This morning, after switching on the kettle, I set my laptop on the kitchen counter and shuffled through the BBC iPlayer’s “Factual” category—looking for something interesting to keep me company as I made my porridge and coffee. I stumbled across Question Time, and noticed that this special edition was being broadcast from the United States—something to do with an election? I was more thrilled that the entire panel was American, with the notable exception of a personal hero of mine, British professor of history at Columbia University Simon Schama.
Things, however, did not go according to plan, and I was very soon restraining myself from damaging my employers’ Macbook with the wooden spoon I’d shortly before been using to stir my porridge. After realising that unless I switched off the iPlayer in short order, I’d either have to remove the spoon from the screen or my clenched teeth.
I took a minute to reflect at my reaction.
I had lasted through only a few answers to the first question.
As a quick introduction to Question Time, for my American readers—clearly something the audience at this recording had been denied—the format of the programme is straightforward and effective. David Dimbleby chairs a panel of note-worthies, and selects from a series of questions submitted by the audience for the panel to answer one by one. It is a political programme which has featured many of the most important British figures including Tony Blair—while still Prime Minister. The panel usually consists of a politician or two, a political theorist or commentator (often an academic) and, often, a slightly more off-beat character such as Ian Hislop.
“Which candidate does the panel believe could and would restore America’s battered image abroad?”
Simon Schama: “Barak Obama”
Appreciative applause.
The historian then outlined his reasoning that the Democratic candidate’s heterogeneous past and perspective of global citizenship could only help America’s “perhaps undeserved” tarnished foreign reputation. Specifically, Schama noted, the rhetoric of war as a last resort rather than an elective option could play an important role in diplomatic relationships.
One of the other panelists, this time from a more Republican-friendly platform, stated that he believed John McCain would fulfill this role more effectively.
Cheering, whooping, and a few boos.
The panelist then went on to outline why he thought the reputation of the US is not tarnished in some places abroad, and that many African nations actually admire American foreign policy. He also stated that Iraq could turn out to be a dramatic success… each of the rest of the panelists listing their preferences and reasoning.
Several audience members were then asked their views, and this is when my breakfast began to take a less supportive role in my morning. One particular man was asked who he’d like to see in the White House, and his response of “John McCain” brought whoops and cheers before he could speak more of his mind.
Unfortunately, however, he did speak more.
With a notably impressive display of condescending superiority, the gentleman in an expensive suit addressed Simon Schama, beginning with: “You’re a typical professor. You are it. With all respect, our country is not hated overseas, I’ve been to fifty-five countries…” continuing that the US “brings hope to people” and that it is not hated overseas. “We’re the most charitable nation on earth, as evidenced by George Bush, and all the work he did…”
His tone then took on a challenging note: “with all respect, don’t talk about our country being villafied overseas, when we are respected and loved by millions of people BECAUSE OF WHAT WE DO FOR THEM.” [emphasis his, as he shouted over the cascade of applause and the chairman's attempts to direct the discussion.] “AND WE DIE FOR THEM, AND WE DIE FOR THEM.”
I was already impressed by this increasingly visceral outburst, when he capped his performance with a patronisingly disgusted gesture allowing the typical professor his reply. As Schama began his response, the suited gentleman continued his statement, raising his voice over the top of audience and Schama… and it all continued to escelate until eventually, Shcama was able to say “if I’m a typical professor, you’re a typical blowhard; let me finish.”
The spoon, by now, was nowhere near the pan, and I found myself gawping at the screen in irrational hope that the man would shut up.
The problem, from my perspective, is not about which candidate wins this election, nor from which side of an all-but-imaginary political fence one happens to stare through. The problem is the offensive-defence of American rhetoric. It’s pre-emptive, visceral, and primitive. It makes respectable-looking people speak without thought. It damages credibility, and makes the speaker look like a bafoon. And I know it well.
Having been raised in the States, I know the blood-pounding-in-the-ears nature of political discussion. The goal is to be right, absolutely; and to make sure anyone watching—and, if possible the opponent himself—knows you’re the right one. The problem with this is that facts are tactical, discussion conduit, and people incedental. It’s all a vehicle for your personal perspective (the right one) to be broadcast with as little ambiguity as possible. And it might even lead to interesting dichotomies and contrasts if it wasn’t all done under the influence of adrenaline.
