Price, pjesme, intervjui...

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Saian
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#1251 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by Saian »

originalni clanak

http://www.pnas.org/content/110/15/5802.full
Abstract

We show that easily accessible digital records of behavior, Facebook Likes, can be used to automatically and accurately predict a range of highly sensitive personal attributes including: sexual orientation, ethnicity, religious and political views, personality traits, intelligence, happiness, use of addictive substances, parental separation, age, and gender. The analysis presented is based on a dataset of over 58,000 volunteers who provided their Facebook Likes, detailed demographic profiles, and the results of several psychometric tests. The proposed model uses dimensionality reduction for preprocessing the Likes data, which are then entered into logistic/linear regression to predict individual psychodemographic profiles from Likes. The model correctly discriminates between homosexual and heterosexual men in 88% of cases, African Americans and Caucasian Americans in 95% of cases, and between Democrat and Republican in 85% of cases. For the personality trait “Openness,” prediction accuracy is close to the test–retest accuracy of a standard personality test. We give examples of associations between attributes and Likes and discuss implications for online personalization and privacy.
Numeric variables such as age or intelligence were predicted using a linear regression model, whereas dichotomous variables such as gender or sexual orientation were predicted using logistic regression. In both cases, we applied 10-fold cross-validation and used the k = 100 top SVD components. For sexual orientation, parents’ relationship status, and drug consumption only k = 30 top SVD components were used because of the smaller number of users for which this information was available.
jaoooooooooo pa ovi su radili s najosnovnijim predictive modelling metodama, doduse uradili su sing value decomposition prvo, al opet, dze gradijent busting, dze SVM, a gdje obicni random forest

cini mi se prikladno stavit i ovo tu da se nadje
A thoughtcrime is an Orwellian neologism used to describe an illegal thought. The term was popularized in the dystopian novel Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell, first published in 1949, wherein thoughtcrime is the criminal act of holding unspoken beliefs or doubts that oppose or question Ingsoc, the ruling party.
:D
zijancer
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#1252 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by zijancer »

..madre of mia, za jedno 70 godina.....
:cry:
kako procitati sve sto me zanima, a da niko ne zna sta zapravo na kraju mislim :mrgreen:

papirne knjige?
puno papirnih knjiga? :cry:
jedna knjiga? :cry:
....... .. .......? :|
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Saian
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#1253 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by Saian »

Pravo da ti kazem, sve vise ne znam :oops: :D

http://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/thin ... ted-states

Things More Heavily Regulated Than Buying a Gun in the United States
by SARAH HUTTO



Having a fucking bake sale

Building a fucking shed in your own backyard

Pumping fucking gas

Getting a fucking vasectomy

Owning a fucking car

Driving someone else’s fucking car

Riding in a fucking car

Disposing of fucking batteries

Cutting fucking hair for a living

Having a controlled bonfire on your own fucking property

Owning a fucking dog

Walking a fucking dog

Selling a fucking mattress

Watching a fucking DVD

Holding any sort of public fucking performance

Importing foreign fucking cheese

Changing your last fucking name to your spouse’s

Buying fucking fireworks

Riding a fucking bicycle

Having a fucking swimming pool

Xeroxing and distributing copyrighted fucking material

Transporting a bottle of opened fucking wine home from a restaurant

Using a fucking skateboard

Buying unpasteurized fucking milk

Recycling
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Saian
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#1254 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by Saian »

Baumeister, Bratslavsky, Finkenauera and Vohs: Bad is stronger than good
The greater power of bad events over good ones is found in everyday events, major life
events (e.g., trauma), close relationship outcomes, social network patterns, interpersonal
interactions, and learning processes. Bad emotions, bad parents, and bad feedback
have more impact than good ones, and bad information is processed more thoroughly
than good. The self is more motivated to avoid bad self-definitions than to pursue good
ones. Bad impressions and bad stereotypes are quicker to form and more resistant to
disconfirmation than good ones. Various explanations such as diagnosticity and salience
help explain some findings, but the greater power of bad events is still found
when such variables are controlled. Hardly any exceptions (indicating greater power of
good) can be found. Taken together, these findings suggest that bad is stronger than
good, as a general principle across a broad range of psychological phenomena.
Orginalni clanak u PDF-u
http://assets.csom.umn.edu/assets/71516.pdf
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sinuhe
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#1255 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by sinuhe »

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Saian
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#1256 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by Saian »



omar little
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#1257 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by omar little »

naumpade mi jutros u busu.


Filip David | Trijumf primitivizma

Pravo značenje reči primitivac je prost, neobrazovan čovek. Ali kod nas najveće primitivce, oličenje primitivizma, nalazimo upravo među onima koji poseduju nekakvo obrazovanje. Jedna od karakterističnih osobina pravih primitivaca jeste njihova sposobnost da dugo i vešto skrivaju svoj primitivizam

U mirnim vremenima ugnjezde se u nekoj sredini i svojim manirima naizled uglađene osobe, pristojnim izgledom i uljudnim ophođenjem, uspevaju da zavaraju okolinu. Suština je zapravo zamaskirana sa nekoliko skupih odela i nekoliko naučenih fraza. Primitivci su tako ušuškani u samoj srži društva poput larvi koje mogu ostati larve čitavog života. Ali ako naiđu za njih povoljne okolnosti, iz tih larvi se razvijaju štetočine koje iznutra nagrizaju i dovode do propasti sve što dotaknu.

Primitivizam se svuda unaokolo širi kao paučina. A kada nema vetra da ga razduva, štošta se uhvati u njegove mreže. Primitivci jedni druge prepoznaju i onda kada su premazani sa hiljadu zaštitnih boja. Postoji prava internacionala primitivaca i njihova međusobna solidarnost. Podržavaju se i pomažu kada se nađu u nevolji. Primitivizam se jako vezuje za prostakluk, a prostaštvo je za mnoge opčinjavajuće.

Prostak veruje da svet postoji samo njega radi. On nema nedoumica, kolebanja, griže savesti, trauma. Svet viđen njegovim očima je pojednostavljen, uprošćen, bez moralnih dilema. „Ili kako ja kažem, ili nikako!“ Udara pesnicom o stol, ili pesnicom u oko kako bi stavio do znanja da mora biti po njegovom. Ima širok osmeh kojim pokazuje zlatne zube. Nosi razdrljenu košulju da bi otkrio maljave, muške, junačke grudi.

U mirnim vremenima primitivci kao oličenje prostakluka katkad služe za podsmeh. Njihova neutoljiva glad i žeđ da sve prilagode i potčine sebi deluje budalasto i megalomanski. A kao odgovor na sredinu koja im se ruga, stvaraju svoju kulturu, svoju državu u državi. Imaju svoju književnost, svoju muziku, svoje idole, svoje zvezde i kraljeve. Primitivizam je zarazan. Kultura primitivaca u mračnim vremenima postaje državna kultura, njihovi idoli – idoli masa. Duh primitivizma oseća se tada na svakom koraku, vlada nad mišljenjem, utisnut je u svaki delić života, nadmoćno se uzdiže kao metafora svega postojećeg.

Primitivac nanjuši drugog primitivca na daljinu. Primitivac uvažava drugog primitivca. U tom drugom vidi sebe, kao u ogledalu. Vidi grubost koja mu imponuje, prostaštvo kome se divi, autentičnu bezobzirnost. Primitivac u politici poštuje i uvažava samo načelo sile, primitivac u društvu ushićava se opštim bezumljem, a intelektualni primitivac, taj contradictio in adjecto, ali itekako postojeći u društvima zarobljenog uma i sužene svesti, kolektivizma i populizma, uništava svako mišljenje, svaki uzlet duha i u prvim je redovima borbe protiv individualizma. Primitivizam je korov kojeg ima posvuda. Poput je rđe koja se svuda hvata, poput kiseline koja sve nagriza. Primitivan čovek veruje da je uvek u pravu, ne priznaje drugačije mišljenje, slep je i gluv za sve razloge i činjenice. Nije u stanju da ima viziju budućnosti, a prošlost svodi u nekoliko stereotipa kojima objašnjava ukupnu istoriju čovečanstva. Primitivizam je toliko žilav, jak, dosledan i uporan da se prenosi kao nasledna bolest sa generacije na generaciju. I tamo gde se čini da je iskorenjen, iznenada se javlja, niče iz pepela svoga uništenja. „Čežnja za primitivnošću je bolest kulture“, napisao je Santajana.

Primitivizam rađa fanatizam, a fanatizam primitivcima daje novu snagu, snagu varvara spremnih da ruše, gaze, uništavaju. Šovinizam, fažizam, staljinizam, objedinjuju u sebi primitivizam i fanatizam. Fanatici slepo hrle ka ostvarenju svoga cilja. Ujedinjeni su u mržnji. Mase zaslepljene fanatizmom, podjarmljene mržnjom, hranjene primitivizmom, pretvaraju se u ljudska krda. Idu i prema sopstvenom uništenju jer slepilo fanatika i glupost primitivaca jedino mogu biti zaustavljeni istom takvom brutalnom silom kojom su krenuli da unište sopstvenu civilizaciju.

