The first time I used the "Next blog" function (at the top of this page, last item on the left) , I quite liked it. Like a trip through the strange and wonderful world of other people's minds, each click would take me somewhere else. In that time, I have seen blogs on owl tatoos, informatics, anthropology, pink pride ... just about anything under the sun. Since blogger abandoned the random principle, however, I am less enchanted.
I have tried to find the link between what I write and the "next blog" (e.g. in the blogspot blog) but it is not obvious. It promises to present the reader with related material in the same language, and it does. But I expected something similar to targetted advertising, in which case it would either use the key words I enter, the text itself, and/or any links to my blog. Had that been the case, my next blogs would have probably been a strange mixture of natural sciences, raising children, and home-grown psychology. Lately, however, most of my "next blogs" are from fundamentalist Christian (Protestant) families. The family part I can understand - I do write about my children a lot - but the Christian part? I am an ex-Catholic writing mostly about humanist values. (Yes, I realise that I am still more similar to Protestants than to Muslims or Hindus, but still).
Of course, I could always start censoring myself, and only publish entries on politics, art, science and philosophy, or better still, create separate blogs, one for each main area of interest. But I already have four (this one, two on music, and one at work), each one presenting a slightly difference aspect of myself. Anytime now I will develop the first documented case of multiple virtual personality disorder.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Looking out for Number One
Just finished reading Barack Obama's book on Life, the Universe and Everything (the real title is "The Audacity of Hope", of course, but with chapters called "values", "race", "faith", "politics" and "family", among many others, a wink to Douglas Adams is not out of place), and I have to say I am pleasantly impressed. He really seems to have thought things through. There is just one thing that gets my hackles up. It is not even a criticism; it is more a question of picking up where the book leaves off, and of giving the perspective from the outside.
My concern is the assumption, implicit in some of the wordings in the chapter on "The World Beyond Our Borders", among others, that the rest of the world poses a threat to the livelihood and security of U.S. citizens. This bothers me because it indicates the extent to which fear plays a part in determining U.S. policy (foreign and internal). Even for its allies or friends, the idea that this economic and military giant is not always able to control its own knee-jerk reactions is quite scary.
Having spent an important part of my childhood in the U.S., I am quite familiar with this fear. In my case, it was the the generalised and unchallenged belief that an "evil empire" (usually the Soviet Union and/or China) was out to attack and subdue the "free world" (the U.S. and its western allies). All around me, there were all kinds of different expressions of this fear, either explicit (spy novels), slightly veiled metaphors (most science fiction series and movies), or implicit (the things left unsaid). And the response (the nuclear arms race), though understandable, did not make much sense in the longer run. Now, of course, the main source of fear - international terrorism - is different, but the kind of response it engenders is similar in that it is again assumed that (1) military action and repression is the best (or possibly even only) way to "win the war" and (2) the U.S. must do something about it, or at very least lead the way.
As for the first assumption, I think the spectacular failure to "win the war" on drugs is evidence enough. The problem of drugs, and of terrorism, is complex, and cannot be solved by ouside force alone. But U.S. policy seems rife with overly simplistic beliefs and short-term solutions (presumably again because of fear and/or because it is much easier to sell a quick, simple "solution" than admit that a long-term committment is necessary). Most issues are not just black and white, good or bad, and there is a middle road between isolationist or interventionist.
As for the second point: of course it is difficult to "just stand by" when things around you are going wrong, even if you do not perceive these changes as threats. But just as a parent's failure to intervene may in certain cases in the long run be better for his or her children (see this entry), intervention is not always necessary or useful. In some cases, intervention may provide short-term solutions, but trying to "make the world safe for democracy" by force is a bit like a parent yelling at his children to stop yelling. It might work for a while, but the underlying message is that yelling is an acceptable and useful way to get what you want.
I am sure the above parent/child analogy could ruffle the feathers of lots of people across the globe, because (like me) they see the U.S. as a younger (though larger and stronger sibling), and not as a parent. And as such, there is always the issue of whether or not that sibling has the right to stick its nose into the internal affairs of other countries. I would say they do not. However much I can sympathise with the need to "look out for number one", I draw the line at pre-emptive strikes. I think that in most cases, we would all benefit if the U.S. were to apply the simple rule to "do unto others as they would have others do unto you".