You see, from an outsiders’ perspective, this suited businessman illustrated America. “We’re right!” “We’re the most charitable!” “We fought for you!” “We freed Iraq, goddammit!” and: “We’re not hated abroad! Don’t tell me we’re hated, don’t YOU talk about OUR country…” The logical, conscious part of any discussion is abandoned, and it’s down to bare-knuckles. “I can’t understand your words, man, cause my ears are throbbing, so I’m gunna SHOUT at you so I can hear my OWN damn voice!”
My response surprised me: I tsked, and muttered: “typical American, can’t see he’s trying to tell the world what it thinks.” I appreciated the irony of this hateful person insisting we’re not hated. I found the fact that a professor’s extraordinary career and the phrase “with all due respect” could be used as conduits for hatred exquisitely funny. I would have laughed and enjoyed a British moment of personal, quiet exultation in the foolishness of the speaker if it hadn’t been for one thing.
The audience.
The audience rose to this diatribe with a fervency of whooping, cheering, clapping and shouting. The whole place suddenly became a bowl of people shouting down the suited man, the panel, Dimbleby and each other. I stood gobsmacked in my kitchen, spoon dripping oats onto the cat and begged God not to let any of my friends watch this.
Until Americans are willing to put emotional defensiveness and denial aside from their rhetoric, there will be a continued decline in their perception overseas, regardless of their political opinions, good deeds or noble willingness of sacarifice. America, as an entity, is hated by some people overseas. We need to deal with it, not shout them down or question their right to not like us very much (and, by God, they have such rights).
And, the question came again to me: “Where are all the considerate, contempletative Americans I knew growing up? Where are the people who give more generously than any other nation? Where are the peace-makers and volunteers? Where are the AIDs workers, teachers, and nurses?” I only pray that when the hubris of the TV-talkers dies, the dignity I know lives on in the US is left standing.
Update:
The incident I spoke of has obviously stricken a chord with others, because it’s appeared on Youtube:
So, the web is full of interesting stuff, right? Gadgets, people, blogs, books, tips, wine—all good things. At least, the web is full of interesting pages about these things. In a single session, you might read a mate’s blog (maybe about wine), then browse a retail site for a book that that mate recommended and stumble across a brilliant gadget. That’s five good things in the space of a few minutes. Here they are, in case you missed them: your mate’s a person (good), and he’s got a blog (debatable, but there you go). He’s talking about wine (which is definitely good), and he happens to recommend a book (great). In the process, you stumble across a gadget (brilliant!).
The problem with all that is that you didn’t instantly recognise all the good things in that very brief narrative sentence. The web is an interconnected bunch of arbitrarily-related pages, like a catalogue of (often good) stuff, without an index. It’s arbitrary, because the pages only exist when it’s linked to; and the stuff can be anything from a purchasable item to an innovative idea. This network is mind-numbingly huge and even the most versatile of polymaths can’t be interested in all of it. So, what we want is all the good stuff, and we want it with all the flexibility an arbitrary system can offer (I like this, this and this… are they related in any way?)
Well, when I look at them, I can see that they’re related; and not just because I happen to have chosen three things I like. I have had the tremendous privilege of testing a gadget which lets me capture these things, and lets me peek at how they connect with my own little perspective on the web. The gadget’s called Glue, and it’s the latest offering from AdaptiveBlue. I’ve blogged about AdaptiveBlue’s Smartlinks in the past, and they’re responsible for the little icons next to the linked things above (if you have a decent browser). What they’ve been doing is allowing you to contextualise the stuff on the web, and Glue goes a step further by letting you also interact with other folks’ contexts.
Firstly, Glue is a browser plugin for Firefox (remember, I said to get a decent browser?). Glue creates a bookmark in your bar, but the real magic occurs when you navigate to some stuff. As you seek out or stumble across interesting things online, the Glue menu glides down, giving you instant options to “like” the item, find out more about it, and see who else has “liked” it too. They have an excellent walk-through on their site, so I won’t duplicate their efforts by explaining how it works here, but it does recognise many kinds of “stuff” from a myriad of very important sites.
