One Key Tenet of the Neoreaction

Tuesday, January 7th, 2014

If Foseti were forced to pick the one key tenet of the neoreaction, he’d pick this understanding of Progressivism, borrowed from Moldbug:

To the reactionary, Progressivism is a nontheistic Christain sect. If you don’t understand Progressivism in this way, you simply don’t understand Progressivism.

From this understanding of Progressivism, all other reactionary ideas flow. For example, here’s reactionary history in one sentence is: “Massachusetts, of course, later went on [i.e. after conquering the US in the Civil War] to conquer first Europe and then the entire planet, the views of whose elites in 2007 bear a surprisingly coincidental resemblance to those held at Harvard in 1945.” Similarly, political correctness and diversity-worship really can’t be understood unless they’re viewed as religious beliefs — at which point their operation becomes startlingly clear.

For certain people that have recently decided to call themselves reactionaries, this understanding of Progressivism is an uncomfortable conclusion. For others (like yours truly) the idea that any Western ideology could be entirely devoid of influence from Christianity is absurd.

Prince Johnson

Tuesday, January 7th, 2014

I find the WPA slave narratives fascinating, like this interview with Prince Johnson:

Yes, mam, I sure can tell you all about it ’cause I was there when it all happened. My grandfather Peter, Grandmother Millie, my Father, John, and my Mother, Frances, all came from Alabama to Yazoo County, Mississippi, to live in the Love family. There names were Dennis when they came but after the custom of them days, they took the name of Love from their new owner. Me and all of my brothers and sisters were born right there. There were eleven head of us. I was the oldest. Then came Harry, John, William, Henry, Phillis, Polly, Nellie, Virginia, Millie, and the baby Ella. We all lived in the quarters and our beds were home made. They had wooden legs and canvas stretched across. I can’t remember so much about the quarters because about that time the young Miss married Col. Johnson and moved to his place in Carroll County. She carried with her over one hundred head of darkies and our names was changed from Love to Johnson. My new master was sure a fine gentleman and he lived in a big white house that had two stories on it, and big white posts in front. There were flowers all around it that just set it off.

Master took me for the house boy, and I carried my head high. He would say to me. “Prince, do you know who you were named for”, and I would say to him, “Yes sir, Prince Albert.” And then he would say to me, “Well, always carry yourself like he did.” To this good day I holds myself like Master said.

On certain days of the week one of the old men on the place took us house servants to the field to learn us to work. We was brought up to know how to do anything that came to hand. Master would let us work at odd times for out siders and we could use the money we made for anything we pleased. My grandmother sold enough corn to buy her two feather beds. We always had plenty to eat. The old folks did the cooking for all the field hands, ‘cept on Sunday when each family cooked for his self. Old Miss would come every Sunday morning with sugar and white flour. We would most generally have fish, rabbits, ‘possums or coons. Lord Child! those possums was good eating. I can tate them now. Folks these days don’t know nothing about good eating. My master had a great big garden for every body and I ain’t never seen such sweet ‘tatoes as grew in that garden. They were so sweet the sugar would bust right through the peeling when you roast them on the hearth. Old Aunt Emily cooked for all the children on the place. Half an hour by the sun, they were all called in to supper. They had pot licker and ash cake and such things as would make them grow to be strong and healthy. Those children didn’t know nothing about all those fancy ailments what children have now. They ran and played all day in their shirt tails in the summer time, but when winter came they had good warm clothes same as us older ones. One day Master’s children and all the colored children slipped off to the orchard. They were eating green apples fast as they could swallow, when who should come riding up but Master himself. He lined them all up, black and white alike, and cut a keen switch and there was not a one in that line that didn’t get a few licks. Then he called the old doctor woman and made her give them every one a dose of medicine. There wasn’t one of them that got sick. Master and old Miss had five children. They are all dead and gone now, and I am still here. One of his sons was a Supreme Judge before he died. My folks were sure quality. Master bought all the little places around us so he wouldn’t have no poor white trash neighbors. Yes sir! he owned about thirty-five hundred acres and at least a hundred and fifty slaves. Every morning about four o’clock we could hear that horn blow for us to get up and go to the field. We always quit work before the sun went down, and never worked at night. The overseer was a white man. His name was Josh Neighbors, but the driver was a colored man, “Old Man Henry.” He wasn’t allowed to mistreat nobody. If he got too upety they called his hand right now. The rule was if a nigger wouldn’t work he would be sold. Another rule on that place was that if a man got dissatisfied he was to go to old Master and ask him to put him in his pocket. That meant he wanted to be sold, and the money he brought to be put in the pocket. I ain’t never known of but two asking to be put in the pocket, and both of them was put in.

