Therapist is under fire for saying that cheating on your spouse can be more of a blessing than a sin
Amelia Hill, social affairs correspondent
Sunday June 8, 2008
Observer
A controversial self-help book for married philanderers claims most adulterers are good, kind people. It says affairs can help a marriage and that those who stray should never admit it because the truth can cause even more damage.
'Cheating on your spouse isn't a moral act, but most men and woman who have affairs are good people who made a mistake,' said Mira Kirshenbaum, author of When Good People Have Affairs, published this week. 'They never thought it would happen to them but, suddenly, they're in this complicated, dangerous situation. We all agree that infidelity is a mistake. But once you've crossed the line, what then?'
Kirshenbaum has been criticised by her peers for saying cheats deserve sympathy and understanding. 'Adulterers are neither kind nor good people, so what sort of sympathy are we supposed to give them?', said Leila Collins, a psychologist who has given relationship counselling for 15 years. 'A good person doesn't betray their loved ones. A good person who is unsatisfied in their relationship ends it before starting a new one.'
Kirshenbaum, clinical director of the Chestnut Hill Institute, a centre for relationship therapy and research in Boston, Massachusetts, admits that infidelity is a controversial topic to address sympathetically. 'But these people are suffering terribly and need to be relieved of their sense of guilt and shame because those emotions are paralysing,' she said.
Those who have affairs are seeking real happiness and love in their lives, believes Kirshenbaum, who has been treating couples and individuals for 30 years and has written 10 books on relationships. 'Until now, the story of these men and women has never been told,' she said. 'Shame and fear have kept it in the closet and so they haven't had the understanding that might save them from ruining the lives of everyone involved.'
She believes that society's refusal to have a sympathetic discussion of infidelity has meant that the positive sides of betraying a spouse have been ignored. 'Sometimes an affair can be the best way for the person who has been unfaithful to get the information and impetus to change,' she said. 'I'm not encouraging affairs, but underlying the complicated mess is a kind of deep and delicate wisdom. It's an insight that something isn't working and needs to change.'
Her views reflect the plotline of Adrian Lyne's 2002 film, Unfaithful, in which Richard Gere's love for his wife, Diane Lane, is rekindled by her affair with a younger man, Olivier Martinez. 'If handled right, an affair can be therapeutic, give clarity and jolt people from their inertia,' she said. 'You could think of it as a radical but necessary medical procedure. If your marriage is in cardiac arrest, an affair can be a defibrillator.'
Kirshenbaum believes there are 17 reasons why people have affairs, including the see-if affair, the distraction affair and the sexual-panic affair. To help people decide whether their infidelity should spell the end of their marriage, she lists a few that she believes do indicate the relationship is over - and those that do not. 'You should stay with your partner if your affair is a heating-up-your-marriage affair, let's-kill-this-relationship-and-see-if-it-comes-back-to-life affair, do-I-still-have-it affair, accidental affair, revenge affair or midlife-crisis affair,' said Kirshenbaum.
'But you need to think carefully about whether to stay with your primary partner if your affair is of the following kinds: the break-out-into-selfhood affair, unmet-need affair, having-experiences-I-missed-out-on affair, surrogate-therapy affair, ejector-seat affair,' she said.
Kirshenbaum is adamant that an adulterer must never confess - not even if their partner asks directly. 'This is the one area in which the truth usually creates far more damage in the long run,' she said. 'A lot of people confess because they feel they just have to be honest. Well, honesty is great. But it's a very abstract moral principle. A much more concrete, and much higher, moral principle is not hurting people. And when you confess to having an affair, you are hurting someone. If you care that much about honesty, figure out who you want to be with, commit to that relationship and devote the rest of your life to making it the most honest relationship you can,' she said.
There are two huge exceptions to not telling. 'If you're having an affair and you haven't practised safe sex, you have to tell,' she said. 'You also have to tell if discovery is imminent or likely. If it's clear that you're going to be found out, it's better for you to make the confession first.'
Another reason for not telling is that it makes it far more difficult for a remorseful adulterer to return to the fold. 'If your partner will find out about your affair, your whole future happiness together depends on whether he's basically vengeful or basically merciful,' she said.
Kirshenbaum's opinion on what constitutes a happy ending is also controversial. Divorce, she believes, can be the path to a bright future. 'Sometimes - many times, in fact - divorce is worth it,' she said. 'It plays an important function. It gets us out of misery-making marriages and we have a chance of finding happiness somewhere else.'
“Blessed is the nation that doesn’t need heroes" Goethe. “Hero-worship is strongest where there is least regard for human freedom.” Herbert Spencer
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Sunday 8 June 2008
No one wins in modern-day academia
No one wins in modern-day academiaNick Cohen The Observer, Sunday June 8 2008 Article historySt Matthew's warning that 'unto everyone that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken away' is the biblical quote least likely to stir the Labour soul.
That the rich get richer and the poor will get poorer is not a policy prescription that appeals to the left. With the best of intentions, however, Labour is imposing the Gospel according to St Matthew on England's universities and is providing a parable on the state of the nation in the process.
Few dispute that academia needs reforming. Britain has a university system in which the last measure the government uses to judge the quality of academics is their ability to teach. Instead, tortuous bureaucracies assess the merits of the research produced by every department in all the 200 universities. On their ruling rests the disposal of £5bn of public money.
The 2008 fight for loot is under way. Luckless workers at a Bristol warehouse are sending 200,000 scholarly books and papers to the 1,000 or so professors who adjudicate on 70 panels like the judges of beauty contests.
In the inaugural issue of the new magazine Standpoint, Jonathan Bate of Warwick University despairs of the absurdity of the enterprise. He explains that panels filled with professors of foreign languages have been more generous in rating the work of their peers than professors of English. Officially, our universities are now world leaders in the study of French literature but awful at studying English literature. What's really happened, says Bate, is that while other professors of literature covered each other's backs and looked after each other's departments 'the Eng lit lot couldn't resist biting each other's backs' even if it meant their subject lost money.
Neither he nor the government says this, but a second failing of the system is that it creates conformism in supposedly independent minds. There are many honourable exceptions, but as a herd, academics are the most predictable of beasts. If I sit down with builders, dentists or accountants, I have no way of knowing what their opinions will be. Within seconds of talking to an academic, I guess their views on every major political issue.
Why should I be surprised? To get the academic papers published the judging panels demand, lecturers must engage in the soul-destroying task of sucking up to the editors of learned journals. The funding for their departments and their very livelihoods depend on their ability to please. The government does not ask researchers to produce work of intellectual distinction, however long it takes. They must loyally churn out enough papers to allow their department to claim a slice of the booty.
The government admits this can't go on. It plans to replace the judging panels with a computer, which will record the number of times an academic's name is mentioned by his colleagues. The theory is that the best academics receive the greatest number of acknowledgements in footnotes. Let a database identify who these oft-cited professors are and - bingo! - you have found the finest minds of your generation.
Ministers possibly realised that under the present funding arrangements, Cambridge University would have to sack Ludwig Wittgenstein. He might have been a genius, but it took him decades to produce a book. Under their new system, the thousands of academics who quoted his work would provide a true assessment of Wittgenstein's worth and spare him the dole.
It sounds fair until you remember St Matthew. In 1968, Robert K Merton of Columbia University coined the phrase 'the Matthew effect' when he looked at how scientists valued each other. He found that the already eminent got disproportionate credit for their work while unknowns, whose research was often as valuable, struggled for recognition.
The great English geneticist JBS Haldane illustrated Merton's argument with the story of an Indian student, SK Roy, who had found a way to improve strains of rice. 'I thought it was a rather ill-planned experiment,' Haldane admitted, 'but I let him go ahead on the general principle that I am not omniscient.' The experiment was a triumph. Haldane said that Roy deserved 95 per cent of the credit, but would never get it. 'Every effort will be made here to crab his work. He has not got a PhD or even a first-class MSc. So either the research is no good or I did it.'
Beyond the prestige of quoting established names lies the incentive to cheat - academics are already promising that 'if you cite my research I'll cite yours' - and beyond that lies sheer luck. Nassim Nicholas Taleb, who glories in the title of professor in the sciences of uncertainty, points out that what leads to one academic being cited rather than another can be a simple fluke. But as soon as he or she is cited in one paper, the odds increase that he or she will be cited in another.
The Matthew effect does not only work in academia. Of the thousands of first novels each year, the few that are reviewed make the literary pages because the author is already well known in another field (prestige), the author is a friend of the literary editor (cheating) or the author's book was picked at random from a pile on a slow week (luck).
City firms give lavish bonuses because they don't want to lose staff to rivals (prestige), because they dealt on insider information (cheating) or because they pulled out of the sub-prime market just in time (luck).
You only have to read the financial press to know that the beneficiaries of the property crash won't be first-time buyers - they are struggling to get mortgages because of the credit crunch. The winners will be the already rich sitting on piles of cash who will snap up assets when their prices hit the floor.
Labour should not be happy with helping those that hath. If it wants to reform education, it should begin by noticing that working-class students are dropping out and middle-class students are paying fees for substandard courses, because the first concern of the universities isn't teaching. Ministers would do better to redirect public money to make sure that it is.
That the rich get richer and the poor will get poorer is not a policy prescription that appeals to the left. With the best of intentions, however, Labour is imposing the Gospel according to St Matthew on England's universities and is providing a parable on the state of the nation in the process.
Few dispute that academia needs reforming. Britain has a university system in which the last measure the government uses to judge the quality of academics is their ability to teach. Instead, tortuous bureaucracies assess the merits of the research produced by every department in all the 200 universities. On their ruling rests the disposal of £5bn of public money.
The 2008 fight for loot is under way. Luckless workers at a Bristol warehouse are sending 200,000 scholarly books and papers to the 1,000 or so professors who adjudicate on 70 panels like the judges of beauty contests.
In the inaugural issue of the new magazine Standpoint, Jonathan Bate of Warwick University despairs of the absurdity of the enterprise. He explains that panels filled with professors of foreign languages have been more generous in rating the work of their peers than professors of English. Officially, our universities are now world leaders in the study of French literature but awful at studying English literature. What's really happened, says Bate, is that while other professors of literature covered each other's backs and looked after each other's departments 'the Eng lit lot couldn't resist biting each other's backs' even if it meant their subject lost money.