The interesting part, for me, is that it brings a context to all the arbitrary links we follow all the time. We can see where we fit in with this, and what our mates think too. Best of all, these things are treated just like that: as the things in which we’re interested. I want to talk about this book, not this page about the book. I want to rate this book, and if a friend sees it on another site, he’ll still see that I liked it!
Best of all, it’s a social network without the need for a social-networking space. It’s the first thing I’ve seen which successfully breaks out of the need to be inside a specific place in order to interact and contextualise—we don’t need MyFace’s training wheels! Glue shifts its focus from trying to hem in, or reduce the web, to elegantly augmenting it.
As you can tell, I really like this gadget, and I thank @fraser and @alexiskold for building it, and letting me have a play of the Beta.
Ever had a superficial conversation suddenly run your blood cold?
On the short cab-ride to my hotel following FOWA (more to follow), the cab driver was explaining the extension of the conference venue. This is not usually the preamble to a conversation that changes your perspectives, except maybe on the architectural uses of steel spider’s legs and concrete. However, he was saying that the folks that bought Manchester United (actually, he should have said City), bought the Excel centre for a $1billion.
“Apparently,” said the cabby, “they do a lot of, you know, ‘God conferences’, evangelical like, yeah?”
“Oh?” I enquired—shocked because I’d been greeted by some charismatics in red teeshirts on my first visit to FOWA, and they’d been there every morning, greeting folks entering the conference and—strangely—leaving the toilets.
“Yeah, there’s a lot of money in it over in the States. Folks that run ‘em want to come to England, and get some British God-money, I guess. Problem for them is: there aren’t any places big enough! So, they buy it, and are building a bigger place. Lots of dosh!”
What?
I had cynically been thinking to myself that the red-tee-shirted cohort of pentecostals greeting me by name (no, nothing spiritual—we all wear name-tags!) had been selected for their good looks and ethnic diversity. But I thought I was being cynical.
But here’s the thing: I overheard maybe ten conversations between geeks (It was a web conference, after all) about the “religious people/ god-folk/ Christian nutters”, and my heart sank. One or two said that a cheery greeting first thing in the morning is quite nice. Most, however, thought they were over-bearing, weird, or strangely sexy.
The thing that gets me here, is that the public image of Jesus’ followers is horribly maimed here. Wasn’t it Jesus who through money-changers out of the temple? Wasn’t it Jesus who went to societies low-lifes and changed their worlds? You think he would have scored well with a PR agency? Think he had a Marketing team or cheer-leaders?
“The only thing spiritual they [Arab investors in the venue] get is this:” and the cabby rubbed his fingers in the international symbol of money.
I’ve recently become something of a coffee guru at work. If this is a life goal for anyone, I have some very simple advice: buy some good coffee, and get some evangelical people addicted. The latest convert to the creative coffee cult is a designer called Chris (@cwaring). Coffee has brought a lot of joy to our office environment, and even made some of the Marketing banter reasonably bearable. It’s also apparently increased the design team’s productivity by 40%—though, since he was shaking noticeably when using the spreadsheet, I’m not sure that statistic can be completely trusted.
There is quite a strange relationship with coffee in Britain. On one hand, there is an overwhelming love of hot beverages. I remember helping out a mate with his garden on a 30º+ muggy summer afternoon, only to be offered a cuppa during a break. Setting aside bleach or glyphosate, I couldn’t think of anything less appropriate to drink on such an occasion. This love of hot drinks extends to family visits, dinner parties, breaks and any time when it is not virtually impossible to hold a mug. All in all, I think this is fantastic, and happily gather round the kettle whenever it’s possible (and less than torrid outside).
The other side of coffee is the British Imported Coffee Culture (BICC, henceforth). BICC exhibits itself in high-street chain-shops which all have a ever-so-slightly different angle on Seattle/Italian café chic. Strangely, most of the actual beverages from these shops seem to come from the same bean and machine combination. The atmosphere is identical, with a dominant shade of maroon, brown, blue or green making the atmospheric colour-branding the only discernable characteristic. To the consternation of conservative Brits the country over, each also has its own opaque size-referencing system designed to confuse and belittle the shop patron who inevitably ends up asking: “But, which is the Small one?”
