Barrister

Author: Robert (Page 205 of 328)

Beyond Nations

In last month’s Prospect, David Goldblatt gave a couple of interesting statistics about Golf:

you have a global [golf] industry worth around $350bn. This is roughly the same as the GDP of Belgium, which coincidentally covers about the same land area as the world’s golf courses.

I was reminded of this just now, when I read a couple of statistics in the Shift Happens presentation by Karl Fisch.

  1. Nintendo invests double the US government in R&D (slides 31-32)
  2. If MySpace were a country, it would be the 11th Largest in the World (slide 35)

These are further examples of how companies and communities are now operating on a scale that dwarves the efforts of some nation states.  As I said in my notes on the Clay Shirky’s ‘Hello Everybody’ Demos podcast that accompanies his book, I find it fascinating that the nation state might wither in the face of alternative communal bonds:

However, I wonder whether the most profound shift might come when people transcend ethnicity as well as geography. With people spending so much time, and actually making money in worlds like Second Life, or building large guilds of allegiences in Eve Online or WarCraft, perhaps those bonds could be the basis for some other kind of nation or ‘polity’ with real power and relevance.

To Be Continued, I’m sure.

Update: 24th Sept 09

If all the gaming consoles in the US formed their own city, that city would use as much power as San Diego, the 9th-largest city in the country. (via Kottke)

Reclaiming þorn; and a question about alphabets

Nick Whyte has an interesting discussion of  þorn, the old letter that signified the “th” sound.  He also mentions eth (ð) which does a similar job (via the LibCon netcast).  These are letters that are no longer used in English, but are retained in Icelandic and Faroese.

It reminds me of the ezett (ß), a German letter that replaces a double-s in some cases, like groß schloß for example.

What I want to know is this: Where do all these letters appear in their respective alphabets?

Way of the Blogs: Blowback

I have to say, I was slightly disappointed by the type of comments my inaugral Comment is Free post received. Most people only wanted to discuss the extreme anti-free speech attitude of the Organisation of the Islamic Conference:

perklet: What you’re really asking is, “How do I deal with someone who insults my imaginary friend?”

and

Happytobeasocialist: Who is insulting them? I find religions and their reactionary, bigoted, backward, and misogynistic beliefs offensive. So where is my redress?

In many cases, it seemed as if the commentators were criticising me for being too religious, or for supporting religious defamation – which of course I don’t.  I was, however, trying to empathise with the religious, which seemed to sow confusion.
This from ishouldapologise was more substantial.

Yes, point taken. But, in fact if you had been a little more awake Robert Sharp, and as on your toes as you imply, then  you would know and refer to the many spin off Guardian blogs that have been created to do precisely what you say. To disagree with things that were said on the Guardian and to express themselves the way they feel like doing so.
Google is your friend.

Well, yes and no.  There are many projects like Islam is Peace which are online attempts to counter negative propaganda.  But in my travels around the web I couldn’t find anything to match Theatre J for really grabbing the offensive thing and creating with it.  My point was not so much that people should use the web, but rather, they should respond in the same medium as the offending piece.  So, a theatrical response to Behzti, for example.  If there are examples out there, I couldn’t find the right search terms on Google to harvest them, and would welcome further examples.
Later, imogenblack offers this:

Its just dawned on me that this guy is encouraging extreemists to use the net to air thier views… its hillarious… drivel, but hillarious.

Not quite, Imogen.  In the first instance, I am encouraging extremists to use the net to air their views, but only as an alternative to legislating against freedom of speech.  I think this is pretty uncontroversial, but its a point needs airing.
Second, I’m not really talking to the extremists, who (let’s be honest) are not really interested in freedom of expression, on the net or otherwise.  I am talking to more moderate adherents.  To repeat a point I made in the comments at CiF, its possible to be religious, to be offended and distressed by certain “denigration of religious persons” and yet still engage with the insult in some non-violent, constructive way.  To the commenters at CiF, it seems, this point is lost: For them, to be religious is by definition to be an extremist and an unworthy partner in dialogue.  I don’t share that point of view, for both idealistic and practical reasons.
On reflection, I think my main mistake in the post was not to elaborate on this:

However, when religion comes under attack, the alienation and marginalisation felt by believers is real. How can they achieve redress for a perceived offence, without resorting to censorship, or its kid brother, the boycott?