Neither he nor the government says this, but a second failing of the system is that it creates conformism in supposedly independent minds. There are many honourable exceptions, but as a herd, academics are the most predictable of beasts. If I sit down with builders, dentists or accountants, I have no way of knowing what their opinions will be. Within seconds of talking to an academic, I guess their views on every major political issue.
Why should I be surprised? To get the academic papers published the judging panels demand, lecturers must engage in the soul-destroying task of sucking up to the editors of learned journals. The funding for their departments and their very livelihoods depend on their ability to please. The government does not ask researchers to produce work of intellectual distinction, however long it takes. They must loyally churn out enough papers to allow their department to claim a slice of the booty.
The government admits this can't go on. It plans to replace the judging panels with a computer, which will record the number of times an academic's name is mentioned by his colleagues. The theory is that the best academics receive the greatest number of acknowledgements in footnotes. Let a database identify who these oft-cited professors are and - bingo! - you have found the finest minds of your generation.
Ministers possibly realised that under the present funding arrangements, Cambridge University would have to sack Ludwig Wittgenstein. He might have been a genius, but it took him decades to produce a book. Under their new system, the thousands of academics who quoted his work would provide a true assessment of Wittgenstein's worth and spare him the dole.
It sounds fair until you remember St Matthew. In 1968, Robert K Merton of Columbia University coined the phrase 'the Matthew effect' when he looked at how scientists valued each other. He found that the already eminent got disproportionate credit for their work while unknowns, whose research was often as valuable, struggled for recognition.
The great English geneticist JBS Haldane illustrated Merton's argument with the story of an Indian student, SK Roy, who had found a way to improve strains of rice. 'I thought it was a rather ill-planned experiment,' Haldane admitted, 'but I let him go ahead on the general principle that I am not omniscient.' The experiment was a triumph. Haldane said that Roy deserved 95 per cent of the credit, but would never get it. 'Every effort will be made here to crab his work. He has not got a PhD or even a first-class MSc. So either the research is no good or I did it.'
Beyond the prestige of quoting established names lies the incentive to cheat - academics are already promising that 'if you cite my research I'll cite yours' - and beyond that lies sheer luck. Nassim Nicholas Taleb, who glories in the title of professor in the sciences of uncertainty, points out that what leads to one academic being cited rather than another can be a simple fluke. But as soon as he or she is cited in one paper, the odds increase that he or she will be cited in another.
The Matthew effect does not only work in academia. Of the thousands of first novels each year, the few that are reviewed make the literary pages because the author is already well known in another field (prestige), the author is a friend of the literary editor (cheating) or the author's book was picked at random from a pile on a slow week (luck).
City firms give lavish bonuses because they don't want to lose staff to rivals (prestige), because they dealt on insider information (cheating) or because they pulled out of the sub-prime market just in time (luck).
You only have to read the financial press to know that the beneficiaries of the property crash won't be first-time buyers - they are struggling to get mortgages because of the credit crunch. The winners will be the already rich sitting on piles of cash who will snap up assets when their prices hit the floor.
Labour should not be happy with helping those that hath. If it wants to reform education, it should begin by noticing that working-class students are dropping out and middle-class students are paying fees for substandard courses, because the first concern of the universities isn't teaching. Ministers would do better to redirect public money to make sure that it is.
Friday 6 June 2008
Maths? I breakfasted on quadratic equations, but it was a waste of timeChampioning a difficult discipline of no use merely panders to the political co
Maths? I breakfasted on quadratic equations, but it was a waste of timeChampioning a difficult discipline of no use merely panders to the political correctness of the conservative classes
All comments (53)
Simon Jenkins The Guardian, Friday June 6 2008 Article historyYou don't have to be innumerate to be a mathematician, but it could help. Elders of the tribe have produced a report for the thinktank Reform which calculates that Britain has "lost half a million" mathematicians since 1990 at a cost to the economy of a "staggering £9bn". Needless to say, the government should act.
How £9bn? The boffins have added up the average "market premium" of the 430,000 fewer A-level maths students who have ceased studying the subject over the period and declared that total "lost" to the national product. This is irrespective of what the bright sparks might otherwise have earned, or whether a flooding of the market with mathematicians might have depressed the so-called premium.
Even if the maths is robust, the economics is dreadful. It looks as if the authors thought of a figure big enough to win some headlines and get the excitable Tory schools spokesman, Michael Gove, to demand that the government do something. Both succeeded.
My campaign for curricular updating is getting nowhere. Were the Reform report not devoted to the Holy Mother Church of maths and science, some mathematician would have dismissed it as nonsense. But nonsense in the service of professional self-aggrandisement is what ethicists call "good cause corruption". Maths and science self-justify as economically worthwhile in a way that law or economics or management studies do not dare. They must fight their corner in the marketplace.
Championing the report in these pages on Tuesday, the Oxford maths professor, Marcus du Sautoy, claimed that examiners were now too frantic to make maths seem relevant to young people's working lives. The subject had been "emasculated by a move away from rigour and logic" in pursuit of the fool's gold of "relevance". This had "ended up just making it boring".
I studied advanced maths to 16. I loved wandering in its virtual world of trigonometry and logarithms, primes and surds. I breakfasted on quadratic equations, lunched on differential calculus and strolled, arm in arm, with Ronald Searle's square on the hypotenuse.
It was a waste of time. I dedicated my next two years to Latin and Greek, which proved to be more useful (just). Most teenagers clearly feel the same. They must grapple with difficult techniques and concepts which hardly any of them will ever use, assuming they can understand or remember them.
In the age of computers, maths beyond simple and applied arithmetic is needed only by specialists. Ramming it down pupils' throats in case they may one day need it is like making us all know how to recalibrate a carburettor on the offchance that we might become racing drivers. Maths is a "skill to a purpose", and we would should ponder the purpose before overselling the skill.
An academic subject in decline always grasps at one last straw, that it "trains the mind". In his essay on Arnold of Rugby, Lytton Strachey pointed out that this argument kept Victorian education immured in the middle ages, teaching classical languages while Germany and America were forging ahead with technology. Why irrelevance to life should hold the key to mental callisthenics is never explained, let alone proved. It is on a par with such maxims as "The shortest route to a boy's brain is through the seat of his pants". The old guard say that a dose of algebra and Latin verbs "never did me any harm", but the modern student is rightly more demanding.
When Kenneth Baker invented the national curriculum in 1987, it never occurred to him to question its content. Science and maths lobbied hard and captured the core, alongside only English. Not just history and geography, but economics, health, psychology, citizenship, politics and law - with far better claims to vocational utility - were elbowed aside. Millions of pounds were and still are devoted to teaching maths to reluctant pupils who know that they will never see or hear of it again. Numbers studying maths and science since 1987 have plummeted. Baker's attempt at centralist compulsion was a failure.
The claim that "Britain needs maths" is shaky. In the 60s and 70s, half of Europe's output of mathematicians and scientists was from the Soviet Union. There was a huge "maths premium", but no impact on national prosperity. The Soviets forgot to teach economics, let alone politics, law or the liberal arts. I could as well reply to Reform that more maths at the expense of humanities would spell economic disaster.
In the two decades during which British pupils have fled from maths towards social science and the humanities, the economy has boomed. It has done so on the strength of finance, marketing and design, on service activities that have little mathematical content. If the market is any guide, Britain "needs" more financiers, consultants, marketers, publicists and lawyers. Besides, maths as a discipline is now global rather than chauvinistic. Maths research is online; the HeyMath! website is a universal teacher.
The two best books on this topic are Innumeracy, by the American John Allen Paulos, and A Mathematician's Apology, by former Cambridge professor GH Hardy. The first describes all the maths a person needs to know, mostly simple concepts applied to daily life, to proportion, risk and probability. Paulos makes the point that a nation may be expert at algebra yet have no sense of statistical probability, to the profit of its insurance industry and the detriment of its public life.
To Hardy, maths was a sublimely cerebral activity. "The mathematics that can be used for ordinary purposes by ordinary men is negligible," he wrote. The glory of maths was aesthetic, "justified as art if it can be justified at all". The practitioner is pursuing "a harmless and innocent occupation", an intellectual hobby. What stimulates today's students is the realm of the creative imagination and the working of the marketplace. This spectrum, from English and drama to business and finance, seems benign both to individuals and to the economy. Students are not stupid. They know where money is to be made, which is why they flock to medicine among the sciences.
Maths replies that these young people are just taking easy options. But there is no virtue in a difficult discipline whose victims regard it as of no use. Students are declining to specialise in maths not because it is difficult but because they cannot see the point.
Curricular archaism is the political correctness of the conservative classes. To pass muster, a subject must help the economy or, if not, be deliberately irrelevant, a mind trainer. It must have a long academic tradition. It must be obscure. Above all, it must not be novel or popular with students.
Yet there is no reason why a new subject cannot be made challenging. That is the job of education. Besides, young people are voting with their feet. They want the humanities and social sciences that are clamouring for a place on the curriculum, and they will get them. The old guard must make way.
All comments (53)
Simon Jenkins The Guardian, Friday June 6 2008 Article historyYou don't have to be innumerate to be a mathematician, but it could help. Elders of the tribe have produced a report for the thinktank Reform which calculates that Britain has "lost half a million" mathematicians since 1990 at a cost to the economy of a "staggering £9bn". Needless to say, the government should act.
How £9bn? The boffins have added up the average "market premium" of the 430,000 fewer A-level maths students who have ceased studying the subject over the period and declared that total "lost" to the national product. This is irrespective of what the bright sparks might otherwise have earned, or whether a flooding of the market with mathematicians might have depressed the so-called premium.
Even if the maths is robust, the economics is dreadful. It looks as if the authors thought of a figure big enough to win some headlines and get the excitable Tory schools spokesman, Michael Gove, to demand that the government do something. Both succeeded.