They had jails in those days but they were built for white folk. No colored person was ever put in one of them ’till after the War. We didn’t know nothing about them things. ‘Course old Miss knowed about them ’cause she knowed everything. I recollect she told me one day that she had learning in five different languages. None of us didn’t have no learning at all. That is, we didn’t have no book learning. There wasn’t no teachers or anything of that kind, but we sure were taught to be Christians. Everything on that place was a blue stocking Presbyterian. When Sunday came we dressed all clean and nice and went to Church. There wasn’t no separate church for the colored. We went to the white folks church and set in the gallery. We had a fine preacher. His name was Cober. He could sure give out the words of wisdom. We didn’t have big baptizings like was had on heaps of the places, ’cause Presbyterians don’t go down under the water like the Baptist does. Old Miss wouldn’t stand for no such things as voodoo and “hants”. When she inspected us once a week, you better not have no charm round your heck. She would not as much as let us wear a bag of asafetida, and most folks believed that would keep off sickness. She called such as that superstition and she says we was enlightened Christian Presbyterians and as such we must conduct ourselves. She didn’t want to hear of no stories being told ’bout “hants” and ghosts cause there wan’t no such things. I speck she was right ’cause I ain’t never seed one in all the ninety years I’ve been living. If one of the slaves died he was sure given a grand Christian funeral. All of us mourners were there. Services were conducted by the white preacher. Just before the war came on, my Master called me to him and told me he was going to take me to North Carolina to his brother for safe keeping. Right then I knowed something was wrong, and I was wishing from the bottom of my heart the ‘Publicans would stay out of our business and not get us all ‘sturbed in the mind.

Nobody worked after dinner on Saturday. We took that time to scrub ourselves and our houses so as to be ready for inspection Sunday morning. Some Saturday nights we had dances. The same old fiddler played for us that played for the white folks. And could he play! When he got that old fiddle out you couldn’t keep your foots still. When Christmas came that was the time of all times on that old plantation. They don’t have no such as that now. Every child brought a stocking up to the big house to be filled. They all wanted one of Old Miss’es stockings cause now she weighted near on to three hundred pounds. Candy was put in piles for each person. When their names were called they walked up and got it, and everything there was for him besides. We didn’t work on New Year’s day. We could go to town or anywhere we liked, but we didn’t have no kind of celebration. The most fun a person can have is at a “corn shucking”. You have two captains and they each choose the ones they want on their side. Then the shucking begins. The last one I ‘tended, the side I was on beat by three barrels. We put our Captain on our shoulders and rode him up and down while every body cheered and clapped their hands like the world was coming to an end. You can’t make mention of nothing good that we didn’t have to eat after the “shucking.” I studies about those days now. The big parties at the white folks house, and me all dressed up with tallow on my face to make it shine, serving the guests.

Power to the People

Monday, January 6th, 2014

I recently cited a long-lost interview with Frank Herbert — but I only cited the third part, not the second:

One of the things I noticed as a reporter — I was a journalist longer than I’ve been on this side of the table — is that in all the marching in the streets in the ’60s, the people who were shouting “Power to the People” didn’t mean power to the people.  They meant “power to me and I’ll tell the people what to do.”  When you questioned them it was confirmed at every turn.

Power to the people will really happen when the people wake up to the fact that you can’t separate economics from politics, when they wake up to their own motivations, what they want, what can be sold to them.  Because the real pitfall of democracy is that it is demagogue-prone.  We like to have people stand up and tell us what we want to hear.  I have conditioned myself so that the minute I hear a politician standing up there saying nice things that sound good to lot of people my alarm signals go off and I say, “Why, you damned son of a bitch, you’re just another damned demagogue.

