The danger in talking past each other

Tabish Khair in The Hindu






Gossip plays a crucial role in one of our greatest epics. I am talking of the Ramayana, and what Sita has to undergo as a consequence of, yes, gossip after she has been rescued by Rama. Of course, distrust of gossip is also stressed by other religions, including Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Islam goes so far as to consider gossip to be the moral equivalent of sibling cannibalism.

The more things change

But, alas, we seem to have forgotten – and new technical developments have encouraged us to forget. Because if there is something that social media reminds me of most, it is not conversation, not discussion, not even argument; it is gossip.

Conversations, discussions, even arguments are basically reciprocal. You know who is talking and who is listening. You know where the words are coming from, and hence you know what they are intended for, or can at least guess. Being reciprocal, they have limits, both temporal and spatial. But gossip is not reciprocal; it circulates endlessly. It mutates and infects like a virus; it is alive and dead at the same time. In this, again, it resembles social media.

Gossip has no fixed source or end. There are no limits to gossip; the more outrageous it is, the more it tends to spread. In this again, it is like ‘information’ on social media. Actually, given the way in which Twitter and Facebook work, it pays to be outrageous and polemical. The more people you offend, the more visible your posts get — the more your ‘gossip’ circulates. So-called polarisation is inevitable in such a situation. Gossip is also embedded in polarisation of the sort that social media basically enables — because it can be faceless and highly mobile, two essential characteristics of gossip.

There is a convincing argument, which I have made in my column earlier, that digitalised communication makes it easier to evade difference, and to stereotype and ridicule it. In other words, it is easier to avoid facing the other on computers. At its simplest, this can be explained with reference to an ordinary conversation: in a conversation (unlike in gossip), one faces the other, and this face-to-face interaction often modulates both the positions despite differences. Healthy politics depends on such conversations, which include but also absorb arguments. When polarised arguments end the conversation, we move from politics to war: one can argue that countries can exist in this state of war internally too.

Disturbingly, in digitalised interactions one need not engage with the other; one can simply ‘unfriend’ a person one disagrees with (as Donald Trump regularly does) — or only accept Facebook friends one agrees with. Once again, this aids political polarisation, which is not really a serious and respectful engagement with differences but a kind of gossiping about it. More so because one does not really read social media postings much of the time, given the non-contemplative and distracting nature of the medium. Like gossip, one repeats it or ignores it depending on what one already believes.

Lost engagement

If reading was just a mechanical act — which is what it appears to be much of the time on social media — then perhaps political polarisation would be the inevitable state of human communication. But that is not so. Reading involves the kind of personal investment and deep attention that goes beyond the mechanical. It calls for time and effort. It forces the reader to enter other – different – spaces. Hence, Facebook, Twitter and other digital media posts (and responses to them) are not acts of reading: these are incredibly flat activities. They lack depth. They do not enable a conversation. At best, they resemble gossip: talking in a one-sided, flat manner about someone who is not present and, hence, cannot engage you in a discussion.

Real conversation requires depth, consideration and contemplation. It sets out to accomplish an understanding – and hence a change on both (all) sides. That is also what real reading does. Reading on social media — and much of digitalised reading – does not resemble a conversation. It resembles gossip — and is just as superficial, incidental and shallow.

It is true that gossiping is considered to serve at least three crucial purposes. Scholars often define these in terms of social bonding, the creation of cooperative reputation, and indirect reciprocity. But here again, a degree of nuance is necessary. Gossip creates social bonding in terms of innuendo, prejudice, prejudgment (which is etymologically the source of ‘prejudice’), etc. Such ‘social bonding’ is negative – and definitely detrimental to democracy. Something similar can be said of ‘cooperative reputation’ – the words ‘cooperative’ can be replaced by ‘coercive’ in the context of gossiping. And ‘indirect reciprocity’ in the case of gossip is not an engagement with the other; it is a framing and dismissing of the other. Gossip, by its very nature, takes place behind the victim’s back.

In all these respects, much of what exists on social media is not conversation or even argument. It is sheer gossip — in content, context and structure. We ignore this aspect of social media when it fits our prejudices, even though we know that gossip, especially when it is not recognised as gossip, can cause much damage. Or at least we Indians should know this: we have the latter part of the Ramayana.

The secret joys of schadenfreude

Tiffany Watt Smith in The Guardian

Recently I went to my corner shop to buy some milk. I found myself pausing by the celebrity gossip magazines. My first instinct, just in case someone was listening in on my thoughts, was to think: “Ugh, who buys these terrible magazines?” Then I picked one up. There was the cellulite, the weight gained and lost, the bingo wings circled in red. My favourite story was an interview with a pop star, or perhaps a model, who lived in a luxury mansion. I’m the sort of person who usually curdles with envy on hearing about someone’s luxury mansion. But this was different. The story was about how she was lonely. Tragically lonely following a break-up.

I looked about and took the magazine to the till. There was a warm sensation working its way across my chest. I felt lucky. No, that’s not it. I felt smug. This is a confession. I love daytime TV. I smoke, even though I officially gave up years ago. I’m often late, and usually lie about why. And sometimes I feel good when others feel bad.

The Japanese have a saying: “The misfortune of others tastes like honey.” The French speak of joie maligne, a diabolical delight in other people’s suffering. In Danish it is skadefryd; in Hebrew, simcha la-ed; in Mandarin, xìng-zāi-lè-huò; in Russian, zloradstvo; and for the Melanesians who live on the remote Nissan Atoll in Papua New Guinea, it is banbanam. Two millennia ago, the Romans spoke of malevolentia. Earlier still, the Greeks described epichairekakia (literally epi, over, chairo, rejoice, kakia, disgrace). A study in Würzburg in Germany carried out in 2015 found that football fans smiled more quickly and broadly when their rival team missed a penalty, than when their own team scored. “To see others suffer does one good,” wrote the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche. “This is a hard saying, but a mighty, human, all-too-human principle.”

