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FT: The ideology of teen pregnancy

The ideology of teen pregnancy

By Christopher Caldwell

Published: June 28 2008 03:00 | Last updated: June 28 2008 03:00

Every year at Gloucester High School in Massachusetts, three or four girls get pregnant. But not this year. This year 17 did. When Time magazine alleged that some of the girls had a "pregnancy pact", reporters and cameramen from around the world descended on the fishing port. Whether the pact was a teenage dare or a practical arrangement by the girls to give each other moral support has been hotly debated. No one disputes, though, that many were delighted to discover they were pregnant. "Sweet!" one of them shouted in the school nurse's office. The school superintendent admitted: "They were not trying very hard not to get pregnant."

"Every child a wanted child" was the old slogan of the movement for birth control. But it is part of the folklore of feminism that no teenager ever wants a child. "Profoundly shocking," wrote the Gloucester Daily Times. "The idea of 15- and 16-year-old girls wanting to become pregnant, wanting to make such a life-altering choice so early in their lives - and others being 'disappointed', not relieved, when learning their pregnancy tests proved negative - is a notion that seems absolutely contrary to most of our psyches." This is untrue. Having babies at 16 is perfectly in line with our psyches, as a look at other cultures and our own history shows. What it is contrary to is our ideology. Pact or no, the Gloucester pregnancies are some kind of a rebellion.

Any talk-radio blowhard can find evidence that Gloucester High was either too lax or too stern. Massachusetts is the most sexually libertarian of the 50 United States - it was the first to allow gay marriage and gives wide latitude to cities and towns in the sex-counselling services they provide students. Yet Gloucester is a church-dominated Portuguese-, Italian- and Irish-American city. So its sex education is a mix of traditional and non-judgmental programmes. The school does not hand out condoms but has a crèche for teen mothers. Since Gloucester is a largely white city, commentators can give vent to all sorts of snorting stereotypes about pregnant teenagers, their parents and their culture, without fear of being called racist.

Like every debate over teen pregnancy, this one is a duel of dogmas. On one side is the view that chastity is a moral absolute. The chairman of the school board has suggested prosecuting the girls' boyfriends for statutory rape. On the other side is the view that, where birth control is available, girls forgo it only out of either ignorance or shame. This is the view of most news media and of Gloucester's mayor, who blamed her town's pregnancies on George W. Bush. His No Child Left Behind programme diverted to academics money that should have been spent on sex education, which is now taught only until age 15.

At the risk of sounding crude, though, the parts of sex education relevant to preventing teen pregnancy can be taught in five minutes. It may flatter our self-regard to believe that the modern, western pattern of child-bearing arises from superior knowledge and sophistication, but it does not. It arises from our priorities. The Gloucester pregnancies are not about information the girls don't have. They are about an argument the girls don't buy. It is a fool's errand to try to convince a girl that bearing a child is "sad" (a word used with appalling frequency in press accounts) or to argue that last year's hit movie Juno leads girls astray by glamorising pregnancy. (Apparently glamorising sex is all right, especially if it serves some transcendent purpose such as selling shampoo, but glamorising motherhood crosses the line.)

Having a baby is not sad. The reason not to have a baby in your teens is the risk that it will spoil something in your future - maybe your family life, your career or your economic prospects. In their landmark study of unmarried mothers, Promises I Can Keep , the US sociologists, Kathryn Edin and Maria Kefalas, noted that poor women need a "reason to wait" if they are to delay having children. It had better be a good reason. Time flies, after all. Whether or not a teenager's having a child is a misfortune, teenagers themselves may see it as a lesser misfortune than a 40-year-old's wishing for a child she cannot have.

The present ideology of family planning arose in a more fluid society than our own. It was constructed by college-educated baby-boom elites who, as they climbed from the middle into the upper-middle class, came to find pitiful the lives their mothers led as housewives. They chose careers over - or on top of - child-rearing and reaped substantial rewards. Whether those rewards are worth the risks of never having a child might be judged differently by the next generation.

As it gets harder to climb out of the class one was born in, the opportunity cost of being a young mother falls. Outside of the well-off, Ms Edin and Ms Kefalas note, the opportunity cost is already lower than it looks. Poor teen mothers "have about the same long-term earnings trajectories as similarly disadvantaged youth who wait until their mid or late twenties to have a child". Given the increasing likelihood that a woman will raise her children alone, might not the teen years be a prudent time to become a single mother, while the financial and day-care resources of one's own parents are still available?

Baby-boom feminists did not replace a superstitious attitude towards teen sexuality with a rational one. They replaced one set of priorities with another. Their careerism prevented teen motherhood as reliably as did their mothers' moralism. The Gloucester girls appear equally unimpressed with both logics. If the old "pregnancy pact" that went by the name of marriage is no longer so readily available, they are not fools to look for a substitute.

The writer is a senior editor at The Weekly Standard

FT: World-wise web? Finally on the horizon are computers that can reason

World-wise web? Finally on the horizon are computers that can reason

By Richard Waters in San Francisco

Published: March 3 2008 19:16 | Last updated: March 3 2008 19:16

Bill Gates displays a paranoid tendency common among technology industry billionaires. “In this business, by the time you realise you’re in trouble, it’s too late to save yourself,” he once said. “Unless you’re running scared all the time, you’re gone.”

Those words came in an interview with Playboy magazine in 1994 – 10 years before Sergey Brin and Larry Page, two new rock stars of the tech world, sat down for their own heart-to-heart with the same magazine.

Tech fashions – and fortunes – shift with great speed. The Microsoft Mr Gates founded might not yet be on the scrapheap of history but, as its unsolicited take­over offer for Yahoo makes clear, even seemingly dominant companies find it hard to keep pace in the latest and most promising tech markets.

A decade ago, who could have imagined that the feared monopolist of the software business would be so roundly beaten in online search and advertising by Google that it would have to mount a hostile bid for another distant also-ran to try to catch up? A decade from now, as the editors at Playboy stroke the egos of some new Silicon Valley hotshot, will the Google founders’ playful interview (to which Mr Brin, hot off the company volleyball court, went shoeless) be just a quaint memory?

Predicting where the next big disruptive change in the technology industry will come from is a perilous business. Google’s rise has been as much a result of its business model innovation as its technological supremacy. By using advertising to support its internet services, it may eventually be able to pull the rug from under Microsoft in more traditional software markets.

It seems a fair bet, though, that some of the biggest fortunes will continue to be made in Google’s area of focus: finding and manipulating information gathered from the world wide web. To hear the optimists in Silicon Valley describe it, a new wave of technology is on the way that will leave Google’s early advances in its wake.

Imagine, for instance, being able to ask a computer, “Where should I go on holiday?” and receiving an answer that is as suitable as anything you could have come up with yourself. That level of computer-generated reasoning is on the horizon, says Nova Spivack, one of the entrepreneurs involved. It may still take 15 years or more to be fully realised, but between now and then lies a series of breakthroughs that will revolutionise the way we draw information from the web, he adds.

This technology draws its inspiration, and some of its techniques, from a field that has provided more than its fair share of disappointments over the years: artificial intelligence (AI). Based on a collection of technologies that includes natural language processing, image recognition and expert systems (programs that try to emulate the skills of experts), AI is a 50-year-old dream that was meant to lead to intelligent machines.

“I had some hope you could just put everything into some big neural network that would just start to think – but it doesn’t take long working in AI to realise it’s much more complex than that,” says Danny Hillis, founder of Thinking Machines, a company whose rise and fall in the 1980s came to symbolise both the unbounded optimism and the failed hopes of the AI movement.

“I’ve shifted over time from trying to make machines smar­ter to trying to get machines to make people smarter,” Mr Hillis says now. That more modest goal lies at the heart of the latest movement, with its pragmatic emphasis on melding approaches from AI with new core technologies that are changing the web.

