Category Archives: Society

Non-binary Politics?

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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

 

Back in the USA

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Happy Independence Day!!! This post has turned out to be quite timely, as I’ve just come back from a trip to the USA, following a hiatus of 4 years. Two weeks is hardly enough time for a full evaluation, and I spent most of the time in Colorado and New Mexico, with a few days in San Francisco at the end – but it was enough to gain a few significant impressions.

I hadn’t known what to expect, in a post-Trump, post-pandemic and post Roe vs Wade landscape. Nowhere on my (limited) itinerary would be considered MAGA territory, so it was difficult to get a balanced perspective. If anything, my experiences simply confirmed that America remains a complex, at times contradictory, and very often a deeply divided society. And, just like the Presidential electoral process, it remains perplexing to outsiders.

For example, I’d been advised to be aware of the fentanyl zombies, violent crime and the homeless camps on the streets of San Francisco. Even friends who are long-term residents of the city warned that the Downtown area around Union Square is “a bit rough”. Since I had planned to stay just south of Union Square, I must admit to some apprehension before I left Australia.

Another San Francisco resident I contacted before my trip had complained that: “[T]he news has done a number on San Francisco. While we have the same homeless problems as other large cities, it’s not as bad as it’s made out in the news. We are facing some impacts from companies buying at the height of the market and now backing out, which is why you are seeing some bankruptcies (and there will be [a] few more). But overall, the city is doing well.”

On the other hand, the guide on my day-long walking tour explained that of the 62 major cities in the USA, San Francisco is the slowest in recovering from the disruption of the pandemic. They also felt that California, and San Francisco in particular, had not done a very good job of implementing the legalisation of recreational cannabis use in the State. Since even legal businesses are having problems getting banked, all that cash in the system is a target for criminal activity.

In the event, my stay in San Francisco passed without incident. Yes, there was plenty of evidence of homelessness, drug and mental health issues, and that’s without having to venture into the Tenderloin district. However, there were also plenty of domestic and overseas tourists visiting the city. True, the main business district felt much quieter than on my previous visits, as people continue working from home –  some companies have moved out and shops have closed down as a result. But elsewhere, the city felt normal, with people in their local neighbourhoods going about about their daily routines. I was surprised to see so many people wearing face masks, but given there were a number of public testing facilities still operating in parts of the city it suggests that COVID is still prevalent.

Prior to San Francisco, I had spent time in Denver, Boulder and Santa Fe. Admittedly I was there on a weekend, but Denver‘s Downtown area felt very quiet and hollowed out. Even the 16th Street Mall lacked vibrancy (maybe the major street works were a factor?), although there were more signs of life around the River North Arts District, Coors Field and of course Ball Arena as the Denver Nuggets took out their first NBA title.

The City of Boulder is a curious blend of old (gold rush) money, new (tech-flavoured) money, progressive politics (rainbow flags everywhere) and counter-culture lifestyles (“do you want CBD sprinkles on your espresso?”). I was treated to a ticket to see ’90s country star, Mary Chapin Carpenter playing at the historic Chautauqua Auditorium – an artist experiencing something of a comeback, and who manages to express liberal and inclusive values via a very conservative musical format. The support act was a musician whom I’d never heard of before, and who sang with a typical American country music twang – but when she spoke, she revealed herself to be Australian, and promptly played a song about the Melbourne streets of Fitzroy and Collingwood (this was also the song that was adapted as the theme to the “Wallender” TV series…). Separately, I was invited to dinner at Flagstaff House, one of Boulder’s best restaurants (with spectacular views). As a bonus, Boulder’s Pearl Street hosts an excellent record store, a couple of decent book shops, and cafes where it’s possible to get both a coffee and glass of wine at 5pm…

Higher up and further south, Santa Fe was something of a revelation. Not knowing what to expect, I thoroughly enjoyed my few days there: from a walking tour of the historic town centre, to sampling the wines of Gruet and D.H.Lescombes; from the numerous art galleries and museums to the Sunset Serenade of the Sky Railway; from the adobe-inspired architecture to the excellent food served everywhere. I learned more about American history in the 3-hour guided tour than a whole year of history lessons at my high school in England. The latter had largely focused on the events leading up to the American War of Independence (and taught mainly from a British perspective, of course). Whereas the contemporary walking tour provided a longer and more complex narrative that covered the key phases of New Mexico’s history: First Nation settlement, Spanish conquest, US annexation, Civil War intervention, and finally Statehood in 1912. Oh, and the plot to assassinate Trotsky and the nuclear tests of the Manhattan Project along the way. (NB – the Santa Fe tourism app was an invaluable guide to planning my itinerary.)