There has never really been a word for these grubby delights in English. In the 1500s, someone attempted to introduce “epicaricacy” from the ancient Greek, but it didn’t catch on. There could only be one conclusion: as a journalist in the Spectator asserted in 1926, “There is no English word for schadenfreude because there is no such feeling here.” He was wrong, of course.

‘It’s part of many of our cherished communal rituals, from sports to gossip’: model Siobhan at Hired Hands; make-up Grace Ellington; nails Naima Coleman. Photograph: Ilka and Franz for the Observer

I’m British, and enjoying other people’s mishaps and misery feels as much part of my culture as teabags and talking about the weather. “For what do we live but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?” proclaims Mr Bennet in that most quintessentially English of novels, Pride and Prejudice. Nothing unites us more strongly in self-righteous joy than an MP caught cooking the books. We’re even not averse to schadenfreude at our own expense: as George Orwell once remarked, the English are unique for celebrating not military triumphs, but disasters (“Into the valley of death rode the 600...”).

We know how to enjoy failures. But ask us to name this enjoyment, and our language falls into a hypocritical silence. It averts its gaze and squirms. And so we adopted the German word. From schaden, meaning damage or harm, and freude, meaning joy or pleasure: damage-joy.

No one likes to think about their flaws, but in them so much of what makes us human is revealed. Enjoying other people’s misfortunes might sound simple – a mere glint of malice, a flick of spite. But look closer and you’ll glimpse some of the most hidden yet important parts of our lives.

When I pay attention to the pleasures I might feel in others’ disasters, I am struck by the variety of tastes and textures involved. There is the glee at incompetence – not just of skiers faceplanting in the snow, but at screw-ups of implausible magnitude: when Nasa lost a $125m Mars orbiter because half the team were using imperial measurements and the other, metric. Then there is the self-righteous satisfaction I get when hypocrites are exposed: a politician accidentally tweets a picture of his erection (he meant to send it directly to his intern). And of course, there is the inner triumph of seeing a rival falter. The other day, in the coffee shop, a colleague asked if I’d got the promotion I’d gone for. No, I said. And I noticed, at the corner of his mouth, the barely perceptible twitch of a grin before the tumble of commiserations. Oh bad luck. Ah, their loss, the idiots. And I was tempted to ask: “Did you just smile?” But I didn’t. Because when he loses out – as he sometimes does – I know I experience a happy twinge, too.

Sometimes it is easy to share our delight, reposting memes of a disgraced politician’s resignation speech. Far harder to acknowledge are those spasms of relief which accompany the bad news of our successful friends and relatives. They come involuntarily, these confusing bursts of pleasure, swirled through with shame. And they worry us – not just because we fear that our lack of compassion says something terrible about us – because they point so clearly to our envy and inferiority, and how we clutch at the disappointments of others in order to feel better about our own.

When my brother took his kids on a fabulous summer holiday to America, I felt bad because I never take my kids anywhere since it’s too much effort and too expensive. And then I saw his Facebook status: it rained.

  Whoops! Careful you don’t slip up. Photograph: Ilka & Franz for the Observer

Today schadenfreude is all around us. It’s there in the way we do politics, how we treat celebrities, in online fail videos. But these heady pleasures are shot through with unease. Moralists have long despised schadenfreude. The philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer called it “an infallible sign of a thoroughly bad heart and profound moral worthlessness”, the worst trait in human nature. (He also said that anyone caught enjoying the suffering of others should be shunned from human society. Which made me sweat a bit.)

I have come to believe that Schopenhauer was wrong. When the word schadenfreude first appeared in English writing in 1853, it caused great excitement. This was probably not the intention of RC Trench, the archbishop of Dublin, who first mentioned it in On the Study of Words. For Trench, the mere existence of the word was unholy and fearful, a “mournful record of the strange wickednesses which the genius of man has invented”.

His fellow Victorians adopted the word for a range of pleasures, from hilarity to self-righteous vindication, from triumph to relief. In the 1890s, animal-rights campaigner Frances Power Cobbe wrote a manifesto entitled Schadenfreude, identifying the emotion with the bloodlust of boys torturing stray cats for fun.

We still associate many different pleasures with this word, unclear perhaps exactly what it means in the original, or where its perimeters lie. But looking at how the word has been used in English it is possible to identify repeated themes. Schadenfreude is usually thought of as a spectator sport – opportunistically enjoying someone’s misfortune rather than gloating at pain you’ve caused yourself. We usually think of it as a furtive emotion, and no wonder. We might be worried not just about looking malicious, but that our schadenfreude exposes our other flaws, too – our pettiness, our envy, our feelings of inadequacy.

Another feature of schadenfreude is that we often feel entitled to it when the suffering can be construed as a comeuppance – a deserved punishment for being smug or hypocritical, or breaking the law. So we relish our moral superiority (usually only at a safe distance). In 2015, US pastor Tony Perkins said that floods were sent by God to punish abortion and gay marriage. And then his own house flooded and he had to escape in a canoe. Even the ever-impartial BBC enjoyed this story, posing aerial pictures of the flooded house next to his controversial “God is trying to send us a message” interview.

Schadenfreude is usually thought of as glee at discomforts and gaffes rather than at tragedies and deaths. But this rule isn’t hard and fast, and context matters. We are willing to see celebrities, or people from the remote past, endure horrors that would dismay us if they were happening now or to our friends. All emotions are what psychologists call “cognitive” – in other words, not simply reflex reactions to external triggers, but complex processes requiring us to appraise and judge our relationship with the world around us and tailor our responses accordingly.