As Google shows, being able to return a string of websites in response to a query can give rise to a multi-billion dollar business. With so much at stake, even small incremental improvements on the road to AI may create big business opportunities. “It isn’t about being perfect,” says Barney Pell, chief executive of Powerset, an ambitious new search company. “It’s about being able to differentiate enough to make a commercial product. People are realising that the goals of AI may be way out, but in the field of AI the time is here for really exciting applications.”

“There are vast areas of human activity that are slowly being chipped away at,” agrees Mike Lynch, who heads Autonomy, another search technology company. “Even automating a tiny part of the problem can have a high economic impact.”

The movement already has a name: web 3.0. Venture capital is drifting in, even though no one seems too sure exactly how to define the field and there are still sharp disagreements among the experts about the effectiveness of some of the technologies. “When we started, it was largely a science project,” says Mr Spivack, who has raised $20m (£10m, €15m), a sign of the sudden interest of the financiers. Referring to recent developments in online social networking, he adds: “These are not little Facebook applications – these are significant technology investments.”

The basic building block for this new technology movement is something known as the “semantic web”. This has become one of the most controversial, and misused, terms in the internet industry, conjuring up as it does a vague promise that meaning will somehow become part of the medium.

Yet to suggest that computers will be able to determine meaning raises a thorny question: whether meaning itself has an independent existence or is something that arises only in the mind of the person perceiving it. Terms such as “meaning” and “understanding” are so closely linked to human intelligence that it is hard to conceive of their corollaries in a computer-mediated world.

In reality, the semantic web is based on a defined and narrow – even if still highly ambitious – set of goals. It is the brainchild of Sir Tim Berners-Lee, who invented the present web, a collection of documents connected by links using hypertext mark-up language. Tracing those links, companies such as Google are able to identify documents that are likely to be most relevant to a particular search – though they can only point to the document, not dig deeper to find the actual information that is being sought.

To overcome this, Sir Tim imagined a new web formed by linking the data contained inside the documents. That way the data, not just the documents, would become accessible to machines. Riding this network of links, computers would be able to follow related ideas from one website to another and draw together related information. A reference to Sir Tim in Wikipedia, the collaborative online encyclopaedia, could for instance be connected directly to his name in this article on FT.com and to his personal social network on Facebook.

“If you put data on the web about yourself in this form, I can pull data about you,” he says. Subject to privacy and other restrictions, the web itself would In effect become one vast social network, tracing links between people, or between people and things, that were previously invisible.

This semantic web is the product of a set of core standards promoted by the World Wide Web Consortium, the organisation that Sir Tim leads. “It’s happening – it has just taken a long time to build,” he says. “HTML is a really simple language. All this data stuff is more complicated. It just takes more design work.”

Now, nearly seven years after he outlined the idea, some supporters say enough pieces are in place to make the first semantic web services a reality. “A bunch of people have started making applications that share data across the web,” says Thinking Machines’ Mr Hillis. Linking information in this way is a first step. The next will be to write software that can find and manipulate the data, opening the way to that automated advice on holiday destinations.

Standing in the way of this grand vision, however, are some very big obstacles. This is not just a matter of technology: at a deeper level, it touches on philosophical questions about the nature of language and meaning.

At the heart of the problem is the need to make information on the web “understandable” to machines, so that it can be extracted, processed and made useful. To make this possible, machine-readable “tags” need to be attached to each piece of data to describe what type of information it represents – a person’s name, for instance, or a day of the week. A computer that reads the tag knows to treat the first item as a name and can then match it against the same name found in other sources.

Attaching these tags to every piece of information on the web is in itself a huge task. “Tagging is a complete non-starter: no one has the time to do it,” says Mr Lynch of Autonomy. At Powerset, Mr Pell calls this a “chicken and egg problem”. Without new semantic services capable of using it, there is no incentive to undertake the laborious work of tagging data, but creating the services is pointless unless the data exist in the first place. To overcome this, computers are being enlisted to “read” text and apply tags automatically.

Yet the process of tagging, or categorising, the world’s information may be beyond the capabilities of even the human brain. “Information is relative; it’s not objective,” says Mr Lynch. “The possibility that the person tagging and the person reading it mean the same thing is very small.” Context and subjective judgment play too big a role in how language is used, he adds.

To try to overcome the problem, the semantic web depends on a set of “ontologies”, or dictionaries that help to create common definitions that can be universally applied. These may oversimplify the great complexities of meaning, but they are designed to establish a basic common level of understanding about language to allow machines to do their work. The word “city”, for instance, conjures up different ideas in the heads of city planners, local politicians or sewerage experts, says Mr Hillis. But for most purposes, a lowest common denominator definition will do: for a city, they “all agree more or less on what it is”.

To create those common ways of looking at the world, however, means crossing some deep political, philosophical and cultural divides. In areas such as religion, for instance, the meaning of words is closely tied to a broader world view. “Who’s going to set all the rules?” asks Robert Cailliau, one of the developers of the worldwide web. “You can say two plus two equals four. But there are things like the Bible and the Koran that also set out the rules about how you should see the world.”

Some of the early web 3.0 companies are setting out to stamp their mark on this process, sensing the chance to put themselves at the centre of a new global information network by defining the standards that bring meaning to the cacophony.

“We’re trying to create a useful point of view,” says Mr Hillis, whose latest company is seeking to build what it calls an “open, shared database of the world’s knowledge”. Investors including Goldman Sachs have put more than $50m into the company. Known as Freebase, it has a database designed to operate similarly to Wikipedia. It tries to outline standard definitions that are then made available for anyone to access and link their own data to over the web.

A reference to London in a web document, for instance, might be linked back to the Freebase definition of London: this could then be connected to any other instances of the word London on the web that are connected to the Freebase definition. Freebase hopes that outlining this lowest common denominator of meaning to help link data could make it part of the web 3.0 foundations.

Meanwhile, technologies first developed for use in AI are being brought to bear. Chief among these is natural language processing, or teaching software to discern the meaning in a piece of text. Views about this technology differ sharply. Mr Lynch, for instance, declares it a “dead duck: the world is just too complex”. The fundamental ambiguity of language, and its dependence on context for meaning, make it impossible to automate the process of extracting meaning from text, he says.

Even simple words or concepts can mean very different things to different people and their meaning changes depending on the circumstances in which they are used, says Mr Lynch. While the human mind can make the necessary adjustments, computers that follow strict rules about language find it hard to grasp the many context-specific meanings.

Although the companies trying to employ natural language processing admit it is far from perfect, they maintain that technical advances in recent years have at least given it a level of practical application. By using software to “read” text, services such as Powerset and Mr Spivack’s Twine aim to add tags to data automatically. The natural language approach also raises the possibility of new applications, for example being able directly to answer questions posed by a user – which has long been a dream in web search.

Powerset has become the most visible champion of this approach. The plunging cost of computing and the wealth of data available on the web have combined to breathe new life into this technology, according to Mr Pell. “One of the big problems was just a lack of computing resources,” he says of earlier attempts. Also, refining a natural language search engine requires “a tremendous amount of ‘tuning’; you need data to improve these systems”. Thanks to the explosion of information on the web, data are not in short supply.

Powerset is using technology licensed from Parc – the famed Silicon Valley research laboratories formerly owned by Xerox – to try to solve the problems of natural language processing. The software is based on similar ideas to those in quantum physics, says Mr Pell. A number of potential meanings for all the elements in the text are allowed to co-exist as equally accurate during the “reading”, until the most likely answer is singled out at the end.

Even supporters of this type of natural language analysis limit their claims for the technology, though they say it does not need to be perfect to be useful. According to Mr Spivack, an accuracy level of 70 per cent in analysing and tagging text has its uses.

Combining this approach with other techniques of data analysis can lift the accuracy level further. One method relies on statistics – predicting the meaning of a word based on the probabilities of its proximity to other words in the text. “It treats language as a mathematical problem,” says Mr Lynch, whose company uses this method in preference to natural language. As words do not appear in random sequences, the fact that one word has been used in a sentence increases the chance that a particular other word will also turn up. “Meaning depends on your viewpoint – it’s not absolute,” he says.