My campaign for curricular updating is getting nowhere. Were the Reform report not devoted to the Holy Mother Church of maths and science, some mathematician would have dismissed it as nonsense. But nonsense in the service of professional self-aggrandisement is what ethicists call "good cause corruption". Maths and science self-justify as economically worthwhile in a way that law or economics or management studies do not dare. They must fight their corner in the marketplace.
Championing the report in these pages on Tuesday, the Oxford maths professor, Marcus du Sautoy, claimed that examiners were now too frantic to make maths seem relevant to young people's working lives. The subject had been "emasculated by a move away from rigour and logic" in pursuit of the fool's gold of "relevance". This had "ended up just making it boring".
I studied advanced maths to 16. I loved wandering in its virtual world of trigonometry and logarithms, primes and surds. I breakfasted on quadratic equations, lunched on differential calculus and strolled, arm in arm, with Ronald Searle's square on the hypotenuse.
It was a waste of time. I dedicated my next two years to Latin and Greek, which proved to be more useful (just). Most teenagers clearly feel the same. They must grapple with difficult techniques and concepts which hardly any of them will ever use, assuming they can understand or remember them.
In the age of computers, maths beyond simple and applied arithmetic is needed only by specialists. Ramming it down pupils' throats in case they may one day need it is like making us all know how to recalibrate a carburettor on the offchance that we might become racing drivers. Maths is a "skill to a purpose", and we would should ponder the purpose before overselling the skill.
An academic subject in decline always grasps at one last straw, that it "trains the mind". In his essay on Arnold of Rugby, Lytton Strachey pointed out that this argument kept Victorian education immured in the middle ages, teaching classical languages while Germany and America were forging ahead with technology. Why irrelevance to life should hold the key to mental callisthenics is never explained, let alone proved. It is on a par with such maxims as "The shortest route to a boy's brain is through the seat of his pants". The old guard say that a dose of algebra and Latin verbs "never did me any harm", but the modern student is rightly more demanding.
When Kenneth Baker invented the national curriculum in 1987, it never occurred to him to question its content. Science and maths lobbied hard and captured the core, alongside only English. Not just history and geography, but economics, health, psychology, citizenship, politics and law - with far better claims to vocational utility - were elbowed aside. Millions of pounds were and still are devoted to teaching maths to reluctant pupils who know that they will never see or hear of it again. Numbers studying maths and science since 1987 have plummeted. Baker's attempt at centralist compulsion was a failure.
The claim that "Britain needs maths" is shaky. In the 60s and 70s, half of Europe's output of mathematicians and scientists was from the Soviet Union. There was a huge "maths premium", but no impact on national prosperity. The Soviets forgot to teach economics, let alone politics, law or the liberal arts. I could as well reply to Reform that more maths at the expense of humanities would spell economic disaster.
In the two decades during which British pupils have fled from maths towards social science and the humanities, the economy has boomed. It has done so on the strength of finance, marketing and design, on service activities that have little mathematical content. If the market is any guide, Britain "needs" more financiers, consultants, marketers, publicists and lawyers. Besides, maths as a discipline is now global rather than chauvinistic. Maths research is online; the HeyMath! website is a universal teacher.
The two best books on this topic are Innumeracy, by the American John Allen Paulos, and A Mathematician's Apology, by former Cambridge professor GH Hardy. The first describes all the maths a person needs to know, mostly simple concepts applied to daily life, to proportion, risk and probability. Paulos makes the point that a nation may be expert at algebra yet have no sense of statistical probability, to the profit of its insurance industry and the detriment of its public life.
To Hardy, maths was a sublimely cerebral activity. "The mathematics that can be used for ordinary purposes by ordinary men is negligible," he wrote. The glory of maths was aesthetic, "justified as art if it can be justified at all". The practitioner is pursuing "a harmless and innocent occupation", an intellectual hobby. What stimulates today's students is the realm of the creative imagination and the working of the marketplace. This spectrum, from English and drama to business and finance, seems benign both to individuals and to the economy. Students are not stupid. They know where money is to be made, which is why they flock to medicine among the sciences.
Maths replies that these young people are just taking easy options. But there is no virtue in a difficult discipline whose victims regard it as of no use. Students are declining to specialise in maths not because it is difficult but because they cannot see the point.
Curricular archaism is the political correctness of the conservative classes. To pass muster, a subject must help the economy or, if not, be deliberately irrelevant, a mind trainer. It must have a long academic tradition. It must be obscure. Above all, it must not be novel or popular with students.
Yet there is no reason why a new subject cannot be made challenging. That is the job of education. Besides, young people are voting with their feet. They want the humanities and social sciences that are clamouring for a place on the curriculum, and they will get them. The old guard must make way.
Thursday 5 June 2008
The Mortgage
For his birthday a little boy asked for a 10-speed bike.'Son, we'd give you one,' the father said,'but the mortgage on this house is $280,000,
and your mother just lost her job. There's no way we
can afford it in our current situation.'The next day the father saw the little boy heading out the front
door with a suitcase. So he asked, 'Son, where are
you going? ''Well,' the boy said, 'I was walking past
your room last night and heard you telling mom aloud that you
were pulling out. Then I heard mom scream asking youto wait because she was coming too. And I'll be damned if
I'm staying here by myself with a $280,000 mortgage and no bike!'
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Wednesday 4 June 2008
The right time for women
The right time for women to quit smoking
When it comes to giving up smoking, pick the start date carefully. At certain times in your menstrual cycle, you are twice as likely to succeed at kicking the habit. And the same applies to starting a diet, finding a new boyfriend or going for a job interview
Leah Hardy
In fact, giving up smoking is far from the only thing affected by the menstrual cycle — the ebb and flow of hormones have a powerful impact on nearly all aspects of your life. So, make the time of the month work for you.
The best time to give up drink and drugs Scientists have discovered powerful links between cravings and hormones. Recently, researchers at the University of Minnesota found that women who gave up smoking in the follicular part of their cycle (from the start of their period until ovulation on about day 14) were half as likely to remain smoke-free as those who gave up in the luteal phase (after ovulation, but before the start of the next period). Only two in 10 of the women who gave up in the earlier phase managed to abstain; however, in the second group, four in 10 were successful. Why? It seems the high levels of progesterone found in the luteal phase can help to move nicotine out of the system more quickly, thus reducing withdrawal symptoms. Studies also show women are more easily tempted to smoke by seeing other people smoking when oestrogen levels are high, as in the follicular phase.
Don’t be tempted to experiment with drugs such as cocaine in the first half of your cycle, either. Large amounts of oestrogen also boost levels of the pleasure hormone dopamine and reduce the amount of mucus in your nose, ensuring you will get more of a hit from the drug, thus increasing the risk of addiction. And if you want to stay sober, the hormone allopregnanolone is your friend. This also peaks in the phase before ovulation, and high doses reduce your desire to drink.
The best time to hit the gym Want to show off your stretchy yoga moves in class? Shift your mat to the front just before your period, as this is when you are most flexible. A hormone called relaxin peaks at this time, softening your ligaments. But don’t go mad — that extra flexibility may result in injury. A study at the Portland Hospital in London found that women were at the greatest risk of damaging their ligaments at the end of their cycle, but were also in danger of pulling muscles and ligaments halfway through the cycle, as levels of the strength-giving hormone oestrogen drop suddenly after ovulation.
For aerobic exercise, pick days 15-22, when rising progesterone will make working out feel easier, and you will burn up to 30% more fat, according to a study published in Australasian Science magazine. If you prefer a weights-based workout, do it in the first half of your cycle, as high oestrogen levels will make you stronger. And if you want to run a marathon, the best days are just before ovulation (days 9-12) and just after (days 17-20).
The best time to meet a man Looking for romance? Then schedule your social life for the week around ovulation, when you will not only appear more attractive to men, but, if you lay off the deodorant, even smell irresistible. A study published in the journal Ethology asked men to sniff the armpit odour of women at different stages of their cycle. The result? The armpit odour of women who were between the end of their period and ovulation — when they are most fertile — was considered the most attractive and least intense.
This surge in attractiveness is matched by a leap in libido around day 13, when rocketing oestrogen and testosterone make a woman feel, dress and even walk (yes, really) more sexily, as nature conspires to make you pregnant. However, a study at the University of St Andrews says the surge in attractiveness around ovulation is masked in women who wear too much make-up. So, the moral is, get out there, but leave the slap and antiperspirant alone.
The best time to have a painful experience Putting off going to the dentist because of the painful needle? Dreading booking that Brazilian wax? Then schedule both for bang in the middle of your cycle. At ovulation, you have a higher pain threshold than at other times, due to the large amounts of oestrogen in your system.
If your idea of agony is applying for a new job, then try to avoid an interview in the days before your period if you don’t want to seem nervous or flustered. According to Dr Ann Rasmusson, a neuroendocrinologist at Yale University in America, this is when you are most likely to be affected by stress. “Levels of progesterone and other related neurosteroids drop dramatically at this time,” she says.
The best time to start a diet According to a team of South African researchers, your food intake can vary by a staggering 2,500 calories a day, depending on your hormones levels. And when it comes to starting a diet, scientists suggest you will be less hungry when your period begins. A study by researchers at Tufts University, Massachusetts, indicates that women eat 12% less per day at the start of their cycle because their levels of oestrogen are lower.
After ovulation, your appetite is naturally boosted by hormones, so if you do happen to be pregnant, you will want to eat enough for two. However, your metabolism and urge to exercise are higher after ovulation, too, so by heading to the gym, you might be able to work off those extra calories.
In a paper published last year in the International Journal of Obesity, researchers say, perhaps unsurprisingly, that women tend to experience cravings for sugary and high-carbohydrate foods just before their period, and they also have the most trouble controlling their hunger at this time.
The scientists agree that starting a diet after day one of your period could be helpful, and also suggest increasing calorie intake by about 100-200 calories when you are premenstrual, so you don’t get so desperate that you find yourself on the phone to Pizza Hut. Their suggestion for how to consume those extra calories? Best-quality dark chocolate. These are the kind of scientists we like.