It’s as if the BICC cartel (Bi3C, maybe?), gathered at some point in the early 2000′s and set down some industry guidelines. Firstly, because the British palette has been evolved around the flavours of milky tea and biscuits, the BICC beverages must avoid shocking customers by being essentially flavourless. Any foreign smart-arses asking for espresso will be greeted with a small glass of burnt tea leaves suspended in hot dishwater. Secondly, all baked goods (which are mandatory at a proper café) shall be supplied from a limited BICC-approved list of bakeries, and shall consist of huge, greasy muffins and strangely-contrived cake combinations like apricot and prune biscotti brownies—the more creative and unlikely combinations to be considered for annual prizes. Third: wherever possible, a smattering of faux-italiano shall be displayed and worked into the patois of serving staff (e.g. baristas), to cover any coffee blunders with an embarrassing cultural ambiguity. And, finally, because this is all imported and frightfully expensive-sounding, we shall be setting the prices for beverages, baked goods, and sandwiches at just below the cost of the weekly shopping. The business logic for this last point, as you can see from the PowerPoint presentation, is that people aspiring to the middle and upper classes will gladly pay extortionate cultural tariffs to appear coffee-literate.
Thus it was that the executive classes of Britain were won over to incredibly expensive milk, with a small addition of highly-addictive coffee made with impressive-looking but fully-automatic espresso machine monsters served by smiling, aproned baristas. (Incidentally, the term went down a storm at the cafe I worked at during University, since it was very near the Royal Courts of Justice, and many of the customers were barristers.)
Not happy with their strangle-hold on Britain’s purchasers of pin-stripes, however, BICC soon began infiltrating more reputable establishments. I know that the transformation of Imported Coffee Culture is more or less complete, now, since I was recently offered a “mochacino-latte” at a seaside chip shop. (After seeing the BICC-branded instant beverage machine behind the counter littered with polystyrene cups and a suspicious powder, I declined). These shops and places of amusement have opted for a lighter touch, however, and have begun simply calling it “froffy coffee”. The Froffee Coffee is a uniquely British indulgence consisting mainly of powdered milk sprayed through a plastic nozzle into a brown concentrate. The resulting chemical reactions produce a strangely petroleum-flavoured foam atop an instant-coffee. If you’d like to make it a “somethingcino”, the logic goes, you simply add a few tablespoons of drinking chocolate powder to the foam, cup, napkin and surrounding customers.
As far as I have been able to work out, most Brits are still impressed by a cafetiere, or anything which can be labelled “Proper Coffee”. Proper Coffee, like the Froffee Coffee, is a British sobriquet which applies to any coffee not made by adding boiling water to brown granules. I suspect that in some households, the granules placed in a coffee pot rather than directly into a mug might actually qualify.
I have decided, as a public service, to challenge the BICC, the Froffee Coffee and the Proper Coffee by outlining a few simple ways to experience the bliss of proper coffee (note lack of capitalisation).
Beans
Grinder
Cafetiere/coffee press
It’s dead simple, really. Buy some beans, and don’t cry when you pay for them. A bag of Union Hand Roasted beans (more on them in another blog post, no doubt) will set you back for about the same cost as a single higher-priced drink at your local BICC establishment. I’ve heard that they can be found in Sainsbury or in Waitrose, though I order mine from their site.
Buy a coffee grinder. I’ve encountered the myth that grinders are incredibly expensive. I think the only power behind this is that no one seems to own one, making them seem rare and exclusive: here’s one for just over a tenner. You don’t need anything fancy, though if you want one that matches your Chi, you’re probably reading the wrong blog anyway.
Finally, a cafetiere, or coffee-press. As my family in the US calls them: French Press—possibly now the “Freedom Press, but I can’t be sure because I don’t watch Fox News.
That’s it. Now, grind the fresh beans (don’t keep them more than about a fortnight) until they’re “coursly ground”. It should look like sand, but not flour. I find in my grinder that between 6 and 10 seconds seems to work nicely. Boil the kettle, and pour a bit into the cafetiere in order to warm it up… pour this out and add the grounds. You’ll want 4-6 good-sized tablespoonfulls of grounds for a four-cup press. Add the slightly off-boil water and stir it so all the beans are nicely wet. Put the lid on, and wait about 4 minutes, then plunge and serve immediately.