There is of course much, much more to be said on this, but it will have to wait: my children need me.
My concern is the assumption, implicit in some of the wordings in the chapter on "The World Beyond Our Borders", among others, that the rest of the world poses a threat to the livelihood and security of U.S. citizens. This bothers me because it indicates the extent to which fear plays a part in determining U.S. policy (foreign and internal). Even for its allies or friends, the idea that this economic and military giant is not always able to control its own knee-jerk reactions is quite scary.
Having spent an important part of my childhood in the U.S., I am quite familiar with this fear. In my case, it was the the generalised and unchallenged belief that an "evil empire" (usually the Soviet Union and/or China) was out to attack and subdue the "free world" (the U.S. and its western allies). All around me, there were all kinds of different expressions of this fear, either explicit (spy novels), slightly veiled metaphors (most science fiction series and movies), or implicit (the things left unsaid). And the response (the nuclear arms race), though understandable, did not make much sense in the longer run. Now, of course, the main source of fear - international terrorism - is different, but the kind of response it engenders is similar in that it is again assumed that (1) military action and repression is the best (or possibly even only) way to "win the war" and (2) the U.S. must do something about it, or at very least lead the way.
As for the first assumption, I think the spectacular failure to "win the war" on drugs is evidence enough. The problem of drugs, and of terrorism, is complex, and cannot be solved by ouside force alone. But U.S. policy seems rife with overly simplistic beliefs and short-term solutions (presumably again because of fear and/or because it is much easier to sell a quick, simple "solution" than admit that a long-term committment is necessary). Most issues are not just black and white, good or bad, and there is a middle road between isolationist or interventionist.
As for the second point: of course it is difficult to "just stand by" when things around you are going wrong, even if you do not perceive these changes as threats. But just as a parent's failure to intervene may in certain cases in the long run be better for his or her children (see this entry), intervention is not always necessary or useful. In some cases, intervention may provide short-term solutions, but trying to "make the world safe for democracy" by force is a bit like a parent yelling at his children to stop yelling. It might work for a while, but the underlying message is that yelling is an acceptable and useful way to get what you want.
I am sure the above parent/child analogy could ruffle the feathers of lots of people across the globe, because (like me) they see the U.S. as a younger (though larger and stronger sibling), and not as a parent. And as such, there is always the issue of whether or not that sibling has the right to stick its nose into the internal affairs of other countries. I would say they do not. However much I can sympathise with the need to "look out for number one", I draw the line at pre-emptive strikes. I think that in most cases, we would all benefit if the U.S. were to apply the simple rule to "do unto others as they would have others do unto you".
There is of course much, much more to be said on this, but it will have to wait: my children need me.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Cultural diversity - blessing or curse?
Working in a "multicultural environment" means being confronted, on a daily basis, with slightly different ways of doing things. One of the most obvious in my case is how my French colleagues will come in to shake hands in the morning. I quite like this habit, but not enough to start doing it myself (I tried, but I could see that - like swearing in a language that you do not fully master - people sense that something doesn't quite fit). Also, the meaning of shaking hands is shifting. It used to be seen as a way of showing good intentions (a derivative of the original meaning, namely to show you have no weapons), but nowadays, people only seem to see it as a very efficient way of spreading the flu virus.
Another important difference is the size of personal space. In Spain, a few centimeters between people in the supermarket line (or three or four meters between cars driving 130 km/h on the highway) is considered enough, if not ample; in the Netherlands, this invasion of your personal space is not only not acceptable, it is considered threatening. The first thing I think when someone gets this close is that they are trying to force me off the road/pick my pocket. My Dutch-grown instincts tell me to increase the distance, but of course often, there is nowhere to go. On the highway, I have learned to grit my teeth and "stand my ground"; in a supermarket line I have bumped into several people (which luckily is no big deal in Spain either) in an attempt to restore the balance. This reaction is in fact so automatic you can use it identify Northern Europeans who have not yet learnt this lessons at standing receptions: they will be the ones receding all across the room with a polite smile, while the person advancing will be from a culture where it is considered rude to remain so distant ... Of course, you might reach the wrong conclusion if you are observing two people of opposite gender, but the subject of "women are from Venus, men are from Mars" type differences is so vast I will have to save it for another blog entry.