Ovdašnji primitivci spojili su fanatizam i akciju. U ime svoje nacije, ideologije i vere, lome kosti, stvaraju masovna groblja, ostvaruju se u nasilju. Buldožderima melju tela žrtava i bacaju ih u rudarska okna. Jedna žrtva za primitivnu pamet i iz nje izraslu moć i silu, nije ništa. Treba da stradaju stotine hiljada, možda milioni, da se zadovolje neumerene primitivne strasti. Obilazeći ratne invalide svoje vojske jedan ovdašnji vođa ih je pozdravio rečima: „Drago mi je što vas vidim u tolikom broju!“ A jedan drugi, na opomenu da njegov narod više nema nijednog prijatelja u svetu, odgovorio je: „Imamo jednog – Isusa Hrista.“

Sve što ovakvi dodirnu, pretvaraju u svoju suprotnost. Vera postaje blasfemična, rodoljublje kompromitirajuće, kultura ponižavajuća, vlast zaštita bezvlašću, visokoučene institucije paravan za gluposti, politika – utočište za primitivizam i primitivce. Ideološki buzdovan u rukama primitivaca vitla i mlati oko sebe sve čega se dotakne. Jednom probuđeni i osokoljeni primitivizam širi se posvuda nezadrživom snagom, pružajući zastrašujuće primere bezobzirnosti, ponižavanja ličnosti i oduzimanja životu osnovnog dostojanstva.

Primitivizam je izrugivanje duhu i istovremeno označava siromaštvo duha. Samoljublje bez ikakvog pokrića, oholost prema nemoćnima, poniznost prema gospodarima. Primitivci pišu istoriju samoobmana, a „samoobmana je“, kako je kazao pesnik, „ubitačna i za ljude i za narode.“

Može se pretpostaviti da će se sa nastupanjem mirnijih vremena primitivci povući sa glavne scene u pozadinu zbivanja, delujući sa rezervnog položaja. Prostakluk će pokriti pokradenim zlatom, obložiti ga dragim kamenjem i svilom. Ukrasiti diplomama i visokim državnim funkcijama. Biće manje glasni, ali jednako uticajni kao i pre. Oni ne sumnjaju da budućnost pripada njima, kao što im pripada i sadašnjost. Svuda će tražiti i nalaziti saveznike. Prostaštvo, fanatizam, lopovluk, beda duha, vrte ovaj svet. Primitivizam je neukrotiv, on je u samoj srži našega sveta, ali i u samome izvorištu najvećih i najstrašnijih zala.

Filip David, Jesmo li čudovišta, Bosanska knjiga, Sarajevo 1997, str. 151-153

http://www.prometej.ba/clanak/kultura/f ... vizma-1612
omar little
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Joined: 14/03/2008 21:14

#1258 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by omar little »

Filip David: Jesmo li čudovišta?

U mračnim, izopačenim vremenima, izgubljenih kriterijuma ljudskosti, moralnog izobličenja, u vremenima destrukcije, haosa i vladavine loših momaka, preobražavanje uvaženog građanina, dobrog oca porodice i uglednog čoveka od karijere u čudovište odvija se brzo, lako i jednostavno: dovoljno je samo stajati, gledati i ništa ne činiti

Italijanski pisac Primo Levi zapisao je: „Uvek će biti pokvarenih svinja. Čudovišta su oni koji stoje i gledaju“.

Primo Levi je preživeo iskušenja italijanskog i nemačkog fašizma, dva srodna oblika populizma koji su iz temelja protresli moderni svet, propagirajući obnovu kroz destrukciju. Iz tog stravičnog iskustva rušilačkih utopija činilo se dobijen je jednom zauvijek važan nauk: zlo treba prepoznati na vreme i suprotstaviti mu se, jer, inače, kasnije, kad uzme maha, cena njegovog zaustavljanja postaje ogromna i zastrašujuća. Pouka je, također, da nevinih nema; oni koji su uvereni da su postrani od svega, brzo su se, i ne shvaćajući to, pretvorili su saučesnike i direktne krivce.

Ali, očevidno, od istorije se naučilo malo, ili nimalo.

Jedan od osnovnih problema našega vremena u tome je što je bilo previše onih koji su „stajali i gledali“. Da li to znači da smo postali društvo čudovišta. Blizu je istine. U mračnim, izopačenim vremenima, izgubljenih kriterijuma ljudskosti, moralnog izobličenja, u vremenima destrukcije, haosa i vladavine loših momaka, preobražavanje uvaženog građanina, dobrog oca porodice i uglednog čoveka od karijere u čudovište odvija se brzo, lako i jednostavno: dovoljno je samo stajati, gledati i ništa ne činiti.

U početku dovoljno je stajati i gledati kako se nekome drugome čini neka sasvim mala nepravda: kako neko iza ugla, u našoj blizini kinji slabijeg od sebe. Kako neko, u našoj blizini i u našem prisustvu koristi fizičku nadmoć, ili moć poslodavca, moć vlasnika da bi naneo nepravdu. Ili posmatramo nazainteresovano i ravnodušno zloupotrebu političke moći, partijske pripadnosti, da se naš prijatelj, poznanik, sused, ili neko koga možda i ne poznajemo ponižava, proganja zato što se razlikuje od nas po uverenju ili rođenju.

Uskoro nasilje postaje svakodnevna stvar. Nasilje i nepravda idu ruku pod ruku. Ne suprotstavljajući se nasilju, ne dižući glas protiv nepravde prihvatamo da živimo uz njih i s njima. Nasilja se uvećavaju, nepravde postaju sve očiglednije, dobijaju zastrašujuće razmere, a mi stojimo i gledamo. Lagano, ali neumitno preobražavamo se u čudovišta. Jer, prisetimo se reči Primo Levija, „čudovišta su oni koji stoje i gledaju“.

Nastavljamo, nazigled, da živimo kao što smo živeli, nalazeći uvek opravdanje za svoje nemešanje, za ćutnju, odsutnost; u razgovoru sa prijateljima, sa samim sobom, nalazimo opravdanje u tome da je svet oduvek tako ustrojen da slabi trpe, a jaki tlače, a da je mudrost u gledanju svoga posla, u odsutnosti, neprimetnosti i nevidljivosti. Nasilja ima otkad je sveta i veka, a i nepravda je od Boga. Majušno čudovište rođeno iz ove tobožnje mudrosti koja je zapravo istovremeno i kukavičluk i konformizam, raste kako rastu nasilje, nepravda i mržnja u okruženju: u svakodnevnom životu, u ideologiji, politici dok na kraju, iz tog filozofskog stava „stoj, gledaj i ne mešaj se“ ne naraste pravo čudovište koje proguta čitavog čoveka.

Ali, ovako ili onako, nasilje i nepravda učinjeni drugima, vraćaju se i jednoga dana obuhvataju sve: prave i krive, pa i one koji su hteli da budu izvan svega toga, kao da se može biti izvan života, kao da se može uvek samo „stajati i gledati“ i biti siguran da jednoga dana vrtlog narastajućeg zla neće zahvatiti sve, pa i one koji su verovali da su postrani, sigurni i zaštićeni. A kada dođe taj dan, a on dođe, pre ili kasnije, zapitaj se gde si bio kada je sve počelo, da li si nešto učinio kada je savest nalagala da se nešto učini, zapitaj se koliki je tvoj udeo krivice u sveopštem zlu. Hteo, ne hteo, ti si postao čudovište, Levijevo čudovište koje „stoji i gleda“.

Taj tip čudovišta kao posebna vrsta ljudskog roda ispunjava dalju i bližu istoriju. Ne suprotstavljajući se nasilju onda kada je to trebalo ovi mutanti, pod komandnom palicom diktatora i tirana popunjavaju kasnije legije zla šireći nasilje svuda oko sebe. Ne samo da nisu ostali izvan svega toga, nego se stav „stoj i gledaj“ neumitno pretvara u izvršenje naredbe „ćuti i slušaj“, a potom i u: „ubij i ne razmišljaj“.

U svakom sistemu koji počiva na moći i sili, posmatrači su najbrojnija i najposlušnija kategorija stanovništva. Posmatrači daju legitimitet raznovrsnim oblicima torture. Posmatrači su za totalitarnu vlast najzahvalnija vrsta podanika. Ništa ne pitaju, ni protiv čega se ne bune, „stoje i gledaju“, ali ništa ne vide, ništa ne čuju, niti ih se išta tiče. Nemi su pred ljudskom mukom, ravnodušni pred umiranjem i stradanjem drugih, oslobođeni griže savjesti, van svakoga saosećanja... Doista prava ljudska čudovišta.

U mračim vremenima najjasnije se pokazuje kako je mala razlika između uglednog građanina i čudovišta. Da je ta granica tanušava i jedva vidljiva. Zato je i moguće da se gotovo preko noći, kako se čini, pojedina društva iz prividno normalnih, mirnih, stabilnih, u svemu standardnih, pretvaraju u društva monstruma, velikih, neočekivanih i zgražavajućih zločina. Ali, ove promene imaju svoj tok, one sežu u prošlost, i često su koreni ne samo u tome što je nešto loše ili pogrešno učinjeno, nego još više u tome što na ono loše činjeno nije bilo pravog odgovora. Čudovišne posledice katkad upravo proizlaze iz nečinjenja, ćutanja ili okretanja glave. Ili stoga što je jedini odgovor bio: stajanje i gledanje. „Čudovišta su oni koji stoje i gledaju.“

Ove reči Primo Levija valja upisati u sve državne grbove i sve zastave, u lafete i pokrove, na mestima gde se uzdižu i slave kumiri i idoli, gde gore večne vatre sećanja, ispisati na najupadljivijim mestima da stalno budu na videlu i umu svakome čoveku. „Uvek će biti pokvarenih svinja, čudovišta su oni koji stoje i gledaju.“

Filip David, Jesmo li čudovišta, Bosanska knjiga, Sarajevo 1997, str. 163-65
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Saian
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Joined: 08/04/2004 21:50

#1259 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by Saian »

Cika Filip iznad objasnio. :)


https://www.nytimes.com/2017/12/07/us/t ... &smtyp=cur

The Adopted Black Baby, and the White One Who Replaced Her

She grew up a tomboy in suburban Chicago, a fan of Hot Wheels, baseball cards and Blackhawks hockey. So when her two brothers tossed a football in the family’s half-acre backyard one day, Amy insisted on playing. They said no, she begged, and one of them whipped the ball at her so hard that it sent her to the ground in tears.