Sometimes we judge wrongly, and our schadenfreude leaves us feeling morally awkward. There is an episode of The Simpsons in which Homer’s infuriatingly perfect neighbour Ned Flanders opens a shop, The Leftorium. Given the chance to imagine three wishes, Homer fantasises that Ned’s business collapses. First, he sees the shop empty of customers, then Flanders turning out his pockets, then Flanders begging the bailiffs. It is only when Homer imagines Flanders’s grave, Flanders’s children weeping beside it, that he stops himself. “Too far,” he says, and quickly rewinds to the image of the bankrupt shop.

These questions about how and why we enjoy the pain of others – what is acceptable, what is “too far” – have featured in some of the greatest works of philosophy and literature for over 2,000 years. But arguably the urgency to understand schadenfreude has never been so great as today.

In December 2008, a reader of the New York Times lamented that we are living in a “golden age of schadenfreude”. Similar phrases have appeared since on blogs and in op-eds. Truthfully, we can’t ever know whether we are actually experiencing more schadenfreude than before. It certainly seems a more obvious feature of our collective lives, since what used to be hidden or else communicated in fleeting sniggers by the water cooler is now preserved forever in “likes” and “shares” in the digital aspic.

There has been an explosion of research. Before 2000, barely any academic articles were published with the word “schadenfreude” in the title. Now even a cursory search throws up hundreds, from neuroscience to philosophy to management studies. What is driving all this interest? No doubt it is partly motivated by our attempts to understand life in the internet age, where sniggering at other people, once often socially inappropriate, now comes with less risk. Just as important, in my view, is our growing commitment to empathy. The capacity to attune ourselves to other people’s suffering is highly prized today – and rightly so. Putting ourselves in another’s shoes impacts on our ability to lead others, to parent, to be a decent partner and friend. And the more important empathy becomes, the more obnoxious schadenfreude seems.

It is not just Victorian moralists who recoil from it. Today’s humanists find it awkward, too. Schadenfreude has been called “empathy’s shadow”, casting the two as fundamentally incompatible. Psychologist Simon Baron-Cohen has pointed out that psychopaths are not only detached from other people’s suffering but even enjoy it: “The Germans have a word for this,” writes Baron-Cohen. With all this swirling around, it’s little wonder that even when schadenfreude feels right, it also feels very wrong.

Yet schadenfreude has its benefits – a quick win which alleviates inferiority or envy; a way of bonding over the failure of a smug colleague. But it is also a testament to our capacity for emotional flexibility, our ability to hold apparently contradictory thoughts and feelings in mind simultaneously. Dostoyevsky knew that schadenfreude and sympathy are not either/or responses, but can be felt all at once. When, in Crime and Punishment, Marmeladov is brought, bloodied and unconscious, into the St Petersburg tenement where he lives following an accident, all the residents crowd round. They experience, wrote Dostoyevsky, “that strange sense of inner satisfaction that always manifests itself, even among the victim’s nearest and dearest, when someone is afflicted by a sudden catastrophe; a sensation that not a single one of us is proof against, however sincere our feelings of pity and sympathy”.

We may well be living in an age of schadenfreude, and fear that this emotion is leading us astray. But as with all emotions, condemning it only gets you so far. What we really need is to think afresh about the work this much-maligned emotion does for us, and what it tells us about our relationships with ourselves and each other.

Schadenfreude may appear antisocial. Yet it is a feature of many of our most cherished communal rituals, from sports to gossip. It may seem misanthropic, yet it is enmeshed in so much of what is distinctly human about how we live: the instinct for justice and fairness; a need for hierarchies and the quest for status within them; the desire to belong to and protect the groups that keep us safe. It may seem superior and demeaning, yet it also speaks of our need to appreciate the absurdity of our attempts to appear in control in a world forever slipping out of our grasp. It might seem isolating and divisive, but it testifies to our need to not feel alone in our disappointments, but to seek the consolations of being part of a community of the failed.

Schadenfreude, exquisite and utterly shabby, is a flaw. But it is a flaw we must all face up to if we truly want to understand life in the modern world.

Shobhaa De explains all what you wanted to know about #MeToo

What price the wisdom of Luke Johnson, when his own company Patisserie Valerie tanks?

Catherine Bennett in The Guardian

The Patisserie Valerie chief should look to himself before lecturing others again

 

Self-styled ‘risk-taker’ Luke Johnson at a branch of Patisserie Valerie in London.


‘Unfortunately,” Luke Johnson wrote recently, “financial illiteracy permeates society from top to bottom. Too many ordinary people do not understand mortgages, pensions, insurance, loans or investing.”

Johnson, the entrepreneur whose biggest asset, Patisserie Valerie, now needs bailing out, was being generous. Even after the 2008 financial crisis confirmed that corporate incompetence warranted unwavering public scrutiny, too many ordinary people remain equally ignorant about the operations and capabilities of business leaders, even those, like Mr Johnson, whose influence extends far beyond his imperilled patisserie company.

Some of us, inexcusably, even struggle with the basic jargon of “black hole”. As in: “The owner of Patisserie Valerie has been plunged into financial crisis after it revealed a multimillion pound accounting black hole.” Is it the same sort of black hole that astonished managers at Carillion, following a “deterioration in cashflows”? Or an industry synonym for the “material shortfall” disclosed by the Patisserie Valerie board, “between the reported financial status and the current financial status of the business”.

Either way, does the black hole’s existence mean that Mr Johnson must also be financially illiterate? Or is that question better addressed to Patisserie Valerie’s finance chief, Chris Marsh, with whom Johnson has worked since 2006? Marsh was arrested by the police, then released on bail.

Regrettably, at the very moment when an ordinary person struggles to comprehend how £28m in May became minus £10m by October, and why one creditor, the HMRC, should be pursuing an unpaid tax bill of £1.4m – and what that tells us about the company’s leadership – it appears that Mr Johnson is taking a break from his weekly newspaper column. Its absence is the more acute, now that its author, expert on subjects such as red tape, Brexit and other people’s incompetence, has also fallen silent on Twitter; and his popular personal website seems, at the time of writing, to have vanished. With luck, it won’t be too long before he is sharing details of his mercy dash on Evan Davis’s The Bottom Line: “Providing insight into business from the people at the top.”

