife of the late Stieg Larsson. They’d been living together for more than thirty years when he died, but I’ll grant you any day that we can’t rule out that she’s a scheming bitch. I mean, all I know, except that “know” is a misnomer here, is what I have read and heard – and as we all know, the official and generally accepted version tends, in the end, to have been that of the winning side and, as such, not necessarily the side that deserved to win. Hers is not the winning side.

So if you are one of the “Men who Hate Women” (the original title of Stieg Larsson’s first book – in translations it was changed against his wishes) or, for that matter, a woman who hates women, you will probably be more prone to assume that her story is a construct, and there are no doubt very many reasons to hate women, among the most common: there are innumerable bitchy sarcastic mothers, soft-spoken sadistic teachers, scheming seductive mistresses and, not least, intolerably stupid and ignorant wives. People who have had to endure any of the above for a whole upbringing, not to mention a whole married life, need to work hard to defend their sanity.

By now I will have infuriated some people to the extent that they are pelting tomatoes at me, so I hasten to add parenthetically that there are equally many God’s-gift-to-womenkind-narcissist men, presidents (male of course) of countries we wish we had never heard of, barons of gruesome crime, professional practitioners of torture (and I don’t mean dentists), ect., etc.

So, back to the men who hate women: They tend to crack in the end. Just read Stieg Larsson’s books: The female protagonist and principal hero is a woman who has endured every kind of abuse from men who appear to be normal, who lead normal lives, but who hate women and crack when they think nobody hears or sees.

She herself is anything but bitchy, sarcastic, sadistic, intriguing, seductive, intolerably stupid or ignorant. She’s not even soft-spoken. She’s blunt and abrupt and hurt, with good reason, though mostly silent and sullen. She doesn’t ask for pity, but the male protagonist and secondary hero, senses her pain through her silent anger and reaches out to her.

Do you honestly think that anybody could write three enormous bricks of crime fiction in homage to a pained, silent and talented woman if he had been living, for decades, with a scheming lynx?

So I go for the widow’s story. I believe her for various reasons: In those days – when they became a couple – marrying was something leftists just did not do. Moreover, this particular couple had every reason not to publicise their relationship because he was a profiled investigative journalist who occasionally received death threats.

I have not heard anybody dispute that they lived together for over thirty years or that he received death threats. That is not at issue. The pivotal element is that according to Swedish law, your estate passes to your next of kin when you die unless you’ve left a will. But he died young, in the sense that when you are 50 and in good health – to all appearances – drawing up a will feels ridiculous. I for my part have not done so either, and I am older than he was when he died (and similar laws apply in my country). Since they were not legally married, he was “intestate”, and his estate – the vast proceeds of book sales and the right to administer the copyright of his books – passed to his father and younger brother. And they, to my horror, accepted something that was theirs only through a jinx, since obviously his wife was his next of kin in every way but on paper.

Now in my initial list of pet hates – hates of certain kinds of women and certain kinds of men – I forgot to mention another hate object: that of certain kinds of parents.

Hating one’s parents is hardly more politically correct than hating one’s children. But I assure you that there are people who have good cause to hate the one or the other (not that hating does them any good).

It appears that until the age of nine, Stieg Larsson was brought up by his grand-parents in the country. When his grandfather died, he was sent to live with his parents in town but did not much appreciate the move, it seems. His mother died young, and I find little online information about his relationship with his father, except that there wasn’t much of it. Judging from what has happened after he died, I can well understand that.

You see, the most damning indictment of the father and brother is neither subjective nor conjecture but literally on paper: The fourth installment of Millenium has absolutely nothing to do with Stieg Larsson! It is true that he left material that he had intended for a fourth volume, but in her legal conflict with the family, his widow has refused to release his computer. So a second-rate writer has been hired to invent a sequel to Millenium. It is being released now.

I turn my back on it, and since money evidently matters more than honour to the father and brother of Stieg Larsson, I urge everyone who reads what I write to refrain from purchasing anything at all that bears his name, since the proceeds go, not to the person he would have wanted to inherit him, but to usurpers of his copyright. Please read only borrowed versions of Millenium I-III. Please do not purchase or even borrow volume IV of the series. It is a travesty.