As much as I enjoy spending time in America, I can’t help observing that for what is ostensibly a secular country, religion plays a dominant, and at times domineering, role in political and public affairs – starting with the Federal motto of “In God We Trust”. I can’t understand why a Constitution and Bill of Rights that dis-established the Anglican Church (thereby separating Church from State), and which enshrine both the right to practice a religion and the freedom to adhere to no religion, has allowed certain religious tenets to impinge upon the rights and freedoms of others. A century ago it was the Temperance movement, more recently it was the Pro-Life camp, and now a range of issues (human evolution, flat earthers, gender diversity, sexual orientation, critical race theory, etc.) have many conservatives and fundamentalists working in league to dictate the public debate and constrain freedom of expression on such topics – meanwhile, it seems impossible to have a reasoned and mature discussion about gun control in the USA. Go figure!

Next week: Music streaming is so passé…

 

 

BYOB (Bring Your Own Brain)

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My Twitter and LinkedIn feeds are full of posts about artificial intelligence, machine learning, large language models, robotics and automation – and how these technologies will impact our jobs and our employment prospects, often in very dystopian tones. It can be quite depressing to trawl through this material, to the point of being overwhelmed by the imminent prospect of human obsolescence.

No doubt, getting to grips with these tools will be important if we are to navigate the future of work, understand the relationship between labour, capital and technology, and maintain economic relevance in a world of changing employment models.

But we have been here before, many times (remember the Luddites?), and so far, the human condition means we learn to adapt in order to survive. These transitions will be painful, and there will be casualties along the way, but there is cause for optimism if we remember our post-industrial history.

First, among recent Twitter posts there was a timely reminder that automation does not need to equal despair in the face of displaced jobs.

Second, the technology at our disposal will inevitably make us more productive as well as enabling us to reduce mundane or repetitive tasks, even freeing up more time for other (more creative) pursuits. The challenge will be in learning how to use these tools, and in efficient and effective ways so that we don’t swap one type of routine for another.

Third, there is still a need to consider the human factor when it comes to the work environment, business structures and organisational behaviour – not least personal interaction, communication skills and stakeholder management. After all, you still need someone to switch on the machines, and tell them what to do!

Fourth, the evolution of “bring your own device” (and remote working) means that many of us have grown accustomed to having a degree of autonomy in the ways in which we organise our time and schedule our tasks – giving us the potential for more flexible working conditions. Plus, we have seen how many apps we use at home are interchangeable with the tools we use for work – and although the risk is that we are “always on”, equally, we can get smarter at using these same technologies to establish boundaries between our work/life environments.

Fifth, all the technology in the world is not going to absolve us of the need to think for ourselves. We still need to bring our own cognitive faculties and critical thinking to an increasingly automated, AI-intermediated and virtual world. If anything, we have to ramp up our cerebral powers so that we don’t become subservient to the tech, to make sure the tech works for us (and not the other way around).

Adopting a new approach means:

  • not taking the tech for granted
  • being prepared to challenge the tech assumptions (and not be complicit in its in-built biases)
  • question the motives and intentions of the tech developers, managers and owners (especially those of known or suspected bad actors)
  • validate all the newly-available data to gain new insights (not repeat past mistakes)
  • evaluate the evidence based on actual events and outcomes
  • and not fall prey to hyperbolic and cataclysmic conjectures

Finally, it is interesting to note the recent debates on regulating this new tech – curtailing malign forces, maintaining protections on personal privacy, increasing data security, and ensuring greater access for those currently excluded. This is all part of a conscious narrative (that human component!) to limit the extent to which AI will be allowed to run rampant, and to hold tech (in all its forms) more accountable for the consequences of its actions.

Next week: “The Digital Director”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Journey Through England

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As travel restrictions have eased over the past 12 months, I’ve been taking advantage of the opportunity to visit family and friends overseas.

Late last year, I spent a month in the UK, and it was a trip of very mixed experiences. It was the first time I had been back in nearly 4 years, the longest period of time I have ever been away from the country of my birth.

It’s nearly 30 years since I left London to live and work abroad, and even though I am still “from” the UK, I don’t really consider myself to be “of” it. Despite family ties and social links, with each visit back I feel less and less connected to the place. As a result, I tend to experience my time there as a visitor, rather than a returning expat.