And then there are differences that are related to personality. Many of my colleagues, for example, use first names much more than I do. To me, a first name is something relatively personal, almost intimate. I don't mind when people use it in passing, but when it is obviously used to try to manipulate me into doing something makes me wish I belonged to one of those cultures where the first name is seen as something quite special, to be shared only with friends. (Mental note to myself: if I ever lead a revolution, salespeople who insert my first name into every second sentence should be the first against the metaphorical wall).
So what is my hidden agenda here, you might ask. Nothing much: just a small critical note to counterbalance those among us who insist that we should celebrate diversity. Diversity is all very fine and well, but all these relatively minor problems can also pile up and sometimes make me wish I only had personal and gender differences to deal with ...
Another important difference is the size of personal space. In Spain, a few centimeters between people in the supermarket line (or three or four meters between cars driving 130 km/h on the highway) is considered enough, if not ample; in the Netherlands, this invasion of your personal space is not only not acceptable, it is considered threatening. The first thing I think when someone gets this close is that they are trying to force me off the road/pick my pocket. My Dutch-grown instincts tell me to increase the distance, but of course often, there is nowhere to go. On the highway, I have learned to grit my teeth and "stand my ground"; in a supermarket line I have bumped into several people (which luckily is no big deal in Spain either) in an attempt to restore the balance. This reaction is in fact so automatic you can use it identify Northern Europeans who have not yet learnt this lessons at standing receptions: they will be the ones receding all across the room with a polite smile, while the person advancing will be from a culture where it is considered rude to remain so distant ... Of course, you might reach the wrong conclusion if you are observing two people of opposite gender, but the subject of "women are from Venus, men are from Mars" type differences is so vast I will have to save it for another blog entry.
And then there are differences that are related to personality. Many of my colleagues, for example, use first names much more than I do. To me, a first name is something relatively personal, almost intimate. I don't mind when people use it in passing, but when it is obviously used to try to manipulate me into doing something makes me wish I belonged to one of those cultures where the first name is seen as something quite special, to be shared only with friends. (Mental note to myself: if I ever lead a revolution, salespeople who insert my first name into every second sentence should be the first against the metaphorical wall).
So what is my hidden agenda here, you might ask. Nothing much: just a small critical note to counterbalance those among us who insist that we should celebrate diversity. Diversity is all very fine and well, but all these relatively minor problems can also pile up and sometimes make me wish I only had personal and gender differences to deal with ...
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Repression and over-protectiveness
The other day, under the shower, I had one of those fleeting thoughts that seem to make perfect sense when you have them, but elude explanation afterwards. The thought was this: being over-protective about your children's safety is somehow similar to the repression, by society, of certain behaviours, such as drug use. It took me three days to find a more or less rational explanation for this intuitive mental leap.
The explanation is that being over-protective delays the transition from dependence to independence, and the sooner they can statnd on their own two feet, the better. This is not to say that we should let our children run wild, and learn everything all by themselves: parents definitely have a role to play. But the role should be one of guiding, helping them learn things, not telling them what to do every step of the way.
Every day, when we arrive home, my children crowd around the front door to get it, and I have to try to keep the youngest from bumping her head against the sharp metal corner of the mailbox while opening the door. My telling her to watch her head does not seem to help much - she is of the age and the height where her head seems to be magically and irresistably attracted to corners - and I am beginning to think she will have to hurt herself, possibly several times, to learn the lesson. The same applies to a lot of things children have to learn by experimentation, such as all the balance games they play (I only intervene when I think it really is too dangerous).
So how is this similar to drug use? Surely I am not suggesting that we should teach people how to use drugs? Well, in a sense, I am. I think it is time to admit we have lost the "war on drugs" and that some people are going to use drugs anyway, no matter what we do. If so, it makes more sense to focus on reducing the negative effects of drug use, both for the individual, and for the society. This is not to say that I would encourage it (any more than I encourage my children to experiment with their balance games), but repression is clearly not the answer, at least not in the long term.