I don’t think there’s a fucking bit of difference between a bureaucracy that is instituted by a democratic regime, a state; socialist regime, a communist regime or a capitalist regime.  Take a look at us right now.  We have created a bureaucracy in this country which is completely out of the hands of the people.  Your votes do not touch it.  One day when I was working in Washington, D.C. as a speech-writer for a U.S. senator from Oregon, I was at a meeting of the Department of Commerce and a very, very high department official, a lifetime bureaucrat, was talking about another senator, who was giving them some trouble.  And this high bureaucrat called this senator a “transient.” And sure enough, that senator was defeated in the next election.  So he was a transient.  But the bureaucrat was, still there, and he retired on a separate retirement system for the federal bureaucracy.

Spandrell notes that the bureaucracy seems to rule everywhere.

By the way, part one of that Herbert interview is, amusingly, about how good the then-new Dune movie is.

Run-Prone Financial Contracts

Friday, January 3rd, 2014

Bank runs are a feature of how banks get their money, John Cochrane says, not where they invest their money:

So a better approach, in my view, would be to purge the system of run-prone financial contracts — that is, fixed-value promises that are payable on demand and cause bankruptcy if not honored, like bank deposits and overnight debt. Instead, we subsidize short-term debt via government guarantees, tax deductibility, and favorable regulation, and then we try to regulate financial institutions not to overuse that which we subsidize.

[...]

[I]f we purge the system of run-prone financial contracts, essentially requiring anything risky to be financed by equity, long-term debt, or contracts that allow suspension of payment without forcing the issuer to bankruptcy, then we won’t have runs, which means we won’t have crises. People will still lose money, as they did in the tech stock crash, but they won’t react by running and forcing needless bankruptcies.

This sounds radical to Arnold Kling, but I’ve long held that demand deposits fail spectacularly.

Release the Hounds

Friday, January 3rd, 2014

You probably heard that North Korean leader Kim Jong Un’s powerful uncle was executed recently, but did you hear how? He was stripped naked, thrown into a cage, and eaten alive by a pack of 120 ravenous dogs. (I’m not sure they have any other kind of dog in North Korea.)

When you play the game of thrones, you win, or you die.

Parkinson’s Law

Friday, January 3rd, 2014

Work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion, so, Cyril Northcote Parkinson noted, the number of the officials and the quantity of the work to be done are not related to each other at all:

Factor I. — An official wants to multiply subordinates, not rivals; and

Factor II. — Officials make work for each other.

We must now examine these motive forces in turn.

The Law of Multiplication of Subordinates

To comprehend Factor I, we must picture a civil servant called A who finds himself overworked. Whether this overwork is real or imaginary is immaterial; but we should observe, in passing, that A’s sensation (or illusion) might easily result from his own decreasing energy — a normal symptom of middle-age. For this real or imagined overwork there are, broadly speaking, three possible remedies

(1) He may resign.

(2) He may ask to halve the work with a colleague called B.

(3) He may demand the assistance of two subordinates, to be called C and D.

There is probably no instance in civil service history of A choosing any but the third alternative. By resignation he would lose his pension rights. By having B appointed, on his own level in the hierarchy, he would merely bring in a rival for promotion to W’s vacancy when W (at long last) retires. So A would rather have C and D, junior men, below him. They will add to his consequence; and, by dividing the work into two categories, as between C and D, he will have the merit of being the only man who comprehends them both.

It is essential to realise, at this point, that C and D are, as it were, inseparable. To appoint C alone would have been impossible. Why? Because C, if by himself, would divide the work with A and so assume almost the equal status which has been refused in the first instance to B; a status the more emphasised if C is A’s only possible successor. Subordinates must thus number two or more, each being kept in order by fear of the other’s promotion. When C complains in turn of being overworked (as he certainly will) A will, with the concurrence of C, advise the appointment of two assistants to help C. But he can then avert internal friction only by advising the appointment of two more assistants to help D, whose position is much the same. With this recruitment of E, F, G and H, the promotion of A is now practically certain.