While none of the semantic techniques has been perfected, some are reaching a level of sophistication that could lead to practical applications, at least in the eyes of the investors who are backing the start-ups. “That’s the difference now – people are building artefacts that are actually useful,” says Mr Hillis.

So what will these artefacts produce? Most expect the impact of the technology to be felt in stages. The early advances are likely to be “incremental improvements, and at first they won’t be that noticeable”, says Mr Spivack. For instance, a wide range of web services should start to become “smarter”: search engines should return higher quality results, and services that rely on personalisation should make better guesses about your preferences, while targeted advertising systems should become more accurate.

The existing big names on the web, including Google, should benefit from these improvements – though entrepreneurs who are pushing the boundaries of semantic web technology, like Mr Spivack, hope that they can come up with advances that are distinctive enough to set them apart from older sites that have not mastered the approaches.

Connecting related data across the web may also usher in new types of service. A common example used by the web 3.0 visionaries again involves planning a holiday: a semantic web browser would be able to find and draw together travel schedules, hotel details, weather forecasts and other information needed to plan a trip.

Further in the future, adding a degree of reasoning to the software may enable it to filter and select information. That may start off simply – acting on your behalf, for instance, a software agent sets out across the web to compare prices for a product and identify the lowest. Eventually it may lead to making decisions on your behalf. As Eric Schmidt, Google’s chief executive, told the FT last year: “The goal is to enable Google users to be able to ask the question, such as ‘What shall I do tomorrow?’ and ‘Which job shall I take?’”

This fuller version of artificial intelligence is still over the horizon but the path towards it is “a continuum”, says Mr Hillis. Contrary to the early dreams of AI, he adds, it will not be intelligent machines that provide many of the advances but dumb machines throwing up apparently smart answers by using tricks that the human brain cannot match.

The current kings of Silicon Valley certainly have no intention of being left behind. As Mr Brin said in that 2004 Playboy interview: “It’s credible to imagine a leap as great as that from hunting through library stacks to a Google session, when we leap from today’s search engines to having the entirety of the world’s information as just one of our thoughts.” But in the race to get to that point, Google is assured of many rivals.

FT: Make or break

Make or break

Review by Edwin Heathcote

Published: March 1 2008 00:13 | Last updated: March 1 2008 00:13

The Craftsman
By Richard Sennett
Allen Lane £25, 336 pages
FT bookshop price: £19.99

During the birth of the modern era, one word more than any other soaked into the rhetoric of late Victorian and Edwardian polemic – craft. From John Ruskin and William Morris to Adolf Loos and Walter Gropius, nearly every writer, teacher and critic defined their position in relation to craft as an existential reaction to the anonymity and inhumanity of industrial mechanical reproduction. It became the single defining theme of late 19th- and early 20th-century culture.

The machine, it was said, was destroying pleasure. Marx’s commodity fetishisation had become a vortex of manufacture and marketing, and consumer fashion demanded an ever-quicker turnover of shoddy, machine-made goods. The craftsman languished in his workshop, squeezing the last drops of pleasure of his art from a few final commissions for those few surviving men of wealth and taste.

Even the Viennese architect and theorist Adolf Loos, one of the harshest prophets of modernist reductivism, defended his shoemaker’s right to decorate his brogues (as Loos stripped decoration mercilessly from his own buildings) as a last bastion of humanity against the crushing weight of dumb industry.

But, after the industrial slaughter of the first world war, the machine seemed to have won. Craft was relegated to the realm of art and eccentricity. And there it still languishes, a perceived world of floppy pots and ropey brooches.

Richard Sennett’s previous analyses of contemporary cultural malaises covered everything from the decline of public space to the consequences of inequality for respect as a concept. In The Craftsman he launches an unusual and stimulating exploration of craft as a means of doing a single thing well, to focus on something other than ourselves, and therefore redeem some soulfulness from our barren lives.

At the heart of the book is an idea that work need not be about making money but can be about something more existential and profound. In a charmingly (and often slightly ramblingly) eccentric journey, Sennett takes a look at great craftsmen over the ages, from the workshops of Antonio Stradivari and of Renaissance goldsmiths to the strange set-up and motivations of the National Health Service. He takes us back to the creation of Diderot’s revolutionary Encyclopedie (1751-72) and isolates the egalitarian impulse embodied in listing roi (king) near rotisseur (roaster of meats). Sennett identifies the contrast that Diderot illustrates between the useful and the useless, between craftsmen – whose techniques are so extensively covered – and the dearth of anything produced by the idle rich.

In the same era Sennett takes us around the workshops of Promethean Jacques de Vaucanson, maker of the semi-mythical flute-playing automaton, a proto-robot able to play the instrument through a breathing mechanism. De Vaucanson moved on to a shitting automaton duck (ate food, digested, defecated). This was less successful but caught the eye of Louis XV, who commissioned him to create a robot to weave silk in order to bypass surly silkworkers and improve quality. De Vaucanson made the transition from visionary craftsman to maker of machines. With his loom (a later version could be operated by a donkey) De Vaucanson presaged the age of industrial production, the worker demoted to automaton.

A couple of centuries later Sennett takes us through a detailed comparison between two houses by the architect Adolf Loos and the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein. Loos’s house is a crafted dwelling, layered and complex, Wittgenstein’s over-thought and overwrought, designed for abstract perfection not imperfect humanity. One is the work of a practised craftsman, the other of a theorist.

Sennett’s studies are the work of a resolutely public intellectual. The Craftsman, like the best of his books, takes an erudite, eccentric, ethical and enthralling route through culture, in this case the culture of making and production. His conclusions – slightly vague but always encouraging – suggest that craft and its cultural and ethical rewards are available to all of us, from the skills of mothering to plumbing. Contemporary discourse can float between the ineffable concepts of philosophy and the abstractions of maths and cyberspace; Sennett is keen to reconnect thinking with making, to revive the simple pleasure in the everyday object and the useful task. There is something here for all of us, even those just sitting in front of a computer.

Edwin Heathcote is the FT’s architecture critic

Fast Company: Theodore Zeldin

December 2000

http://www.fastcompany.com/node/41352/print

Tags: Work/Life
 
   

      Talk Is Cheap. Let's Have a Conversation   

       
      

If you want to create change in the workplace, start a conversation. So says Theodore Zeldin, Oxford University historian, philosopher, author, management consultant, and BBC radio personality. The soft-spoken sexagenarian might seem an unlikely expert on talk. But for the past three years, Zeldin has been conducting what he calls "human audits" of British workers across a spectrum of occupations and professions. This work is part of a research project funded by the European Commission (the administrative arm of the European Union) to create a new vision of work for the new millennium.

What has the good professor learned so far? The new economy doesn't need more talk -- it needs a whole new conversation. Zeldin believes that most of us are working in jobs that make use of only 20% to 25% of our potential. So companies, he argues, need to be reinvented to allow us to do work that we will find enjoyable, and that will make us better people. In an interview with Fast Company at St Antony's College, Oxford, Zeldin got the new conversation rolling.

What conversations should we be having about work?

The jobs that currently exist don't correspond to the kind of human beings we've become. Our interests and our needs have become more diverse, and yet our education systems make us specialists. My question is not How do we fit people to a career that will satisfy them?, but How can we change the work they do so that it suits them?

Take the hotel sector, which is stuck in a century-old model. Yes, hotels are places to sleep, but they are also places where foreigners meet. And since many people who work at hotels speak different languages too, why can't hotels become cultural centers or language schools?

Why do you call it a "new conversation"?

Conversation creates a new kind of network within organizations. Current networks are used for competitive advantage, but conversation is focused on encouraging people to realize their potential. We are already seeing the creation of a new kind of network based on friendships: Startups, which are often founded by friends, are the beginning of something that could reshape social relations.

How do you audit happiness through conversation?