The so-called “Larsson estate”, as well as the publisher and the rogue writer David Lagercrantz have abused what they usurped to even help themselves to Stieg Larson’s characters. This is all the more reprehensible since they have no understanding of his values, attitudes and views, according to the widow (and by golly, do I ever believe her!)

They are scavengers that feed on carrion. May they be perpetually haunted by foul smells.

The games they play

I hear they brought in a new top gun in Nigeria. Everybody’s very pleased, it seems, except the Nigerians, of course, but they don’t count. “Finally, democracy comes to Nigeria”, observers say. As for the Nigerians, I admit they did vote for Buhari, but I expect they did so mainly to please us.

I really can’t understand what’s so great about Buhari. He’s far too old, for one thing. I’m much younger than him, but I’m definitely too old to rule a country. I’m so out of date that I don’t even approve of Facebook. And anyway, why don’t they give a new guy a chance to get rich? Why a previous “military ruler”. After all, democracy is all about giving new people the opportunity to milk their country’s economy.

Speaking of “military ruler”: isn’t that a euphemism for “dictator”? Keeping up with euphemisms is very demanding, and getting more so by the day. You know, learning new concepts takes a greater toll as you grow older, and I am definitely getting older. Very demanding, yes. The Castros are dictators, for instance, so was Chavez and his failed look-alike Maduro, but the obsolete gang in Saudi Arabia are merely rulers, the butcher-general with the cute name in Egypt (after such an epithet, I’d better refrain from stating his name) is probably a “military ruler”.

That horrible person Netanyahu is never referred to as anything but a “friend”. True, for the moment he has been downgraded to “business relation”, but that’ll pass soon enough. Putin, is another matter. He is not a “friend”, but he is so rich that nobody dares refer to him as anything but “ruler”. Now there’s an example of someone who should step down and give a new kid on the block a chance to get rich. The United States are good at that, I must admit: presidents there step down all the time, graciously. The problem in the United States is that presidents aren’t really the ones who rule, are they. Not even Bush was entirely to blame for everything. The ones who rule do get rich, though, very rich, if not  as rich as Putin.

Actually, Goodluck Jonathan apparently also stepped down graciously. That was probably very smart of him. He may well be back in power before long.

Buhari will have real terrorists to cope with. His future as top gun will probably depend on his success in that field. At this point, the writer of this post has reached a semantic roadblock: Do we have a word for “real terrorist” as opposed to the euphemistic “terrorist”? I feel a strong need to express my deep sympathy with the Nigerian people, many of whom are fighting for their lives against “morbid power freaks’ human instruments of torture”. But the word terrorist, as it is normally used, no longer covers this concept. Instead it all too often is a synonym for “political opponent against whom we wish to use non-democratic and violent means of suppression”.

I really do appeal to you, reader, to help me, but unfortunately, as you see, I do not allow comments on this site as I have become a little paranoid about “cyber-terrorism”. I leave you to parse the expression “cyber-terrorism”.

 

Point of view

In my town, people don’t like Mr Putin. Come to think of it, I don’t like him much myself. In my town people look down their noses at Rambos, and Mr Putin, it would seem, is a Rambo. Around here, they prefer the spindly type, the Spidermans, agile and supple. And they don’t condone belligerence either. Behave, civilly, they say, and you will be treated civilly.

As a matter of fact, there are lots of things people in my town don’t prescribe to; religion, for instance, unless it’s decorous and discreet, like make-up – the less the better – and mainly only for soirées or carnivals. Nor do they prescribe to opera, in spite of our having recently built a gloriously expensive and glamorous opera house – too much drama, life just isn’t like that. And as for ballet: forget it!

Around here, real men (as opposed to “you-know-whos”) don’t sing. Never. Not even when they are drunk. Not even the “you-know-whos”. Except at football games. So if I tell you that they don’t even condone belligerence at football games, that’s saying quite a lot, wouldn’t you say? And what they say is true: most of them have never been treated uncivilly, nor have their relatives.