The problem, of course, is fear. Fear is pretty effective at blocking reasonable arguments, and in both cases (as parents and as members of society) we have good reason to be afraid. But at least, it seems, we are slowly beginning to dismantle the worst taboos about drugs. It may have not yet quite reached mainstream US. television (a impregnable bastion of conventiality and traditionalism), but not so long ago, a fictional police chief in the HBO series "The Wire" actually established a prosecution-free drug zone in Baltimore.
Now if only I could stop cringing everytime my daughters take yet another risky step towards independence ...
The explanation is that being over-protective delays the transition from dependence to independence, and the sooner they can statnd on their own two feet, the better. This is not to say that we should let our children run wild, and learn everything all by themselves: parents definitely have a role to play. But the role should be one of guiding, helping them learn things, not telling them what to do every step of the way.
Every day, when we arrive home, my children crowd around the front door to get it, and I have to try to keep the youngest from bumping her head against the sharp metal corner of the mailbox while opening the door. My telling her to watch her head does not seem to help much - she is of the age and the height where her head seems to be magically and irresistably attracted to corners - and I am beginning to think she will have to hurt herself, possibly several times, to learn the lesson. The same applies to a lot of things children have to learn by experimentation, such as all the balance games they play (I only intervene when I think it really is too dangerous).
So how is this similar to drug use? Surely I am not suggesting that we should teach people how to use drugs? Well, in a sense, I am. I think it is time to admit we have lost the "war on drugs" and that some people are going to use drugs anyway, no matter what we do. If so, it makes more sense to focus on reducing the negative effects of drug use, both for the individual, and for the society. This is not to say that I would encourage it (any more than I encourage my children to experiment with their balance games), but repression is clearly not the answer, at least not in the long term.
The problem, of course, is fear. Fear is pretty effective at blocking reasonable arguments, and in both cases (as parents and as members of society) we have good reason to be afraid. But at least, it seems, we are slowly beginning to dismantle the worst taboos about drugs. It may have not yet quite reached mainstream US. television (a impregnable bastion of conventiality and traditionalism), but not so long ago, a fictional police chief in the HBO series "The Wire" actually established a prosecution-free drug zone in Baltimore.
Now if only I could stop cringing everytime my daughters take yet another risky step towards independence ...
Sunday, December 6, 2009
'tis the season to be jolly ...
For people like me, the winter holiday season with all its abundance can be a bit of a challenge, for a number of reasons. For one, I am easily over-stimulated, and the holiday season is full of stimulants. Bright lights, music and holiday cheer, wine and rich food ... I like them all, but in moderation. And this especially true of presents.
As a child, I was taught (mostly by example) that Christmas is a religious event, which should not be about presents. And, although I am no longer religious in any way that counts, I still hold on to that idea. It is good to have a time to reflect, count your blessings, and celebrate togetherness. It is for this same reason that I oppose the new fashion of opening stores on Sundays: for me, Sunday is down-time. And that downtime should not be used to try to buy happiness (as if that were possible). And of course that means trying to avoid having Santa Claus visit our house.
But not to worry, because in our (Dutch-Spanish) case, we have two other options. Dutch children have traditionally been visited by Sinterklaas, who of course is in fact the same as Santa Claus (both names deriving from St. Nicolas, a 3rd century Turkish bishop famed for his generosity) but who, with the help of a small army of "Pieten", leaves his gifts on the 5th of December instead of the 25th. And we can also appeal to the Three Kings, who bring gifts to Spanish children on the 6th of January.
We have already explained to our children that these five wise old men actually talk to each other, to make sure that the wealth is divided fairly. We haven't been too specific about what "fair" means, other than that it is based on a general evaluation of the goodness of the children throughout the year (as opposed to being good in the weeks just prior to the happy occasion), and we have also had to explain that the number of presents does not depend on the quality of the drawings they leave, as one of my children tearfully admitted fearing the other day, because it is the intention and the goodness that counts. We have also explained that the wise men often consult parents, and that at times, it is necessary to enlist the help of normal humans ("impostors") because the holy men cannot be everywhere at once. Which brings me to the problem of logistics.