My method is quite simple: I talk at great length about every aspect of a person's life and aspirations. I'm not interested in measurables. You cannot measure the minute nuance that makes the difference between being happy and unhappy at work. For example, I talked at length with a senior executive at one of the UK's biggest retailers. Only after three hours did he reveal that he had always wanted to be an actor. He had been seduced by the salary, bonuses, and company car, and he had become a prisoner. But why should he be denied the opportunity to act? After all, what is a shop if not a piece of theater?

Aren't we supposed to be enjoying our work more now?

We should abolish "work." By that I mean abolishing the distinction between work and leisure, one of the greatest mistakes of the last century, one that enables employers to keep workers in lousy jobs by granting them some leisure time. We should strive to be employed in such a way that we don't realize that what we're doing is work.

Contact Theodore Zeldin by email (theodore.zeldin@sant.ox.ac.uk [1]).

Sidebar: Talk This Way

It's good to talk, says Oxford professor Theodore Zeldin, the author of Conversation (HiddenSpring Books, 2000). But engaging in world-changing dialogue involves more than sending and receiving information. The "new conversation" demands that you start with a willingness to emerge a slightly different person. Results cannot be predicted, but adventure is guaranteed. Here are a few of Zeldin's tips on talking.

Get out more. "Asking the same old question, 'Who am I?', cannot get you very far. However fascinating you may think you are, there is a limit to what you can know about yourself. Other people are infinitely more interesting and have infinitely more to say."

Think ahead. "Talk without thought is empty. Change the way you think, and you are already halfway to changing the world."

Be bold. "We need to start using conversation to create courage in the face of failure. I'm talking about a balanced kind of courage that can resist disappointment and that can at last make us immune to the cynicism that has so long been our scourge."

Talk with purpose. "The main purpose of engaging in conversation can no longer be personal advancement or respectability. Instead, I'd like for us to use conversations to create equality, to open ourselves to strangers, and, most practically, to remake our working world."

   
   
                 

Links:
[1] mailto:theodore.zeldin@sant.ox.ac.uk

[cynicism] ... protects against disappointment and can pretend to be humour [but] means we have no purpose in life.

Theodore Zeldin
"The Future of Networking"


However brilliant your skills, if they make you a bore, unable to converse with those outside your specialty, if your work does not deserve to be loved, because it damages other people, if you are so busy with detail that you have no time to acquire wisdom, or exercise your imagination or humour, then no amount of status of financial reward will compensate for your inadequacy as a human being.

Theodore Zeldin
"The Future of Work"

Fast Company -Fast Forward: Innovation Station

http://www.fastcompany.com/fastforward/forward-innovation.html

Fast Forward: Innovation Station

   
   

10 great ideas, tools, and thinkers

The past is more important than the future
It's been said many times that history is no guide to the future. I disagree. It is also unsaid that companies do not need to understand where they have been to see where they're going. Hence most commercial organizations have very little sense of their own history and what happened last year is so yesterday. This is a tragic mistake because memory and experience can prevent us from making the same mistake twice. It is also a shame because whilst many things change, the fundamentals often do not. People act and react with the same primeval instincts that they've always had. On a practical level, older employees were a source of knowledge before the term knowledge management was invented. Equally, looking at the history of products and markets often uncovers insights buried beneath the service. Add to this the fact that many trends are cyclical, and you might start to see how to use history to invent the future. If, for example, you looked at the history of newspapers, you would discover that they were first sold in coffee houses in the 1700s. So maybe that's where Starbucks got the idea? Or how about aerosol paint? That idea was first thought of about 40,000 years ago.

The end of outsourcing?
If companies are outsourcing strategy, innovation, R&D, manufacturing, logistics, and distribution what exactly are they left with? Sure, outsourcing saves money in the short term and specialists tend to be better than generalists. But as Tom Peters says, you can't shrink your way to greatness. Maybe 2005 will see a move back to in-house innovation and the realization that whilst ideas, provocations, and catalysts can come from the outside, research, development and implementation can't.

Conversations as catalysts for change
Theodore Zeldin will readily admit that most of his ideas will fail. But let's face it, so will most of ours. Surely it's better to go out in a blaze of glory as a beautiful failure than as an invisible and mediocre success. Zeldin's ideas are mostly focused on work and ways of making work more satisfying. He is also a champion of conversation and says that if more people talked to each other properly they would discover new interests. Shared interests and conversation spark ideas -- and ideas can change the world.

To thy own self be true
Some people believe that you can make anyone creative. The aim of all organizations in 2005 and beyond should therefore be to pursue radical creativity and innovation. Regardless of whether all people can be creative, there is a significant amount of evidence to suggest that not all companies can. Most radical innovations (some say as many as 70%) come from guys in garages, not industry incumbents. Inventors are creative precisely because they don't sit inside inertia-ridden corporate structures. However, inventors are usually hopeless at implementation whilst this (along with incremental improvement) is exactly what big companies are good at. So maybe the best innovation process for big companies is simply to spot good ideas from elsewhere and either adapt or licence the idea or buy the company. In other words, know what you're good at and don't try to be something that you're not.

The need for speed
There are at least a dozen megatrends out there at the moment, but if I had to pick one for 2005 it would be speed. Technology is speeding up and so are we. 15% of meals in the United States are now eaten in cars and apparently 50% of soup is eaten out of the home. Hence the rush by food companies to create portable products and the continued growth of 24-7 availability. But like most big trends, there's a counter trend. In Europe the Campaign for Slow Cities want to slow things down while in Australia 25% of people say they have downshifted in the last year to readdress their work-life balance.

Happiness on the agenda
According to sci-fi writer and futurist Bruce Sterling, everything we own in the future will be cuddly. I don't know about this but maybe we'll want everything to make us happy. Happiness is an emerging trend that's set to take of in 2005. There's an Institute of Happiness in Australia and writers like Alain de Botton (Status Anxiety) and Clive Hamilton (Growth Fetish) are challenging the idea that growth and material possessions automatically make us richer. A study by the Henley Centre in the UK found that in 1989, 58% of people were happy compared to 45% in 2003 -- despite a 60% increase in average incomes. Meanwhile, a study by Cornell and the University of Colorado found that spending money on experiences is more fulfilling than spending it on possessions. So if you've got a product, you'd better get busy turning it into an experience. This idea also has serious consequences for companies who have always assumed that the way to keep employees happy is to promise them more money.

Charles Handy
If you're interested in the future of work, get your hands on a few books by management thinker and social philosopher Charles Handy. His track record is impressive with stints at Shell and the London Business School. His forecasts are spot on, too, with predictions like the decline of the traditional organization and the growth of portfolio careers.

Older younger and younger for longer
In the future, children will grow up faster while adults will stay younger for longer. There will be fewer young people around, but they will be more sophisticated and experienced. This is a dream come true for some advertisers, but there will be negative social impacts too.Girls maturing physically earlier and children having kids will affect policy in areas like education and employment. Conversely, there will be more older people around, which will be good news for industries like medicine, travel, home improvement, and leisure. However, it could be bad news for innovators because older people tend to be conservative and reject anything new. Or maybe not. 17% of Sony Playstation users in the US are aged over 50.

Open source innovation
Someone once said that to get a good idea you need to have a lot of ideas. Suggestion boxes are a bit old hat these days, but the principle of asking everyone for ideas is very sound. However, most companies still seem to run innovation as a (small) department and consider the aims, processes, and outcomes as some kind of state secret. A model for the future could be the open source software movement. Instead of doing everything yourself, why not open up the search for ideas and ongoing research and development to customers and suppliers? A good example of how to do this is the Global Ideas Bank, where anyone can submit or vote for an idea.

Problems looking for solutions
Here's an innovation tool that's often hidden in plain sight. If you've looking for new ideas, don't. Look for problems instead. Go and talk to whoever runs the customer complaints department and ask for a list of the top 10 moans and groans. Alternatively ask some customers . Or maybe grab a product designer, a psychologist, and a social anthropologist -- and watch people using your product or service. What doesn't work and what could be improved from a customer experience point of view?