Understanding your cycle
The average woman’s natural menstrual cycle takes about 28 days, though this can vary by about five days either way. Menstruation normally starts about 14 days after ovulation. The cycle is divided into phases. The first day of a period is day one, and the start of the follicular phase, when an egg starts to ripen in the ovaries. The next stage is ovulation (about day 14), when the egg is released to be fertilised (or not). After ovulation comes the luteal phase, which lasts until the start of the next period.
Straight after a period, levels of the hormones oestrogen and progesterone are relatively low. Oestrogen levels rise to a peak at ovulation, then drop. Progesterone levels rise after ovulation and peak halfway through the luteal phase (about day 21), then fall dramatically just before the start of menstruation.
When it comes to giving up smoking, pick the start date carefully. At certain times in your menstrual cycle, you are twice as likely to succeed at kicking the habit. And the same applies to starting a diet, finding a new boyfriend or going for a job interview
Leah Hardy
In fact, giving up smoking is far from the only thing affected by the menstrual cycle — the ebb and flow of hormones have a powerful impact on nearly all aspects of your life. So, make the time of the month work for you.
The best time to give up drink and drugs Scientists have discovered powerful links between cravings and hormones. Recently, researchers at the University of Minnesota found that women who gave up smoking in the follicular part of their cycle (from the start of their period until ovulation on about day 14) were half as likely to remain smoke-free as those who gave up in the luteal phase (after ovulation, but before the start of the next period). Only two in 10 of the women who gave up in the earlier phase managed to abstain; however, in the second group, four in 10 were successful. Why? It seems the high levels of progesterone found in the luteal phase can help to move nicotine out of the system more quickly, thus reducing withdrawal symptoms. Studies also show women are more easily tempted to smoke by seeing other people smoking when oestrogen levels are high, as in the follicular phase.
Don’t be tempted to experiment with drugs such as cocaine in the first half of your cycle, either. Large amounts of oestrogen also boost levels of the pleasure hormone dopamine and reduce the amount of mucus in your nose, ensuring you will get more of a hit from the drug, thus increasing the risk of addiction. And if you want to stay sober, the hormone allopregnanolone is your friend. This also peaks in the phase before ovulation, and high doses reduce your desire to drink.
The best time to hit the gym Want to show off your stretchy yoga moves in class? Shift your mat to the front just before your period, as this is when you are most flexible. A hormone called relaxin peaks at this time, softening your ligaments. But don’t go mad — that extra flexibility may result in injury. A study at the Portland Hospital in London found that women were at the greatest risk of damaging their ligaments at the end of their cycle, but were also in danger of pulling muscles and ligaments halfway through the cycle, as levels of the strength-giving hormone oestrogen drop suddenly after ovulation.
For aerobic exercise, pick days 15-22, when rising progesterone will make working out feel easier, and you will burn up to 30% more fat, according to a study published in Australasian Science magazine. If you prefer a weights-based workout, do it in the first half of your cycle, as high oestrogen levels will make you stronger. And if you want to run a marathon, the best days are just before ovulation (days 9-12) and just after (days 17-20).
The best time to meet a man Looking for romance? Then schedule your social life for the week around ovulation, when you will not only appear more attractive to men, but, if you lay off the deodorant, even smell irresistible. A study published in the journal Ethology asked men to sniff the armpit odour of women at different stages of their cycle. The result? The armpit odour of women who were between the end of their period and ovulation — when they are most fertile — was considered the most attractive and least intense.
This surge in attractiveness is matched by a leap in libido around day 13, when rocketing oestrogen and testosterone make a woman feel, dress and even walk (yes, really) more sexily, as nature conspires to make you pregnant. However, a study at the University of St Andrews says the surge in attractiveness around ovulation is masked in women who wear too much make-up. So, the moral is, get out there, but leave the slap and antiperspirant alone.
The best time to have a painful experience Putting off going to the dentist because of the painful needle? Dreading booking that Brazilian wax? Then schedule both for bang in the middle of your cycle. At ovulation, you have a higher pain threshold than at other times, due to the large amounts of oestrogen in your system.
If your idea of agony is applying for a new job, then try to avoid an interview in the days before your period if you don’t want to seem nervous or flustered. According to Dr Ann Rasmusson, a neuroendocrinologist at Yale University in America, this is when you are most likely to be affected by stress. “Levels of progesterone and other related neurosteroids drop dramatically at this time,” she says.
The best time to start a diet According to a team of South African researchers, your food intake can vary by a staggering 2,500 calories a day, depending on your hormones levels. And when it comes to starting a diet, scientists suggest you will be less hungry when your period begins. A study by researchers at Tufts University, Massachusetts, indicates that women eat 12% less per day at the start of their cycle because their levels of oestrogen are lower.
After ovulation, your appetite is naturally boosted by hormones, so if you do happen to be pregnant, you will want to eat enough for two. However, your metabolism and urge to exercise are higher after ovulation, too, so by heading to the gym, you might be able to work off those extra calories.
In a paper published last year in the International Journal of Obesity, researchers say, perhaps unsurprisingly, that women tend to experience cravings for sugary and high-carbohydrate foods just before their period, and they also have the most trouble controlling their hunger at this time.
The scientists agree that starting a diet after day one of your period could be helpful, and also suggest increasing calorie intake by about 100-200 calories when you are premenstrual, so you don’t get so desperate that you find yourself on the phone to Pizza Hut. Their suggestion for how to consume those extra calories? Best-quality dark chocolate. These are the kind of scientists we like.
Understanding your cycle
The average woman’s natural menstrual cycle takes about 28 days, though this can vary by about five days either way. Menstruation normally starts about 14 days after ovulation. The cycle is divided into phases. The first day of a period is day one, and the start of the follicular phase, when an egg starts to ripen in the ovaries. The next stage is ovulation (about day 14), when the egg is released to be fertilised (or not). After ovulation comes the luteal phase, which lasts until the start of the next period.
Straight after a period, levels of the hormones oestrogen and progesterone are relatively low. Oestrogen levels rise to a peak at ovulation, then drop. Progesterone levels rise after ovulation and peak halfway through the luteal phase (about day 21), then fall dramatically just before the start of menstruation.
Monday 2 June 2008
Nassim Nicholas Taleb: the prophet of boom and doom
Bryan Appleyard
Get Started!
A noisy cafe in Newport Beach, California. Nassim Nicholas Taleb is eating three successive salads, carefully picking out anything with a high carbohydrate content.
He is telling me how to live. "The only way you can say 'F*** you' to fate is by saying it's not going to affect how I live. So if somebody puts you to death, make sure you shave."
After lunch he takes me to Circuit City to buy two Olympus voice recorders, one for me and one for him. The one for him is to record his lectures – he charges about $60,000 for speaking engagements, so the $100 recorder is probably worth it. The one for me is because the day before he had drowned my Olympus with earl grey tea and, as he keeps saying, "I owe you." It didn't matter because I always use two recorders and, anyway, I had bought a replacement the next morning.
But it's important and it's not, strictly speaking, a cost to him. Every year he puts a few thousand dollars aside for contingencies – parking tickets, tea spills – and at the end of the year he gives what's left to charity. The money is gone from day one, so unexpected losses cause no pain. Now I have three Olympus recorders.
He spilt the tea – bear with me; this is important – while grabbing at his BlackBerry. He was agitated, reading every incoming e-mail, because the Indian consulate in New York had held on to his passport and he needed it to fly to Bermuda. People were being mobilised in New York and, for some reason, France, to get the passport.
The important thing is this: the lost passport and the spilt tea were black swans, bad birds that are always lurking, just out of sight, to catch you unawares and wreck your plans. Sometimes, however, they are good birds. The recorders cost $20 less than the marked price owing to a labelling screw-up at Circuit City. Stuff happens. The world is random, intrinsically unknowable. "You will never," he says, "be able to control randomness."
To explain: black swans were discovered in Australia. Before that, any reasonable person could assume the all-swans-are-white theory was unassailable. But the sight of just one black swan detonated that theory. Every theory we have about the human world and about the future is vulnerable to the black swan, the unexpected event. We sail in fragile vessels across a raging sea of uncertainty.
"The world we live in is vastly different from the world we think we live in."
Last May, Taleb published The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable. It said, among many other things, that most economists, and almost all bankers, are subhuman and very, very dangerous. They live in a fantasy world in which the future can be controlled by sophisticated mathematical models and elaborate risk-management systems. Bankers and economists scorned and raged at Taleb. He didn't understand, they said. A few months later, the full global implications of the sub-prime-driven credit crunch became clear. The world banking system still teeters on the edge of meltdown. Taleb had been vindicated. "It was my greatest vindication. But to me that wasn't a black swan; it was a white swan. I knew it would happen and I said so. It was a black swan to Ben Bernanke [the chairman of the Federal Reserve]. I wouldn't use him to drive my car. These guys are dangerous. They're not qualified in their own field."
In December he lectured bankers at Société Générale, France's second biggest bank. He told them they were sitting on a mountain of risks – a menagerie of black swans. They didn't believe him. Six weeks later the rogue trader and black swan Jérôme Kerviel landed them with $7.2 billion of losses.
As a result, Taleb is now the hottest thinker in the world. He has a $4m advance on his next book. He gives about 30 presentations a year to bankers, economists, traders, even to Nasa, the US Fire Administration and the Department of Homeland Security. But he doesn't tell them what to do – he doesn't know. He just tells them how the world is. "I'm not a guru. I'm just describing a problem and saying, 'You deal with it.'"
Getting to know Taleb is a highly immersive experience. Everything matters. "Why are you not dressed Californian?" he asks at our first meeting. Everything in Newport Beach is very Californian. I'm wearing a jacket: it's cold. He's wearing shorts and a polo shirt. Clothes matter; they send signals. He warns against trusting anybody who wears a tie – "You have to ask, 'Why is he wearing a tie?'"
He has rules. In California he hires bikes, not cars. He doesn't usually carry his BlackBerry because he hates distraction and he really hates phone charges. But he does carry an Apple laptop everywhere and constantly uses it to illustrate complex points and seek out references. He says he answers every e-mail. He is sent thousands. He reads for 60 hours a week, but almost never a newspaper, and he never watches television.
"If something is going on, I hear about it. I like to talk to people, I socialise. Television is a waste of time. Human contact is what matters."