The Law of Multiplication of Work

Seven officials are now doing what one did before. This is where Factor II comes into operation. For these seven make so much work for each other that all are fully occupied and A is actually working harder than ever. An incoming document may well come before each of them in turn. Official E decides that it falls within the province of F, who places a draft reply before C, who amends it drastically before consulting D, who asks G to deal with it. But G goes on leave at this point, handing the file over to H, who drafts a minute, which is signed by D and returned to C, who revises his draft accordingly and lays the new version before A.

What does A do? He would have every excuse for signing the thing unread, for he has many other matters on his mind. Knowing now that he is to succeed W next year, he has to decide whether C or D should succeed to his own office. He had to agree to G going on leave, although not yet strictly entitled to it. He is worried whether H should not have gone instead, for reasons of health. He has looked pale recently — partly but not solely because of his domestic troubles. Then there is the business of F’s special increment of salary for the period of the conference, and E’s application for transfer to the Ministry of Pensions. A has heard that D is in love with a married typist and that G and F are no longer on speaking terms — no one seems to know why. So A might be tempted to sign C’s draft and have done with it.

But A is a conscientious man. Beset as he is with problems created by his colleagues for themselves and for him — created by the mere fact of these officials’ existence — he is not the man to shirk his duty. He reads through the draft with care, deletes the fussy paragraphs added by C and H and restores the thing back to the form preferred in the first instance by the able (if quarrelsome) F. He corrects the English — none of these young men can write grammatically — and finally produces the same reply he would have written if officials C to H had never been born. Far more people have taken far longer to produce the same result. No one has been idle. All have done their best. And it is late in the evening before A finally quits his office and begins the return journey to Ealing. The last of the office lights are being turned off in the gathering dusk which marks the end of another day’s administrative toil. Among the last to leave, A reflects, with bowed shoulders and a wry smile, that late hours, like grey hairs, are among the penalties of success.

The Savage Gentleman

Thursday, January 2nd, 2014

When Worlds Collide by Philip Wylie and Edwin BalmerPhilip Wylie only wrote a few works that might qualify as science fiction, but they were quite influential: Gladiator, which likely inspired Superman, The Savage Gentleman, which likely inspired Doc Savage, and When Worlds Collide, with Edwin Balmer, which inspired Alex Raymond’s comic strip, Flash Gordon.

I’ve mentioned Gladiator before:

Reading Gladiator now, as someone who takes Superman for granted, is an almost disorienting experience; it’s almost as if Siegel and Shuster took Wylie’s work and surgically removed, even inverted, all of its dark, lost generation irony.

In Gladiator, the protagonist, Hugo Danner, is born in a small town in the Midwest — Indian Creek, Colorado — but his parents are a hen-pecked local college biology professor and an obsessively religious shrew of a woman — more backward and small-minded than salt of the earth.

Danner leaps across a river, jumps fifty feet straight up, lifts a cannon overhead with one arm, kills a shark by ripping its jaws apart, fells a charging bull with a fist between the eyes, and lifts a car by its bumper and turns it around in the road. “All of these were, in 1930, fresh and new and very exciting to read about,” Wylie’s biographer notes — but even though Superman goes on to do all of these things, the tone of Wylie’s novel couldn’t be further from a four-color comic book. When Danner joins the French Foreign Legion at the start of the Great War — which certainly sounds romantic, doesn’t it? — he ends up killing German soldiers. Many, many German soldiers. When his friend dies in an artillery barrage that he survives, he goes into a berserk rage and tears apart his enemies with his bare hands. It feels like digging his hands into warm cow manure.

The Savage Gentleman starts with a pulpy, if not quite sci-fi premise: what if you took a boy, of good stock, and raised him, away from society, to be a… well, not quite a superman, but an ideal mortal man.

In pulp-author Lester Dent‘s hands, this becomes Doc Savage, raised from birth by his father and a team of dedicated scientists to become the ultimate crime-fighting hero.

In Wylie’s novel, Henry Stone is the son of a newspaper magnate whose wife has run off. The father takes the infant boy away from New York, and, with the help of his engineer and his faithful black servant, builds a new home for all of them on an uninhabited island. There the boy is raised hunting and fishing, building and farming, studying and training. His father personally tutors him on how to behave amongst gentlemen — and warns him off women.