Richard Watson is the CEO of the Global Innovation Network. He contributes to Innovation Station, Fast Company's innovation resource center.

 

Drive Through ATM - POSB, SPC

[looking to the past tells you more about the future]

“SPC sets new directions by continuously defining new parameters of vibrancy and relevance in the interests of our customers. We are the first in Singapore to introduce drive-through ATM at a service station and will be the first to offer CNG on mainland Singapore,” said Mr Chris Keong, SPC Senior Vice President of Marketing. “At the same time, we leverage the branding visibility of our retail network to encompass a social dimension as well. Doing our part in corporate citizenry, SPC is donating advertisement slots on the plasma screens to various non-profit organisations to use this new media avenue to communicate their causes to the community.”

http://www.spc.com.sg/investorcentre/press_details.asp?id=1706

                                                                                                                                                                                                       
Press Releases
 Mon 28 Jan 2008
            SPC and SPH MBO Introduce First Out-of-Home Digital Advertising at Service Stations
 
  
              

The next time a car owner pays for his petrol or a shopper buys his groceries from a Singapore Petroleum Company Limited (SPC) service station, he will be greeted by a brand new advertising medium ? an SPH MediaBoxOffice (SPH MBO) plasma screen.

SPC and SPH MBO are jointly introducing Out-of-Home (OOH) digital advertising at SPC service stations across the island. This is the first partnership between SPH MBO and a petrol retail chain, and is also the first time a major petrol retail chain is being used extensively as an advertising channel in Singapore.

Mr James Heng, Executive Director of SPH MBO and Executive Vice-President, Product Branding/Digital Media, Marketing Division of Singapore Press Holdings, said, "SPH MBO is very pleased to be partnering SPC, one of the leading petrol retail chains in Singapore and a regional player in the oil and gas industry, to provide a service to advertisers and consumers. This new network, in addition to our existing screens in shopping malls and banks, is a vote of confidence in the emergence of digital OOH media as a major advertising platform.

"SPC's extensive network is a great way to reach out to the target audience of many advertisers, in particular those in the higher income group, white collar workers, as well as families. We appreciate and welcome SPC's participation in creating new and effective marketing channels, and are also confident that SPC's customers will enjoy and benefit from the extra service provided for them," he added.

42-inch plasma screens have been installed in the service stations for advertisers to air their commercials. With these, consumers can view the entertaining ads while they wait for their turn at the counters.

"SPC sets new directions by continuously defining new parameters of vibrancy and relevance in the interests of our customers. We are the first in Singapore to introduce drive-through ATM at a service station and will be the first to offer CNG on mainland Singapore," said Mr Chris Keong, SPC Senior Vice President of Marketing. "At the same time, we leverage the branding visibility of our retail network to encompass a social dimension as well. Doing our part in corporate citizenry, SPC is donating advertisement slots on the plasma screens to various non-profit organisations to use this new media avenue to communicate their causes to the community."

Besides the plasma screens, SPH MBO and SPC will be extending their partnership to develop other forms of outdoor media at SPC stations. The SPC digital media network is the latest initiative of SPH MBO, which currently has more than 400 indoor digital screens in shopping malls, POSB branches and office buildings islandwide.

Contact Information:
Lim Beng See
Head, Investor Relations & Communications
Singapore Petroleum Company Limited
Tel: (65) 6477 1535
Mobile: (65) 9677 2368
Email: bengsee.lim@spc.com.sg

Ang Lai Lee
Senior Executive, Group Corporate Communications
Keppel Corporation Limited
Tel: (65) 6413 6427
Email: lailee.ang@kepcorp.com

Edward Tang
Deputy General Manager
SPH MediaBoxOffice Pte Limited
Tel: (65) 6319 1795
Mobile: (65) 9066 4219
Email: edtang@sph.com.sg

Francis Mah
Manager
Corporate Communications
Singapore Press Holdings Limited
Tel: (65) 6319 1028
Mobile: (65) 9697 8208
Email: mahys@sph.com.sg


FT: Lunch with the FT - Theodore Zeldin

Except:

That’s the kind of revolution that interests me,” he says. “You need to make a profit to survive. But business today has to be a cultural and educational institution...

He has also written a syllabus for an MCA (what you need after your MBA). “The C stands for many different things – it’s a bit of a joke – for creativity and culture and conversation and catalysis,” he says. “The more education you do, the less you are capable of doing. The MCA says that now you’re a specialist you’ve got to become a generalist. You have to learn about all the other ways of thinking apart from your own.

“How do scientists think? How do spiritual people think? What are the most important advanced new ideas? There are many bright people doing research in fields you’ve never heard of, having brilliant thoughts. How can you understand the world if you don’t know this?”

Lunch with the FT: Theodore Zeldin

By John Thornhill

Published: February 9 2008 00:04 | Last updated: February 9 2008 00:04

On the walk to Arpege, the Michelin three-star restaurant situated on Paris’s Left Bank, I pass a striking sculpture of Charles de Gaulle parading outside the Grand Palais. A quotation from the general is emblazoned on the base below: “There is a pact 20 centuries old between the grandeur of France and the liberty of the world.”

I am still musing on de Gaulle’s vision of French universalism as I enter the surprisingly stark but elegant restaurant. Few people are better qualified to interpret France than my guest, Theodore Zeldin, the British historian, philosopher and business lecturer, who has spent his life marinating in French history and culture.

Zeldin is widely regarded as France’s favourite Englishman. He “knows us better than we know ourselves”, gushed one reviewer of The French, his quirky biography of a nation. He certainly knows how to choose a restaurant, I reflect, as I savour the sensational amuse-bouches and contemplate the multicoloured gourd sitting under a bell jar on my table. The Arpege is one of Paris’s most innovative – and expensive – restaurants. It specialises in doing clever things with vegetables.

Sporting distinctive professorial hair, the spry septuagenarian Zeldin soon arrives and immediately asks me how and why I became a journalist, “that most privileged of professions”. He proves a master interrogator, coaxing me into self-revelation. But we both quickly realise the flow of the conversation is the wrong way round and that I should be asking – rather than answering – the questions.

First, though, the menu. It seems only right to opt for the day’s special, the eight-course “Pleine Terre, Pleine Mer”, which the waitress tells us contains an additional “surprise” of marcassin, baby wild boar from north Africa, the only meat on offer. Zeldin sticks to water while I order a glass of rather disappointing Riesling.

As we await the culinary extravaganza, he recounts the milestones in his professional life. As a young historian at Oxford University, he rejected the chance to comb through Lord Salisbury’s papers. Instead, he indulged his own intellectual interests and spent 20 years researching and writing his five-volume History of French Passions, a work he describes as an investigation of the art of living.

“In that book I looked at every aspect of life. What does it mean to dance? What does it mean to commit a crime? What does it mean to be anxious? What does it mean to tell a joke? The great thing about the French is that they have thought about these subjects in a great variety of ways and are a very articulate people.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t have a theory. I just did it. But that book opened up an enormous number of doors for me. It was an amazing success, above all in France.”

Such was his notoriety, Zeldin says, that policemen saluted him in the street. Train conductors upgraded him from second class to first. He was invited to talk to people from every section of French society. He spent a year shadowing Jack Lang, the flamboyant Socialist culture minister. Retaining his reputation as a candid friend of France, Zeldin was last year invited to join the Attali commission, a high-profile advisory group set up by President Nicolas Sarkozy, to which we’ll return later.

With his boundless curiosity, Zeldin discovered he could often learn more from listening to ordinary people than reading about extraordinary people in libraries. He plunged deeper into the interior lives of individuals. A series of books followed: Happiness, The French, An Intimate History of Humanity and Conversation.

“What the hell am I doing? That is the question that really interests me,” he says. “There is no satisfactory answer now, but there was in the past: you were preparing to go to heaven. Most people said the purpose of life is death. But we don’t think that now. In Britain we spend 29 per cent of the national health budget in the last year of life, avoiding death. We don’t know how to die, or how to live.”

