Once and Future Crises

Fifteen years ago, everyone was battening down the hatches in nervous anticipation of the New Year. While some people were partying like it was 1999 (cause, well, it was), others were frantically working to ensure the world as we know it didn’t come to an end. Although, when I look around, it seems that the world as I know it pretty much comes to an end every other week — this time we all thought it was the real thing. Or we thought it was a massive hype designed to steal our money.

Something like that anyway. The crisis du jour, if you haven’t figured it out already, was Y2K — the supposed bug that would cause all the clocks in all the computers in the world to reset to zero, thus upsetting commerce, security, even weapons systems. Planes, we were told, would fall from the sky.

None of that happened, of course, and the world sighed and went on with its business. Some in the media went a step further and hounded the primary proponents of the Y2K problem, accusing them of making the whole thing up for unknown reasons but ‘nothing good’ they were sure.

It turns out that Y2K was a legitimate and serious problem and it was only the work of an army of old COBOL programmers (mostly retired by then) tthat fixed the bug in the vast majority of important computer systems around the world. Y2K didn’t happen — not because it was never a threat but because these men and women worked long hours to make sure it didn’t happen.

This phenomenon is nothing new and nothing special. The news — merely a proxy for human endeavours of all kinds — has a hard time dealing with the hypothetical. Once they had latched onto the idea of a major disaster that would have ruined their lives they were frankly disappointed when only a few systems crashed and no planes fell from the air. They couldn’t wrap their head around the idea that people could actually prevent a bad thing from happening. It was easier to create a ludicrous conspiracy theory to explain it all away.

I’ve often found that this impediment to future thinking is what lays at the heart of most public (and private) policy failures. Once someone is seized with an idea it is hard to get them to think of its negative.

A classic in Canada is the much hated (in the west) National Energy Program (NEP) which was imposed by Canada after negotiations with oil producing provinces on oil pricing broke down (and yes, Alberta did participate in those early negotiations — indeed, embraced them, as did the oil industry) to create a two price system for oil that was meant to shelter consumers from world prices while enriching both federal and provincial provinces. It was predicated on the idea that oil prices would continue to rise indefinitely. A few people asked: ‘but what if they don’t?’, but they were shouted down. Of course, oil prices not only stopped rising; they actually fell. The fall-out has impacted intergovernmental relations for decades.

Now, what do you suppose the inability to see the future has done to ability of some to recognize climate change?

But that’s ten minutes.

What Doesn’t Kill You

At a certain point in your life you cannot get together with friends without talking about the various things that ail you, about the sicknesses of those who are absent and, regrettably, about those who will be absent forever. A friend of mine cleverly calls this the ‘organ recital.’

However, I’m not here to complain. Rather, as the year approaches it is nice to think of how much better the world is than it was even fifty or sixty years ago. This was brought home the other day when I was chatting with my mother-in law and I mentioned we both had major years ahead as I was turning 60 and she would have her 90^th birthday. She replied that she would be quite happy to be 60 again. Given her health — not bad but shaky with more problems every day — it gave me pause. Really, my few complaints — my creaky knees mostly — are pretty minor compared to hers.

And, significantly, she doesn’t waste much time complaining but rather worries about what she will make for lunch. When the time left to you grows slim, I suppose, you concentrate on the immediate pleasures and not the long term pains.

Fifty years ago, we wouldn’t have had that conversation. Dorothy has had a fairly serious heart condition for over 15 years. Yet, through diet and careful medication, she has been able to not only continue living but live a life worth living. She has her books and her pets and her grand-children and, increasingly, great-grand children. And she retains an enormous will to live, because, for now and for her, living is still better than the alternative.

Imagine the lives of people 100 years ago. Few people than died of heart disease or cancer — but only because they had already died of something else. When people talk about a cancer epidemic it is really only a matter of focus. Cancer rates have not significantly increased among those under fifty in a very long time and indeed for some cancers have dropped dramatically (along with the drop in smoking). Cancer is, of course, a disease of the old, as is, for the most part, heart disease and other major organ failures. But because it is the only game in town we think of it as rampant.

It is a tragedy when people die young — I had two friends die way too young this year — but it is only a tragedy because it is no longer routine.

Think of all the diseases that no longer kill us — diphtheria, polio, smallpox, measles —and you realize how good we have it, especially in the West. There are still world-wide challenges — malaria and tuberculosis (but Ebola not so much) but for the most part the news is good. Life spans are increasing and child mortality falling.

We need to be vigilant (anti-vaxers seem determined to let measles and polio make a comeback) but for the most part life is good.