“Our other sister was a real girl,” one of the boys blurted out.

The comment left Amy, about 8 at the time, dumbfounded. There was no other sister, or so she thought.

She raced inside, found her mother smoking at the kitchen table, and told her what her brother Bobby had said.

“Is it true that you had a daughter before me?” asked Amy, who, like her brothers, was adopted at birth.

Marge Sandberg slowly blotted out her cigarette in an ashtray.

“Listen carefully,” Amy recalled her mother saying, “because I’m only going to tell you this story once.”

It was around 1970 in Deerfield, Ill., and Ms. Sandberg told her youngest child a closely guarded secret about a choice the family had made, one fueled by the racial tensions of the era, that sent a black girl and the white girl that took her place on diverging paths.

Decades later, the journeys of the two women tell a nuanced story of race in America, one that complicates easy assumptions about white privilege and black hardship. Lives take unexpected twists and turns, this family story suggests, no matter the race of those involved. And years later, it is not easy to figure out the role of race when looking for lessons learned.

It all started in 1959 when a developer bought a plot of land in Deerfield to build 51 homes. He said he would sell a dozen of them to black people.

This small community about 30 miles north of Chicago had spent years growing in the image of mid-20th-century suburban America: tract housing, green lawns and a population that was virtually all white. Deerfield residents made it clear that they wanted to protect the racial order.

Vandals struck two houses under construction. Someone burned a cross on the lawn of a resident who supported the development. A local pastor who advocated the housing received an anonymous letter that called him a vicious racial slur and told him to “let your children marry one of them and present you with a nice dark brown grandson or daughter,” The New York Times reported on April 17, 1960.

Among those who wanted to see the housing built were Marge Sandberg and her husband, Len, who had moved to Deerfield with their two adopted sons in the mid-1950s. As a Jew, Mr. Sandberg said he had always had sympathy for persecuted minority groups. Ms. Sandberg joined a local group that supported the development. But the efforts to get the homes built were unsuccessful; the city ultimately seized the land from the developer and built a park.

While the talk of the town was about the housing development, the Sandbergs were talking about expanding their family. They wanted a daughter. And so they hired a lawyer, who found a woman looking to put up her newborn girl for adoption. The baby, whom they planned to name Rebecca, was born on April 19, 1962, and when she arrived at the Sandberg house days later, what they saw surprised them.

She was black.

Immediately, Mr. Sandberg said, he thought of the burning crosses and racist taunts, the upheaval in their community over the prospect of black people moving in. Interracial adoptions were far less common then.

“I said at that point that I wasn’t going to go forward with it,” Mr. Sandberg, now 89, recalled.

Len Sandberg at his home in La Jolla, Calif. “It was a tough decision and I did feel guilty,” Mr. Sandberg said, of the decision to send back a black girl he and his wife had adopted. Credit Jenna Schoenefeld for The New York Times

His wife protested vigorously. She cried. She called on a pastor at the Unitarian church they attended to try to convince him to change his mind. Mr. Sandberg would not budge.

“I thought, ‘My God, how are you going to raise a child in this neighborhood with the way people are feeling about this thing?’” said Mr. Sandberg, the owner of a prosperous manufacturing company. “It just wouldn’t have been great for her.”

The Sandbergs returned the child. A few months later, they adopted a newborn white girl and named her Amy.

Even as the Sandbergs moved on, the impact of what they did lingered. Ms. Sandberg, who died of cancer in 1997, kept journal entries saying she thought about the girl every April, the month she was born. The Sandbergs eventually separated and divorced. The family almost never talked about what had happened.

But the white daughter they kept, Amy, who is now married and goes by the last name Roost, began thinking about the family secret again in 2012, after Trayvon Martin, a black teenager, was killed by a neighborhood watchman in Florida, setting off a national conversation about racial disparities in America. Ms. Roost wondered if the girl her parents had sent back had ended up on the short end of the country’s racial divide.

Ms. Roost, now 55, had graduated from George Washington University with a degree in political science, and worked as a press aide on Capitol Hill, as a university administrator, and as a grant writer for nonprofit organizations. She became a freelance journalist, and, using her reporting skills, set out to find the woman her parents had given up. Ms. Roost documented this search for a story that will air on WNYC’s Snap Judgment podcast.

Ms. Roost dug through Illinois adoption and birth records and searched the internet, eventually finding the woman: Angelle Kimberly Smith. It was 2015, and Ms. Roost called Ms. Smith, nervous about what she might say.

The conversation did not go as Ms. Roost had imagined.

“She was really, really cool about it,” Ms. Roost said.

That’s because after the Sandbergs had given her up, Ms. Smith had landed with a loving couple, Harry and Ruth Smith, who were black. Her father ran a stationery store. He also was heavily involved in an underground lottery, with tentacles that extended into the city’s political and organized crime worlds, she said. Her mother was a homemaker. Her upbringing, Ms. Smith said, was comfortable and loving in a solid, black middle-class neighborhood on Chicago’s South Side. She attended a private grammar school.

But tragedy struck when Harry Smith died of a heart attack when his daughter was just 8.

Ms. Smith and her mother endured. Her mother ran the stationery store, she said, and neighbors treated them like family.

“I was raised by people that really loved me and really wanted me,” said Ms. Smith, now 55.

As she entered adulthood, Ms. Smith moved to Los Angeles, lured by the prospect of a glamorous life. Instead, she found trouble.

In spite of her stable home life, Ms. Smith said she was sucked into freewheeling circles in which drugs were common. She became addicted to cocaine, she said, and became homeless and was incarcerated for burglary. She had four children, two of them while living on the streets, and lost custody of all of them.

Ms. Smith eventually pulled her life back together. She earned an associate degree, started working on bachelor’s and master’s degrees online and worked as a counselor. By 2007, all of her children were back in her life. She wanted to learn more about who she was, so she searched for her biological parents, listed as Neal Gordon and Juanita Green on her birth certificate, but never found them.

But life had taken so many twists and turns that by the time she heard from Ms. Roost, she felt she could handle anything. She greeted the news that she had been given up by a white family by telling Ms. Roost that she held no hard feelings, and would not have wanted to be raised by white parents in a white neighborhood.

Over time, the two women built a relationship, discussing the good and the bad places that life had taken them. They talked openly about whether they had traveled stereotypical racial trajectories — the white girl soaring to success with the support of a wealthy, white family; the black girl struggling in despair.

That jaded narrative, it turned out, was far from the reality. Ms. Smith wondered whether she actually would have been worse off had the Sandbergs kept her.

The way she saw it, Ms. Smith said, race never felt like much of a determining factor in her life. She went to school with white children and enjoyed some of the same benefits as white people, from her education to her family’s vacation home. She felt lucky to have grown up in a predominantly black neighborhood, rather than in Deerfield, where she said she likely would have faced discrimination.

“There were no people of color in that community at all,” Ms. Smith said, adding that “when white people have to deal with black people, I think, there’s a misperception of who we are, what we stand for.”

When Ms. Roost learned what Ms. Smith had gone through as an adult — hustling to make ends meet, living in Los Angeles’s once notorious MacArthur Park — she could not help but think of how different her own life had turned out and how her parents’ racially motivated decision might have impacted both of them.

As she contrasted her life with Ms. Smith’s, Ms. Roost said she believed that without having to face racism, her family was able to do well financially, allowing her to get a college education and stable jobs. It felt like white privilege, she said.

Yet she also realized that her assumptions about Ms. Smith’s life did not fully ring true.

“When I found out she had been adopted by a black family, I assumed her life probably wasn’t as good as mine,” Ms. Roost said.

But Ms. Roost has endured her own tumultuous times, despite enjoying the overseas vacations and luxe Christmas parties that her family’s wealth afforded her. A family member sexually assaulted her. With her parents divorced by the time she was 10, her relationship with her father grew distant and her mother’s alcoholism complicated their relationship.

“You can look at it and think, ‘Oh, the white child probably had the better childhood in this ritzy, tony suburb,’” Ms. Roost said. “But then again, peel it back a layer and you’ll see it was a horrible childhood.”

Had she experienced Ms. Roost’s childhood, Ms. Smith said, she very well might have slid into drug addiction more quickly.

Those possibilities, however, are of little consolation to Mr. Sandberg, the man who refused to keep a girl because of the color of her skin.

“It was a tough decision and I did feel guilty,” he said. “I’m ashamed of myself. I don’t know whether I made the right decision or the wrong decision. As I look now, in this day and age, I feel that I was wrong.”

When he met Ms. Smith two years ago for the first and only time at a restaurant in La Jolla, Calif., she ran toward him and they embraced.

“Thank you so much,” Ms. Smith recalled whispering in his ear.

He asked why she was thanking him.