This sense of dislocation has become especially evident since Brexit, and the quagmire that is UK domestic politics. Not only does the political environment feel quite alienating, the profile of the political leadership is almost unrecognisable: last time I was back, Theresa May was still Prime Minister; when I arrived in early November, Rishi Sunak was in the second week of his Premiership.

Luckily, the rolling programme of public sector strikes and other industrial unrest had limited impact on my own travel schedule, even though it has become almost impossible to plan train journeys too far ahead thanks to unreliable timetables and complex booking systems. Fortunately, the grocery shortages evident during the UK winter had yet to take hold, and before I left Australia, I had managed to lock in a favourable exchange rate to offset the effect of inflation.

I spent most of the time in the Peak District, but also visited Manchester, Sheffield, Milton Keynes, London and Kent – a north-west to south-east trajectory. The Dark Peak was my base, and I really appreciate the scenery in and around the town of Glossop, where I stayed – but for a town that used to boast one of the highest number of pubs per capita, quite a few local hostelries were only open from Thursday to Sunday, probably a consequence of Covid, energy costs and broader inflation?

Manchester itself was a dispiriting experience – the city centre (Piccadilly Gardens) resembled a zombie theme park, and there was a palpable sense of anger and an all-pervading threat of violence in the air. Maybe I was there on a bad day, but the overall mood was definitely “off”. By contrast, Sheffield city centre, which I’d not visited since the early 1990s, felt welcoming and had a much more positive vibe.

I have to admit to being pleasantly surprised by my weekend in Milton Keynes. Its reputation, as a planned New Town, for being soulless and devoid of personality is probably undeserved. Yes, it helps if you know how to navigate the network of roundabouts and ring roads (anyone familiar with Canberra would have sense of déjà vu), but I can definitely see the attraction, especially for families, with its acres of space and many recreational activities. If necessary, it’s possible to commute to London, plus there are nearby country parks and village pubs to frequent on the weekends.

Despite my familiarity with the geography and fabric of London, I now see it through the eyes of a tourist. Even though the overall layout remains the same, the constant changes in the built landscape can disorient the infrequent visitor. Because I no longer rely on it every day for work, I actually think London’s public transport has improved, but I’m sure it would only take a strike on the underground, or the wrong type of leaves on the train tracks at Clapham Junction to disabuse me of this situation. While London has always existed in an economic bubble in relation to the rest of the country, it probably wouldn’t take much to undermine the city’s renewed self-confidence as it tries to navigate a post-Brexit role in international banking, finance, trade and commerce.

Judging by a financial services conference I attended, compared to the same conference 4 years ago, there was a lot more focus on regulation as the UK (and the City in particular) disentangles itself from the EU – and as in many other areas, there is confusion about the transition process: understanding which rules continue unaffected; the scope and impact of any interim arrangements; and the anticipation of totally new measures yet to come into force.

Of course, the worst of petty British bureaucracy probably doesn’t even need the headache of Brexit to tie itself in knots. One small example I witnessed: in a country pub, I was told at the bar that I could not be served soy milk with my tea, and that the barman risked losing his license if he complied with my request – but oat milk was OK; and bizarrely, dishes that contained soy and served in the pub restaurant were also available. Go figure. I still can’t work out whether this was a quirk of local licensing laws, a capricious whim of the hotelier, or just a cranky member of staff.

My final port of call was the outer London suburbia of north-west Kent. Close enough to the London bubble to be popular with commuters, it’s also where I spent much of my childhood and teenage years. I wouldn’t say that familiarity breeds contempt, but it gets increasingly hard to feel any nostalgia for the place. Whenever I go back, it naturally feels much smaller (physically, socially, culturally) than when I was growing up there. Fortunately, when I caught up with a bunch of high school friends (all of whom have long since moved away from the area), there was a “very comfortable familiarity”, as one of our group described it afterwards: “not overly nostalgic but warm and generous. It’s the kind of thing I might have disdained when younger but I really enjoy it.” There speaks the wisdom of age(ing).

There’s no doubt a great deal I should be grateful for having been born in the UK, and probably a lot more that I take for granted as a result when I am there: walks in the country, spending some quality time with close family, good pub meals, excellent art exhibitions, even the inter-city train journeys through “England’s green and pleasant land” (no irony intended). All of which make the many varied and minor disappointments even harder to accept – I somehow expect better of the place, even after all this time away.

Next week: Hong Kong – Then and Now