So have a happy and healthy new year. The odds are in your favour.

And that’s ten minutes.

Avarice

There is a line in Star Trek: The Voyage Home where McCoy promises the Plexiglas manufacturer that he will be ‘rich beyond the dreams of avarice.’ I sometimes wonder if that is possible. It seems to me that money just makes avarice dream bigger. There is no end to the wealth rich men and women want to acquire. Enough is never enough.

I have to believe that the desire to accumulate great wealth is a psychological disorder akin to hoarding. People who must stuff their portfolios to the point of bursting are surely no different than those who stack their hallways with old magazines or who obsessively save tinfoil or rubber bands. At a certain point all you can do is sit on the wealth like some sleeping (but still evil) dragon. Rich people are like Smaug or King Thorin who become ill with the desire for gold.

Or perhaps they are like the legendary King Midas whose lust for gold led him to wish for the golden touch. “Let all that I grasp turn to gold” he begged and the gods granted his wish. The result was that he could not eat for the fruit or meat he lifted to his lips became metal. The final blow came when his daughter returned home after a long absence and turned to a golden statue in his embrace.

Sad, really. Money can break families — if not in the first generation then in the second when brothers and sisters turn on each other in their squabbles over inheritance. Getting the bigger share is their way of proving: ‘mom always loved me best.‘

There is a cure for avarice, of course, and that is generosity. A number of billionaires — those who haven’t deluded themselves into thinking that every dime they have comes from their own doing —have taken the pledge, initiated by Warren Buffet, to give their money away, either while they are still living or in death. They are building hospitals and education systems; they are funding small scale entrepreneurship to create the next generation of wealth; they are endowing arts foundations and museums. They are returning their money to whence it came — the society that made them wealthy in the first place.

Wealth is not created by the rich; it is organized and accumulated by them from the work of others and, often, by the collective investments of society. Could Jeff Bezos have grown so wealthy if there were not roads and airports to carry his goods (quite apart from all the people who actually make them)? Of course not. Notably Mr. Bezos — who in some respects is a glorified truck dispatcher — has not taken the pledge.

So as we come to the end of Xmas — on Boxing Day, the day that in Canada serves the same function as the shopping frenzy of black Friday, think a little about what you already have and pause before you acquire something else.

And send a positive thought in the direction of those sitting at the top of their heap of gold that they think a little about what they really need.

But that’s ten minutes.

Christmas Day

Well, here it is Christmas morning and I’m stuffed to the gills with licorice all-sorts, the crack cocaine of candy. The presents are open, the home made croissants are eaten, music is playing on the CD and Liz is poodling around in the kitchen planning something fabulous for lunch. You should all be so lucky (and I hope you are).

This will likely be the last 10 minutes of words I write so enjoy it.

Early April Fool’s Day joke — if I’m writing this on Christmas day , do you think I’ll let you off the hook for the rest of the year? Not a chance.

I’ve got plenty of things left to say and now that I have a handy portable notebook specifically dedicated to the project, there is no chance I’ll run out soon.

It looks to be a great rest of the day, what with brand new red socks to wear and an electronic wine thermometer to make sure my late vintage port is served at precisely the right number of degrees. Port and chocolate and nice non-wooly scarves to wear when I go out to my good friend Mike’s place for dinner.

And when I come home tomorrow I can settle in and read one of my six new books or maybe watch a Charlie Chaplin marathon while drinking coffee from one of several new mugs. Yes, the holidays don’t come better than that. Too bad the lottery tickets didn’t work out — but there is always next year to become a millionaire, right?

Does that about cover it? Not by half! There is a nice new set of sweat pants and jacket to lounge around in and bear bells (catering to my pathological fear of grizzly home invasions) nicely attached to a chocolate bear. And if I get tired of sweets, there are always some nice cheeses and smoked meats to eat. All my favorites — all at once.

So, what I’m trying to tell you is — thanks to everyone who shared my Christmas this year, giving gifts of time and attention and love and friendship. Thanks to all who came to our open house or sent us cards or well-wishes by e-mail or Facebook. Thanks to everyone who spared a kind thought for us — or even better for a friend or, best of all, a complete stranger.

Best wishes to you all. I hope your holiday brought you a measure of comfort and joy. Or at least — for those who are suffering — a moment of release and relief.

And that’s ten minutes.

Charity

Faith, hope and charity. These are the three great virtues. Faith is not one I practice or even much understand — I think the secular humanist, rational empiricist description I use for myself pretty much explains that.