On the other side of the river, people are somewhat different. They say: treat us civilly and we will be civil to you. For all I know, men might even sing on the other side of the river, and they certainly are religious, very religious. That’s a bit scary; after all, godliness is a kind of madness isn’t it, a reality distortion. They are, moreover, often polite and downright considerate towards elderly people. Some, very few of them – misfits of course – will even kill to defend a mother’s honour.

Like us, most of them censure violence. But they will frown – more than that, will knit their brows in anger – if you drag their dignity through the mud. They may even congregate, who knows, and – eh – “discuss” the situation. There will be voices calling for a calming of the spirits, and there will be other voices clamouring for action.

Oh, and I forgot to add that many of the people in the town on the other side of the river have relatives who are being treated far from civilly in far-away places. I have no relatives, no loved ones, no childhood friends festering in any dungeon. Nobody I know has ever been reduced to a shadow of himself from ill-treatment. Ever! I wonder, I really wonder, what sort of a person I would be if that were not the case.

What I do know from other people’s experiences of dictatorship is that if you have been painfully trained to distrust the police, you will never completely trust the police again, even after the introduction of democracy.

This business of outlook is really quite striking, don’t you think. In my town, if you ask people to define the term dignity, they would have to think very hard, and I am pretty sure that afterwards they would never forget the mental exercise, because the very concept is in the process of slipping away from us here.

If you ask anybody on the other side of the river, I suspect they won’t even have to think. They will know at once what to reply.

So, back to Mr Putin, I had this very odd experience the other day: I saw him for a moment on a Russian television channel addressing people in an auditorium, the Duma perhaps – I have no idea. Now my Russian is very rusty, to say the least, but he was trying to explain some policy that was not faultless and that had been criticised. I listened to him for five minutes and thought: My word, what a nice man! He was not haranguing them, not berating them and not even being defensive. He was not oratorial, as US presidents are without exception – yes, even Mr Obama – not assuming the role of God’s representative on earth, unlike US presidents. He was just talking easily and pleasantly to his audience. He admitted without the slightest hesitation that the chosen course had disadvantages, but he humorously suggested that the same would apply to any other course. He spoke, not like a teacher, more like a colleague about the need to weigh the disadvantages of any course against those of other courses.

Maybe Mr Putin is a Spiderman, after all. Maybe he is subtle. Do we like subtlety better than Rambo? Do we like “satire” (i.e “satirical” drawings) better than a punch in the jaw?

Two sides of Mercy

Christianity claims to be merciful. And indeed, for believers who have no problem with the awkward concepts “original sin”, “immaculate conception”, “resurrection”, etc., who are happily married, give birth to healthy children, and who don’t have to steal to feed their young, the mercy of Christianity may well be a blessing. Caring for their loved ones, generating waves of well-being around them, being loved and cared for in return, some of them may well be happier than most.

But for those believers who have AIDS or bear more children than they can feed (due to the ban on  contraception) or who are homosexual, or who take abortion or, for that matter, don’t take abortion although they desperately need to, purgatory will not wait till the afterlife.

Lunging at the Catholic Church is not my agenda. No sir! It’s just that in my initially Protestant country, Christianity has all but disappeared. Before it gave way to rationalism, much of the country was straight-backed, mirthless, harsh and petty. People were poorer in my childhood than now and often unforgiving, unhappy and far from blessed. Pleasures of the senses were Satan’s temptations, and I have childhood memories of a joyless community with a starkly plain church –  even the music was plain. Fear was everywhere; fear of the dark, the trees, the neighbours, your parents, the headmaster…

No wonder, then, that my compatriots preferred rationalism. Protestantism was unlovely.

My agenda is neither the Catholic nor the Protestant faith. I am reading Anthony Burgess, and I have read my Graham Green. They have both written about failed Catholics, outcasts from the church, who never ceased to grieve over their lost faith. Though I have never been Catholic or Protestant, I grieve with them.

In my post-protestant, secular surroundings, rationality is Law. True, we do see church weddings, mostly – I dare say – thanks to female vanity. True, some children still get baptised, mostly as a matter of hedging bets – as the parents explain: “there is no harm in being on the safe side”. And yes, people still celebrate Christmas. Apart from that, there is absolutely nothing to indicate that the majority of my compatriots are preoccupied with other than temporal concerns.