Well, we aren’t doing a bad job of living at Arpege. A convoy of scintillating vegetable dishes is whisked to our table. Each one is celebrated by Zeldin in his clipped English and accented French. “It is very nice, this homage paid to the humble vegetable … This chap is clever … C’est genial.”

In his quest to understand other people, Zeldin has spent much time studying the world of work. He has developed strong – and refreshingly unconventional – views on business. Now an associate fellow of the Said Business School in Oxford, he is much in demand on the international lecture circuit.

Zeldin dismisses much of what is taught at business schools by lecturers who have a vested interest in perpetuating their traditional specialisms. He suggests that the hierarchical century-old US-style corporation has outlived its time. Many professions – medical, legal, architectural – are in crisis. The world of work must be revolutionised to put people – rather than things – at the centre of all endeavours. “I remember talking to some CEOs in London. One of them said: “We can no longer select people, they select us.” If we want the best people and we want to attract them, we have to say: “What do you want in your job?”

He recalls a visit to an Indian factory making electrical equipment, where he saw “rows and rows of Indian women fiddling around with bits and pieces”. The manager said he wanted to turn these employees into entrepreneurs. After talking to the women, Zeldin replied that it would be impossible if they spent eight hours a day performing boring tasks. The manager vowed to mechanise some of their routine functions and devote two hours a day to educating his workers. “That’s the kind of revolution that interests me,” he says. “You need to make a profit to survive. But business today has to be a cultural and educational institution.”

Zeldin has created his own idiosyncratic educational institution, the Oxford Muse, which attempts to forge links between people from different backgrounds, cultures and nationalities by means of verbal self-portraits and structured conversations, designed to reveal an individual’s particularities and priorities. “To me, the great adventure of this coming century is to discover who inhabits the world,” he says, chewing contemplatively on a scallop from Brittany’s Emerald Coast.

He has also written a syllabus for an MCA (what you need after your MBA). “The C stands for many different things – it’s a bit of a joke – for creativity and culture and conversation and catalysis,” he says. “The more education you do, the less you are capable of doing. The MCA says that now you’re a specialist you’ve got to become a generalist. You have to learn about all the other ways of thinking apart from your own.

“How do scientists think? How do spiritual people think? What are the most important advanced new ideas? There are many bright people doing research in fields you’ve never heard of, having brilliant thoughts. How can you understand the world if you don’t know this?”

But he admits ruefully that he has found it difficult to find anybody to fund this venture.

I ask him about the Attali commission, chaired by Jacques Attali, the socialist intellectual and former head of the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development, which last month submitted 316 recommendations to reform France to Sarkozy. Zeldin had particular responsibility for changing mentalities, which he says will be vital in pursuing fundamental reform.

He is enthusiastic about the possibilities for change but expresses frustration with the commission’s intensely technical discussions of subjects and the cobwebs of laws and regulations preventing new initiatives. “The tendency of experts is to fiddle around with their expertise rather than trying to find new solutions,” he says.

His solutions are far more radical: founding new towns with affordable housing near the coast that can draw food, energy and water from the sea; posting school teachers to foreign countries for a year to experience different cultures; inviting the world’s 100 richest people to the Elysee Palace and asking them to create a global university.

In reforming France, or any other country, Zeldin argues it is vital to avoid, rather than provoke, confrontation. It is better to allow old problems to wither while encouraging new possibilities to emerge alongside. “You have to accept that traditions exist, that people don’t change their minds very quickly, that people are scared,” he says.

“Sarkozy has to say: ‘Here’s a new vision, this is what we’ve got to do, let’s go and do it. In the 17th-century people said let’s go to America and establish Pennsylvania. I’m saying let’s go to south-west France and establish the equivalent of Pennsylvania.”

What does he make of Sarkozy?

Zeldin says he cannot claim to understand the man having met him only twice, but sees him very much in the tradition of de Gaulle. Reading Sarkozy’s writings, Zeldin is struck by the importance the president attaches to his formative years, growing up in an immigrant family, being deserted by his father, being desperate for friendship and affection. “He is very devoted to France but he also says that the mission of France is to be a reconciler of cultures. Abroad, he wants to make France the kind of country it was in the 18th century, when its originality was that it made a declaration of rights for all humanity,” he says.

“That, I think, is the strong point of France, which makes it an important country. France is an idea. It is not a territory. It is offering a dream that is different from the American dream. There is no harm in having several different dreams in the world.’’

A chocolate souffle completes our meal.

“It has been a lesson in gastronomy, hasn’t it?” Zeldin concludes cheerfully.

Indeed it has, I muse, as well as being a three-hour tutorial about a lot more besides.

John Thornhill is the FT’s Europe editor

.........................................................

Arpege, 84 rue de Varenne, Paris
Tasting Menu
‘Pleine Terre, Pleine Mer’
2 x vegetable veloute with speck-flavoured whipped cream
2 x beetroot cooked in a Guerande grey sea-salt crust
2 x aromatic kitchen garden medley
2 x celeriac with ground Orleans mustard
2 x ‘Arlequin’ vegetable salad with argan oil semolina
2 x Breton scallops
2 x baby wild boar
2 x autumnal dessert and macaroons
1 x glass of Riesling
1 x mineral water
Total: €295

FT: When disaster strikes

When disaster strikes

By Michael Skapinker

Published: February 2 2008 02:00 | Last updated: February 2 2008 02:00

The Culture of Calamity: Disaster and the Making of Modern America

by Kevin Rozario

University of Chicago Press £14.50, 320 pages

FT bookshop price: £11.60

Blindside: How to Anticipate Forcing Events and Wild Cards in Global Politics

edited by Francis Fukuyama

Brookings Institution Press $27.95, 198 pages

Worst-Case Scenarios by Cass R. Sunstein

Harvard University Press £16.95, 352 pages

FT bookshop price: £13.56

A few months after the attacks on the World Trade Center in 2001, I attended a conference in New York at which one of the speakers recounted his experience of September 11. His telling was dramatic and the audience - mostly people from out of town - sat rapt.

It emerged that the speaker had not been near the site of the attacks. His account was really about the confusion and panic of the day, how he had learned what had happened, how he had made his difficult journey home. He was fully aware of the human cost of the attacks, which he, of course, deplored. But his face shone at the memory of being part of such a historic event.

Witnesses have often been excited by tragedy and disaster. Years after the immense San Francisco earthquake of 1906, which left 3,000 dead and half the city's population destitute, Kathleen Norris, one of the survivors, said: ''How I wish that to every life there might come, if only once, such days of change and freedom* Everyone talking together, dishevelled, excited, running to see what was happening elsewhere, running back, endlessly diverted, satiated for once with excitement.''

Our relationship with disaster is complex. Our imaginations are drawn to calamity, as the entertainment industry knows: consider disaster movies such as The Towering Inferno or Titanic, or the popularity of fairground attractions such as the ''ride of death''. When real disaster happens, we cannot help feeling something of the same thrill - provided we are not among the injured or bereaved. From the survivors and the families, as well as from the media, comes the demand to find out who knew what and when, who could have prevented the tragedy, and how the government plans to ensure it never happens again. The call for revenge is strong: 9/11 resulted in two wars that are still unwon.

Yet forecasting calamity is hard. There are so many disasters that could occur; it is impossible to guard against them all. And even when disaster is clearly foreseeable, we, the clamouring public, are often reluctant to pay the price of prevention. Consider climate change: the overwhelming consensus of scientific opinion is that it is man-made, yet how many of us are prepared to give up our cars or holiday flights to mitigate its effects?

A number of books on disasters raise these questions. Kevin Rozario, who teaches American studies at Smith College, Massachusetts, writes astutely about disaster, particularly its relationship with entertainment. As he notes in The Culture of Calamity: Disaster and the Making of Modern America, the link predates the modern movie industry.