Hope is another matter. I am by nature an optimist. The glass is not only half full; it is filling up and getting bigger. And it’s not hope based on faith. There is plenty of reason to hope. You might think not — but that’s only the 24-hour news cycle talking. Compared to what was happening thirty, fifty or a hundred years ago, we practically live in a paradise.

But we’re not there yet.

Charity seems to be the tie breaker — except here my views are — ambivalent. I certainly give to charity. There are four charities that get my money every single month and a half dozen more that get contributions from time to time through the year. There are a lot of problems in my city, my country and around the world and I recognize the need to help where I can.

Generally, I give a little more than average but less than some. Ironically, as a percentage of income I give less than people much poorer than me. I’d give more except… I don’t really believe in charity. It is after all pretty paternalistic. You can’t help yourself — so I’ll play Santa Claus and help you. It makes me feel good and it makes you feel… both grateful and resentful, I suspect.

What I really believe in is a collective responsibility of society to ensure that everyone has the basics of a decent life. We have patched together a kind of social safety net but it is largely unreliable, full of gaps and designed to make recipients feel bad about themselves — even when that guilt has no reasonable outlet. Circumstances often play against people from getting out of poverty — whether because of illness, disability, addiction, mental health problems, lack of skills, too many dependents, etc.

The welfare system is both inefficient and expensive. Far more effective (and cheaper to administer) would be a guaranteed annual income — an idea that has been promoted by spokesmen and politicians from left, right and centre.

The naysayers suggest that it would destroy the incentive to work. But the evidence says otherwise. A multi-year study was conducted in a Manitoba town and it showed that a GAI didn’t significantly reduce the work incentive. The main group leaving the work force was teenagers resulting in higher graduation rates from school. It actually reduced governmental and health costs, eliminated the need for welfare and improved mental health and community cohesion.

Unfortunately the results of that study were kept buried for years and the data has only recently begun to be examined. You have to wonder why, don’t you?

But that’s ten minutes.

Empty Chairs

Christmas for me is about memory. I find that the rituals and routines of the holidays — putting up the tree, shopping for gifts, Christmas parties, the music — all serve to evoke strong and vivid recollections of places I’ve been and people I’ve spent my time with. People who live on in memory.

When I lived in Frobisher Bay, I became good friends with John and Nicole Barclay. These two couldn’t be more different. John was a tall, slim English Canadian with a love of the outdoors. Nicole was short, in constant battle with her weight, a French Canadian who couldn’t imagine going a day without washing her hair. He was full of corny jokes and she with passionate ideas about life and work. Yet they were a great couple.

On Christmas Eve they hosted a traditional Quebec fete. It was a remarkable time. Friends and not-so-friends would gather at their place, all differences set aside for that one night. We would talk and laugh and especially, we would sing. There was food and drink through the evening but the best was yet to come. At midnight the Catholics and the Anglicans would head off to midnight mass, leaving the heathens and the Baptists to fend for ourselves. A half hour later and they would return, buoyed up by the service and flushed with the -30 degree evening air.

Then the party would start. Turkey and ham and tourtière would appear. Desserts of every imaginable type, Drinks — wine beer and spirits for the imbibers and elaborate punches for the teetotallers — flowed like water. The lights were dimmed and replaced with the glow of candle and firelight and the sparkle from the Christmas tree. One year, someone looked out the front windows and suddenly threw back the curtains to let the light of the moon and stars and an amazing aurora borealis flood in.

Faces gleamed in the diffuse light, voices, somewhat restrained before midnight, now rang out with joy and hope and wishes for peace on earth, good will toward men. I recall two men in particular — Rick and Mike —- who seldom saw eye to eye on anything, standing side by side, harmonizing on ‘Away in a Manger.‘

We would talk and laugh and sing and finally roll home at about 4 in the morning to gather a few hours sleep before the more relaxed celebrations of Christmas day.

It was a glorious time and I remember them all so well. A few years after I left Frobisher Bay, Rick, 38, died of a massive heart attack. One night, a few years after that I got a frantic call from Nicole. John had died in a climbing accident in Switzerland. Nicole never recovered and faded from everyone’s view. Mike lost his son when he died in a blizzard a few miles from town. Mike struggled after that and died a few years ago.

So many empty chairs now. Vacancies that can only be filled by memories. Yet I still see their shining faces, filled with joy and pleasure and gentle loving companionship. That’s what Christmas means to me.

And that’s ten minutes.

Christmas Music

People who think they know me are often surprised to discover that I like Christmas music. They are shocked to learn that I have nearly 200 albums. This, of course, is a paltry collection — Manny Jules, former chief of the Kamloops First Nation once told me he had 900. My mind boggled and my secret Santa got jealous.