That’s it. Proper coffee that tastes wonderful. A few additional things: clean your cafetiere thoroughly, and don’t fall for the myth that washing-up liquid is bad for them. You need to clean the oils off the mesh, or it’ll go rancid. Dont keep beans for more than a fortnigh: but for that short period, keep them in an air-tight container in a cool, dry place.
I’m hoping that’s helpful, and that you try it. If you want any more advice on roast, tastes, or what to look for in a nice bean, just drop me a line. If this post sounds slightly bitter, it’s because I just ran out of my Brazilian Bourbon from Union Hand Roast, and I’m less than happy about it.
I have begun to see that we may be entering a new age of polymaths, and I’m happy to be involved in a part of the business world which seems to sustain some of the best brains on the planet.
I remember reading about the beginners of industry—the pioneers of technology and science. I remember reading how Robert Fulton came up against problems in life, and simply invented new ways of doing things, leading eventually to the development of steam-powered paddle-wheel-boats. I remember, vaguely, from my propagandistically pro-industrial schooling that as a child, Fulton had invented or improved on the lead pencil, because the one he was using in school wasn’t up to scratch. The same story is reflected through many of the West’s inventors of what we’ve retrospectively come to call the Industrial Revolution: when opportunity or difficulty forced their hands, they changed the situation.
Now, aside from natural romanticism, I like to look to the past with neither rose-tinted glasses nor “isn’t-everything-better-now” short-sightedness. I’m sure that for every changer, there were crowds of followers in every age, and I’m sure many of you could point easily to both an earth-changer and a follower without too much effort. Besides, history pays scant attention to followers.
No, what I’m talking about is the seeming ease with which many of my colleagues in the web industry switch between impressively diverse tasks. Some I know make impressive presenters, and happen to hold PhD’s in fields more or less unrelated to what they do now… and can code Java and know a bit of CSS on the side. I fear to challenge any to play chess (since I haven’t played in over 5 years, and have the patience of a twelve-year-old), and several are rumoured to be better-than-average musicians. This diversified excellence, alongside the startups, ideas, enthusiastic organisations and programmes i’ve seen recently, remind me of the society-changers of a century and more ago. Not since then, I think, has such an importance been placed on ambition within social responsibilities.
One of the things I’ve seen most recently has been the Google 10^100 (apparently pronounced: ten to the one-hundredth with a typically geeky need to explain the pun) which aims to “help as many people as we can” by contributing $10million to fund earth-changing ideas. Their site is, in classic Google fashion, very straightforward, so I won’t repeat their blurb…just go have a read. But, while you are doing it, I dare you to set aside any cynicism you may harbour either toward a big business, or to any notion of “changing the world”. Think about what has and is being done, and then think how you could change the world.
CC: flickr, "Lightning and Stars" By Bill Liao http://flickr.com/photos/liao/
I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with sleep. I can remember being so upset I couldn’t sleep because I had to go to bed. Maybe this has bled into the present.
The funny part of it all, is I’d much rather not be asleep most of the time. My wife has always confused me with her desire, pretty continuously, to be unconscious. There is so much to think about, to read, to play, to discuss—why sleep?
So, now, it’s 2:15. I know that tomorrow I will feel wretched, and that can’t help. It started by me so very nearly falling asleep around 11:00. It’s been boiling, and I don’t really get on well with hot weather—especially when it’s so humid. I thought I had it tonight, though, with a nice cool bath, then In bed at a reasonable time to watch My Family with Wendy on iPlayer. That ended, so I switched on “Just a Minute” and turned down the screen until it was dark. I dozed off towards the end, only to be woken by something beeping somewhere. It stopped, but the damage had been done.
Next I switched on “Quote, Unquote” and walked downstairs for a glass of water, and had a bottle of lager instead, hoping the little alcohol might help a bit. It’s so much cooler down stairs, so I decided to remove myself to the sofa, still with “Quote, Unquote”. I had just settled when my phone dinged. It had finally delivered a message to Wendy, I’d sent before dinner. Then, after settling in again, Wendy’s phone received the text message. Her phone, a new one, now beeps every few minutes until the message’s been read… another trip across the room.
That’s when it started raining: by now I’m 15-minutes deep in Gardener’s Question Time. At last, it’s cooling off. Then it starts with the Thunder—which I have always hated. This rain literally poured down, and the thunder went through the house with a shuddering thud.