When Henry finally returns to civilization, in his prime, he finds his training obsolete. Times have changed:

By and large, Henry had not enjoyed what he saw. Everything was a reflection of his first impressions, colored by his father’s lessons and marred by his experience with Marian [the "sophisticated" granddaughter of his father's old lawyer]. Anyone taken from the late nineteenth century and hurled into the present day without preparation would experience the same dismay and revulsion.

Those who lived through it witnessed a change so gradual that it seemed almost inappreciable — although thousands of the older generation are still perpetually raising their hands in horror. They saw the polka become ragtime and the ragtime war music and the war music jazz. They watched corsets disappear and skirts rise and rouge come slowly to the lips of the guileless. They were shocked by the flapper who drank from a flask until the flapper became so familiar that she was commonplace and until they perceived that the skies had not yet fallen.

Other things happened step by step to that generation. Prohibition came — and they assumed that their own drinking could continue and were resentful of any effort to check it. When rebellion became a fad, they marched in the van — and as that rebellion bred gangs and political corruption, they looked on calmly, because it was not they who felt they were to blame.

Meanwhile the newspapers, and the magazines, the cinema and the radio and thousands of novels broadened their attitude toward morality.  Things were said in print that had not been put in writing since the silver age of Rome.  There were mutterings and censorships, but the movement toward tolerance and frank examination rolled over them.  Psychology developed a new sense of the reasons for human behavior that the public slowly and partially assimilated.  Thirty years of education and change marked the twentieth century.

Henry had missed them all.  He came untouched from the old era.

Wylie, writing in the 1930s, thinks “modern” psychology has some merit.

Henry’s speech to his aide, Tom, explains his position:

“I came here like Christopher Columbus. The new world was ahead of me. I was bursting with love for it, ambition, ideals. I had yearned for it for twenty years — ever since I was a child. I had been taught that it was a glorious place where a man could do a man’s work.

“What did I find? First — something so beautiful and breathtaking that I could not contain myself. The buildings and the machinery. We never imagined anything like it on the island. It seemed to me that humanity was at last reaching up toward the stars. That it had climbed out of the earth. I was ecstatic.

“Then I looked again. You have to look twice to see. The whole world is sour. Rotten. Despicable. It has emerged from the most terrible war of all time — a war that accomplished absolutely nothing. Blood in rivers in every direction and afterward — jealous piddling of little men. It’s sickening.

“Once there was in this country a standard of morals and manners. That’s gone. Vulgarity is everywhere. In the theaters and the radio and the newspapers. Nobody cares. Vicious men run through the streets with machine guns and shoot down children. Demagogues and morons and even criminals are elected political leaders. The bodies of government have become a shambles of cheap wit and expensive graft. My father warned me against women — and the women have sunk beneath the men. They’re painted prostitutes — even the old ones. Decency has deserted the best homes. Everyone fights for money. Money! There’s madness for it. Greed and exploitation. War and corruption. Stupidity and hatred.”

Rather… reactionary.

We Pretend To Teach, and They Pretend to Learn

Sunday, December 29th, 2013

Jerry Pournelle describes the original Master Plan for the University of California system:

Back about 1970 I was involved with the Council that was to draw up the Master Plan for the University of California system. The program was very structured: the University System would have a limited number of campuses, and would do all the graduate school education. There would be a limited number of undergraduates at each of those campuses, and they would be the elite applicants. Tuition would be low for state residents, and very high for out of state and foreign students. This would be the University system, and it would be for the best and the brightest. Salaries would be high for an elite faculty.

In addition, there would be the California State Colleges, which would not be permitted to award graduate degrees. They would do undergraduate education, and send their best and brightest to compete for places in the University system graduate schools. Their primary purpose was teaching, and it was on their ability to teach that faculty members would be chosen and retained: no publish or perish, because their purpose was to teach, not to do “research”. They were not to discover knowledge, but to convey it to most of the undergraduates in the state. A small number would go to the University undergraduate system, but about 90% of all undergraduates enrolled in state higher education would be in the California State Colleges. This would include colleges of education and teacher. Again the focus would not be on ‘research’ or anything else other than producing great teachers for the California schools.