Ever since the birth of our children, we have been in Luxembourg around Saint Nicolas' day (which, to make matters even more complicated, is celebrated on the 6th of December in Luxembourg, not the 5th). So logically, our children expect to find something in their shoes. But we always go to Spain for Christmas. In principle, we would want the gifts to arrive on January 6th. But we are hardly ever in Spain on that date. Having them sent up to Luxembourg is not an option, because the grandparents want to be present when the gifts are opened. So, like many Spaniards (who have a different problem, namely that the children don't have enough time to enjoy their gifts if they get them on the sixth, just before school starts again), we allow the gifts to arrive on Christmas. Which leaves me out in the cold with my anti-materialist, anti-hedonist aspirations.
Of course, in only a few years, it will no longer be necessary to maintain the myth (even though we would want to maintain the magic). The other day, I almost let it slip that Saint Nicolas is dead. Later, I realized that my children would probably not be overly worried by the idea of someone rising from the dead to give them presents, but still, I am happy I was not forced to perpetuate a myth that I should start gently dismantling soon, at least in the case of my eldest. I/we have not quite figured out how to do this yet, but I imagine it will help if we start by offering reassurance as far as the gifts are concerned. But that is just part of the problem, the other part being a pre-adolescent version of the existentialist crisis that teenagers/adults suffer when - to paraphrase Nietzsche - they try to come to terms with the fact that God (or at least their image or perception thereof) is dead.
As such, this demystification is a very important step (a bit like a rite of passage), and I hope we will be able to handle this well. At the moment, the most promising approach seems to be explaining how metaphors and symbols work: St. Nicolas may no longer be with us in a literal, corporal sense, but he lives on in people's hearts and minds, and many follow his example of generosity and goodness. (I did not invent this idea of redefinition and internalization, of looking inwards instead of outwards, of course, it is just a slimmed down version of what Humanists like Erasmus did many centuries ago.)
Merry Christmas!
As a child, I was taught (mostly by example) that Christmas is a religious event, which should not be about presents. And, although I am no longer religious in any way that counts, I still hold on to that idea. It is good to have a time to reflect, count your blessings, and celebrate togetherness. It is for this same reason that I oppose the new fashion of opening stores on Sundays: for me, Sunday is down-time. And that downtime should not be used to try to buy happiness (as if that were possible). And of course that means trying to avoid having Santa Claus visit our house.
But not to worry, because in our (Dutch-Spanish) case, we have two other options. Dutch children have traditionally been visited by Sinterklaas, who of course is in fact the same as Santa Claus (both names deriving from St. Nicolas, a 3rd century Turkish bishop famed for his generosity) but who, with the help of a small army of "Pieten", leaves his gifts on the 5th of December instead of the 25th. And we can also appeal to the Three Kings, who bring gifts to Spanish children on the 6th of January.
We have already explained to our children that these five wise old men actually talk to each other, to make sure that the wealth is divided fairly. We haven't been too specific about what "fair" means, other than that it is based on a general evaluation of the goodness of the children throughout the year (as opposed to being good in the weeks just prior to the happy occasion), and we have also had to explain that the number of presents does not depend on the quality of the drawings they leave, as one of my children tearfully admitted fearing the other day, because it is the intention and the goodness that counts. We have also explained that the wise men often consult parents, and that at times, it is necessary to enlist the help of normal humans ("impostors") because the holy men cannot be everywhere at once. Which brings me to the problem of logistics.
Ever since the birth of our children, we have been in Luxembourg around Saint Nicolas' day (which, to make matters even more complicated, is celebrated on the 6th of December in Luxembourg, not the 5th). So logically, our children expect to find something in their shoes. But we always go to Spain for Christmas. In principle, we would want the gifts to arrive on January 6th. But we are hardly ever in Spain on that date. Having them sent up to Luxembourg is not an option, because the grandparents want to be present when the gifts are opened. So, like many Spaniards (who have a different problem, namely that the children don't have enough time to enjoy their gifts if they get them on the sixth, just before school starts again), we allow the gifts to arrive on Christmas. Which leaves me out in the cold with my anti-materialist, anti-hedonist aspirations.