I think the word ‘perceived’ does the heavy lifting here, but that may have been lost in the sea of words.  When I talk of “redress”, I am not advocating that the faith groups be somehow compensated for the defamation of their religion.  That way, madness and intolerance lies.  Rather, I just mean a form of psychological redress.  A catharsis.  A satisfying opportunity to speak out, talk back, Have Your Say.  If we are going to mock and insult religion, then the least we can do is to grant those who are hurt by our words a platform to say “I am upset by what you say, and here’s why.”  If we do not see that as valuable, then we are no better than those who suppress freedom of expression in the name of their religion.

Competitive Poetry?

Poet (and colleague) Sophie Mayer is posting a poem-a-day throughout April, getting in on the action of America’s National Poetry Month.
This frantic, deadline based creativity reminds me of Layer Tennis, still going strong and coming to the UK right now.
Perhaps someone should inaugurate some kind of competitive poetry competition? Not quite as adversarial as MC Battles, more a lettered exchange, where (like in Layer Tennis) you get points for developing and complementing (if not complimenting) your opponent’s work. Having said that, the obvious name for the competition is Versus.
But until that venture gets off the ground, we’ll always have PoetCasting.

Update

Excellent: Likestarlings (h/t Sarah).

Northern Line Lovers

Rush Hour Crush, by Simon Perry
Rush Hour Crush, by Simon Perry


Twenty-seven minutes past eight in the morning. The tube doors cry out in pain as they roll shut, and we are sealed into the train. I find myself facing the the door, my neck and head bent back, tracing the shape of the curved window an inch from my face. Its an unbearable torture, so I pivot myself around. Other bodies bob against me, someone takes a step, and we find ourselves in a new, pressurised equilibrium.
I stop turning, too late to realise I’ve twisted plumb into someone else’s personal space. We are belly to belly. The first thing I see is a brown, manicured hand cluching the strap of a handbag, which is enough to tell me that its a woman, and she’s young. Instinctively, before I really think about it, I raise my eyes to check her out.
She is facing away from me, her head just moments from my chest, and I’m looking for just long enough to behold the divine curve where her neck sweeps up to join her chin, before she turns back to face me. Our eyes meet, and I do that quick, guilty glance away that you do when a stranger catches you staring on the train. I focus intently at the plastic roof of the carriage, and inside, I cringe.
But then I realise that she’s still looking, directly at me. Nervously, I steal another glance, and she stares right back. Dark eyes. A mop of hair, still damp from a shower somewhere, skimming her shoulders and framing that neck.
I think I can see a faint expression on her mouth. I wouldn’t call it a smile as such, more a look of contentment. Her face is the absence of anxiety, and it fills me with great joy. I half smile back at her, and suddenly there’s a slight flick of her tongue as she moistens her lips.
We inhale each other, all the way to Old Street. It is a moment of sincerity, a moment of unfettered trust between two people. An abrupt and unexpected moment of true love.
As the train lumbers in to Angel, she breaks our shared gaze, and turns towards the door. As it opens, I know she will steal a glance back at me, an unspoken farewell. I have never been more certain of anything in my life.
But it does not happen. Her gaze is fixed ahead. As she coldly brushes past me and steps onto the platform, I can just make out a bright white wire losely woven into her hair, travelling from her ear, down into the folds of her coat. It is then that I reach an understanding: For her, I have never existed. Since London Bridge, she has been staring into a void of her own thoughts. It was nothing more than unlucky chance that my eyes, and my soul, should have stumbled into that blind plane of view.
Thirty-seven minutes past eight in the morning. The tube doors cry out in pain as they roll shut, and I am sealed into the train. Only then do I remember that Angel was my stop, too.

London Tube by Crystian Cruz
London Tube by Crystian Cruz
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