Concepts such as “faith” carry little weight. These are secular times. We are proud of being analytic, educated. We make so-called informed and rational decisions. We try to apply good sense even in our choices of partners – no sentimental baulking at considerations of the candidate’s income and medical status, after all, taking a partner is much like buying life insurance. Passion is defined as “just sex”, idealism is sniggered at, and “eternal love” is wistfully relegated to  Hollywood.

Now religion, on the other hand, does things differently. Burgess describes a young Catholic male coming home for Christmas to an adoring younger sister with shining eyes and a graceful mother with a soft contralto voice, to smells of a house full of imminent Christmas goodies, eager expectations of traditions including communion in the local village mass, followed by the falling apart of everything when it is revealed that he is homosexual. The church condemns and abhors what he is and what he does, since he refuses to promise to refrain from being what he is and doing what he cannot help doing.

The failure, to my mind, is not the young man, the failed Catholic. The failure is the Church. Its flocks need  – above all  – kindness, need to learn to be kind, need at least to try not to be unkind, need to believe that there is goodness beyond the absolutely ludicrous horrors mankind seems to insist on perpetrating.

While rationality is a fine thing, we have abused it to strip our lives of all that is transcendental. I think we need a rethink: How to reconcile rationality with the irrational, which will never go away, no matter how we deny its existence? How to marry the two and beget transcendental, rational offspring? I really think the Church – Catholic and Protestant – has missed its mark by a mile, failing to understand even a fraction of the modern mind, in the West or in the East or South, certainly in the North.

Alternative warfare – Christmas proposition

UNESCO has published a list of killed journalists. This year there were 60 of them. Sixty killed journalists! That’s a lot of dead journalists. Many were killed in 2013, too. And not only in Syria! Just take a look at UNESCO’s list:

Unesco condems killing of journalists

Being dead may, however, be better than being tortured in a prison. I can’t tell you, because I’ve never been tortured, but I don’t think I could bear it. What I do know is that for every dead journalist there are probably many more rotting in sinister jails. It’s a marvel that there are any of them left.

I depend on those people! So do you. So do we all. Without intrepidly investigative journalists, we would still be back in the middle ages, ignorant, rebellious perhaps, but impotent. We would sign infinite petitions to our kings and the Virgin Mary, asking for their protection against barons that would, without a doubt, exploit us till we could take no more and wouuld lie down in some corner to wait for the next life. That’s the way things still are in much of Central America, where they’ve been killing judges and journalists for decades.

Thinking about the perpetrators – the moron killers we hear of from the Middle East and Mexico, for instance – I find myself wishing that somebody would go and whip them out of their beds and hang them up in the nearest tree. If there is no tree or lamp post at hand, at least they should be given public whippings.

But what can I do? I am opposed to capital punishment, opposed to torture. So I have to rethink, to calm down and try to examine the consequences of hanging hundreds of depraved morons from trees and lamp posts.

To begin with, we know from morally primitive societies (I shall refrain from giving examples of what I consider morally primitive societies), that if you kill one of them, there will be hell to pay, collective retribution against your entire tribe. You and a lot people you care for will be wiped out, one way or another. They can take your water, or your electricity or your hospitals or your livelihood or they can simply shoot you.

What if, you might say, we wipe them out first? Well, I admit that reading about the journalists this morning, that was approximately what I thought. The problem is that they have access to as many and as lethal firearms as we do. Maybe not the same firearms, maybe not as “superior”, as it were, but somehow, we keep seeing again and again that the outcome of wars is not as foreseeable as the weather. Thanks, not least, to journalists, this should now have become eminently clear.

Moreover, as a colleague of mine pointed out today, people in Mexico, Guatemala or IS are not likely to be genetically more prone to depravity than the rest of us. To every story there is, implicitly if not explicitly, a prologue.