How can someone who is not only an atheist but a secular empiricist, who demands that nothing— whether in science or politics — should be taken without proof, like Christmas music so much? It’s not for the mystical qualities. I’m not in the least connected to anything that can’t be measured; people who have called me spiritual may recall the blank bemused stare I gave them and my remark of: You’re projecting your own insecurities.

Yet I do like Christmas music. I find it entertaining, often moving, sometimes amusing, And fun to hum along with. Though what I call Christmas music might not pass muster with those whose experience is limited to Church choirs and shopping malls.

One of my favorites of all time is from rocker, Melissa Etheridge whose riff on O Holy Night is truly divine. It manages to merge pure secular values of optimism and action with both pagan and Christian themes of the solstice/Christmas season.

Then there is Little Drummer Boy — one of the most often performed but frequently most annoying of all songs of the season. It shot up my list as a seasonal favorite because my friend, George Roseme, who walked into the woods and died about seven years ago, hated it so much. He would moan and cover his ears when it played and curse the musician for performing it. So, now, whenever I hear it, I think of George. It is one of the bittersweet memories of Christmas for me.

There are some strange ones too. Every one points to the Pogues, “Christmas in New York” as particularly disturbing but it has nothing on Henry Rollin’s recital of “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.”

Some music is so bad it holds a weird fascination. All of Bob Dylan’s Christmas album is strange, some of it horrifying and it is hard to know if he is being sincere or sinister. Then there is the Jethro Tull Christmas. The less said about that, the better. And I certainly have my limits when it comes to rank sentimentality: I can’t listen all the way through to “The Cat Carol.”

I also love the ethereal beauty of the classics when they performed with delicacy and grace. Libera, the international boys’ choir, is particularly good at that but I’d also recommend Katherine Jenkins and the Canadian Measha Brueggergosman.

But one of my favorite songs is the little known ‘Boy from the Woods.‘ For me it captures the purest secular values of kindness, charity and altruism and the philosophy of ‘pass it on.’ Yet, if you want, you can accept it as a religious song, too. The writing is so clever that either interpretation works and is emotionally satisfying.

But that’s ten minutes. (Merry Christmas)

Laughter

Some people can’t take a joke. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be deadly serious all the time but I certainly know people who are. They don’t see the humour in anything; they certainly don’t understand that seeing things as trivial or foolish or unimportant is a life saver.

Laughter, they say in the Readers’ Digest, is the best medicine and it seems they are not far wrong. There is actual evidence that attitude, especially optimism, can make a difference in the length and quality of your life.

One recent study shows that even feeling younger than your years reduces your risk of dying in the next decade. Feeling young actually keeps you young.

Many people have bought into the idea that you are who you are. You are born with, or develop at an early age, a certain personality and that is what you are stuck with for life.

Apparently this is only partly true. Genetics is a factor but when it comes to personality it probably only controls 50% of what you are. 50% may seem like a lot but think of this way. Suppose you had a potential income of $70K and your genes controlled 50% of what you got. So you might be genetically qualified to have, say, $10K or $30K and the rest is up to your upbringing and your own actions. There is a big difference between living on $10-30K and living on $45-65K; the genetic component only limits your wealth but doesn’t determine it.

So it is with all of life.

But what about all the traumas of our upbringing. Our unloving parents, our bullying friends. They too contribute to how much you can have in the future but they are not the future. We can get over bad experiences.

I get over my bad experiences through blame and acceptance. I blame people who hurt me and  dismiss them from my thoughts. And I accept when I was responsible for my bad experiences and change my behavior going forward.

Sounds simple — though it’s not.

So can we change who we are? I absolutely believe it to be true. And it’s not rocket science. Part of the process requires us to get out of bad situations that drag us down. If you are in a bad relationship, get out of it; a crippling job, leave it. If you are unhealthy, find treatments that will improve your health (this may be the toughest assignment). If you think badly of yourself, try to find some evidence that maybe you’re not as bad as you think you are.

Most of all change how you look at the world. Take it with a grain of salt. Recognize that there are more good people in the world than bad. Do what you can to make the world a little better.

As for the rest, laugh. Laugh until your sides hurt. Laugh until the pain goes away again. The best lesson I ever learned is not to take this world too seriously — after all, you’re not going to get out of it alive.

And that’s ten minutes.

Personhood

The recent controversy over Sony Pictures’ decision to pull the movie “The Interview” — followed up by the subsequent refusal of Paramount to allow showings of an alternative— have elicited howls of outrage who accuse these corporations of cowardice, bowing to terrorism and artistic censorship.