Of course, in only a few years, it will no longer be necessary to maintain the myth (even though we would want to maintain the magic). The other day, I almost let it slip that Saint Nicolas is dead. Later, I realized that my children would probably not be overly worried by the idea of someone rising from the dead to give them presents, but still, I am happy I was not forced to perpetuate a myth that I should start gently dismantling soon, at least in the case of my eldest. I/we have not quite figured out how to do this yet, but I imagine it will help if we start by offering reassurance as far as the gifts are concerned. But that is just part of the problem, the other part being a pre-adolescent version of the existentialist crisis that teenagers/adults suffer when - to paraphrase Nietzsche - they try to come to terms with the fact that God (or at least their image or perception thereof) is dead.
As such, this demystification is a very important step (a bit like a rite of passage), and I hope we will be able to handle this well. At the moment, the most promising approach seems to be explaining how metaphors and symbols work: St. Nicolas may no longer be with us in a literal, corporal sense, but he lives on in people's hearts and minds, and many follow his example of generosity and goodness. (I did not invent this idea of redefinition and internalization, of looking inwards instead of outwards, of course, it is just a slimmed down version of what Humanists like Erasmus did many centuries ago.)
Merry Christmas!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Read my lips
Like most "pleasers", I have never been very good at saying "no", which means I often agree to do things that I don't really want to do. This is not to say that I never say no - there is a big difference between things I don't really want to do, and things I really don't want to do - just that when comparing what I might get out of saying "yes" (in terms of approval/future cooperation) to the amount of work this will mean for me and the possible negative consequences of saying "no", the balance usually tips to the "yes" side. Of course, I do sometimes try to get out of things, and it is true that these attempts may sometimes be too subtle. I could probably be clearer, more assertive, especially when faced with people who simply do not want to hear an inconvenient "no". But I have difficulty discerning the - to me vague - dividing line between assertiveness and bluntness. When I try, I usually end up being rude.
I see a similar pattern in other areas - professional and private - in that I will acquiesce to things that I do not agree with, usually to avoid unpleasant conflicts. I know this is not ideal, but things are hardly ever the way I would like them to be, and you cannot fight the whole world. So for the past 25 years or so, I have accepted this as part of being me. But recently (and possibly because I am getting older) I have started to rethink this. It is not so much that I want to do less for others; in at least one sense (parenthood), I am doing more now than ever. Nor I am getting crankier and pickier with age: the things that bug me now are basically the same as ever.
No, the thing that bothers me most is how I am being forced - by a battle of attrition - to give up the principle of honesty. I am finding out that often, it is simply not possible - for any number of reasons - to give the real reasons for not wanting to do something. So you end up making polite excuses ("other commitments", "something came up" ...) that to me are so obviously a lie as to be rude. But people actually accept these excuses. Worse still: the other day, on "Lie to me" (a detective series where the protagonists depend heavily on body language to solve cases), it was mentioned that teenagers who are good at hiding their feelings are more popular. Apparently, our society not only accepts certain lies (or untruths), it actually rewards them.
Hmm.
I see a similar pattern in other areas - professional and private - in that I will acquiesce to things that I do not agree with, usually to avoid unpleasant conflicts. I know this is not ideal, but things are hardly ever the way I would like them to be, and you cannot fight the whole world. So for the past 25 years or so, I have accepted this as part of being me. But recently (and possibly because I am getting older) I have started to rethink this. It is not so much that I want to do less for others; in at least one sense (parenthood), I am doing more now than ever. Nor I am getting crankier and pickier with age: the things that bug me now are basically the same as ever.
No, the thing that bothers me most is how I am being forced - by a battle of attrition - to give up the principle of honesty. I am finding out that often, it is simply not possible - for any number of reasons - to give the real reasons for not wanting to do something. So you end up making polite excuses ("other commitments", "something came up" ...) that to me are so obviously a lie as to be rude. But people actually accept these excuses. Worse still: the other day, on "Lie to me" (a detective series where the protagonists depend heavily on body language to solve cases), it was mentioned that teenagers who are good at hiding their feelings are more popular. Apparently, our society not only accepts certain lies (or untruths), it actually rewards them.
Hmm.
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