But the biggest rule of all is his eccentric and punishing diet and exercise programme. He's been on it for three months and he's lost 20lb. He's following the thinking of Arthur De Vany, an economist – of the acceptable type – turned fitness guru. The theory is that we eat and exercise according to our evolved natures. Early man did not eat carbs, so they're out. He did not exercise regularly and he did not suffer long-term stress by having an annoying boss. Exercise must be irregular and ferocious – Taleb often does four hours in the gym or 360 press-ups and then nothing for 10 days. Jogging is useless; sprinting is good. He likes to knacker himself completely before a long flight. Stress should also be irregular and ferocious – early men did not have bad bosses, but they did occasionally run into lions.
He's always hungry. At both lunches he orders three salads, which he makes me share. Our conversation swings from high philosophy and low economics back to dietary matters like mangoes – bad – and apples – good as long as they are of an old variety. New ones are bred for sugar content. His regime works. He looks great – springy and fit. He shows me an old identity card. He is fat and middle-aged in the photo. He looks 10 years younger than that. "Look at me! That photo was taken seven years ago. No carbs!"
This is risk management – facing up to those aspects of randomness about which something can be done. Some years ago he narrowly survived throat cancer. The change in his voice was at first misdiagnosed as damaged vocal cords from his time on the trading floor. It can recur. Also he has a high familial risk of diabetes. He is convinced the diet of civilisation – full of carbs and sugar – is the problem. The grand doctors who once announced that complex carbohydrates are good for you are, to him, criminals responsible for thousands of deaths.
So, you are wondering, who is this guy? He was born in 1960 in Lebanon, though he casts doubt on both these "facts". The year is "close enough" – he doesn't like to give out his birth date because of identity theft and he doesn't believe in national character. He has, however, a regional identity; he calls himself a Levantine, a member of the indecipherably complex eastern Mediterranean civilisation. "My body and soul are Mediterranean."
Both maternal and paternal antecedents are grand, privileged and politically prominent. They are also Christian – Greek Orthodox. Startlingly, this great sceptic, this non-guru who believes in nothing, is still a practising Christian. He regards with some contempt the militant atheism movement led by Richard Dawkins.
"Scientists don't know what they are talking about when they talk about religion. Religion has nothing to do with belief, and I don't believe it has any negative impact on people's lives outside of intolerance. Why do I go to church? It's like asking, why did you marry that woman? You make up reasons, but it's probably just smell. I love the smell of candles. It's an aesthetic thing."
Take away religion, he says, and people start believing in nationalism, which has killed far more people. Religion is also a good way of handling uncertainty. It lowers blood pressure. He's convinced that religious people take fewer financial risks.
He was educated at a French school. Three traditions formed him: Greek Orthodox, French Catholic and Arab. They also taught him to disbelieve conventional wisdom. Each tradition had a different history of the crusades, utterly different. This led him to disbelieve historians almost as much as he does bankers.
But, crucially, he also learnt from a very early age that grown-ups have a dodgy grasp of probability. It was in the midst of the Lebanese civil war and, hiding from the guns and bombs, he heard adults repeatedly say the war would soon be over. It lasted 15 years. He became obsessed with probability and, after a degree in management from the Wharton business school at Pennsylvania University, he focused on probability for his PhD at the University of Paris.
For the non-mathematician, probability is an indecipherably complex field. But Taleb makes it easy by proving all the mathematics wrong. Let me introduce you to Brooklyn-born Fat Tony and academically inclined Dr John, two of Taleb's creations. You toss a coin 40 times and it comes up heads every time. What is the chance of it coming up heads the 41st time? Dr John gives the answer drummed into the heads of every statistic student: 50/50. Fat Tony shakes his head and says the chances are no more than 1%. "You are either full of crap," he says, "or a pure sucker to buy that 50% business. The coin gotta be loaded."
The chances of a coin coming up heads 41 times are so small as to be effectively impossible in this universe. It is far, far more likely that somebody is cheating. Fat Tony wins. Dr John is the sucker. And the one thing that drives Taleb more than anything else is the determination not to be a sucker. Dr John is the economist or banker who thinks he can manage risk through mathematics. Fat Tony relies only on what happens in the real world.
In 1985, Taleb discovered how he could play Fat Tony in the markets. France, Germany, Japan, Britain and America signed an agreement to push down the value of the dollar. Taleb was working as an options trader at a French bank. He held options that had cost him almost nothing and that bet on the dollar's decline. Suddenly they were worth a fortune. He became obsessed with buying "out of the money" options. He had realised that when markets rise they tend to rise by small amounts, but when they fall – usually hit by a black swan – they fall a long way.
The big payoff came on October 19, 1987 – Black Monday. It was the biggest market drop in modern history. "That had vastly more influence on my thought than any other event in history."
It was a huge black swan – nobody had expected it, not even Taleb. But the point was, he was ready. He was sitting on a pile of out-of-the-money eurodollar options. So, while others were considering suicide, Taleb was sitting on profits of $35m to $40m. He had what he calls his "f***-off money", money that would allow him to walk away from any job and support him in his long-term desire to be a writer and philosopher.
He stayed on Wall Street until he got bored and moved to Chicago to become a trader in the pit, the open-outcry market run by the world's most sceptical people, all Fat Tonys. This he understood.
His first book, Dynamic Hedging: Managing Vanilla and Exotic Options, came out in 1997. He was moving away from being a pure trader, or "quant" – a quantitative analyst who applies sophisticated maths to investments – to being the philosopher he wanted to be. He was using the vast data pool provided by the markets and combining it with a sophisticated grasp of epistemology, the study of how and what we know, to form a synthesis unique in the modern world.
In the midst of this came his purest vindication prior to sub-prime. Long-Term Capital Management was a hedge fund set up in 1994 by, among others, Myron Scholes and Robert C Merton, joint winners of the 1997 Nobel prize in economics. It had the grandest of all possible credentials and used the most sophisticated academic theories of portfolio management. It went bust in 1998 and, because it had positions worth $1.25 trillion outstanding, it almost took the financial system down with it. Modern portfolio theory had not accounted for the black swan, the Russian financial crisis of that year. Taleb regards the Nobel prize in economics as a disgrace, a laughable endorsement of the worst kind of Dr John economics. Fat Tony should get the Nobel, but he's too smart. "People say to me, 'If economists are so incompetent, why do people listen to them?' I say, 'They don't listen, they're just teaching birds how to fly.' "
Taleb created his own hedge fund, Empirica, designed to help other hedge funds hedge their risks by using a refined form of his options wins – running small losses in quiet times and winning big in turbulent markets. It did okay but, after a good first year, performed poorly when the market went though a quiet spell. He's still involved in the markets, but mainly as a hobby – "like chess".
Finally, with two books – Fooled by Randomness: The Hidden Role of Chance in the Markets and in Life, and The Black Swan – and a stream of academic papers, he turned himself into one of the giants of modern thought. They're still trying to tear him down, of course; last year The American Statistician journal devoted a whole issue to attacking The Black Swan. But I wouldn't bother. A bad but rather ignorant review in The New York Times resulted in such a savage rebuttal from Taleb on his website, www.fooledbyrandomness.com, that reviewers across the US pulled out in fear of his wrath. He knows his stuff and he keeps being right.
And what he knows does not sound good. The sub-prime crisis is not over and could get worse. Even if the US economy survives this one, it will remain a mountain of risk and delusion. "America is the greatest financial risk you can think of."
Its primary problem is that both banks and government are staffed by academic economists running their deluded models. Britain and Europe have better prospects because our economists tend to be more pragmatic, adapting to conditions rather than following models. But still we are dependent on American folly.
The central point is that we have created a world we don't understand. There's a place he calls Mediocristan. This was where early humans lived. Most events happened within a narrow range of probabilities – within the bell-curve distribution still taught to statistics students. But we don't live there any more. We live in Extremistan, where black swans proliferate, winners tend to take all and the rest get nothing – there's Bill Gates, Steve Jobs and a lot of software writers living in a garage, there's Domingo and a thousand opera singers working in Starbucks. Our systems are complex but over-efficient. They have no redundancy, so a black swan strikes everybody at once. The banking system is the worst of all.
"Complex systems don't allow for slack and everybody protects that system. The banking system doesn't have that slack. In a normal ecology, banks go bankrupt every day. But in a complex system there is a tendency to cluster around powerful units. Every bank becomes the same bank so they can all go bust together."
He points out, chillingly, that banks make money from two sources. They take interest on our current accounts and charge us for services. This is easy, safe money. But they also take risks, big risks, with the whole panoply of loans, mortgages, derivatives and any other weird scam they can dream up. "Banks have never made a penny out of this, not a penny. They do well for a while and then lose it all in a big crash."
On top of that, Taleb has shown that increased economic concentration has raised our vulnerability to natural disasters. The Kobe earthquake of 1995 cost a lot more than the Tokyo earthquake of 1923. And there are countless other ways in which we have built a world ruled by black swans – some good but mostly bad. So what do we do as individuals and the world? In the case of the world, Taleb doesn't know. He doesn't make predictions, he insults people paid to do so by telling them to get another job. All forecasts about the oil price, for example, are always wrong, though people keep doing it. But he knows how the world will end.
"Governments and policy makers don't understand the world in which we live, so if somebody is going to destroy the world, it is the Bank of England saving Northern Rock. The biggest danger to human society comes from civil servants in an environment like this. In their attempt to control the ecology, they don't understand that the link between action and consequences can be more vicious. Civil servants say they need to make forecasts, but it's totally irresponsible to make people rely on you without telling them you're incompetent."
Bear Stearns – the US Northern Rock – was another vindication for Taleb. He's always said that whatever deal you do, you always end up dealing with J P Morgan. It was JPM that picked up Bear at a bargain-basement price. Banks should be more like New York restaurants. They come and go but the restaurant business as a whole survives and thrives and the food gets better. Banks fail but bankers still get millions in bonuses for applying their useless models. Restaurants tinker, they work by trial and error and watch real results in the real world. Taleb believes in tinkering – it was to be the title of his next book. Trial and error will save us from ourselves because they capture benign black swans. Look at the three big inventions of our time: lasers, computers and the internet. They were all produced by tinkering and none of them ended up doing what their inventors intended them to do. All were black swans. The big hope for the world is that, as we tinker, we have a capacity for choosing the best outcomes.