Happily, as others have noted, some of Mr Johnson’s earlier columns have addressed related issues such as, recently, “a business beginner’s guide to tried and tested swindles”. Watch out, he warns, for non-payment of creditors, dodgy advisers and attempts to overcomplicate things, so as to baffle the many people – unlike himself – who “do not understand the technicalities of investing or accounting”.

Inevitably, that widespread ignorance makes it hard to judge how much of Johnson’s wide-ranging, pre-existing advice, which has recently focused on Brexit, we can safely discard as, if not consistently hilarious, worthless. His chairmanship of Patisserie Valerie has, after all, repeatedly been cited, in the same way as Dyson’s profits and Tim Martin’s pubs, as the main reason to listen to him deprecate the EU, with his own achievements (pre-black hole), proving that “this is a great country in which to do business and prosper”.

Although Johnson is no different from other business celebrities, such as Dyson, Branson and Trump, in having parlayed business success into guru status, he has, more unusually, further set himself up as a kind of entrepreneur-moralist, with a biblical line in rebukes. Here he is, against – I think – overpaid government regulators: “Political leaders who want to foster world-beating companies must act decisively and, as with any transformation, slash off the gangrenous limbs without mercy.” Critics of rich people are warned: “Envy is a ruinous trait – as well as one of the deadly sins – and a sordid national characteristic.”
 

Like any half-decent moralist, he alternates rants with hints for personal salvation, through thrift, reliability and, again, financial literacy: “I am surprised how many senior managers I meet cannot read a cashflow statement.”

By way of authority, even Johnson’s less scorching capitalist homilies are littered with references to the usual suspects – Napoleon, Samuel Smiles and Marcus Aurelius – less usually, the scriptures and “the 19th-century philosopher Herbert Spencer”, not forgetting, shamelessly, Ayn Rand. “Those who possess willpower,” Johnson echoes, “seize the day and actively control their destiny.” Less gifted individuals are dismissed as lazy idiots, fools, inferiors who will never get the chance to close down a chain of well-regarded bookshops or, as now, bail out their own patisseries.

That Johnson should, on the back of this stuff, and the cake shops, have risen to yet greater prominence as a notable Vote Leave backer, his blessing sought by Theresa May, is perhaps no more absurd than, earlier, was David Cameron’s promotion of the Topshop brute, Philip Green, or elevation of JCB’s Anthony Bamford (previously fined by the EU). The myth of the disinterested entrepreneur-consultant seems ineradicable.

In Brexit, Johnson and his like-minded entrepreneurs have, however, discovered a yet more rewarding platform on which to portray their regulation-averse interests as a purely patriotic project.

Entrepreneurs, Johnson has written, on this favourite subject, are “the anarchists of the business world. Their mission is to overthrow the existing order.” Every entrepreneur is “a disruptor and a libertarian”, or would be “if the state sets a sensible framework and gets out of the way”. He explains that the word “chancer” properly describes risk-takers like him, who are willing to make mistakes, probably through excessive impetuosity, or as others might think of it, recklessness. “Probably the most common and devastating mistake I’ve made,” he wrote, “is to choose the wrong business partners.” As for abiding by the rules of the game: “It is the nature of risk-takers to be in a ferocious hurry to become successful, which frequently means cutting corners.”

Thus, even before last week’s disclosures about Patisserie Valerie, Johnson’s own columns amounted to the best possible case for ignoring the entrepreneur lobby on Brexit – indeed, on every subject other than their own, risk-taking genius.

How would Corbynism work in government? Here’s a clue

Aditya Chakrabortty in The Guardian


What will a Corbyn government actually do? Brexit aside, British politics has no bigger known unknown. The prospect fills the rich with fear and the left with hope. Both sides assume that Prime Minister Jeremy Corbyn will be defined by his radicalism, yet in one corner of Britain an arm of the state is already ruling in his name. And the early results are sobering.

In the north London borough of Haringey, the Blairite council leadership was deposed by Labour members a few months ago and replaced with avowed leftwingers. Said the new council leader, Joe Ejiofor: “Over the next four years, it will be up to us to show everybody what this mythical beast the Corbyn council does.” The title may not have been of his making, but by God was he going to wear it. “It is for the many, not the few.”

Everybody cheering that May morning knew what he meant. No more slinging families out of their homes to clear way for multinational developers. No more machine politics and trampling over communities. No more of the politics of contempt.

It was the willingness of the previous leader, Claire Kober, to hand swaths of the borough over to giant building companies that forced her out of office. The Corbyn councillors know they’ll be judged on how far they protect locals from a predatory property industry, which is why they have cancelled the terrible Haringey Development Vehicle. But a real case study of the possibilities and pitfalls of Corbynism in government can be seen right now, in the battle over a small market in Tottenham.

Everyone’s first impressions of Seven Sisters market are terrible. No signs welcome passersby, and the front is almost truculent in its tattiness. But venture inside, and, as another Guardian contributor wrote of a visit: “Within a minute of arriving it was obvious to me that it is irreplaceable.” Because it is magic: a warren of stalls, customised with wooden balconies and eaves, where nearly all the shopkeepers are from Latin America. They sell Colombian coffee and Argentinian meat and films from back home. The soundtrack is a babble of Spanish and salsa. Latin Americans, among them Corbyn’s wife, Laura Alvarez, flock here from across the capital.

“Without this market, the community would have a mental breakdown,” says Vicky Alvarez, who runs a hairdresser’s. In a city that brags of its openness to the world, here’s a corner that bears that out. In a nation of shopkeepers, here are migrants grafting to realise their dreams. About 80 families rely on the so-called Latin Village for their living. Generations of kids have been raised here, playing in the plywood warren. Alvarez says, “We are like meerkats, watching over each other’s children.”