“‘I don’t know if you’ve battled with this through the years, but you did the right thing,’” Ms. Smith recalled telling him, adding that he seemed visibly relieved. “I watched 50 years worth of guilt and shame roll off of him.”
omar little
Posts: 16351
Joined: 14/03/2008 21:14

#1260 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by omar little »

opet ja sa naumpadanjem danas. :D

ovo vise pripada podforumu elektronski i stampani mediji ali obzirom da je tamo prva, zalijepljena, must see, tema "krizaljka na sax-u" ovdje mi je ipak nekako prikladnije i manje uvredljivo.

ed murrow je bio covjek nekog drugog, davno proslog vremena. neki njegovi stavovi i vidjenja medija su nekompatiblini sa progresom, novim tehnologijama i novim svijetom pa mogu zvucati naivno i idealisticki. neki su bezvremenski i prikladni danas jednako kao i prije 60 godina kada ih je napisao i izno. vrlo hrabar i castan novinar/broadcaster. imao je vise integriteta nego svi ovi personaliti/brendovi/kurci ili kako se vec nazivaju te korporacijske sluge sto maskaridiraju kao novinari i televizijski informativni autoriteti danas.

sad kad sam ga se sjetila, pogledacu i odlican (vizualno prelijep) good night, and good luck film. eto. izvinjavam se na smetnji.

----------------

On October 15, 1958, veteran broadcaster Edward R. Murrow delivered his famous "wires and lights in a box" speech before attendees of the RTDNA (then RTNDA) convention

"This just might do nobody any good. At the end of this discourse a few people may accuse this reporter of fouling his own comfortable nest, and your organization may be accused of having given hospitality to heretical and even dangerous thoughts. But I am persuaded that the elaborate structure of networks, advertising agencies and sponsors will not be shaken or altered. It is my desire, if not my duty, to try to talk to you journeymen with some candor about what is happening to radio and television in this generous and capacious land. I have no technical advice or counsel to offer those of you who labor in this vineyard the one that produces words and pictures. You will, I am sure, forgive me for not telling you that the instruments with which you work are miraculous, that your responsibility is unprecedented or that your aspirations are frequently frustrated. It is not necessary to remind you of the fact that your voice, amplified to the degree where it reaches from one end of the country to the other, does not confer upon you greater wisdom than when your voice reached only from one end of the bar to the other. All of these things you know.

You should also know at the outset that, in the manner of witnesses before Congressional committees, I appear here voluntarily-by invitation-that I am an employee of the Columbia Broadcasting System, that I am neither an officer nor any longer a director of that corporation and that these remarks are strictly of a "do-it-yourself" nature. If what I have to say is responsible, then I alone am responsible for the saying of it. Seeking neither approbation from my employers, nor new sponsors, nor acclaim from the critics of radio and television, I cannot very well be disappointed. Believing that potentially the commercial system of broadcasting as practiced in this country is the best and freest yet devised, I have decided to express my concern about what I believe to be happening to radio and television. These instruments have been good to me beyond my due. There exists in mind no reasonable grounds for any kind of personal complaint. I have no feud, either with my employers, any sponsors, or with the professional critics of radio and television. But I am seized with an abiding fear regarding what these two instruments are doing to our society, our culture and our heritage.

Our history will be what we make it. And if there are any historians about fifty or a hundred years from now, and there should be preserved the kinescopes for one week of all three networks, they will there find recorded in black and white, or perhaps in color, evidence of decadence, escapism and insulation from the realities of the world in which we live. I invite your attention to the television schedules of all networks between the hours of 8 and 11 p.m., Eastern Time. Here you will find only fleeting and spasmodic reference to the fact that this nation is in mortal danger. There are, it is true, occasional informative programs presented in that intellectual ghetto on Sunday afternoons. But during the daily peak viewing periods, television in the main insulates us from the realities of the world in which we live. If this state of affairs continues, we may alter an advertising slogan to read: LOOK NOW, AND PAY LATER.

For surely we shall pay for using this most powerful instrument of communication to insulate the citizenry from the hard and demanding realities which must indeed be faced if we are to survive. And I mean the word survive, quite literally. If there were to be a competition in indifference, or perhaps in insulation from reality, then Nero and his fiddle, Chamberlain and his umbrella, could not find a place on an early afternoon sustaining show. If Hollywood were to run out of Indians, the program schedules would be mangled beyond all recognition. Then perhaps, some young and courageous soul with a small budget might do a documentary telling what, in fact, we have done--and are still doing--to the Indians in this country. But that would be unpleasant. And we must at all costs shield the sensitive citizen from anything that is unpleasant.

I am entirely persuaded that the American public is more reasonable, restrained and more mature than most of our industry's program planners believe. Their fear of controversy is not warranted by the evidence. I have reason to know, as do many of you, that when the evidence on a controversial subject is fairly and calmly presented, the public recognizes it for what it is--an effort to illuminate rather than to agitate.

Several years ago, when we undertook to do a program on Egypt and Israel, well-meaning, experienced and intelligent friends in the business said, "This you cannot do. This time you will be handed your head. It is an emotion-packed controversy, and there is no room for reason in it." We did the program. Zionists, anti-Zionists, the friends of the Middle East, Egyptian and Israeli officials said, I must confess with a faint tone of surprise, "It was a fair account. The information was there. We have no complaints."

Our experience was similar with two half-hour programs dealing with cigarette smoking and lung cancer. Both the medical profession and the tobacco industry cooperated, but in a rather wary fashion. But in the end of the day they were both reasonably content. The subject of radioactive fallout and the banning of nuclear tests was, and is, highly controversial. But according to what little evidence there is, viewers were prepared to listen to both sides with reason and restraint. This is not said to claim any special or unusual competence in the presentation of controversial subjects, but rather to indicate that timidity in these areas is not warranted by the evidence.

Recently, network spokesmen have been disposed to complain that the professional critics of television in print have been rather beastly. There have been ill-disguised hints that somehow competition for the advertising dollar has caused the critics in print to gang up on television and radio. This reporter has no desire to defend the critics. They have space in which to do that on their own behalf. But it remains a fact that the newspapers and magazines are the only instruments of mass communication which remain free from sustained and regular critical comment. I would suggest that if the network spokesmen are so anguished about what appears in print, then let them come forth and engage in a little sustained and regular comment regarding newspapers and magazines. It is an ancient and sad fact that most people in network television, and radio, have an exaggerated regard for what appears in print. And there have been cases where executives have refused to make even private comment on a program for which they are responsible until they had read the reviews in print. This is hardly an exhibition of confidence in their own judgment.

The oldest excuse of the networks for their timidity is their youth. Their spokesmen say, "We are young. We have not developed the traditions. nor acquired the experience of the older media." If they but knew it, they are building those traditions and creating those precedents every day. Each time they yield to a voice from Washington or any political pressure, each time they eliminate something that might offend some section of the community, they are creating their own body of precedent and tradition, and it will continue to pursue them. They are, in fact, not content to be half safe.

Nowhere is this better illustrated than by the fact that the chairman of the Federal Communications Commission publicly prods broadcasters to engage in their legal right to editorialize. Of course, to undertake an editorial policy; overt, clearly labeled, and obviously unsponsored; requires a station or a network to be responsible. Most stations today probably do not have the manpower to assume this responsibility, but the manpower could be recruited. Editorials, of course, would not be profitable. If they had a cutting edge, they might even offend. It is much easier, much less troublesome, to use this money-making machine of television and radio merely as a conduit through which to channel anything that will be paid for that is not libelous, obscene or defamatory. In that way one has the illusion of power without responsibility.

So far as radio--that most satisfying, ancient but rewarding instrument--is concerned, the diagnosis of the difficulties is not too difficult. And obviously I speak only of news and information. In order to progress, it need only go backward. Back to the time when singing commercials were not allowed on news reports, when there was no middle commercial in a 15-minute news report, when radio was rather proud, and alert, and fast. I recently asked a network official, "Why this great rash of five-minute news reports (including three commercials) on weekends?" And he replied, "Because that seems to be the only thing we can sell."

Well, in this kind of complex and confusing world, you can't tell very much about the "why" of the news in a broadcast where only three minutes is available for news. The only man who could do that was Elmer Davis, and his kind aren't around any more. If radio news is to be regarded as a commodity, only acceptable when saleable, and only when packaged to fit the advertising appropriate of a sponsor, then I don't care what you call it--I say it isn't news.

My memory -- and I have not yet reached the point where my memories fascinate me -- but my memory also goes back to the time when the fear of a slight reduction in business did not result in an immediate cutback in bodies in the news and public affairs department, at a time when network profits had just reached an all-time high. We would all agree, I think, that whether on a station or a network, the stapling machine is a very poor substitute for a newsroom typewriter, and somebody to beat it properly.

One of the minor tragedies of television news and information is that the networks will not even defend their vital interests. When my employer, CBS, through a combination of enterprise and good luck, did an interview with Nikita Khrushchev, the President uttered a few ill-chosen, uninformed words on the subject, and the network thereupon practically apologized. This produced something of a rarity: Many newspapers defended the CBS right to produce the program and commended it for its initiative. The other networks remained silent.

Likewise, when John Foster Dulles, by personal decree, banned American journalists from going to Communist China, and subsequently offered seven contradictory explanations, for his fiat the networks entered only a mild protest. Then they apparently forgot the unpleasantness. Can it be that this national industry is content to serve the public interest only with the trickle of news that comes out of Hong Kong, to leave its viewers in ignorance of the cataclysmic changes that are occurring in a nation of six hundred million people? I have no illusions about the difficulties of reporting from a dictatorship, but our British and French allies have been better served--in their public interest--with some very useful information from their reporters in Communist China.