Gardeners’ Question Time gave way to “Word of Mouth”, which I can’t remember. By then I was feeling anxious, about literally nothing.
It’s the oddest feeling: beginning like discomfort, then a physical sensation in my arms. Finally, I can’t be horizontal any longer, and it’s another walk across to the smaller settee. I can’t actually put a thought to this ridiculous anxiety. I’m not scared about anything, really. My job’s brilliant, my mates are fantastic, and my Wife’s amazing. Sure, not everything’s perfect, but I’m not even thinking about my painful back or where I’m at with God or any of the other possible panic producers.
I decided to share, and it seems to help. The thunder’s past, my arms don’t feel funny, and I’m not worried at nothing. It’s just this strange, almost twilight of the night: 2:32. I ache a bit, which isn’t good, and I feel like moaning online is a bit sad.
So, the web is full of interesting stuff, right? Gadgets, people, blogs, books, tips, wine—all good things. At least, the web is full of interesting pages about these things. In a single session, you might read a mate’s blog (maybe about wine), then browse a retail site for a book that that mate recommended and stumble across a brilliant gadget. That’s five good things in the space of a few minutes. Here they are, in case you missed them: your mate’s a person (good), and he’s got a blog (debatable, but there you go). He’s talking about wine (which is definitely good), and he happens to recommend a book (great). In the process, you stumble across a gadget (brilliant!).
Firstly, Glue is a browser plugin for Firefox (remember, I said to get a decent browser?). Glue creates a bookmark in your bar, but the real magic occurs when you navigate to some stuff. As you seek out or stumble across interesting things online, the Glue menu glides down, giving you instant options to “like” the item, find out more about it, and see who else has “liked” it too. They have an excellent walk-through on their site, so I won’t duplicate their efforts by explaining how it works here, but it does recognise many kinds of “stuff” from a myriad of very important sites. 
It’s America’s Question Time
Image via Wikipedia
(Update: Youtube clip added at bottom of post)
This morning, after switching on the kettle, I set my laptop on the kitchen counter and shuffled through the BBC iPlayer’s “Factual” category—looking for something interesting to keep me company as I made my porridge and coffee. I stumbled across Question Time, and noticed that this special edition was being broadcast from the United States—something to do with an election? I was more thrilled that the entire panel was American, with the notable exception of a personal hero of mine, British professor of history at Columbia University Simon Schama.
Things, however, did not go according to plan, and I was very soon restraining myself from damaging my employers’ Macbook with the wooden spoon I’d shortly before been using to stir my porridge. After realising that unless I switched off the iPlayer in short order, I’d either have to remove the spoon from the screen or my clenched teeth.
I took a minute to reflect at my reaction.
I had lasted through only a few answers to the first question.
As a quick introduction to Question Time, for my American readers—clearly something the audience at this recording had been denied—the format of the programme is straightforward and effective. David Dimbleby chairs a panel of note-worthies, and selects from a series of questions submitted by the audience for the panel to answer one by one. It is a political programme which has featured many of the most important British figures including Tony Blair—while still Prime Minister. The panel usually consists of a politician or two, a political theorist or commentator (often an academic) and, often, a slightly more off-beat character such as Ian Hislop.
Simon Schama: “Barak Obama”Appreciative applause.
The historian then outlined his reasoning that the Democratic candidate’s heterogeneous past and perspective of global citizenship could only help America’s “perhaps undeserved” tarnished foreign reputation. Specifically, Schama noted, the rhetoric of war as a last resort rather than an elective option could play an important role in diplomatic relationships.
One of the other panelists, this time from a more Republican-friendly platform, stated that he believed John McCain would fulfill this role more effectively.
Cheering, whooping, and a few boos.
The panelist then went on to outline why he thought the reputation of the US is not tarnished in some places abroad, and that many African nations actually admire American foreign policy. He also stated that Iraq could turn out to be a dramatic success… each of the rest of the panelists listing their preferences and reasoning.
Several audience members were then asked their views, and this is when my breakfast began to take a less supportive role in my morning. One particular man was asked who he’d like to see in the White House, and his response of “John McCain” brought whoops and cheers before he could speak more of his mind.
Unfortunately, however, he did speak more.