It may take a village to raise a child, but it has taken migrants to raise this village. I remember when this place was semi-derelict.

Anywhere else, the Latin Village would be a prize attraction – but Haringey has decided it should be knocked down and handed over to Britain’s biggest private residential landlord to redevelop. Grainger’s plans include nearly 200 homes, not one of which will be at council rent. The architects’ drawingsshow a Costa and a “Pasta Express”. It is BlandTown, and Labour signed off on the lot. The politician who has done most for the largely Corbyn-supporting traders is a Tory: Boris Johnson, as London mayor, decreed that the indoor market had to be protected.

‘Everyone’s first impressions of Seven Sisters market are terrible.’ Photograph: Alamy

Like many of the headaches that await Prime Minister Jez, this was one Ejiofor’s team inherited. The complication is that a key part of the land, which sits right above a tube line, is owned by Sadiq Khan’s Transport for London (TfL). Yet the Corbyn council has made the issue worse. It needed someone in charge of regeneration who was allergic to the charms of property developers, but the new leader has instead appointed Charles Adje. Just a few years ago Adje was suspended as a councillor for covering up an official note warning against giving a licence to an especially controversial developer. Asked about this, the council says Adje “made an error of judgment”.

Within weeks of becoming leader, Ejiofor received a lawyer’s letter from traders in part detailing their problems with the man who owns the lease to the market. Jonathan Owen was last year reprimanded by TfL for phrases such as “bloody illegal immigrants”, and declaring at a meeting that “if I wanted to, I could get rid of 90% of the traders here”. The official investigation I have seen notes that he has apologised for the behaviour. He remains in place, paying £60,000 a year for the lease while taking what stallholders conservatively estimate is £340,000 in rent from all of them. The traders have previously offered £100,000 to manage the lease themselves, but TfL took the lower bid.

Very little of that money seems to have been reinvested in the market: carpet tiles are broken and filthy and the electrics keep breaking, so the cafes and butchers’ foodstuffs rot. Questioned about this and other issues, Owen offered no comment. When traders asked last month whether the drains could be unblocked, Owen’s reply was: “When was the last time you cleared the drains in your house?”

This is the Corbyn council’s first big test, and handling it ought to be simple. They’re supposed to take the side of the people, not builders. Their manifesto promises: “Where we have to regenerate parts of the borough, we will bring residents with us.” At a meeting this summer opened by Corbyn ally Chris Williamson, Labour members across the borough voted to stop any demolition of Latin Village, and to save it as a “cultural asset”. Ejiofor’s team has a mandate; it’s just not upholding it. 

Rather than taking up the traders’ case, Ejiofor and Adje have fobbed them off. Instead of Haringey cracking down on the market manager, last month it sent an enforcement officer to hassle traders. A pregnant woman running a nail bar was found without a licence, and told to close the shop. In a complaint that I have seen, she said she had felt “embarrassed and humiliated” in front of customers and neighbours. Days later, she miscarried.

This small story carries big lessons for all those hoping for a radical alternative in national government. Ask Haringey cabinet members why they have handled this so badly, and they complain about having a plateful of poison pills left by the last lot. One says: “It’s so difficult to shift the bureaucracy.” Any Corbyn administration will face both of these problems, multiplied a hundredfold.

None of the above is intended to damn a council leadership that’s only five months old and which has some good ideas about cutting council tax for the working poor. Nor is it meant to put on the frighteners about a Corbyn government. But any new Labour administration will be judged on how much change it makes for the people it claims to represent, and how far it represents the social movements whose energy it draws upon. This is the age-old tension of Labour in government, and it will be felt especially keenly by a social-movement politician like Corbyn.

Locally or nationally, no radical government will have it easy. Money will be tight, and Britain has political and economic structural problems that will take decades to put right. Which is why the case of the Latin Village is so instructive. A council must be able to pick the right side in a fight as small as this. It ought to be able to follow some basic principles. Let traders run their own market, and invest in the Latin Village as a local gem. A bit of imagination, a dollop of willpower, lashings of principle. The Corbyn council should learn from this case. Its supporters expect better; the traders deserve better.

Whistleblower Rudolf Elmer on Why a Court Ruling Could Finally Topple Swiss Banking Secrecy

Rudolf Elmer in The Wire.In

Editor’s Note: For nearly 14 years, Rudolf Elmer has tried to chip away at the principle of Swiss banking secrecy, which laid the groundwork for an international system that helped the world’s rich and multinational conglomerates evade billions of dollars in taxes through offshore financial structures and tax havens.

Elmer  was the Chief Operating Officer of the Caribbean operations of the Swiss bank, Julius Baer, for eight years before being dismissed in 2002. He was, as The Wire has noted in a 2017 interview, was part of the first wave of Swiss bank whistleblowers who helped expose the inner workings of a patently unjust system.

In 2011, he was tried for sharing information about tax evasion, money laundering and other financial violations with Swiss t0ax authorities and Swiss newspapers.

In 2014 he was tried for sharing information with US, German tax authorities and WikiLeaks. While it’s unclear if the Americans made use of Elmer’s data, in early 2016, Julius Baer coughed up $547 million in fines after the Obama administration filed criminal charges against the bank. The German government went onto levy another EUR 50 million penalty. Both fines were paid instantly in order to avoid prosecution.

Elmer’s crusade has taken a personal toll as well. Due to multiple cases, he has been imprisoned for over 220 days, most of it solitary confinement, and has had to fend off an orchestrated harassment campaign against his family.

In 2016, he won a partial victory in the high court of Zurich, which turned down demands by the prosecution to convict the 63-year-old of breaching Swiss banking secrecy laws, but upheld other less minor charges.