A few months after the 1906 San Francisco earthquake and the subsequent fires, Lucile Garrett went with her parents to see a re-enactment of the event at a theatre in Minneapolis. ''On the stage,'' she recalled, ''was a miniature reproduction of San Francisco, on the night of the fire* Then suddenly we were favoured with a great rumbling! The hills on which the city was built shook and tottered!... Finally the hills cracked open, the tottering buildings fell, and the whole city burst into flames. It continued to burn for some minutes and at last they lowered the curtain on the glorious blaze.''

Like the events of September 11 almost a century later, the terrible filmic quality of disasters is often inescapable. Anthony Lane, the New Yorker critic, wrote in the immediate aftermath of 9/11: ''Of course you could argue that last Tuesday was an instant dismissal of the fantastic - that people gazed up into the sky and immediately told themselves that this was the real thing. Yet all the evidence suggests the contrary; it was the television commentators as well as those on the ground who resorted to a phrase book culled from the cinema: 'It was like a movie', 'It was like Independence Day.' 'It was like Die Hard.' 'No, Die Hard 2.'''

None of that can replace the sense that 9/11 has changed America irretrievably. Much of the official response resulted in improvements for the future - the replacement buildings on Ground Zero will be sturdier and safer than the Twin Towers, for example. And it has always been the case that disasters create the spur for better infrastructure: fires and floods in the earliest days of American settlement led to the creation of insurance, fire brigades and safety regulations.

But people also demanded to know why the 9/11 perpetrators had not been stopped and how the government was going to prevent further attacks. Except that governments and corporations often cannot guard against calamities, and some believe it's a waste of time expecting them to. Tragedies are usually unforeseeable. If 9/11 had been foreseen, it would have been prevented. In The Black Swan, Nassim Nicholas Taleb wrote: ''No one in particular is a good predictor of anything. Sorry.''

Of course that's not entirely accurate. Some did predict the events of September 11, for example - one with alarming precision. The 9/11 Commission Report, published in 2004, said that several Federal Bureau of Investigation agents had tried to warn their superiors about well-known extremists who were learning to fly. One FBI officer in Minneapolis told headquarters that he was ''trying to keep someone from taking a plane and crashing it into the World Trade Center''.

Hurricane Katrina, another defining American disaster, was also foreseen. Rozario writes that the Federal Emergency Management Agency funded a simulation the previous summer examining the impact of a strong hurricane on New Orleans. Just before Katrina struck the city, the New Orleans Times-Picayune newspaper ran a series saying that a calamity was inevitable if the federal government did not reverse cutbacks in storm protection funding.

Why did no one act on these warnings? It's one thing to imagine disasters - as Rozario demonstrates, such imaginings have always been part of human life. But ''imagining things is the easy part,'' write Peter Schwartz and Doug Randall, a pair of management consultants, in Blindside: How to Anticipate Forcing Events and Wild Cards in Global Politics. ''What is hard is imagining future scenarios that are sufficiently believable to spur one to act in advance and to persuade others to act.''

Blindside is a collection of essays based on a conference organised by The American Interest magazine in 2006. Like all such collections, the essays are uneven in quality. Francis Fukuyama, the book's editor, identifies some of the reasons why disaster so often catches us unawares - even when we had reason to expect it. The first is the nature of human cognition. Yes, we can imagine tragic events, but that does not mean we can imagine them happening soon, or to us.

Second, the incentives to prepare for disaster are often poor. Politicians may know there is a danger: the potential flooding of a city, or a change in the climate. But they have more pressing needs. They hope that if disaster does strike, it happens after they have left office. And those likely to be affected lack the clout to force governments to act. Those hit hardest by Hurricane Katrina were poor and black, with no one to speak for them.

But, even when untrammelled by interest groups, who should decide what disasters to protect against? In Worst-Case Scenarios, Cass Sunstein, a professor of jurisprudence at the University of Chicago, demonstrates just how difficult this is for governments and individuals. We could worry about any number of things - and some people do, endlessly. The result is paralysing: they cannot leave the house. We ''screen out'' risks, because otherwise we would not be able to function. Suddenly, however, disaster strikes, that risk is ''on screen'' and we worry about it happening again, or in another form. Governments are no different.

Before September 2001, Americans did not worry much about terrorism. After the attacks, they worried intensely. They realised that they confronted an enemy of boundless inhumanity. As Sunstein points out, however, their personal responses did not always help them. Many abandoned flying altogether and made journeys by car. ''The switch produced almost as many highway deaths as the attacks themselves, simply because driving is more dangerous than flying,'' he writes.

So how do we evaluate danger? Sunstein says that we react more strongly to an injury caused to us by an identifiable perpetrator. This is true: we are more upset by being mugged than by injuring ourselves slipping on ice - and 9/11 upsets us more than Katrina (unless, of course, you lost all you had in Katrina). We are also more worried by incidents we have already suffered personally. Sunstein has a seafood allergy. He did not think about it much until he was taken to hospital after eating seafood hidden in a Chinese meal. Now, he worries about it incessantly.

We behave similarly as a mass. Had the US government introduced strict airport security before 9/11, it would have been accused of interfering unnecessarily with people's ability to fly. Had it failed to do so afterwards, it would have faced fury for failing to protect the nation.

Governments' decisions about what dangers to focus on are complicated by cultural differences. Americans do not worry much about genetically modified food, mobile phones or climate change. Europeans do. (Except Finns, who don't think mobile phones are dangerous - but then, Nokia is central to their economic life.) On the other hand, Americans worried far more about the hole in the ozone layer than Europeans did, and led the move to ban CFCs.

Even when governments have decided what dangers to concentrate on, they still face the problem of how far to go. We can always avert danger with extreme measures. The US governments could have banned flying after 9/11. The British could have introduced airport-type screening at London Underground stations after the 2005 bombings. But the inconvenience - and economic cost - would have been too high.

Sunstein's book is best when he discusses how we weigh up the costs of protecting ourselves against the benefits of doing so. Many object to cost-benefit analysis, regarding it as cold and mechanical, particularly the placing of monetary value on human lives. Sunstein accepts it is a rough instrument, but he argues that many of us implicitly use it. Are we worried about the health impact of mobile phones? Possibly, but not so worried that we have stopped using them: the personal toll would be too high.

On the other hand, Europeans have been happy to reject genetically modified food, because the cost of doing so is, to them, small - although the consequences to farmers in the developing world, who could benefit from disease-resistant crops, may be great. Similarly, Americans can ignore efforts to reduce climate change. They cannot see how it will affect them, although the cost may be borne by others. The depletion of the ozone layer was different; Americans were worried they might get skin cancer.

Governments can attempt to persuade people of threats by framing them in these personal terms, but they will suffer a loss of credibility if the dangers fail to appear. This is the problem with disasters. We can imagine them, but not predict which ones will happen. It is right that every disaster is followed by an inquiry, that changes are made, that people are fired, that security is improved. But we should never forget how hard prediction is - or our own frequent reluctance to pay the price of safety.

Michael Skapinker is an FT columnist.

FT: Of ordinariness and occupation


Of ordinariness and occupation

By Sharmila Devi

Published: January 12 2008 02:00 | Last updated: January 12 2008 02:00

Afirst journey into Ramallah can induce a mild adrenalin rush for those unused to Israeli soldiers, guns and checkpoints. But, once in the outskirts of this West Bank city, the fervour of security gives way to an almost rural calm.

Although some of the white- and-pink limestone buildings bear the pockmarks of gun battles, it is the winding and hilly streets, where children play in spotless school uniforms, that force vehicles to slow down and their passengers to take in their surroundings.

Ramallah has no architectural glories or historic landmarks to draw visitors. Its attraction lies in the very ordinariness of everyday life in the midst of conflict and occupation. The local policeman waves you across potholed roads with a bemused smile. Just around a corner, a gap between buildings offers an angled view of the stony, biblical hills surrounding the city.

Mosques and women in headscarves are prevalent. But Ramallah is also home to Quaker schools, yuppie gyms, restaurants, bars and galleries that provide a haven from the almost constant political conflict.