With a notably impressive display of condescending superiority, the gentleman in an expensive suit addressed Simon Schama, beginning with: “You’re a typical professor. You are it. With all respect, our country is not hated overseas, I’ve been to fifty-five countries…” continuing that the US “brings hope to people” and that it is not hated overseas. “We’re the most charitable nation on earth, as evidenced by George Bush, and all the work he did…”
His tone then took on a challenging note: “with all respect, don’t talk about our country being villafied overseas, when we are respected and loved by millions of people BECAUSE OF WHAT WE DO FOR THEM.” [emphasis his, as he shouted over the cascade of applause and the chairman's attempts to direct the discussion.] “AND WE DIE FOR THEM, AND WE DIE FOR THEM.”
I was already impressed by this increasingly visceral outburst, when he capped his performance with a patronisingly disgusted gesture allowing the typical professor his reply. As Schama began his response, the suited gentleman continued his statement, raising his voice over the top of audience and Schama… and it all continued to escelate until eventually, Shcama was able to say “if I’m a typical professor, you’re a typical blowhard; let me finish.”
The spoon, by now, was nowhere near the pan, and I found myself gawping at the screen in irrational hope that the man would shut up.
The problem, from my perspective, is not about which candidate wins this election, nor from which side of an all-but-imaginary political fence one happens to stare through. The problem is the offensive-defence of American rhetoric. It’s pre-emptive, visceral, and primitive. It makes respectable-looking people speak without thought. It damages credibility, and makes the speaker look like a bafoon. And I know it well.
Having been raised in the States, I know the blood-pounding-in-the-ears nature of political discussion. The goal is to be right, absolutely; and to make sure anyone watching—and, if possible the opponent himself—knows you’re the right one. The problem with this is that facts are tactical, discussion conduit, and people incedental. It’s all a vehicle for your personal perspective (the right one) to be broadcast with as little ambiguity as possible. And it might even lead to interesting dichotomies and contrasts if it wasn’t all done under the influence of adrenaline.
You see, from an outsiders’ perspective, this suited businessman illustrated America. “We’re right!” “We’re the most charitable!” “We fought for you!” “We freed Iraq, goddammit!” and: “We’re not hated abroad! Don’t tell me we’re hated, don’t YOU talk about OUR country…” The logical, conscious part of any discussion is abandoned, and it’s down to bare-knuckles. “I can’t understand your words, man, cause my ears are throbbing, so I’m gunna SHOUT at you so I can hear my OWN damn voice!”
My response surprised me: I tsked, and muttered: “typical American, can’t see he’s trying to tell the world what it thinks.” I appreciated the irony of this hateful person insisting we’re not hated. I found the fact that a professor’s extraordinary career and the phrase “with all due respect” could be used as conduits for hatred exquisitely funny. I would have laughed and enjoyed a British moment of personal, quiet exultation in the foolishness of the speaker if it hadn’t been for one thing.
The audience.
The audience rose to this diatribe with a fervency of whooping, cheering, clapping and shouting. The whole place suddenly became a bowl of people shouting down the suited man, the panel, Dimbleby and each other. I stood gobsmacked in my kitchen, spoon dripping oats onto the cat and begged God not to let any of my friends watch this.
Until Americans are willing to put emotional defensiveness and denial aside from their rhetoric, there will be a continued decline in their perception overseas, regardless of their political opinions, good deeds or noble willingness of sacarifice. America, as an entity, is hated by some people overseas. We need to deal with it, not shout them down or question their right to not like us very much (and, by God, they have such rights).
And, the question came again to me: “Where are all the considerate, contempletative Americans I knew growing up? Where are the people who give more generously than any other nation? Where are the peace-makers and volunteers? Where are the AIDs workers, teachers, and nurses?” I only pray that when the hubris of the TV-talkers dies, the dignity I know lives on in the US is left standing.
Update:
The incident I spoke of has obviously stricken a chord with others, because it’s appeared on Youtube:Saturday, November 1st, 2008 Tags: America, BBC, businessman, chairman, change the world, Columbia, Columbia University, commentator, communication, context, David Dimbleby, Democratic candidate, editorial, George Bush, historian, Ian Hislop, Iraq, John McCain, perspective, politician, professor, professor of history, Simon Schama, speaker, still Prime Minister, Tony Blair, United States, White House, YouTube
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