On October 10, 2018, in response to appeals filed by both Elmer and the prosecutor’s office, the Federal Supreme Court of Switzerland will take a final call. Elmer, whose as-of-yet-unpublished data also contains the offshore secrets of 20 ultra-high-networth Indian clients, writes below on what’s at stake.

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In my view as the accused person, the essence of this highly political and crucial case for Switzerland’s finance industry is if the much-vaunted principle of Swiss bank secrecy can be applied extra-territorially.

In this case, whether the banking secrecy can be applied to entities that operate in the Cayman Islands.

In the Cayman Islands, the Julius Baer Trust Company Ltd. (Cayman) administered trusts, companies, equity- and debt-funds but also hedge funds on a big scale. Some of those special purpose vehicles held Swiss bank accounts with Bank Julius Baer & Co. AG, Zürich in Switzerland.

The statements and other advices associated with those Swiss bank accounts were regularly sent to the Cayman Islands in order to perform administrative tasks for the accounts of those special purpose vehicles.

It is because of these Swiss bank accounts that “Causa Elmer” (Case Elmer) has turned into a “Causa Swiss Bank Secrecy” (Case Swiss Bank Secrecy). It particularly focuses on its future, because the crucial question is if Swiss bank secrecy can protect client data outside Switzerland.

In 2011, when I was in solitary confinement for 220 days, a famous Swiss lawyer wrote me a letter that explains my predicament nicely:

“You are more dangerous to the Swiss Banking system than the Red Brigade or the RAF terrorist group in Germany used to be to the German political system.

The legal proceedings against you are highly politically motivated and driven because it is about the golden calf of Swiss Banking Industry: the Swiss bank secrecy.

Every government protects its golden calves. Therefore, the prosecution offices and the Courts of Switzerland protect the money-making-system and not citizens like you who comes forward and discloses crimes.

Making financial crimes public would hurt in this case not only the Swiss financial system but also on top of it the question arises what would happen to the Swiss Financial Industry if key players in the financial market of Switzerland like UBS, Credit Suisse, Julius Baer etc. would be investigated by Swiss authorities or even foreign authorities. What would clients think about it and would they possibly withdraw their assets?

Therefore, prosecutors and the judges tasks are really not to go after the bank or even after all the violations of the law by Swiss bankers, their true and hidden task is definitely not to investigate certain matters which could hurt the Swiss system but more importantly to go with drastic measure after people like your who made the truth available to the public by publishing matters on WikiLeaks in 2008 and providing information to tax authorities in Switzerland and abroad.

Even worse, your case should demonstrate to the Swiss society that whistleblowing in Switzerland will eventually lead to the social, financial and professional death and is simply a no-go in the secret society of Switzerland”.

This also tells me why  the entire legal case, which was opened under dubious circumstances in 2005, has been investigated and re-investigated several times.

The judges of the Higher Court of Zurich acted even as a supervisor of the Prosecution Office and provided guidance. A materially changed indictment was issued in 2013, roughly 70 court rulings were issued during the 14 years of investigation and close to 40 interrogations were performed.

My lawyer, Ganden Tethong, has over 180 binders filled with court documents. In addition to this, I underwent two forensic psychological evaluations.

To top it off, my wife was accused of having violated Swiss bank secrecy – a tactic I believe was carried out to make sure she was not allowed to visit me during my time in solitary confinement.

I had to review 8 million computer files under the supervision of a police officer within three months in order to find evidence to justify my actions. The stress caused by the cases against me sent me to the hospital for three months, where I recovered but then was forced on December 10, 2014 (incidentally, World Human Rights Day) to attend a court trial where I had a second serious collapse within two days  and was hospitalised again.

This has had a toll on my eleven year old daughter, who attempted to commit suicide, but was able to be rescued by a bunch of brilliant doctors. Family photographs, her computers, her play-machine her first story writings and other parts of her belongings are still confiscated by Swiss authorities.  

In short, astronomical effort bordering on psychological warfare has been performed in order to make the scapegoat for the difficult times that Swiss bank secrecy has been exposed to in the last few years.

The Swiss media has not been helpful to say in the least. Various publications have called me a thief, a blackmailer, a psychologically sick person, a terrorist, neo-Nazi and caused irreversible reputational damage. One newspaper, Die Weltwoche a right-wing magazine, was later found guilty in three court trials of violating my personal rights.

However, as a former Swiss army captain of the Air Force, one knows the methodology by which people are mentally destroyed. One also knows how to defend oneself in such circumstances.

“Causa Elmer”, therefore, has turned into a “Causa Swiss bank secrecy”.

This was clear to me from when a well-known Geneva-based banker stated in 2007 to Professor Jean Ziegler that Julius Baer should make Elmer an offer of hush money of CHF 10 million or so to be silenced and to agree to close the pending legal case which threatens the entire Swiss banking industry as a whole.

The filing of the complaint by Bank Julius Baer & Co. AG, Zurich was a big management mistake. This case should have been solved with a cordial or gentlemen agreement which was common in Switzerland in those days.  

On October 10, 2018, the five judges of the Federal Court of Switzerland will present their view and their rulings based on the governing law of Switzerland which currently requests a Swiss banker to be under Swiss bank secrecy law if he/she holds an employment contract with a bank that is domiciled in Switzerland and holds a Swiss banking license.

Julius Baer Bank & Trust Company Ltd., Cayman Islands is neither domiciled in Switzerland and does not have a Swiss banking licence. During the time of my employment, from 1994 to 2002, I held a  Cayman employment contract with the sister entity of Julius Baer Bank & Co. AG, Zurich and had no reporting requirements to fulfill to the Swiss bank at all.

Therefore, according to leading Swiss legal experts, Swiss bank secrecy cannot be applied in my case.

The agreement with Bank Julius Baer & Co. AG, Zurich in respect of pension matters is by far not a Swiss employment contract because most of the key elements of an employment contract are missing. Besides this, for the very same time period, there was the true Cayman employment contract applicable. It appears that the true employment contracts were kept deliberately as long as possible out of the court files.