Palestinians are used to foreigners and meet many journalists, aid workers, diplomats and peacenik Israelis. Intense debates of historical grievances are usually accompanied by Arab hospitality of food, drink and jokes.

Ramallah has been transformed over the past 60 years. In the early 20th century it was a provincial, predominantly Christian town dotted with villas for rich Palestinians escaping the summer heat of coastal Jaffa.

But the town was forced to absorb massive influxes of Palestinian refugees after the creation of the state of Israel in 1948 and its Six-Day War against Egpyt, Syria and Jordan in 1967.

Unlike the historic West Bank cities of Nablus, Hebron and, of course, Jerusalem, Ramallah's relative modernity has better enabled it to cope with transformation.

Its present incarnation started with the Oslo accords of 1993, which gave the Palestinians limited self-rule but also intensified Israel's separation of the West Bank and Ramallah from Jerusalem, which is less than 10 miles away.

Palestinians yearn for Jerusalem but most cannot go there because Israeli checkpoints prevent them from moving freely around the West Bank. Jerusalem as the capital of a Palestinian state remains a distant dream and Ramallah has become the de facto , if reluctant, Palestinian capital for politics, business and culture. In the restaurants and bars of this enclosed world, smart-suited officials from the Palestinian Authority's government offices and ministries rub shoulders with budding filmmakers.

US and European governments warn their citizens against visiting. But foreigners can move more easily than Palestinians between the disparate worlds of Israel and the occupied territories. Convoys of diplomats swishing through town are a common sight. All other foreigners will either need their own car or a friendly taxi driver to navigate the numerous checkpoints to enter the city through Israel's West Bank separation barrier, which around Ramallah is mostly an eight-metre-high concrete wall.

Overseas friends who visited me always wanted to see the late Yassir Arafat's offices because of the iconic images of his Mukata , or headquarters, being shelled and besieged by the Israeli army. Arafat died in 2004 and the Mukata now contains his tomb.

The guards at the Mukata 's gates look fierce but a polite request will win a smile and entry to the tomb in the large courtyard.

Near the Mukata is a fast-food landmark. Falafel Abu Loay has been run by the eponymous owner since he left the northern city of Jenin after an Israeli army incursion in 2002. Abu Loay is deaf but his loyal customers will park on the kerb near his stall and hold up the appropriate number of digits to signal how many orders they want.

Ramallah's restaurants and bars are always packed, even though they are too expensive for many Palestinians. Conversation with strangers is easy, usually over a selection of mezz e or salads and nargileh, or bubbly water-pipe.

There is the Upside Down Café where a tableau of chairs and tables glued to the ceiling serves as decoration. Palestinian journalists like to gather here and their ranks swelled with a small exodus of Palestinians who fled the Gaza Strip after Hamas took over last June. Darna's restaurant is for the elite. Palestinian negotiators will huddle with diplomats next to tables of ladies who lunch. Pronto's around the corner is much more informal, for aid workers and Palestinian artists.

In the summer, drinkers and diners will spill over to pavement tables, undeterred by the growing Islamisation of Palestinian society. If there is tension, provoked by either an Israeli army raid or by militant youths known as the shebab , public places quickly empty.

Film festivals, art exhibitions, dance and theatre are all booming in Ramallah, promoted with the help of foreign donors and the Palestinian diaspora dispersed around the rest of the world. Such activities are vital for a population who are increasingly imprisoned in their city. At a recent book reading, I chatted with a local human rights lawyer now author, Rajah Shehadeh, who spoke about his love for the nearby hills.

He wrote in his book Palestinian Walks: Notes on a Vanishing Landscape how the surrounding terrain had shrunk because of Israeli settlements: "Perhaps the curse of Palestine is its centrality to the west's historical and biblical imagination. The landscape is thus cut to match the grim events recorded there."

Sharmila Devi is the FT's former Jerusalem correspondent


NY Times: Majoring in Mailroom Management

Majoring in Mailroom Management

 
Published: November 21, 2007
 

LOS ANGELES — There was the ant farm, the air-conditioner, the barbecue grill. Then there was the chalk, pool cues and pool balls, and the car tires and a bumper.

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Jamie Rector for The New York Times

Margaret Heck, a freshman at the University of Southern California, which expects to receive 67,000 packages this year.

     

These are just some of the items delivered recently to mailrooms at universities across the country, a reflection of students’ tastes and online shopping habits.

David J. Amescua, supervisor for incoming mail at the University of Southern California, said the car tires that came through his mailroom arrived unwrapped, with a sturdy tag indicating the intended recipient and the necessary postage.

“That’s the weirdest thing,” said Mr. Amescua, who has worked at the university for more than 30 years. “Now that they have access to buying online, we have all kinds of stuff coming through here.”

The number of packages delivered to U.S.C. has nearly doubled in four years. By Dec. 31, officials expect they will have received more than 67,000 packages in 2007. Other universities have seen similar increases. To handle the volume, some have expanded their facilities or put in new procedures to track the stream of deliveries.

“Some folks don’t realize the logistical implications,” said Jeff Urdahl, who recently retired as director of housing at U.S.C., which has installed a state-of-the-art mailroom half the size of a volleyball court in a new residential building for about 450 students. “It’s a different world.”

At the University at Albany, part of the State University of New York system, the mailroom has handled a dishwasher, a pool table, a refrigerator and a car muffler. At the University of Florida, a student received a box labeled “Winchester,” and had to explain to the university police that he had ordered the ammunition to go on a hunting trip.

It is difficult to gauge how much online spending is driven by college students. But such sales are soaring. Last year, online retail sales rose to nearly $220 billion, according to Shop.org, a division of the National Retail Federation, and this year sales are expected to reach $259 billion.

Online retail sales are approaching 10 percent of total retail sales, according to Shop.org.

Rebecca Johnson, an 18-year-old first-year student at Southern California, said she might buy something online up to three times a week.

“I’m not really shopping every day online,” Ms. Johnson said. “Most of my time online I spend on Facebook.”

But time spent “Facebooking” is also prime shopping time for multitasking students. Another U.S.C. student, Margaret Heck, 18, said she usually checked a few online retailers’ sites whenever she checked in on Facebook. Favorite clothing and apparel sites she and other women named included Wet Seal, Forever 21, Victoria’s Secret and Hot Topic for shoes.

At U.S.C., Simon Lum, 19, ordered the chalk, pool cues and pool balls because he wanted to play pool after the front desk of his dormitory, which provides pool equipment to students, closed. He said that he ordered something online every two weeks or so, but added that he usually sold items on eBay, too, to offset his costs.

“I don’t buy stuff randomly,” Mr. Lum said, noting that when he bought a new pair of headphones, he sold his old ones for $10 more than he had paid.

Sandra Stanton, 18 and a first-year student at U.S.C., said, “I do buy a lot of things, but it’s O.K. because I buy things that are cheap.”

She added, a little sheepishly, that she might spend up to two hours a day scouring the Web for bargains, especially for shoes. “How can I make a fashion statement if I don’t have shoes that don’t match what I’m wearing?”

Matching shoes, Ms. Stanton continued, would be “so fifth grade.”

Several students interviewed for this article said they paid for their online purchases with their earnings from campus jobs, savings from summer internships and allowances from parents. But others said they just charged purchases to their credit cards.

There are not many comprehensive studies of students’ credit card debt, but the loan company Nellie Mae, a unit of Sallie Mae, reported that in 2004, 76 percent of undergraduate students had cards, and that they carried an average balance of $2,169. Other estimates are significantly greater.

Dealing with the increased mailroom activity is also costing colleges money. Pomona College — whose mailroom handled the ant farm, air-conditioner and barbecue grill — spent thousands on a system to scan bar codes, which sends students e-mail messages notifying them when they have packages in the mailroom. Pomona has also expanded its mailroom, making room for more packages.

At SUNY Binghamton, where the number of packages received increased to 57,000 last year, from 33,000 in 2002, officials invested about $25,000 in a bar code scanning system to track packages from the moment of arri