"We have the ability to identify our mistakes eventually better than average; that's what saves us." We choose the iPod over the Walkman. Medicine improved exponentially when the tinkering barber surgeons took over from the high theorists. They just went with what worked, irrespective of why it worked. Our sense of the good tinker is not infallible, but it might be just enough to turn away from the apocalypse that now threatens Extremistan.
He also wants to see diplomats dying of cirrhosis of the liver. It means they're talking and drinking and not going to war. Parties are among the great good things in Taleb's world.
And you and me? Well, the good investment strategy is to put 90% of your money in the safest possible government securities and the remaining 10% in a large number of high-risk ventures. This insulates you from bad black swans and exposes you to the possibility of good ones. Your smallest investment could go "convex" – explode – and make you rich. High-tech companies are the best. The downside risk is low if you get in at the start and the upside very high. Banks are the worst – all the risk is downside. Don't be tempted to play the stock market – "If people knew the risks they'd never invest."
There's much more to Taleb's view of the world than that. He is reluctant to talk about matters of human nature, ethics or any of the traditional concerns of philosophy because he says he hasn't read enough. But, when pressed, he comes alive.
"You have to worry about things you can do something about. I worry about people not being there and I want to make them aware." We should be mistrustful of knowledge. It is bad for us. Give a bookie 10 pieces of information about a race and he'll pick his horses. Give him 50 and his picks will be no better, but he will, fatally, be more confident.
We should be ecologically conservative – global warming may or may not be happening but why pollute the planet? – and probablistically conservative. The latter, however, has its limits. Nobody, not even Taleb, can live the sceptical life all the time – "It's an art, it's hard work." So he doesn't worry about crossing the road and doesn't lock his front door – "I can't start getting paranoid about that stuff." His wife locks it, however.
He believes in aristocratic – though not, he insists, elitist – values: elegance of manner and mind, grace under pressure, which is why you must shave before being executed. He believes in the Mediterranean way of talking and listening. One piece of advice he gives everybody is: go to lots of parties and listen, you might learn something by exposing yourself to black swans.
I ask him what he thinks are the primary human virtues, and eventually he comes up with magnanimity – punish your enemies but don't bear grudges; compassion – fairness always trumps efficiency; courage – very few people have this; and tenacity – tinker until it works for you.
"Let's be human the way we are human. Homo sum – I am a man. Don't accept any Olympian view of man and you will do better in society."
Above all, accept randomness. Accept that the world is opaque, majestically unknown and unknowable. From its depths emerge the black swans that can destroy us or make us free. Right now they're killing us, so remember to shave. But we can tinker our way out of it. It's what we do best. Listen to Taleb, an ancient figure, one of the great Mediterranean minds, when he says: "You find peace by coming to terms with what you don't know." Oh, and watch those carbs
Taleb's top life tips
1 Scepticism is effortful and costly. It is better to be sceptical about matters of large consequences, and be imperfect, foolish and human in the small and the aesthetic.
2 Go to parties. You can't even start to know what you may find on the envelope of serendipity. If you suffer from agoraphobia, send colleagues.
3 It's not a good idea to take a forecast from someone wearing a tie. If possible, tease people who take themselves and their knowledge too seriously.
4 Wear your best for your execution and stand dignified. Your last recourse against randomness is how you act — if you can't control outcomes, you can control the elegance of your behaviour. You will always have the last word.
5 Don't disturb complicated systems that have been around for a very long time. We don't understand their logic. Don't pollute the planet. Leave it the way we found it, regardless of scientific 'evidence'.
6 Learn to fail with pride — and do so fast and cleanly. Maximise trial and error — by mastering the error part.
7 Avoid losers. If you hear someone use the words 'impossible', 'never', 'too difficult' too often, drop him or her from your social network. Never take 'no' for an answer (conversely, take most 'yeses' as 'most probably').
8 Don't read newspapers for the news (just for the gossip and, of course, profiles of authors). The best filter to know if the news matters is if you hear it in cafes, restaurants... or (again) parties.
9 Hard work will get you a professorship or a BMW. You need both work and luck for a Booker, a Nobel or a private jet.
10 Answer e-mails from junior people before more senior ones. Junior people have further to go and tend to remember who slighted them.
He is telling me how to live. "The only way you can say 'F*** you' to fate is by saying it's not going to affect how I live. So if somebody puts you to death, make sure you shave."
After lunch he takes me to Circuit City to buy two Olympus voice recorders, one for me and one for him. The one for him is to record his lectures – he charges about $60,000 for speaking engagements, so the $100 recorder is probably worth it. The one for me is because the day before he had drowned my Olympus with earl grey tea and, as he keeps saying, "I owe you." It didn't matter because I always use two recorders and, anyway, I had bought a replacement the next morning.
But it's important and it's not, strictly speaking, a cost to him. Every year he puts a few thousand dollars aside for contingencies – parking tickets, tea spills – and at the end of the year he gives what's left to charity. The money is gone from day one, so unexpected losses cause no pain. Now I have three Olympus recorders.
He spilt the tea – bear with me; this is important – while grabbing at his BlackBerry. He was agitated, reading every incoming e-mail, because the Indian consulate in New York had held on to his passport and he needed it to fly to Bermuda. People were being mobilised in New York and, for some reason, France, to get the passport.
The important thing is this: the lost passport and the spilt tea were black swans, bad birds that are always lurking, just out of sight, to catch you unawares and wreck your plans. Sometimes, however, they are good birds. The recorders cost $20 less than the marked price owing to a labelling screw-up at Circuit City. Stuff happens. The world is random, intrinsically unknowable. "You will never," he says, "be able to control randomness."
To explain: black swans were discovered in Australia. Before that, any reasonable person could assume the all-swans-are-white theory was unassailable. But the sight of just one black swan detonated that theory. Every theory we have about the human world and about the future is vulnerable to the black swan, the unexpected event. We sail in fragile vessels across a raging sea of uncertainty.
"The world we live in is vastly different from the world we think we live in."
Last May, Taleb published The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable. It said, among many other things, that most economists, and almost all bankers, are subhuman and very, very dangerous. They live in a fantasy world in which the future can be controlled by sophisticated mathematical models and elaborate risk-management systems. Bankers and economists scorned and raged at Taleb. He didn't understand, they said. A few months later, the full global implications of the sub-prime-driven credit crunch became clear. The world banking system still teeters on the edge of meltdown. Taleb had been vindicated. "It was my greatest vindication. But to me that wasn't a black swan; it was a white swan. I knew it would happen and I said so. It was a black swan to Ben Bernanke [the chairman of the Federal Reserve]. I wouldn't use him to drive my car. These guys are dangerous. They're not qualified in their own field."
In December he lectured bankers at Société Générale, France's second biggest bank. He told them they were sitting on a mountain of risks – a menagerie of black swans. They didn't believe him. Six weeks later the rogue trader and black swan Jérôme Kerviel landed them with $7.2 billion of losses.
As a result, Taleb is now the hottest thinker in the world. He has a $4m advance on his next book. He gives about 30 presentations a year to bankers, economists, traders, even to Nasa, the US Fire Administration and the Department of Homeland Security. But he doesn't tell them what to do – he doesn't know. He just tells them how the world is. "I'm not a guru. I'm just describing a problem and saying, 'You deal with it.'"
Getting to know Taleb is a highly immersive experience. Everything matters. "Why are you not dressed Californian?" he asks at our first meeting. Everything in Newport Beach is very Californian. I'm wearing a jacket: it's cold. He's wearing shorts and a polo shirt. Clothes matter; they send signals. He warns against trusting anybody who wears a tie – "You have to ask, 'Why is he wearing a tie?'"
He has rules. In California he hires bikes, not cars. He doesn't usually carry his BlackBerry because he hates distraction and he really hates phone charges. But he does carry an Apple laptop everywhere and constantly uses it to illustrate complex points and seek out references. He says he answers every e-mail. He is sent thousands. He reads for 60 hours a week, but almost never a newspaper, and he never watches television.
"If something is going on, I hear about it. I like to talk to people, I socialise. Television is a waste of time. Human contact is what matters."
But the biggest rule of all is his eccentric and punishing diet and exercise programme. He's been on it for three months and he's lost 20lb. He's following the thinking of Arthur De Vany, an economist – of the acceptable type – turned fitness guru. The theory is that we eat and exercise according to our evolved natures. Early man did not eat carbs, so they're out. He did not exercise regularly and he did not suffer long-term stress by having an annoying boss. Exercise must be irregular and ferocious – Taleb often does four hours in the gym or 360 press-ups and then nothing for 10 days. Jogging is useless; sprinting is good. He likes to knacker himself completely before a long flight. Stress should also be irregular and ferocious – early men did not have bad bosses, but they did occasionally run into lions.
He's always hungry. At both lunches he orders three salads, which he makes me share. Our conversation swings from high philosophy and low economics back to dietary matters like mangoes – bad – and apples – good as long as they are of an old variety. New ones are bred for sugar content. His regime works. He looks great – springy and fit. He shows me an old identity card. He is fat and middle-aged in the photo. He looks 10 years younger than that. "Look at me! That photo was taken seven years ago. No carbs!"
This is risk management – facing up to those aspects of randomness about which something can be done. Some years ago he narrowly survived throat cancer. The change in his voice was at first misdiagnosed as damaged vocal cords from his time on the trading floor. It can recur. Also he has a high familial risk of diabetes. He is convinced the diet of civilisation – full of carbs and sugar – is the problem. The grand doctors who once announced that complex carbohydrates are good for you are, to him, criminals responsible for thousands of deaths.
So, you are wondering, who is this guy? He was born in 1960 in Lebanon, though he casts doubt on both these "facts". The year is "close enough" – he doesn't like to give out his birth date because of identity theft and he doesn't believe in national character. He has, however, a regional identity; he calls himself a Levantine, a member of the indecipherably complex eastern Mediterranean civilisation. "My body and soul are Mediterranean."