One of the basic troubles with radio and television news is that both instruments have grown up as an incompatible combination of show business, advertising and news. Each of the three is a rather bizarre and, at times, demanding profession. And when you get all three under one roof, the dust never settles. The top management of the networks with a few notable exceptions, has been trained in advertising, research, sales or show business. But by the nature of the corporate structure, they also make the final and crucial decisions having to do with news and public affairs. Frequently they have neither the time nor the competence to do this. It is, after all, not easy for the same small group of men to decide whether to buy a new station for millions of dollars, build a new building, alter the rate card, buy a new Western, sell a soap opera, decide what defensive line to take in connection with the latest Congressional inquiry, how much money to spend on promoting a new program, what additions or deletions should be made in the existing covey or clutch of vice-presidents, and at the same time-- frequently on the long, same long day--to give mature, thoughtful consideration to the manifold problems that confront those who are charged with the responsibility for news and public affairs.

Sometimes there is a clash between the public interest and the corporate interest. A telephone call or a letter from a proper quarter in Washington is treated rather more seriously than a communication from an irate but not politically potent viewer. It is tempting enough to give away a little air time for frequently irresponsible and unwarranted utterances in an effort to temper the wind of political criticism. But this could well be the subject of a separate and even lengthier and drearier dissertation.

Upon occasion, economics and editorial judgment are in conflict. And there is no law which says that dollars will be defeated by duty. Not so long ago the President of the United States delivered a television address to the nation. He was discoursing on the possibility or the probability of war between this nation and the Soviet Union and Communist China. It would seem to have been a reasonably compelling subject, with a degree of urgency attached. Two networks, CBS and NBC, delayed that broadcast for an hour and fifteen minutes. If this decision was dictated by anything other than financial reasons, the networks didn't deign to explain those reasons. That hour-and-fifteen-minute delay, by the way, is a little more than twice the time required for an ICBM to travel from the Soviet Union to major targets in the United States. It is difficult to believe that this decision was made by men who love, respect and understand news.

I have been dealing largely with the deficit side of the ledger, and the items could be expanded. But I have said, and I believe, that potentially we have in this country a free enterprise system of radio and television which is superior to any other. But to achieve its promise, it must be both free and enterprising. There is no suggestion here that networks or individual stations should operate as philanthropies. But I can find nothing in the Bill of Rights or in the Communications Act which says that they must increase their net profits each year, lest the republic collapse. I do not suggest that news and information should be subsidized by foundations or private subscriptions. I am aware that the networks have expended, and are expending, very considerable sums of money on public affairs programs from which they cannot receive any financial reward. I have had the privilege at CBS of presiding over a considerable number of such programs. And I am able to stand here and say, that I have never had a program turned down by my superiors just because of the money it would cost.

But we all know that you cannot reach the potential maximum audience in marginal time with a sustaining program. This is so because so many stations on the network--any network--will decline to carry it. Every licensee who applies for a grant to operate in the public interest, convenience and necessity makes certain promises as to what he will do in terms of program content. Many recipients of licenses have, in blunt language, just plain welshed on those promises. The money-making machine somehow blunts their memories. The only remedy for this is closer inspection and punitive action by the F.C.C. But in the view of many, this would come perilously close to supervision of program content by a federal agency.

So it seems that we cannot rely on philanthropic support or foundation subsidies. We cannot follow the sustaining route. The networks cannot pay all the freight. And the F.C.C. cannot, will not, or should not discipline those who abuse the facilities that belong to the public. What, then, is the answer? Do we merely stay in our comfortable nests, concluding that the obligation of these instruments has been discharged when we work at the job of informing the public for a minimum of time? Or do we believe that the preservation of the republic is a seven-day-a-week job, demanding more awareness, better skills and more perseverance than we have yet contemplated.

I am frightened by the imbalance, the constant striving to reach the largest possible audience for everything; by the absence of a sustained study of the state of the nation. Heywood Broun once said, "No body politic is healthy until it begins to itch." I would like television to produce some itching pills rather than this endless outpouring of tranquilizers. It can be done. Maybe it won't be, but it could. But let us not shoot the wrong piano player. Do not be deluded into believing that the titular heads of the networks control what appears on their networks. They all have better taste. All are responsible to stockholders, and in my experience all are honorable men. But they must schedule what they can sell in the public market.

And this brings us to the nub of the question. In one sense it rather revolves around the phrase heard frequently along Madison Avenue: "The Corporate Image." I am not precisely sure what this phrase means, but I would imagine that it reflects a desire on the part of the corporations who pay the advertising bills to have a public image, or believe that they are not merely bodies with no souls, panting in pursuit of elusive dollars. They would like us to believe that they can distinguish between the public good and the private or corporate gain. So the question is this: Are the big corporations who pay who pay the freight for radio and television programs to use that time exclusively for the sale of goods and services? Is it in their own interest and that of the stockholders so to do? The sponsor of an hour's television program is not buying merely the six minutes devoted to his commercial message. He is determining, within broad limits, the sum total of the impact of the entire hour. If he always, invariably, reaches for the largest possible audience, then this process of insulation, of escape from reality, will continue to be massively financed, and its apologists will continue to make winsome speeches about giving the public what it wants, or letting the public decide.

I refuse to believe that the presidents and chairmen of the boards of these big corporations want their corporate image to consist exclusively of a solemn voice in an echo chamber, or a pretty girl opening the door of a refrigerator, or a horse that talks. They want something better, and on occasion some of them have demonstrated it. But most of the men whose legal and moral responsibility it is to spend the stockholders' money for advertising are, in fact, removed from the realities of the mass media by five, six, or a dozen contraceptive layers of vice-presidents, public relations counsel and advertising agencies. Their business is to sell goods, and the competition is pretty tough.

But this nation is now in competition with malignant forces of evil who are using every instrument at their command to empty the minds of their subjects and fill those minds with slogans, determination and faith in the future. If we go on as we are, we are protecting the mind of the American public from any real contact with the menacing world that squeezes in upon us. We are engaged in a great experiment to discover whether a free public opinion can devise and direct methods of managing the affairs of the nation. We may fail. But in terms of information, we are handicapping ourselves needlessly.

Let us have a little competition not only in selling soap, cigarettes and automobiles, but in informing a troubled, apprehensive but receptive public. Why should not each of the 20 or 30 big corporations--and they dominate radio and television--decide that they will give up one or two of their regularly scheduled programs each year, turn the time over to the networks and say in effect: "This is a klix tithe, just a little bit of our profits. On this particular night we aren't going to try to sell cigarettes or automobiles; this is merely a gesture to indicate our belief in the importance of ideas." The networks should, and I think they would, pay for the cost of producing the program. The advertiser, the sponsor, would get name credit but would have nothing to do with the content of the program. Would this blemish the corporate image? Would the stockholders rise up and object? I think not. For if the premise upon which our pluralistic society rests, which as I understand it is that if the people are given sufficient undiluted information, they will then somehow, even after long, sober second thoughts, reach the right conclusion. If that premise is wrong, then not only the corporate image but the corporations and the rest of us are done for.

There used to be an old phrase in this country, employed when someone talked too much. I am grateful to all of you for not having employed it earlier. The phrase was: "Go hire a hall." Under this proposal, the sponsor would have hired the hall; he has bought the time. The local station operator, no matter how indifferent, is going to carry the program--he has to--he's getting paid for it. Then it's up to the networks to fill the hall. I am not here talking about editorializing but about straightaway exposition as direct, unadorned and impartial as fallible human beings can make it. Just once in a while let us exalt the importance of ideas and information. Let us dream to the extent of saying that on a given Sunday night the time normally occupied by Ed Sullivan is given over to a clinical survey of the state of American education, and a week or two later the time normally used by Steve Allen is devoted to a thoroughgoing study of American policy in the Middle East. Would the corporate image of their respective sponsors be damaged? Would the stockholders rise up and complain? Would anything happen other than that a few million people would have received a little illumination on subjects that may well determine the future of this country, and therefore also the future of the corporations? This method would also provide real competition between the networks as to which could outdo the others in the palatable presentation of information. It would provide an outlet for the young men of skill, and there are many, even of dedication, who would like to do something other than devise methods of insulating while selling.

There may be other and simpler methods of utilizing these instruments of radio and television in the interest of a free society. But I know of none that could be so easily accomplished inside the framework of the existing commercial system. I don't know how you would measure the success or failure of a given program. And it would be very hard to prove the magnitude of the benefit accruing to the corporation which gave up one night of a variety or quiz show in order that the network might marshal its skills to do a thorough-going job on the present status of NATO, or plans for controlling nuclear tests. But I would reckon that the president, and indeed the stockholders of the corporation who sponsored such a venture, would feel just a little bit better about both the corporation and the country.

It may be that this present system, with no modifications and no experiments, can survive. Perhaps the money-making machine has some kind of built-in perpetual motion, but I do not think so. To a very considerable extent, the media of mass communications in a given country reflects the political, economic and social climate in which it grows and flourishes. That is the reason our system differs from the British and the French, and also from the Russian and the Chinese. We are currently wealthy, fat, comfortable and complacent. We have currently a built-in allergy to unpleasant or disturbing information. And our mass media reflect this. But unless we get up off our fat surpluses and recognize that television in the main is being used to distract, delude, amuse and insulate us, then television and those who finance it, those who look at it and those who work at it, may see a totally different picture too late.