Of course as soon as the Master Plan was adopted and funded, the California State Colleges began a political campaign to be turned into universities, with salaries comparable to the Universities, and graduate schools with research, and publish or perish, and all the rest of it; and instead of being teaching institutions they would become second rate copies of the Universities, with a faculty neglecting teaching in order to gather prestige in research and publication, or, perhaps, at least to look as if they were. In any event the California State Colleges became California State Universities, their commitment to actual undergraduate education was tempered to make room for the graduate schools, budgets were higher, costs were higher, and tuition, which had been designed to be very low, began to climb.

[...]

The Universities pretend to teach and the students pretend to learn, the costs rise and the number qualified to do something a company might actually pay them to do goes down. And the salaries of the teachers and professors and deans and assistants to the Associate Deans, and all the rest continues. The ‘Post Doc” fellowship, which pays a pittance to someone who has actually earned a PhD but can’t find anything useful to do with it continues.

Credentials are essential and expensive, and they are not worthless because you generally can’t get a job without them; but they don’t really certify that you can do anything, only that you have acquired the credential, something that you must have even to be considered for a job

And so it goes.

Survival of the species depends on adaptability

Saturday, December 28th, 2013

Survival of the species depends on adaptability, Frank Herbert argues, and that depends on variability, variation:

I think that big government is one of the major dangers in our world.  It tends to homogenize a society, and our strength is in our variations.  The bigger it is, the worse it is.  Small governments, small societies — developing their own mores, their own social systems, their own people, going their own ways to a limit — do not endanger their neighbors.  I hope to God we get off the planet soon, because that’s what will happen in space.  The difficulty of communication across space at our present level of technology dictates that if we get off this planet with a viable breeding population of humans, and if they scatter into different directions, each group is going to develop in its own way.  Variation means the species will survive.  And that’s what I’m addressing in the Dune books.

When your check has cleared, we will ship

Friday, December 27th, 2013

The amount of energy that can be aimed and released is getting greater and greater and falling into the hands of smaller and smaller groups, Frank Herbert noted, back in 1984:

The availability of this energy is also being disseminated all through this society. Something I proved conclusively in my research for White Plague. I got on the horn and I started calling suppliers of equipment I would need to engage in recombinant DNA research myself in my basement. I introduced myself only as Dr. Herbert. I didn’t elaborate. You know, what’s the difference between a Doctor of Letters and a Doctor of Medicine? Anyway, I asked, “How, does my purchasing department get your XR 21?” Their reply was, “When your check has cleared, we will ship.” Anything I wanted.

Now does that mean I want to clamp a lid on it? No way! That would only drive it underground and make a black market, which is what we do with hard drugs. We create a black market. A very profitable black market by the way, which can buy the inviolate Briefcases of diplomats, buy the police force of an entire major city or enough of it that it makes no never mind. You know what happened to the heroin the cops seized in The French Connection? It vanished from the police property room in New York City. You can’t control these things with a lid. In fact if you try, like a pressure cooker, you only create dangerous, explosive pressure.

Can We Disrupt Poverty by Changing How Poor Parents Talk to Their Kids?

Friday, December 27th, 2013

Can we disrupt poverty by changing how poor parents talk to their kids?

By the time poor children are 3, researchers believe they have heard on average about 30 million fewer words than children the same age from better-off families, setting back their vocabulary, cognitive development, and future reading skills before the first day of school. This disadvantage is “already almost irreversible,” says Kenneth Wong, a professor of education policy at Brown University.

I love the way correlation is treated as causation. How many different English words do affluent children with a nanny hear, by the way?

The Providence Talks project is spending its $5 million grant from Bloomberg Philanthropies on a pedometer for words:

The device, a 2-ounce specialized recorder about the size of a deck of cards, maps the intensity of communication between parents and children. The infants and toddlers in Providence Talks will wear it twice a month, tucked into a custom-made vest, for 12 to 16 hours at a time. The recorder then plugs into a computer, where software automatically converts the audio files into charts that can be used by Meeting Street to coach the parents on how and when they might speak to their children more often.

As always, these things devolve into self-parody:

For years, we didn’t notice this inequality of vocabulary — or the extent of it — because it was a painstaking thing to measure before the advent of smarter recorders and software. A seminal study, published in 1995 by two child psychologists at the University of Kansas, Betty Hart and Todd Risley, manually identified the effect.