Both maternal and paternal antecedents are grand, privileged and politically prominent. They are also Christian – Greek Orthodox. Startlingly, this great sceptic, this non-guru who believes in nothing, is still a practising Christian. He regards with some contempt the militant atheism movement led by Richard Dawkins.
"Scientists don't know what they are talking about when they talk about religion. Religion has nothing to do with belief, and I don't believe it has any negative impact on people's lives outside of intolerance. Why do I go to church? It's like asking, why did you marry that woman? You make up reasons, but it's probably just smell. I love the smell of candles. It's an aesthetic thing."
Take away religion, he says, and people start believing in nationalism, which has killed far more people. Religion is also a good way of handling uncertainty. It lowers blood pressure. He's convinced that religious people take fewer financial risks.
He was educated at a French school. Three traditions formed him: Greek Orthodox, French Catholic and Arab. They also taught him to disbelieve conventional wisdom. Each tradition had a different history of the crusades, utterly different. This led him to disbelieve historians almost as much as he does bankers.
But, crucially, he also learnt from a very early age that grown-ups have a dodgy grasp of probability. It was in the midst of the Lebanese civil war and, hiding from the guns and bombs, he heard adults repeatedly say the war would soon be over. It lasted 15 years. He became obsessed with probability and, after a degree in management from the Wharton business school at Pennsylvania University, he focused on probability for his PhD at the University of Paris.
For the non-mathematician, probability is an indecipherably complex field. But Taleb makes it easy by proving all the mathematics wrong. Let me introduce you to Brooklyn-born Fat Tony and academically inclined Dr John, two of Taleb's creations. You toss a coin 40 times and it comes up heads every time. What is the chance of it coming up heads the 41st time? Dr John gives the answer drummed into the heads of every statistic student: 50/50. Fat Tony shakes his head and says the chances are no more than 1%. "You are either full of crap," he says, "or a pure sucker to buy that 50% business. The coin gotta be loaded."
The chances of a coin coming up heads 41 times are so small as to be effectively impossible in this universe. It is far, far more likely that somebody is cheating. Fat Tony wins. Dr John is the sucker. And the one thing that drives Taleb more than anything else is the determination not to be a sucker. Dr John is the economist or banker who thinks he can manage risk through mathematics. Fat Tony relies only on what happens in the real world.
In 1985, Taleb discovered how he could play Fat Tony in the markets. France, Germany, Japan, Britain and America signed an agreement to push down the value of the dollar. Taleb was working as an options trader at a French bank. He held options that had cost him almost nothing and that bet on the dollar's decline. Suddenly they were worth a fortune. He became obsessed with buying "out of the money" options. He had realised that when markets rise they tend to rise by small amounts, but when they fall – usually hit by a black swan – they fall a long way.
The big payoff came on October 19, 1987 – Black Monday. It was the biggest market drop in modern history. "That had vastly more influence on my thought than any other event in history."
It was a huge black swan – nobody had expected it, not even Taleb. But the point was, he was ready. He was sitting on a pile of out-of-the-money eurodollar options. So, while others were considering suicide, Taleb was sitting on profits of $35m to $40m. He had what he calls his "f***-off money", money that would allow him to walk away from any job and support him in his long-term desire to be a writer and philosopher.
He stayed on Wall Street until he got bored and moved to Chicago to become a trader in the pit, the open-outcry market run by the world's most sceptical people, all Fat Tonys. This he understood.
His first book, Dynamic Hedging: Managing Vanilla and Exotic Options, came out in 1997. He was moving away from being a pure trader, or "quant" – a quantitative analyst who applies sophisticated maths to investments – to being the philosopher he wanted to be. He was using the vast data pool provided by the markets and combining it with a sophisticated grasp of epistemology, the study of how and what we know, to form a synthesis unique in the modern world.
In the midst of this came his purest vindication prior to sub-prime. Long-Term Capital Management was a hedge fund set up in 1994 by, among others, Myron Scholes and Robert C Merton, joint winners of the 1997 Nobel prize in economics. It had the grandest of all possible credentials and used the most sophisticated academic theories of portfolio management. It went bust in 1998 and, because it had positions worth $1.25 trillion outstanding, it almost took the financial system down with it. Modern portfolio theory had not accounted for the black swan, the Russian financial crisis of that year. Taleb regards the Nobel prize in economics as a disgrace, a laughable endorsement of the worst kind of Dr John economics. Fat Tony should get the Nobel, but he's too smart. "People say to me, 'If economists are so incompetent, why do people listen to them?' I say, 'They don't listen, they're just teaching birds how to fly.' "
Taleb created his own hedge fund, Empirica, designed to help other hedge funds hedge their risks by using a refined form of his options wins – running small losses in quiet times and winning big in turbulent markets. It did okay but, after a good first year, performed poorly when the market went though a quiet spell. He's still involved in the markets, but mainly as a hobby – "like chess".
Finally, with two books – Fooled by Randomness: The Hidden Role of Chance in the Markets and in Life, and The Black Swan – and a stream of academic papers, he turned himself into one of the giants of modern thought. They're still trying to tear him down, of course; last year The American Statistician journal devoted a whole issue to attacking The Black Swan. But I wouldn't bother. A bad but rather ignorant review in The New York Times resulted in such a savage rebuttal from Taleb on his website, www.fooledbyrandomness.com, that reviewers across the US pulled out in fear of his wrath. He knows his stuff and he keeps being right.
And what he knows does not sound good. The sub-prime crisis is not over and could get worse. Even if the US economy survives this one, it will remain a mountain of risk and delusion. "America is the greatest financial risk you can think of."
Its primary problem is that both banks and government are staffed by academic economists running their deluded models. Britain and Europe have better prospects because our economists tend to be more pragmatic, adapting to conditions rather than following models. But still we are dependent on American folly.
The central point is that we have created a world we don't understand. There's a place he calls Mediocristan. This was where early humans lived. Most events happened within a narrow range of probabilities – within the bell-curve distribution still taught to statistics students. But we don't live there any more. We live in Extremistan, where black swans proliferate, winners tend to take all and the rest get nothing – there's Bill Gates, Steve Jobs and a lot of software writers living in a garage, there's Domingo and a thousand opera singers working in Starbucks. Our systems are complex but over-efficient. They have no redundancy, so a black swan strikes everybody at once. The banking system is the worst of all.
"Complex systems don't allow for slack and everybody protects that system. The banking system doesn't have that slack. In a normal ecology, banks go bankrupt every day. But in a complex system there is a tendency to cluster around powerful units. Every bank becomes the same bank so they can all go bust together."
He points out, chillingly, that banks make money from two sources. They take interest on our current accounts and charge us for services. This is easy, safe money. But they also take risks, big risks, with the whole panoply of loans, mortgages, derivatives and any other weird scam they can dream up. "Banks have never made a penny out of this, not a penny. They do well for a while and then lose it all in a big crash."
On top of that, Taleb has shown that increased economic concentration has raised our vulnerability to natural disasters. The Kobe earthquake of 1995 cost a lot more than the Tokyo earthquake of 1923. And there are countless other ways in which we have built a world ruled by black swans – some good but mostly bad. So what do we do as individuals and the world? In the case of the world, Taleb doesn't know. He doesn't make predictions, he insults people paid to do so by telling them to get another job. All forecasts about the oil price, for example, are always wrong, though people keep doing it. But he knows how the world will end.
"Governments and policy makers don't understand the world in which we live, so if somebody is going to destroy the world, it is the Bank of England saving Northern Rock. The biggest danger to human society comes from civil servants in an environment like this. In their attempt to control the ecology, they don't understand that the link between action and consequences can be more vicious. Civil servants say they need to make forecasts, but it's totally irresponsible to make people rely on you without telling them you're incompetent."
Bear Stearns – the US Northern Rock – was another vindication for Taleb. He's always said that whatever deal you do, you always end up dealing with J P Morgan. It was JPM that picked up Bear at a bargain-basement price. Banks should be more like New York restaurants. They come and go but the restaurant business as a whole survives and thrives and the food gets better. Banks fail but bankers still get millions in bonuses for applying their useless models. Restaurants tinker, they work by trial and error and watch real results in the real world. Taleb believes in tinkering – it was to be the title of his next book. Trial and error will save us from ourselves because they capture benign black swans. Look at the three big inventions of our time: lasers, computers and the internet. They were all produced by tinkering and none of them ended up doing what their inventors intended them to do. All were black swans. The big hope for the world is that, as we tinker, we have a capacity for choosing the best outcomes.
"We have the ability to identify our mistakes eventually better than average; that's what saves us." We choose the iPod over the Walkman. Medicine improved exponentially when the tinkering barber surgeons took over from the high theorists. They just went with what worked, irrespective of why it worked. Our sense of the good tinker is not infallible, but it might be just enough to turn away from the apocalypse that now threatens Extremistan.
He also wants to see diplomats dying of cirrhosis of the liver. It means they're talking and drinking and not going to war. Parties are among the great good things in Taleb's world.
And you and me? Well, the good investment strategy is to put 90% of your money in the safest possible government securities and the remaining 10% in a large number of high-risk ventures. This insulates you from bad black swans and exposes you to the possibility of good ones. Your smallest investment could go "convex" – explode – and make you rich. High-tech companies are the best. The downside risk is low if you get in at the start and the upside very high. Banks are the worst – all the risk is downside. Don't be tempted to play the stock market – "If people knew the risks they'd never invest."
There's much more to Taleb's view of the world than that. He is reluctant to talk about matters of human nature, ethics or any of the traditional concerns of philosophy because he says he hasn't read enough. But, when pressed, he comes alive.
"You have to worry about things you can do something about. I worry about people not being there and I want to make them aware." We should be mistrustful of knowledge. It is bad for us. Give a bookie 10 pieces of information about a race and he'll pick his horses. Give him 50 and his picks will be no better, but he will, fatally, be more confident.
We should be ecologically conservative – global warming may or may not be happening but why pollute the planet? – and probablistically conservative. The latter, however, has its limits. Nobody, not even Taleb, can live the sceptical life all the time – "It's an art, it's hard work." So he doesn't worry about crossing the road and doesn't lock his front door – "I can't start getting paranoid about that stuff." His wife locks it, however.