I do not advocate that we turn television into a 27-inch wailing wall, where longhairs constantly moan about the state of our culture and our defense. But I would just like to see it reflect occasionally the hard, unyielding realities of the world in which we live. I would like to see it done inside the existing framework, and I would like to see the doing of it redound to the credit of those who finance and program it. Measure the results by Nielsen, Trendex or Silex-it doesn't matter. The main thing is to try. The responsibility can be easily placed, in spite of all the mouthings about giving the public what it wants. It rests on big business, and on big television, and it rests on the top. Responsibility is not something that can be assigned or delegated. And it promises its own reward: both good business and good television.

Perhaps no one will do anything about it. I have ventured to outline it against a background of criticism that may have been too harsh only because I could think of nothing better. Someone once said--and I think it was Max Eastman--that "that publisher serves his advertiser best who best serves his readers." I cannot believe that radio and television, or the corporations that finance the programs, are serving well or truly their viewers or their listeners, or themselves.

I began by saying that our history will be what we make it. If we go on as we are, then history will take its revenge, and retribution will not limp in catching up with us.

We are to a large extent an imitative society. If one or two or three corporations would undertake to devote just a small fraction of their advertising appropriation along the lines that I have suggested, the procedure might well grow by contagion; the economic burden would be bearable, and there might ensue a most exciting adventure--exposure to ideas and the bringing of reality into the homes of the nation.

To those who say people wouldn't look; they wouldn't be interested; they're too complacent, indifferent and insulated, I can only reply: There is, in one reporter's opinion, considerable evidence against that contention. But even if they are right, what have they got to lose? Because if they are right, and this instrument is good for nothing but to entertain, amuse and insulate, then the tube is flickering now and we will soon see that the whole struggle is lost.

This instrument can teach, it can illuminate; yes, and even it can inspire. But it can do so only to the extent that humans are determined to use it to those ends. Otherwise, it's nothing but wires and lights in a box. There is a great and perhaps decisive battle to be fought against ignorance, intolerance and indifference. This weapon of television could be useful.

Stonewall Jackson, who is generally believed to have known something about weapons, is reported to have said, "When war comes, you must draw the sword and throw away the scabbard." The trouble with television is that it is rusting in the scabbard during a battle for survival. Thank you for your patience."

ima i audio, ko preferira slusati.

User avatar
Saian
Posts: 15317
Joined: 08/04/2004 21:50

#1261 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by Saian »

I see that for the Hamas member, the West Bank Settler, and my old friend Yaakov, politics are not, as they believe, purely moral commitments to the cause of right, but answers to personal needs: needs for personal meaning, perhaps, or for righteousness — needs for identity.

The Last Time I Saw Yaakow

by Neil Gordon

I last saw Yaakov — I will call him Yaakov — in the mid-80s on the Lower East Side of New York. He was visiting from Jerusalem, traveling with the wife of a Soviet dissident on behalf of Jewish dissidents imprisoned in Russia. Yaakov, one of the few English speaking members of their religious sect in Jerusalem, had been sent along to assist her.

I had not seen him since we had been close friends in Jerusalem nearly ten years before, such close friends that we had shared a room at Hebrew University's Mt. Scopus dormitory. Since then I had heard from him only once: after I'd left Israel he had written to me in America, telling me of his intention to enroll in the Yeshiva of an orthodox sect in Jerusalem, and calling me, too, to an awareness of my responsibilities to my Judaism. But I had heard about him: a few years prior to his trip to New York, in Paris, I had seen his old girlfriend from that time in Jerusalem. She — a liberal Jew from the South of France who had been at Hebrew University with us — told me of Yaakov's determination to join the isolated but powerful subculture of fundamentalist radicals in Israel. She had received frantic calls from his parents, hoping she could dissuade him from taking this step. Yaakov had tried to convince her to join him in this — in what would have amounted, for her, to a religious conversion. She refused, and they broke up. After that, until he called me in Connecticut some ten years later, I heard nothing.

But he had been a close friend, one of the great friends of my life, and so the evening after his call I borrowed my girlfriend's car and drove down to an address in a still Jewish neighborhood of the Lower East Side in New York. I did not know what I would find there, but I doubted that I would mention that my girlfriend who lent me her car was a Beiruti Maronite.

In a shabby apartment, I found Yaakov and the dissident's wife. She had converted, on her escape from the Soviet Union, to what Avishai Margalit calls "ultra-orthodox" Judaism. Her hair was tied up in a scarf, and she immediately set about serving us dinner. Yaakov's kind, familiar features were hidden behind a massive beard and peyes descending from his sideburns. He was dressed in the drab black suit of his religion.

The dissident's wife served one of the worst meals of my life: fish sticks and spaghetti with ketchup — while Yaakov sat complacently at the table and ate with studied indifference, neither thanking her for nor acknowledging her womanly ministrations. After dinner, we left our plates on the table — mine untouched — and, pausing for Yaakov to don his black hat and overcoat, walked out to find a kosher restaurant for a cup of coffee and a talk.

All of this was strange, a glimpse into an utterly foreign world. But more than anything, what rendered this experience bizarre was that when Yaakov and I had been friends in Jerusalem, his name was Frank, and he was a clean shaven, handsome, cosmopolitan young man from a small city in Germany, a Christian whose father had fought for Hitler on the Eastern Front. He had come to Israel first, like many young Germans, to volunteer on a kibbutz as reparation, and then stayed to study in the program designed for foreign students at Hebrew University. At the end of that year, instead of continuing to his undergraduate degree, or returning home, he had begun a series of conversations with a Jerusalem Rabbi that had led to his conversion and entrance into a Yeshiva.






My own experience of Israel had been the opposite of Frank's — a time of alienation rather than, as Israelis concerned with immigration like to say, assimilation. True, at first it was hard for an 18-year-old not to fall victim to the most immediately apparent level of that country's complicated ethos. There was, in the Israeli journalist Tom Segev's terms, Holocaust and Heroism. Holocaust was represented by the memorial stones in the kibbutz graveyard where I was called, upon my arrival, to help make up a minyan; heroism by the fighter pilots who regularly used the reflective tin roof of the kibbutz dairy where I worked for mock-bombing practice, spooking the cows and leaving us with a few seconds to cover our ears before the sound barrier broke a few hundred yards above us. There were no Israelis my age on the kibbutz; they were all in the Army, but there were veterans of each war, as well as a hero from the raid on Entebbe, and Holocaust survivors from Europe. On the kibbutz property I found artillary installations left over from the last war, and later, on a military settlement where I spent a short, intensely depressing week on the West Bank, I was given a captured Kalashnikov to carry to work in the fields. On Yom ha-Sho'ah, "Day of the Holocaust," the entire country observed a moment of silence; kibbutz members told me awful, unforgettable stories of battle; folksongs commemorated the heroic Jewish paratroopers who jumped behind German lines during the war.

But it had not taken long for the faultlines to show. Beyond the real heroism of Israel's defensive wars, beyond the public commemoration of the Holocaust, contradictions were increasingly evident, and required ever greater effort to overlook. Where I had expected to find the rich intellectual tradition and political ambivalence of this small country's culture, a culture informed by the literary, philosophical, and political traditions of pre-war Europe — a country where once, Gershon Scholem and Martin Buber could be seen drinking coffee in Jerusalem cafses — I found a prevalent contempt for that tradition, as if all that I valued in Judaism were, in this Jewish country, denied. Instead I found a deep current of anti-intellectualism, whether in religious fanaticism or militaristic kitsch. In the midst of the kibbutz — the backbone of socialist Zionism, foundation of the country — were the crews of Arab laborers who did all the construction and heavy work on the kibbutz grounds. And the kibbutz movement was actively recruiting foreign members like myself because they were unable to keep their own children on the farm. Aliyah — the Hebrew word for immigration to Israel that comes from the verb "to ascend" — was at a standstill, while yordim — emigrants from Israel to foreign countries, from the verb "to descend" — could be seen all over the world: driving cabs in New York, opening restaurants in Australia, settling in that closely allied country, South Africa. And, in the Begin years which started during my visit, young Israelis were to do the unthinkable: they would refuse service in the Lebanon War, so grossly did the Israeli presence in Lebanon strike them as morally and militarily unjustifiable.

Anti-intellectualism, kitsch ideology, a virtual apartheid throughout the country, and narrow nationalism: even before knowing Israel well, I found my reactions perverse. I learned Hebrew badly, but came to speak a decent French with the many French friends I made; my single close Israeli friend was a man who had been imprisoned for refusing army service in any but the non-combatant medical service, and who had a life-size photo of Isaac Hayes on his wall. And my best friend, Frank, was a German Christian.






We met when, following a year on the kibbutz, I enrolled in Hebrew University's preparatory year for foreign students with a view to studying agriculture and perhaps returning to the kibbutz. In the confusion of foreign students from all over the world, we were immediately drawn to each other, and agreed to share a room after the summer. I introduced him to my circle of French friends, and one of them soon became his girlfriend.

I had known Germans before — for young Americans, Germans are often the most easily understandable of Europeans with their similarly affluent economy and youth-based culture — and it had never before occurred to me to consider Frank anything other than a European. Now Frank introduced me to a universe of which I had previously been only slightly aware, but which I learned about later, through Peter Handke and Wim Wenders: the universe of the "born guilty." During that year I came to know him well, met members of his family, learned in detail about his life: his childhood, his university career, his work after university. And I learned about the singular, enormous weight of guilt under which he had grown up and which had driven him to Israel.