They spent two-and-a-half years studying 42 Kansas City families of varying incomes with children who were, at the start of the study, 7 to 9 months old. For an hour each month, Hart and Risley recorded and observed everything that took place in a home around a child. They ultimately spent four years transcribing and analyzing 1,300 hours of observation. Their results showed that children in families on welfare heard half as many words per hour as children of working-class parents, and a third as many as children of professional parents.

Over time, the children also came to mirror their parents in vocabulary and interactions. “When we listened to the children,” Hart and Risley wrote, “we seemed to hear their parents speaking.”

Really? No one noticed the difference in speech patterns between poor children and rich? And only now do we realize that children sound like their parents?

The goal is clear:

Suskind is eager to see this strategy, backed by more research, help more than a handful of families. Imagine, for example, if aggregated data from a project like this could help cities make the case for more library funding in neighborhoods where children do not hear as many words.

“We need this to succeed. We want this to succeed,” Suskind says of Providence Talks, whose advisory board she has joined. “If this can be shown to be effective on a larger scale, it would be a great thing.”

The Original Welfare Queen

Thursday, December 26th, 2013

The original welfare queen was even worse than anyone imagined:

In late September 1974, seven weeks after Sherwin met Taylor for the second time, the detective’s findings made the Chicago Tribune. “Linda Taylor received Illinois welfare checks and food stamps, even tho[ugh] she was driving three 1974 autos—a Cadillac, a Lincoln, and a Chevrolet station wagon—claimed to own four South Side buildings, and was about to leave for a vacation in Hawaii,” wrote Pulitzer Prize winner George Bliss. The story detailed a 14-page report that Sherwin had put together illuminating “a lifestyle of false identities that seemed calculated to confuse our computerized, credit-oriented society.” There was evidence that the 47-year-old Taylor had used three social security cards, 27 names, 31 addresses, and 25 phone numbers to fuel her mischief, not to mention 30 different wigs.

As the Tribune and other outlets stayed on the story, those figures continued to rise. Reporters noted that Linda Taylor had used as many as 80 names, and that she’d received at least $150,000—in illicit welfare cash, the numbers that Ronald Reagan would cite on the campaign trail in 1976. (Though she used dozens of different identities, I’ve chosen to call her Linda Taylor in this story, as it’s how the public came to know her at the height of her infamy.) Taylor also gained a reputation as a master of disguise. “She is black, but is able to pass herself off as Spanish, Filipino, white, and black,” the executive director of Illinois’ Legislative Advisory Committee on Public Aid told the Associated Press in November 1974. “And it appears she can be any age she wishes, from the early 20s to the early 50s.”

It gets worse.

They don’t want the future

Thursday, December 26th, 2013

When people came to Frank Herbert and asked him about the future, they didn’t want the future:

What most people want when they talk about futurism — all the companies that hire me to play futurist for them — they don’t want the future, they want now locked in.  FDR, he did it.  In 1933 he appointed a committee called the Brain Trust.  They were given the primary job of “determining” what the course of technological development and innovation would be for the next 25 years and what influence this would have on our lives.  What had they not come up with?  That’s the fascinating thing.  Faster-than-sound travel, transistors, antibiotics, atomic power, World War II, are just a few small items that these Brain Trusters missed.  What does this say to us?  It says that if you look at history carefully the surprises are the things that turn us upside down as a society.  Asimov in his Foundation Trilogy has the Second Foundation, which can predict the course of the future, and he has his character the Mule in there, his wild card, but again totally within scientifically predictable norms.  Horseshit!

Fixing One Thing

Wednesday, December 25th, 2013

In 1984, around the time that the Dune movie was coming out, Frank Herbert gave an interview to Jean Marie Stine of the Los Angeles Reader:

JMS: In Dune, written in the early ’60s, you were one of the first to question the danger of modifying the ecology of a particular environment to try to “improve” human conditions.

Herbert:  Let me give you a little example on that one.  About 20 years ago the U.S. and West Germany pooled their resources — well, we put in most of the bucks and the people — and went into North Africa, and all across most of the southern veldt of the Sahara.  We dug a lot of tube wells — we drilled them, put pumps on them and brought water up.  We did a good thing and then we walked away from it, more or less.  Technologically we sure as hell walked away from it.