For reasons I need not go into, I have seen a lot of newborn babies in my life. I have seen many small children, many adolescents, and many adults. Need I add that when something went seriously wrong somewhere along that line, what happened was almost always preceded by a series of unfortunate circumstances. An unhealthy society is countless series of unfortunate circumstances.

So my Christmas proposition is to capture them (and having done so, to resist at all costs the temptation to spit at them, bruise them, or tell them to fuck their mothers, and of course, to refrain from any of the infamous methods applied by the US authorities at Guantanamo), feed them, and proceed to question them. They will be incarcerated in conditions that satisfy the terms of international law. Next, they will be educated, brainwashed, if you will. They will be subjected to education in accordance with their respective religions. If they are Catholic, they will be taught by Catholics, if they are Moslems, they will be taught by Moslems, if they are atheist, they will be taught by atheists. The consequences of their past acts will be made clear to them – consequences for their families, their communities, their countries and, finally, the world. They will be taught by social scientists and psychologists. Modern educational principles will be applied, i.e. student participation will be stimulated. They will be recalcitrant, sullen, nasty, deceitful etc., even more so than high school students, but they will be adults who take pride in being able to justify themselves, so something will penetrate in spite of their emotional resistance.

Some, many, will have been so brutalised that nothing will move them. Many will be so traumatised that reintegration will be unlikely. If released, many will return where they came from, hardened. At any rate, they will all have to serve long sentences for war crimes, or in the case of the Mexican butchers, for gang murders.

On the other hand, many others will come around, will regret their acts, will want to help put a stop to continued violence and the devastation of their respective regions. They in turn will educate others.

I put it to you, that such an approach would cause bewilderment and chaoes in the “enemy camp”. It should be clear now, that perpetual shoot-outs will not permanently solve any of the underlying long-term issues that caused the current debacles.

What’ll it be, eh?

I have just read an article in El Pais  which alerted me to a debate that appears to be raging in many academic circles. The writer refers to the immortal opening lines of Dicken’s novel Tale of Two Cities, which he finds particularly relevant. And who could disagree?

It was the best of times,
it was the worst of times,
it was the age of wisdom,
it was the age of foolishness,
it was the epoch of belief,
it was the epoch of incredulity,
it was the season of Light,
it was the season of Darkness,
it was the spring of hope,
it was the winter of despair,

Just as in Dickens’ time, the debate stands between those who hold that this is the best of all possible worlds, and that it will just continue getting better and, on the other hand, those who hold that, at a steadily accelerating pace, we are heading for an apocalypse. The article warns against both the complacency of the one camp and the irrational alarmism of the other.

The article continues that it is true, as Professor Steven Pinker reaffirms (cf. The Better Angels of Our Nature, 2011) that people know more than ever before about ongoing and imminent disasters thanks to the global internet. That is a very good point which certainly goes a long way to explain the anxiety with which many people view the future. According to the article, many scientists who do not see eye to eye with Professor Pinker agree, too, that the number of deaths due to war has tended to decline, but that, they add, is not necessarily the result of a decline in violence: From 1946 on, medical care in war zones has improved, so that fewer lives are lost as a result of, for instance, inections and fevers. However the number of permanently physically incapacitated persons has risen from 3 for every war fatality to 10.

At any rate, there are also other very serious issues that need to be addressed fairly rapidly. What gives rise to alarm is not so much the issues as such as the fact that they are not really being addressed.

Personally, by my very nature, I am rather inclined to complacency. But being one of the last living specimens of my species, cetacea hirsutis, popularly known as the furry whale, I can’t help noticing that the waters I traverse increasingly taste, smell and feel like last week’s soup. Ugh!

I certainly admit there is much to be said, very much, in favour of the six or seven decades following WWII. But as for the future, I beg to differ with Professor Pinker, whose intentions, I am sure, are honourable: He is a psychologist, after all. If I were a psychologist and lost faith in humans’ commitment to improve the world we all live in, I would have to call in sick. Fortunately, I am not a psychologist.

I can only meekly refer, once again, to the afore-mentioned soup we have got ourselves into and urge friend and foe alike to get their acts together quick.

Added on 18 March 2018: See interview of Stephen Pinker on Al Jazeera

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