Raul Hilberg sums up the world of the Second World War as a world of "perpetrators, victims, and bystanders." The guilt of the victims was at least imaginatively familiar to me, as it must be to anyone who has ever opened himself to the fact of the Holocaust. As for the guilt of bystanders, growing up during Vietnam was more than enough to understand that, and if it were not sufficient, I had also in my arsenal the fact of having spent the first few years of my life in South Africa. But the guilt of the perpetrators — or rather, the children of the perpetrators — to this I had never been exposed.



At first, it struck me as senseless: Frank had done nothing, he was not born until after the war. Even his father — if he wished to assume his father's guilt, which seemed to me foolish — had been a minor conscript on a distant front, wholly uninvolved with the Final Solution. And yet Frank was defined by guilt, and considered it his responsibility to add his own personal effort to the millions of reparation Deutschmarks flowing from West Germany to Israel.

That, perhaps, more than anything else, amazed me: to feel himself bound not to his father's guilt, but his country's guilt. And I came slowly to understand an enormous difference between us: Like many Americans growing up in the 60s and 70s, I had been so long accustomed to mistrusting patriotism, to considering the government my enemy and my country's culture alienating, that now, to find that people associated their very identities with political entities, with governments and countries, was astounding.

And yet it was everywhere in that small country: Israelis defined by their conviction that only their country prevented another Holocaust; Americans and French whose Zionism formed the basis of their identities; and then Frank, a German who felt that his life's mission was to devote himself to reparation for what his country had done before he was born. Of all the Zionisms I encountered, Frank's was the most baffling.

Part of the answer was revealed one night when Frank woke me from across the room we shared, asking me if I could make him a cup of tea. I assumed he was talking in his sleep, and turned on the light. What I saw was that he was indeed awake, and in trauma. During the night while I sat up with him he told me the strange story of why he had come to Israel. It is a story too personal to repeat, a story of the intimate experiences and events of his life in Germany that had convinced him that he needed, urgently, to immerse himself in a structured existence. The kibbutz had provided one way to do that, but in the end it had not been enough. And so he had come to study in Jerusalem, to learn about being Jewish, to consider another, even more strictly ordered life, that of orthodox Judaism.

I never learned anything more about it. That year, Begin had been elected, and now the worst righteousness, historical myopia, and militarism that I had already come to resent in Israel were empowered by his ultra-nationalistic parliamentary majority which, I felt convinced, did not represent a popular majority. In a year, I would become eligible for the draft; it was time to make a decision whether to stay or go. The decision was not hard to make — without finishing the school year, I took my leave. And with the exception of one letter, in which he informed me that his name was now Yaakov, I was not in touch with Frank again until he came, ten years later, to New York with the Soviet dissident's wife.




Yaakov and I wandered out into the winter streets on the Lower East Side in search of a kosher restaurant. We did not have to look far: in this neighborhood my standard American dress rather than Yaakov's 16th century Polish garb was the anomaly. At the restaurant he wolfed down a piece of strudel and a cup of coffee — food, to these people, is not to be enjoyed but taken ascetically as mere sustenance. Then, as I sipped my coffee and smoked, we talked.

He had lost almost all of his English, which had been nearly fluent when we had met, and spoke now in a thick accent, more Yiddish than German. He told me about his entrance to his orthodox sect, his studies in the Yeshiva. He had made an arranged marriage to a woman in the community. He studied, he worked within the community, he served in the Army.

He was less interested in what had become of me — whatever it was, it was not what I should have been doing. He explained to me at length the universal significance of his religion, how its importance transcended the fate of Jews, how the correct practice of Judaism — his practice — implied the eventual salvation of the world. He was particularly concerned with my Bible, an Oxford Annotated Bible that I have owned and traveled with for many years and which remains to this day very dear to me: he did not feel it was the appropriate Bible for a Jew; he wished to bring me, however marginally, back into the fold. Beyond this, I do not remember much of what he said: much of it — like the instantaneous translation of a fabringen I once attended of the late Rabbi Schneerson — was a barely comprehensible discourse composed of cosmic terms.

Still, I recognized my friend in this serious, bearded, fanatic man across the table, and felt great affection for him, until, in response to my question about his army service, he told me the thing I remember most clearly from this conversation. I think it, he said, my responsibility to kill as many Arabs as possible. And with those words, our evening entered another moral dimension entirely: I was foolish enough to be less curious about him than I was unwilling to listen to any more opinions of that kind, and left him shortly thereafter.







Two things about leaving Israel had been a huge relief to me: the absence of any clear risk of getting my limbs blown off; and the freedom from the endless talk about Israeli and Arab politics. In time, the circular arguments — the Holocaust and the necessity of a Jewish State, Palestinian terrorism, Arab antisemitism, Arab manipulation of the Palestinians as a tool against Israel, the Zionist justification of Israel — faded from my mind. So much so that when, on a Paris metro, a young Palestinian man, seeing a Star of David around my neck, felt obliged to make the victory sign at me and say "Vive la Palestine," I felt nothing but agreement and curiosity. "Je suis tout fait d'accord," I told him, "but why are you telling me this?"

"Because you're a Jew."

"Yeah, exactly. A Jew, not an Israeli."

"But the two are like this," he said, holding up two intertwined fingers, and was surprised when I began to laugh.

I regret laughing now. A Palestinian acquaintance said recently that in the occupied territories, no one can tell the difference between a Star of David — the same as appears on the Israeli flag; the same as appears on the Israeli Army jeeps throughout the territories — and a swastika. The comparison is simplistic, and he knew it, but I take his point. Is it even possible to ask young Gazans or Nazarenes to bring a historical perspective to the fact of their life-long terrorization by an occupying army, symbolized by the Star of David? Should they think about the Sykes-Picot agreement during their daily humiliation by heavily armed Israelis? Should they think about Kristalnacht? Rabin himself has spoken of the occupation as having corrupted the Jewish state, and the silver Star of David I wear around my neck, a deeply personal acknowledgement of continuity between myself and the generations of the Holocaust, has been stolen from me by the years of occupation.
And yet, against the enormity of the occupation's crime against Palestinians, other facts weigh with heavy emotional force. Kristalnacht happened, and as we all know, from first day to last, the Allied forces fought World War II as a purely political war, with a disregard of the War Against the Jews so thorough as to constitute an international conspiracy of antisemitism. Yes, I see that the swastika and Star of David are identical to a young Palestinian. Does he see how, for young Israelis, the torture, starvation, rape, experimentation, humiliation, and attempted genocide of the entire Jewish population of Nazi occupied Europe might weigh heavily against the complex and ambiguous demands of justice? Does he see that the centuries of world-wide antisemitism that preceded the Holocaust have, since 1948, been perpetuated by the Arab governments who have indulged a hopeless state of war against Israel, a state of war for which the Palestinians have paid so high a price that it is virtually a state of war against them too?

I laughed when I encountered that Palestinian on the Paris Metro because in his gesture of intertwining two fingers, I found myself plunged into that circle of righteousness from which I thought I had escaped, as clearly as if I were transported right back to an Old City Teahouse in Jerusalem, arguing history with a Palestinian — in those days before the Intifadah when one could go argue with Palestinians in teahouses. I laughed at how quickly, how effectively, he had plunged me back into the past; I laughed because before that earnest young man telling me that Jews and Israelis were indistinguishable, I saw no way out.

But that same year in Paris, Claude Lanzmann's Shoah came out, and through it I began to see an involvement in Judaism that was neither nationalistic nor religious: a way of studying the Holocaust which is not a righteous commemoration, but rather a deep questioning of human experience, of human history and art, not restricted to a definition of victims and perpetrators but dedicated to a profound understanding of the most brutally tragic and epistemologically bewildering moment of history. This study, unlike anything I encountered in Israel, implicates all humanity rather than an ethnic group; it enlightens its student to the tragedy of all nationalisms and racisms, not just the Holocaust, but also the Slave Trade, the genocide of the Native Americans, the Armenian Massacre. The Holocaust studied in this light, I began to see, on two afternoons in Paris as I sat before the unprecedented work by Lanzmann, would not justify the occupation or the treatment of West Bank Palestinians. Rather, it would render the occupation unthinkable.

Holocaust and Heroism. If you visit the Holocaust Museum in Washington, or Yad Vashem in Israel, you will learn a great deal about Hitler's attempted genocide of the Jews — perhaps you will even take away, as these institutions ardently wish, an imaginative sense of what the unimaginable experience of the Holocaust was. You will learn the dismal, deeply ingrained history of European antisemitism; you will learn of Hitler's enthralling charisma, his thuggish rise to power; you will learn of the culpable indifference of the Allied governments and their citizenry to the plight of European Jewry. And at the end, you will arrive at a section on Heroism: the Warsaw Ghetto uprising; the Lodz Ghetto uprising; Jewish Partisans; the liberation of the camps by Allied forces, and above all, the heroic redemption of Israel. And you will leave, inevitably, with a deep sense of Jewish victimization, and German guilt.

But as I followed the path that Shoah opened up, I began to wonder. Where in the space between Holocaust and Heroism is Hannah Arendt, with her radical non-sectarian insight into Eichmann's banality? Where is Camus, following the insight of The Plague — "we are all Jews" — with the realization of The Fall — "we are all Germans"? Where is Shoshana Felman, interweaving her reading of Camus with a political, psychological, and human understanding of our art and our century that zeroes in on the terrible, universal centrality of the Holocaust, not only for Jews, but for humanity? Where is Ben-Hecht's horrifying coverage of the 1954 Kasztner trial — or Tom Segev's recent study of it — in which Ben-Gurion's government itself stood accused of complacency, if not complicity with the Nazis, during the Holocaust? Where is Ka-Tzetnik 135633, the Israeli survivor who uses his Auschwitz inmate number as his author's name, and who wrote "Wherever there is humankind, there is Auschwitz. Because it was not Satan that made Auschwitz but you and I, just as Satan did not create the [nuclear] mushroom, but rather you and I."