Only when two well-known legal professors, Mark Piet and Thomas Geiser, gave a second opinion to the courts, the judges of the Higher Court of Zurich were mostly forced to issue an acquittal in my case for charges related to violation of Swiss bank secrecy laws.

What is at stake?

The present causa of Swiss bank secrecy must be keeping the Swiss banking industry’s biggest clients on their toes.  

Why? Because ultra high networth individuals all over the world and even multinational conglomerates, who use special purpose vehicles administered by Swiss banks holding a Swiss bank account, will be very keen on knowing the outcome of the Federal Court ruling.

Here are the questions at stake:

First, is it a fact that Swiss bank secrecy ends at the boundary of Switzerland?

Second, what happens to a client’s offshore structure (trusts, companies etc.) if it holds a Swiss bank account? Or put another way, how is it protected outside Switzerland?

Third, it is known that Swiss banks have outsourced accounting administration to so called low-costs countries such as Poland and therefore the question is how and under which law is my data protected if it is outside Switzerland in a so-called out-sourcing centre?

Fourth, in confirming the partial acquittal granted to me by the high court in 2016, with regard to violating Swiss bank secrecy, could this allow future and potential whistleblowers to come forward and make even more offshore data public?

Considering all of this, the Federal Court of Switzerland one or the other way will come up with an important verdict not only for me but for the future of Swiss Bank secrecy and the Swiss Banking industry.

The entire case is one for the history books, dealing as it does with one of the world’s best known secrecy laws. The outcome of the court ruling could also cause big change in the Swiss Banking industry as it puts a spotlight on questions that very few people in Switzerland’s financial industry have raised or want answered.

Why Religious Faith is becoming more and more Popular

Harriet Sherwood in The Guardian

How many believers are there around the world?
If you think religion belongs to the past and we live in a new age of reason, you need to check out the facts: 84% of the world’s population identifies with a religious group. Members of this demographic are generally younger and produce more children than those who have no religious affiliation, so the world is getting more religious, not less – although there are significant geographical variations.

According to 2015 figures, Christians form the biggest religious group by some margin, with 2.3 billion adherents or 31.2% of the total world population of 7.3 billion. Next come Muslims (1.8 billion, or 24.1%), Hindus (1.1 billion, or 15.1%) and Buddhists (500 million, or 6.9%).

The next category is people who practise folk or traditional religions; there are 400m of them, or 6% of the global total. Adherents of lesser-practised religions, including Sikhism, Baha’i and Jainism, add up to 58m, or well below 1%. There are 14m Jews in the world, about 0.2% of the global population, concentrated in the US and Israel.

But the third biggest category is missing from the above list. In 2015, 1.2 billion people in the world, or 16%, said they have no religious affiliation at all. This does not mean all those people are committed atheists; some – perhaps most – have a strong sense of spirituality or belief in God, gods or guiding forces, but they don’t identify with or practise an organised religion.

Almost all religions have subdivisions. Christians can be Roman Catholic (the biggest group with almost 1.3 billion adherents), Protestants, Eastern Orthodox, Greek Orthodox, Anglican or many other sub-denominations. Muslims might be Sunni (the majority), Shia, Ibadi, Ahmadiyya or Sufi. Hinduism has four main groups: Vaishnavism, Shaivism, Shaktism and Smartism. There are two main traditions in Buddhism – Theravāda and Mahayana, each with subgroups. Jews can be Orthodox (or ultra-Orthodox), Conservative, Reform or belong to smaller groups.

Geography is important in religion. Asia-Pacific is the most populous region in the world, and also the most religious. It is home to 99% of Hindus, 99% of Buddhists, and 90% of those practising folk or traditional religions. The region also hosts 76% of the world’s religiously unaffiliated people, 700m of whom are Chinese.

Three-quarters of religious people live in a country where they form a majority of the population; the remaining quarter live as religious minorities. For example, 97% of Hindus live in three Hindu-majority countries: India, Mauritius and Nepal, while 87 %% of Christians live in 157 Christian-majority countries. Three-quarters of Muslims live in Muslim-majority countries. Among the religiously unaffiliated, seven out of 10 live in countries where they are in the majority, including China, the Czech Republic and North Korea.

In contrast, most Buddhists (72%) live as a minority in their home countries. There are seven countries where Buddhists form the majority of the population: Bhutan, Myanmar, Cambodia, Laos, Mongolia, Sri Lanka and Thailand.

Which religions are growing, and where?

The short answer is religion is on the wane in western Europe and North America, and it’s growing everywhere else.

The median age of the global population is 28. Two religions have a median age below that: Muslims (23) and Hindus (26). Other main religions have an older median age: Christians, 30; Buddhists, 34 and Jews, 36. The religiously unaffiliated come in at 34.

Islam is the fastest-growing religion in the world – more than twice as fast as the overall global population. Between 2015 and 2060, the world’s inhabitants are expected to increase by 32%, but the Muslim population is forecast to grow by 70%. And even though Christians will also outgrow the general population over that period, with an increase of 34% forecast mainly thanks to population growth in sub-Saharan Africa, Christianity is likely to lose its top spot in the world religion league table to Islam by the middle of this century.

Hindus are set to grow by 27%, and Jews by 15% mainly because of the high birth rate among the ultra-Orthodox. The religiously unaffiliated will see a 3% increase. But proportionately, these religious groupings will be smaller than now because their growth is lower than the increase in the overall global population. And Buddhists are forecast to see a 7% drop in their numbers.

It’s mainly down to births and deaths, rather than religious conversion. Muslim women have an average of 2.9 children, significantly above the average of all non-Muslims at 2.2. And while Christian women have an overall birth rate of 2.6, it’s lower in Europe where Christian deaths outnumbered births by nearly 6 million between 2010 and 2015. In recent years, Christians have had a disproportionately large share of the world’s deaths (37%).

