The Law of Diminishing Returns….

After blogging about false economies last week, a similar topic came to mind – the law of diminishing returns. This is the principle that suggests the longer you keep doing the same thing, the less benefit you derive from it.

I know from personal experience that continuing to work at something for any length of time can lead to a decline in results – fatigue sets in, I’m more prone to making mistakes, and I end up spending more time double-checking and correcting my work. So, in way, it’s another false economy – spending more hours on a task (the input) does not justify the amount of effort, or guarantee the quality of the end results (the output). Part of it is down to efficiencies, but it’s also to do with losing focus, being distracted, or being so intent on the “doing” and not the “achieving”.

Politicians, writers, musicians, artists, athletes are all susceptible to the law of diminishing returns. Doggedly repeating the same old slogans in pursuit of the same old policies (or trying to hold on to power for its own sake) lead political parties into stagnation and electoral dead ends. Successful athletes who don’t know when to hang up their boots rarely get to choose the timing of their retirement. Creatives who keep recording the “same” album, writing the “same” novel, making the “same” film, or painting the “same” picture come across as stale, formulaic, tired, boring and bereft of ideas – it’s clear that they have nothing new to say, so why should we keep paying attention?

Next week: Whose side is AI on?

 

 

Reclaim The Night

Before I get into this week’s topic, some background for context. A few weeks ago I was having coffee in my local cafe. I couldn’t help overhear two young women talking at the next table. One of them was expressing the level of fear she experiences whenever she is out alone for a run, a walk, or on her bike. She described the apprehension she feels that a man might randomly attack her. These attacks might be physical or verbal, actual or threatened, explicit or implied. Her natural reaction is to be extra vigilant about her personal safety, but there was also a sense of dread and exhaustion at having to navigate this constant threat, and in turn raises a risk of not pursuing her daily activities. It was a depressing reminder that women must feel the same way, every day, and the recent events in Ballarat were surely a prompt for this discussion.

In October 1980, I became a student at Leeds University. Newly arrived in the city from London, where I grew up, I think I was only vaguely aware of the infamous Yorkshire Ripper case. But soon after my first term started, a student was murdered not far from the University campus, and in an area where many students lived. Jacqueline Hill was deemed to be Peter Sutcliffe’s last victim (but probably not for the want of trying on his part, given his violent attacks on women are believed to have begun in the late 1960s). I was in the city centre on the night that the police confirmed that they had caught Sutcliffe, and the sense of public relief was palpable and understandable, if misplaced – because Sutcliffe was obviously a “maniac” and not like “normal” men.

During Sutcliffe’s campaign of violence and murderous attacks, women in Leeds had organised a series of marches known as Reclaim the Night, largely in response to police advice that women should not venture into public places alone at night. The marches were also designed to draw attention to issues of domestic violence, rape and other offences and injustices against women. They were part of the feminist debate around issues of the patriarchal society, misogyny, sexism and apparent double standards when it came to the police investigation into the Sutcliffe case.

I recall seeing some of the marches in Leeds, and there were even calls for a night-time curfew on men. A radical suggestion, and one I had some sympathy for, but it was obviously impractical and in some ways the wrong response. Calling for men to be off the streets is not so very different to cultures and religions demanding (and forcing) women to dress “modestly” in public in case they provoke men into a sexual or violent frenzy. Surely, men should be able to control themselves?

Sadly, it seems we still need to be constantly reminded of how vile, aggressive, threatening, intimidating and violent men are towards women, individually and collectively.

Next week: Sakamoto – Opus

 

 

Non-binary Politics?

Regular readers to this blog may have noticed the absence of new posts in the past few weeks. This silence is in large part due to other personal priorities. There is also an overwhelming sense that all is not well in the world, and it hardly seemed appropriate to add to the endless commentary and op-eds on current events.

As world leaders grapple with yet another breakout of ideological warfare, I can’t help being reminded of the Bush Doctrine, built on President George W’s edict that “if you are not with us, you are against us”.

Such binary perspectives overlook the fact that no dispute can be neatly categorised in stark, polarised terms. Yet on so many geopolitical and social issues, we are being forced into making “yes/no”, “either/or”, “left/right”, “A/B” decisions. Ironic, given that in many domains we are also being encouraged to adopt non-binary views!

Whatever happened to bipartisan politics, consensus building, or non-equivalence? Why are we being co-opted into taking unequivocal positions? Have we forgotten that two wrongs don’t make a right?

I’m trying to get more comfortable with ambiguity and ambivalence – especially when few things can be cast in purely “black or white” terms. In fact, the more we can say “it’s OK to be in the grey”, the better our public discourse should become.

Next time: The Mercurial Music of Calexico

 

More Cold War Nostalgia

I’ve written before about a lingering fascination for the Cold War. In recent weeks, I’ve been re-visiting Yorkshire TV’s 1978-80 spy drama “The Sandbaggers”. Only 20 episodes were produced (across three series), in large part because the creator and main writer, Ian Mackintosh (a former officer in the Royal Navy) disappeared, and in apparently mysterious circumstances.

Putting aside the occasional non-PC language, the series stands up today. The core geopolitical themes remain relevant (even down to names of the principal parties); the ongoing friction between the espionage industry and their political and bureaucratic bosses; the continued unease between ideological purity, political pragmatism and operational reality; and the paradox of the surveillance society in the pursuit of preserving our individual liberties and personal freedoms.

The scripts are taut, with no spare dialogue. We don’t need to see every step in the plot in order to follow the narrative. The characters are not particularly appealing, but we still manage to feel some empathy for them. And although the production does incorporate library footage for some external shots, there is enough location filming to make overseas sequences appear credible and authentic.

The series was filmed and set when the Cold War was still at its height. Since 1974, the Doomsday Clock had sat at 9 minutes to midnight; in 1980, it was back down to 7 minutes to midnight (the same as its post-war setting); and by 1981, it was just 4 minutes to midnight. By 1991, this trend had been reversed, in the wake of Glasnost and Perestroika in the former Soviet Union, and the fall of the Berlin Wall. Even China seemed to be opening up under the leadership of Deng Xiaoping.

Now, the Clock is showing less than 2 minutes to minute – and who knows what a similar scenario to the August 1914 “Month of Madness” could lead to in the theatre of nuclear war.

Next week: American Art Tour