He believes in aristocratic – though not, he insists, elitist – values: elegance of manner and mind, grace under pressure, which is why you must shave before being executed. He believes in the Mediterranean way of talking and listening. One piece of advice he gives everybody is: go to lots of parties and listen, you might learn something by exposing yourself to black swans.
I ask him what he thinks are the primary human virtues, and eventually he comes up with magnanimity – punish your enemies but don't bear grudges; compassion – fairness always trumps efficiency; courage – very few people have this; and tenacity – tinker until it works for you.
"Let's be human the way we are human. Homo sum – I am a man. Don't accept any Olympian view of man and you will do better in society."
Above all, accept randomness. Accept that the world is opaque, majestically unknown and unknowable. From its depths emerge the black swans that can destroy us or make us free. Right now they're killing us, so remember to shave. But we can tinker our way out of it. It's what we do best. Listen to Taleb, an ancient figure, one of the great Mediterranean minds, when he says: "You find peace by coming to terms with what you don't know." Oh, and watch those carbs
Taleb's top life tips
1 Scepticism is effortful and costly. It is better to be sceptical about matters of large consequences, and be imperfect, foolish and human in the small and the aesthetic.
2 Go to parties. You can't even start to know what you may find on the envelope of serendipity. If you suffer from agoraphobia, send colleagues.
3 It's not a good idea to take a forecast from someone wearing a tie. If possible, tease people who take themselves and their knowledge too seriously.
4 Wear your best for your execution and stand dignified. Your last recourse against randomness is how you act — if you can't control outcomes, you can control the elegance of your behaviour. You will always have the last word.
5 Don't disturb complicated systems that have been around for a very long time. We don't understand their logic. Don't pollute the planet. Leave it the way we found it, regardless of scientific 'evidence'.
6 Learn to fail with pride — and do so fast and cleanly. Maximise trial and error — by mastering the error part.
7 Avoid losers. If you hear someone use the words 'impossible', 'never', 'too difficult' too often, drop him or her from your social network. Never take 'no' for an answer (conversely, take most 'yeses' as 'most probably').
8 Don't read newspapers for the news (just for the gossip and, of course, profiles of authors). The best filter to know if the news matters is if you hear it in cafes, restaurants... or (again) parties.
9 Hard work will get you a professorship or a BMW. You need both work and luck for a Booker, a Nobel or a private jet.
10 Answer e-mails from junior people before more senior ones. Junior people have further to go and tend to remember who slighted them.
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A lament for the death of the left
Yasmin Alibhai-Brown: A lament for the death of the left as a political force
Most depressing is the sight of black and Asian Britons following the wind blowing Tories to victory
Monday, 2 June 2008
"The best champagne and the best people" I was told, celebrated the launch of Standpoint, a magazine aiming to "celebrate Western civilisation", to reassert its dominance, shaken up by the effrontery of 9/11. It is edited by Daniel Johnson, son of Paul Johnson, the leftie who turned rabid right. His other son Luke, a libertarian, presides over Channel4 as chairman. Enthusiastic guests included Sir Tom Stoppard, Sir Vidia Naipaul, Frank Field and Nasir Ali, Bishop of Rochester, who appears to want to compel us all to join his church.
The sun now rises on the right and those of us on the other side are left despondent as we anticipate a prolonged winter of discontent. We, who believe in fairness, equality, human rights and universal justice, are of no consequence. The fever of failure consumes our hopes and there is no relief as we witness the collapse of the British Left and the ideals that defined post-war advancement in this country, turning an obstinately class-riven, imperial nation into a model of progressive politics.
Local election results show the country lurching right, in some parts even embracing the BNP. Instead of condemning the scum, Britons are instructed to "understand" why these voters are "driven" to vote for neo-Nazis. We are simultaneously warned to show no such understanding of young Muslims who are seduced by hate-filled Imams. White resentment of "foreigners" is no more respectable than Muslim hatred of Westerners. Yet in our unequal world it is.
The coup was complete when Boris took over our London, world city, colourful home of mavericks, revolutionaries and monarchs, radicals and cultural conformists, money makers and penniless refugees, the hopeless and hopeful. And so power inexorably shifts towards authoritarianism, new imperial arrogance and design (bafflingly known as "liberal intervention"), fundamentalist Christian revivalism, enforced assimilation ("You WILL love and only ever praise this country"), racism and cultural protectionism, Anglo-Saxon privilege and unregulated capitalism which creates both appalling levels of wealth and poverty. The media serves the new master class and credo, with some notable exceptions.
How did we get here? Are right-wing ideas and policies irresistible to the British public (always more conservative than most European partners) and is this a return to the natural state of this nation? Or do we blame the wretched cowardice of the Left, which took power by surrendering its body and soul? Labour elected Tony Blair as leader knowing he was never a socialist; he continued Thatcherism, only with the zeal and underlying self-doubt of someone who felt trapped in political disguise. She stood as an equal to Reagan; Blair was a supplicant to Bush.
Meanwhile, Gordon Brown is too scared to be the authentic leftie he was believed to be and instead flaps around, allies himself with preposterously extreme measures, so extreme that Cameron, can, with easy conscience oppose them.
Banging up suspect terrorists for forty two days in detention without charge is exactly that kind of Big Boy gesture that reveals wobbly conviction, shaky commitment to those principles that make this nation a free and great democracy.
Almost more depressing is the sight of black and Asian Britons following the wind blowing the Tories to victory. Boris has recruited Afro Caribbean "leaders" who believe in physical chastisement and smart young Asians who deny the existence of racism and want an end to political correctness. The more old-fashioned Uncle Toms and their female equivalents are now expediently making themselves known to the Tories and right-wing think tanks.
For reasons I have yet to fathom, two weeks ago, I was invited to address a meeting at the House of Lords organised by the Conservative Muslim Forum. The room was full and the discussion on Muslim women lively. Many there were previously New Labour acolytes; others were young and ambitious and now devoted to the charismatic Cameron. To see such enthusiasm for a party whose members have always opposed our presence on these shores was a wake-up slap. All over now. The right has crushed the left.
By the time our time comes around again, I will be pushing up the daisies or dancing half naked in some home for sufferers of senile dementia, a blessing perhaps, to be lost in irreversible lunacy and never again to care about what happens to politics. Still, between now and then there will be plenty to moan about.
Most depressing is the sight of black and Asian Britons following the wind blowing Tories to victory
Monday, 2 June 2008
"The best champagne and the best people" I was told, celebrated the launch of Standpoint, a magazine aiming to "celebrate Western civilisation", to reassert its dominance, shaken up by the effrontery of 9/11. It is edited by Daniel Johnson, son of Paul Johnson, the leftie who turned rabid right. His other son Luke, a libertarian, presides over Channel4 as chairman. Enthusiastic guests included Sir Tom Stoppard, Sir Vidia Naipaul, Frank Field and Nasir Ali, Bishop of Rochester, who appears to want to compel us all to join his church.
The sun now rises on the right and those of us on the other side are left despondent as we anticipate a prolonged winter of discontent. We, who believe in fairness, equality, human rights and universal justice, are of no consequence. The fever of failure consumes our hopes and there is no relief as we witness the collapse of the British Left and the ideals that defined post-war advancement in this country, turning an obstinately class-riven, imperial nation into a model of progressive politics.
Local election results show the country lurching right, in some parts even embracing the BNP. Instead of condemning the scum, Britons are instructed to "understand" why these voters are "driven" to vote for neo-Nazis. We are simultaneously warned to show no such understanding of young Muslims who are seduced by hate-filled Imams. White resentment of "foreigners" is no more respectable than Muslim hatred of Westerners. Yet in our unequal world it is.
The coup was complete when Boris took over our London, world city, colourful home of mavericks, revolutionaries and monarchs, radicals and cultural conformists, money makers and penniless refugees, the hopeless and hopeful. And so power inexorably shifts towards authoritarianism, new imperial arrogance and design (bafflingly known as "liberal intervention"), fundamentalist Christian revivalism, enforced assimilation ("You WILL love and only ever praise this country"), racism and cultural protectionism, Anglo-Saxon privilege and unregulated capitalism which creates both appalling levels of wealth and poverty. The media serves the new master class and credo, with some notable exceptions.
How did we get here? Are right-wing ideas and policies irresistible to the British public (always more conservative than most European partners) and is this a return to the natural state of this nation? Or do we blame the wretched cowardice of the Left, which took power by surrendering its body and soul? Labour elected Tony Blair as leader knowing he was never a socialist; he continued Thatcherism, only with the zeal and underlying self-doubt of someone who felt trapped in political disguise. She stood as an equal to Reagan; Blair was a supplicant to Bush.
Meanwhile, Gordon Brown is too scared to be the authentic leftie he was believed to be and instead flaps around, allies himself with preposterously extreme measures, so extreme that Cameron, can, with easy conscience oppose them.
Banging up suspect terrorists for forty two days in detention without charge is exactly that kind of Big Boy gesture that reveals wobbly conviction, shaky commitment to those principles that make this nation a free and great democracy.
Almost more depressing is the sight of black and Asian Britons following the wind blowing the Tories to victory. Boris has recruited Afro Caribbean "leaders" who believe in physical chastisement and smart young Asians who deny the existence of racism and want an end to political correctness. The more old-fashioned Uncle Toms and their female equivalents are now expediently making themselves known to the Tories and right-wing think tanks.
For reasons I have yet to fathom, two weeks ago, I was invited to address a meeting at the House of Lords organised by the Conservative Muslim Forum. The room was full and the discussion on Muslim women lively. Many there were previously New Labour acolytes; others were young and ambitious and now devoted to the charismatic Cameron. To see such enthusiasm for a party whose members have always opposed our presence on these shores was a wake-up slap. All over now. The right has crushed the left.
By the time our time comes around again, I will be pushing up the daisies or dancing half naked in some home for sufferers of senile dementia, a blessing perhaps, to be lost in irreversible lunacy and never again to care about what happens to politics. Still, between now and then there will be plenty to moan about.
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