Nonsense. But why, you ask, is it nonsense? Because such claims suggest corporations are persons. Despite rulings of Supreme Courts in the USA, Canada, and England, corporations are not persons in any real sense but only as a useful legal fiction. As one wag has put it, corporations will only be considered persons when one of them gets the death penalty. (Though isn’t that what bankruptcy court is for?)

The idea of corporations as legal persons is nothing new — it goes back in legislation and jurisprudence to the 18^th century. It arose because it was the only way to make corporate bodies effective instruments for investment and to keep these bodies accountable in some way.

If corporations weren’t persons, then they could not be sued for producing faulty products, they could not negotiate with unions (another artificial person) and they could not be fined for violating the law. Even the extension of First Amendment rights to Hobby Lobby—while morally repulsive—is not unique; free speech rights have been wielded by newspapers and other media corporations for a long time.

So the personhood of corporations is a requirement for certain purposes in a market economy. But it has its limits and it is not, in fact, sacrosanct.

Just as women were at one time denied ‘personhood’ in Canada and for many years, African Americans in the United States — even after the Emancipation Proclamation — were limited in their legal rights as persons, the idea of corporate personhood could be changed through more enlightened legislation or subsequent court rulings.

Will it happen? Probably not. Still, while corporations will continue to have the rights of a ‘natural person’ for legal reasons, this is unlikely to be extended to grant them the rights of citizenship, which are defined quite differently. A person may have certain constitutional rights whether they are the citizen of a country or not, but citizenship is a specific legal status that is contingent on certain qualifications and can be removed if the person, for example , is convicted of treason.

So where does that leave us with respect to Sony and Paramount? Well, one might say that these two corporations have reverted to their basic instincts. Corporations were formed to allow them to enter into and enforce contracts and to be sued or fined if in breach of the law. It is the fear of litigation — not the fear of a highly unlikely terrorist attack by person or persons unknown — that is preventing the release of “The Interview.”

So here is my suggestion. Though I generally disapprove of piracy, in this case an exception could be made. Good intentioned hackers (as opposed to evil hackers) should obtain copies of the film and spread it everywhere. Then real people can express their courage and their love of (bad) art by viewing it at home and sending e-mails to Kim Jong Un about how much they loved it.

And that’s ten minutes.

Narcissism

Have we entered the age of narcissism? It may seem ironic when the hallmark of the 21^st century is ‘social media’ and ‘sharing’ but most of this sharing is about ‘look at me’ and ‘share MY pain.’

Selfies cover the universe in self-aggrandising wallpaper — look at me laugh or cry, look at me be sexy, even look at me with bears. Some have even suggested that selfies are an early symptom of narcissism and body image disorders. Some say this is nonsense.

I tend to side with the latter. People have been taking selfies ever since the camera was invented. There is nothing new about selfies — I can remember taking a few with regular film cameras long before anyone had a cell phone.

And before the camera we had self-portraits. Done mostly I’m sure by artists who couldn’t afford to hire a model (or who had run out of friends who would do it for free).

There is nothing new about narcissism — how could there be? The very word is derived from a Greek legend dating back at least 3000 years.

It is odd that we war with this issue of the self. We worry about teens with low self-esteem, all the while we rail against arrogant bastards who think they are better than everyone else.

This is the burden of consciousness. Bees are social creatures — more social than we but the bee never worries about standing out from the crowd. The only unique bee is the queen and even she is quite replaceable. Because bees are not self-aware they never take selfies. Or have issues with self-esteem.

But we are aware of our own individuality — no matter how communal a society we live in. It is constantly there in the I and the me, always distinct from the other. Yet we are also social; it is doubtful that we would even exist if not for the social and linguistic relationships we have with others.

So narcissism is natural — which doesn’t necessarily make it a good thing (Remember arsenic is natural too).

Narcissism leads us to strange places. It fools liberals into thinking that the rational individual — or clusters of them — can change the world. Tear it all down and build a new one. But that didn’t work. At least if the French revolution is any measure. We need to reform not revolutionize. We need a new enlightenment built on social rather than individual precepts.

And then there is the narcissism of religion — the belief that some all-powerful god cares about the minutiae of individual behavior. What a strange idea — that we are the centre of god’s attention rather than a mere flicker at the edge of his vision. (If there was a god — but that’s another matter.)

It is this narcissism at the heart of most (though not all) religions that leads people to think that their version of religion is the Truth (solely because they hold it). From there, gunning down innocent children is a far easier step than you might think.

But that’s ten minutes.