And while the religiously unaffiliated currently make up 16% of the global population, only about 10% of the world’s newborns were born to religiously unaffiliated mothers between 2010 and 2015.

But 23% of American Muslims say they are converts to the faith, and in recent years there has been growing anecdotal evidence of Muslim refugees converting to Christianity in Europe.

China has seen a huge religious revival in recent years and some predict it will have the world’s largest Christian population by 2030. The number of Chinese Protestants has grown by an average of 10 % annually since 1979, to between 93 million and 115 million, according to one estimate. There are reckoned to be another 10-12 million Catholics.

In contrast, Christianity is in decline in Western Europe. In Ireland, traditionally a staunchly Catholic country, the proportion of people identifying with Catholicism fell from 84.2% to 78.3% between the two censuses of 2011 and 2016, and down to 54% among people aged between 16 and 29. Those with no religious affiliation increased to 9.8% – a jump of 71.8% in five years.

In Scotland, another country steeped in religious tradition, a majority of people, 59%, now identify as non-religious – with significantly more women (66%) than men (55%) turning away from organised faith. Seven in 10 people under the age of 44 said they were non-religious; the only age group in which the majority are religiously affiliated is the over-65s.

What about theocratic states?

The Islamic Republic of Iran is probably the one that springs to mind first. Until the 1979 revolution, the country was ruled by the Shah, or monarch. But the leader of the new state was the Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, who implemented a political system based on Islamic beliefs and appointed the heads of the judiciary, military and media. He was succeeded in 1989 by Ayatollah Ali Khamenei. There is an elected president, currently Hassan Rouhani, who is considered a moderate, reformist figure. Iran is one of only two countries in the world that reserves seats in its legislature for religious clerics (the other is the UK).

Other Islamic theocracies are Mauritania, Saudi Arabia, Sudan and Yemen. Twenty-seven countries enshrine Islam as their state religion.

The only Christian theocracy is Vatican City, the tiny but powerful centre of Roman Catholicism, where the Pope is the supreme power and heads the executive, legislative and judicial branches of the Vatican government.

Thirteen countries (including nine in Europe) designate Christianity or a particular Christian denomination as their state religion. In England, the Anglican church – the Church of England – is recognised as the official “established” church of the country with important roles relating to state occasions. Twenty-one bishops sit in the House of Lords by right.

Israel defines itself as the “Jewish state”, with an 80% majority Jewish population. However the government is secular.

In 2015, more than 100 countries and territories have no official or preferred religion.
What religions are oldest and are there any new ones?

The oldest religion in the world is considered to be Hinduism, which dates back to about 7,000 BCE. Judaism is the next oldest, dating from about 2,000 BCE, followed by Zoroastrianism, officially founded in Persia in the 6th century BCE but its roots are thought to date back to 1,500 BCE. Shinto, Buddhism, Jainism, Confucianism and Taoism bunch together around 500-700 BCE. Then along came Christianity, followed about 600 years later by Islam.

Some might argue that the newest religion is no religion, although non-believers have been around as long as humans. But periodically new religious movements spring up, such as Kopimism, an internet religion, the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster or Pastafarianism (officially recognised by the New Zealand government but not the Dutch), and Terasem, a transreligion that believes death is optional and God is technological.

In 2016, the Temple of the Jedi Order, members of which follow the tenets of the faith central to the Star Wars films, failed in its effort to be recognised as a religious organisation under UK charity law. In the last two censuses, Jedi has been the most popular alternative religion with more than 390,000 people (0.7% of the population) describing themselves as Jedi Knights on the 2001 census. By 2011, numbers had dropped sharply, but there were still 176,632 people who told the government they were Jedi Knights.

Does religion have an impact on the world?

Of course – there are huge consequences to religious belief and practice. Firstly, countless wars and conflicts have had an overt or covert religious dimension throughout history right up to the present day. In the past few years, we’ve seen Islamic extremists waging war in the Middle East, a power struggle between Sunni and Shia across the region, the persecution of Rohingya Muslims in Myanmar, the Boko Haram insurgency in Nigeria, violent clashes between Christians and Muslims in Central African Republic, to name a few. Women are subjugated, LGBT people are persecuted, and “blasphemists” are tortured and murdered in the name of religion.

Then there’s the political impact. Donald Trump won the 2016 presidential election with the overwhelming support of white evangelical Christians. Legislators in Argentina recently voted against legalising abortion under pressure from Catholic bishops and the pope. Hungary’s far-right prime minister, Viktor Orbán, has cited the need to protect his country’s “Christian culture” to justify his anti-immigration policies.

But it’s not all bad news. There are millions of people of faith across the world engaging in social action projects to help the poor and marginalised. Look at the involvement of churches, mosques and synagogues in food banks and projects to support refugees, the sanctuary church movement in the US, the extraordinary sums raised by Islamic charities for relief work in some of the world’s most desperate places.

What happens next?
More prejudice and persecution. Followers of most major religions report increasing hostility and, in many cases, violence. Christians have been largely driven out of the Middle East, with some calling it a new genocide. Meanwhile antisemitism and Islamophobia are rising in Europe.

One of the biggest upheavals on the religious landscape in the next few years is likely to be the death (or, possibly, retirement) of Pope Francis, who is 81 and has a number of health issues. His efforts to reform the Vatican and the church have led to a significant backlash by conservative forces, who are organising against his papacy and preparing for the moment when the post becomes vacant.

Further reading

A Little History of Religion by Richard Holloway

Jerusalem: The Biography by Simon Sebag Montefiore

A History of God: The 4,000-Year Quest of Judaism, Christianity, and Islamby Karen Armstrong

The Caliphate by Hugh Kennedy

The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins

God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything by Christopher Hitchens

The Bible

The Qur’an