What happened was that they had more water and more grazing areas.  More arable land was opened up, more cattle were put on the land, and the population grew to equal the new food supply.  Then about five years ago, the rainfall, cyclic rainfall, decidedly decreased.  Three years ago it went, practically dry.  Of course the water table went down much faster because they were pumping.  Right now as we sit here talking, 2,000 people a day are dying in that area.  You can’t go in and fix one thing to make everything all right in a complex situation. It’s like an internal combustion engine.  If there is only one thing wrong you may happen on the one thing that fixes it.  But chances are much larger that by just doing one thing you create other problems you’re going to have to adjust.  And you have to keep adjusting until you create a balance.

For instance, one of the side effects of what we did in some of those North African villages was that we broke down the social system.  Women previously went to the well for water, which they carried back on their heads, and the well was where they solved all their community problems.  By piping water into the houses we cut off that link in their society and all hell broke loose.  There were family feuds, murders, all kinds of things that had never occurred in these places, in that particular way, ever before.  The Green Revolution was another, similar con game.  We went in with a technologically based system into primitive countries, and where before they had depended on manure and animals to pull their plows and that sort of thing, we made them dependent on special soil additives and special seed stock which was, by the way, very vulnerable to disease.

I’m reminded of The Logic of Failure.

Paved with Liberal Intentions

Monday, December 23rd, 2013

Selwyn Duke attempts to place apartheid in perspective:

Most people would never guess it, but the arrival of whites in SA dates back further than that of the ancestors of many of the nation’s blacks. The first Dutch settlers (who became known as “Boers” or “Afrikaners”) landed on Africa’s shores in 1652, while many blacks in SA arrived later. After all, since life in “racist” SA was vastly preferable to that in surrounding nations, it had long been attractive to black migrants. In fact, due to this factor and blacks’ higher birthrates, SA’s black demographic has increased 920 percent since 1913; this is the main reason the nation’s population increased from 6 million a century ago to 52 million today, as the white demographic increased only 3.3 million during that period.

The relevant point, however, is that the Dutch settlers found in southern Africa a vast and beautiful land with great wide-open spaces. They then did what Erik the Red did in Greenland, what countless groups have done throughout history: they set up shop — their own shop. Of course, there were Xhosa and Zulus about, but they did their own thing as the Europeans did theirs for the same reason why the Sioux and Cheyenne stayed separate in North America, the Lombards and Alans remained separate in barbarian Europe, or the Smith and Jones households live separately on their block: the default for different groups, with different values and cultures or even just different blood ties, is to live apart. They naturally, instinctively, reflexively maintain “apartness.”

This worked well and was unquestioned for a very long time. But then something happened.

Southern Africa started moving into modernity.

As the Afrikaners and British developed the region, a country known as “South Africa” emerged. And as the blacks were integrated into this European creation — being hired by whites, receiving at least some Western education and learning European languages — they, too, developed a sense of belonging to this “South Africa.”

This created an interesting situation. If the whites had maintained complete separation — if they would have and could have avoided all contact with the African tribes — there would have been no Nelson Mandelas (for the same reason why Amazonian natives who know of nothing beyond their forest canopy don’t lobby for voting rights). If, as occurred with the Japanese and their islands’ indigenous people, the Ainus, the SA whites came to outnumber and largely subsume the tribes, there would have been no one of note around to lobby for anything. But since SA is not an island and African migrants could easily cross the border in large numbers, this was a non-starter.

But neither of these things happened. Rather, SA blacks moved into modernity and became part of South Africa, a democracy — and outnumbered the whites 10 to 1. What were the whites to do? Granting the blacks full citizenship rights would usher in the whites’ political, and perhaps physical, destruction. Given this, is it surprising that what always ensured cultural preservation and group safety, that naturally ordained “apartness,” was replaced with the government-ordained policy of “apartheid?”

The point here isn’t to make any moral statement about segregation in general or SA’s version in particular. It is, rather, this: regardless of the extent to which white South Africans were inhuman — as all peoples can sometimes be — they did nothing unhuman. Their social policies were exactly what could be expected from any group of humans in their situation.