The path that Shoah opens does not end, as does the trip through the National Holocaust Museum, with images of liberation, but with another, lesser known image: that powerful image from Axel Corti's virtually ignored film, Where To and Back, which in three parts follows Jewish refugees from Vienna after Kristalnacht (God Does Not Believe in Us Any More), to exile in New York (Sante Fe), and ultimately back to Vienna (Welcome in Vienna) as German-speaking Americans with the US Army occupation. Corti shows one of his characters leaving for a meeting in the Russian Zone of Vienna, disgusted with American indifference to the complicity of Austrian Nazis in the Holocaust — disgusted with the antisemitism of his own commanding officer — and horrified with the brute business-as-usual of occupied Vienna. And so he decides to defect, convinced that he will find a truer idealism on the other side of the rapidly shutting Iron Curtain. But his Party contact — is she Jewish? — does not want him on her side. She wants him to stay where he is, in the American army, as a spy; she sends him, with his idealism, trudging back to the American Zone. In the image of that — Austrian? American? Jewish? — man, wandering back to the decadence of American-occupied Vienna, where the emerging bureaucracies are already rife with Nazis and antisemites, Corti sums up the futility of any sense that anything, anything at all changed with the Second World War.

Yes, the argument runs, these are deep and important philosophical points. But the Holocaust Museum is not here to teach philosophical complexity, here in this country where a terrifying percentage of young Americans don't actually know what the Holocaust is, and where antisemitism is fundamental to the bigotry of off-the-grid radicals. The Holocaust Museum is here to establish the elementary facts of history.

But can an education in the Holocaust be even minimally adequate with those facts alone?

There are stages, I found, in an education in the Holocaust. There is a time when the atrocious brutality of the attempted genocide, the sadism, the indifference, and the bone-deep antisemitism are all. They overwhelm any other kind of thought, leaving hate, such as Abba Kovner's post-war plan to poison the drinking water of the two Germanys and kill 7 million Germans, as the only response. There is a stage of terrible isolation, in which the realization dawns that the Nazis could never have carried out the Final Solution without the tacit approval of the world around them. There is the horror of one's fascination with these images of atrocity. And then there is the dreadful moment when you are no longer affected by the testimony of survivors, when you are familiar enough with the rape, torture, starvation, experimentation, and gassing that they no longer elicit an emotional response.

One day, attending a video interview with a survivor for the Yale University Holocaust Archives, I felt this last stage as a terrible indifference. I came to see that under the rubric of Holocaust and Heroism, there are only two conclusions: righteousness and accusation, on one hand; indifference on the other. Both demean the Holocaust, both encourage its repetition.







Once you've been interested in Middle Eastern politics, you find the same questions everywhere — the local Arab grocery, Middle Eastern cab drivers, Israeli shopkeepers. Nothing ever changes: sometimes, through the Internet, I check in on Middle Eastern newsgroups, or join the Palestinian chat channel, and I hear the same kind of nonsense I heard nearly 20 years ago in Israel. Is Israel justified? Are Hamas members terrorists, or soldiers? Did the Holocaust occur? Can the Israeli forces be compared to Nazis? Is terrorism justified? The names change, and the level of brutality has certainly escalated, but everything else is the same — same circular righteousness, same absurd justifications, same unending violence.

Since knowing Yaakov, if it all seems just as tragic, or more so, the absurdity of all this is more apparent to me. New generations, from Brooklyn to Nazareth, grow into consciousness of the argument, but the same underlying assumptions remain unquestioned: assumptions of nationalism, of righteousness, of revenge.

But I no longer see the argument in the same light. When I see a young Hamas member talking about how proud he is of the tragic bombing of a bus full of Israelis in Tel Aviv, I remember Yaakov talking about his responsibility to kill Arabs; when I see a Jewish West Bank settler defending the fanatic mass murderer Dr. Baruch Goldstein, I see Frank, lying in bed, in trauma. George Orwell wrote somewhere that all of his writing, no matter how personal the story, is always political. Yaakov taught me that no matter how political things seem, they're invariably personal. I see that for the Hamas member, the West Bank Settler, and my old friend Yaakov, politics are not, as they believe, purely moral commitments to the cause of right, but answers to personal needs: needs for personal meaning, perhaps, or for righteousness — needs for identity. The Hamas member has been raised through a lifetime of what can only seem to him castrating political and cultural oppression; threatening his masculinity, imposing poverty and marginality. The West Bank settler lives in a world he imagines is out to destroy him and his birthright; he's haunted by the specter of the Holocaust, unable to rise above the threat to his personal safety he sees around him. And Yaakov, born guilty and oppressed by his personal history, finds his meaning in religious observance and the desire to kill. Everything is personal, and yet Yaakov and his religious kind, working in what Amos Oz so correctly describes as a powerful alliance with the ultra-orthodox and nationalistic Muslims of Hamas and Islamic Holy War, may well undo the Oslo Accords and the Rabin-Arafat peace process.

Years ago, in high school, I remember being shocked when one of my teachers, a Jew, said that she was sick of the Holocaust. "It happened 40 years ago," she said, "it's time to forget it." In the end I find myself rather agreeing with her, with a slight difference: It happened 50 years ago, it's time to learn from it. Because we know today that for all the power of Adorno's dictum, nothing has changed since the Second World War. Not only is there art after Auschwitz, but there's also genocide and atrocity: we tolerate ethnic cleansing in Bosnia, genocide in Rwanda and Burundi; we live with interrogation camps in Israel, gross and persistent racism in America. Yes, the attempted genocide of the Jews by the Germans is unique, no, it can not be compared to any other moment in history. That's all the more reason that before the universal indifference to daily horror, from Nazareth to Rwanda, nationalistic righteousness is farcical.

And Yaakov, who justifies murder with a religious myopia that, in turn, conceals personal trauma, fails to see that he of all people — he with his legacy of guilt and reparation — has made a travesty of the Holocaust and withdrawn any possibility of meaning from the brutal torture and extermination of millions of Jews during the Third Reich: he trivializes their memory, he makes transcendence hopeless. Perhaps the heroic Rabin, Peres, and Arafat will effect some meaningful change in Israel, if they're not undone by the world's great scourge, identical in Jews, Muslims, and Christians alike: fundamentalism. And certainly the great suffering and political complication of the Mideast cannot be simplified. But in the end, I come back again and again to a quote I discovered a few years ago in the mouth of Patrick O'Brian's Dr. Stephen Maturin:
I have such a sickening of men in masses and of causes, that I would not cross this room to reform parliament or prevent the union or to bring about the millennium....And I have nothing to do with nations, or nationalism. The only feelings I have — for what they are — are for men as individuals; my loyalties, such as they may be, are to private persons alone.
I don't know where Yaakov is now. I remember him often: his stories of his youth in a small town in Germany; the details of our lives as roommates; the utter absorption with which he mastered Hebrew and studied the violin. I think often of the way he comforted me after I had been disappointed in an infatuation, his faithful empathy and affectionate understanding. But when I think back to the friend I had, that year in Jerusalem, I must also think of the brittle, harsh ideologue I met years later in New York, a man who had by then killed for his religious and nationalistic beliefs, and then I feel the great and unheroic truth of Maturin's words.
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Lost_Found
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Joined: 31/08/2014 19:09
Location: Sarajevo

#1262 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by Lost_Found »

http://www.radiosarajevo.ba/kolumne/mil ... sme/286483

Goran Babić: “Čađ”, samizdat
Ovo je i najneobičnija knjiga s kojom sam se susreo ove godine. Nije registrirana niti u jednoj nacionalnoj biblioteci svijeta, nema cijenu, nije u prodaji, te samim tim i nije knjiga, iako je lijepo dizajnirana. Oblikovao ju je i izradio Dragoljub Teofilović, objavio pisac Babić u 150 primjeraka, 75 ćirilicom, 75 latinicom. Mene je, po kriteriju slučaja, dopao latinični primjerak. “Čađ” je knjiga pjesama, Babić je veliki pjesnik. Ali čemu i to ponavljati.

Za oproštaj s 2017, iz Čađi evo pjesme “Rad na čovjeku”, napisane 30. decembra 2000.:

Vidim - ljudi su odjedared nastali lijepi,
a sjećam se, prije stotinjak godina,
mnogo je bilo sakatih, kljastih,
hromih i ćoravih, grbavih, krastavih…
Čitavog čovjeka gotovo da nisi mogao sresti.
Bar ne u mehani ili na drumu
kojim su lutali hajduci, pustahije.

Narod se, jednostavno, proljepšao.
Nema nepravilnih, razrokih, hiljavih,
sklonili smo negdje čak i sumanute,
gotovo da nijedan razuman ne muca
u iole pristojnom društvu
ili na javnom mjestu.

Gdje nestadoše tolike nakaze,
mnogobrojna čudovišta?
Gdje su oni s jednim okom,
bez nogu gdje su invalidi?

Na sreću, pamet je ostala ista
te se misao oslanja na silu
baš kao u prvo vrijeme.
I to me tješi, čini me spokojnim.

Jer prije hiljadu godina bio sam Barbarin,
koji se iza granice, limesa,
iskreno divio Rimu.
Bio sam Hun i Avar, Got i Vizigot,
bio sam Travunjanin, Druid, Gal i Dačanin.
Liburn i Delmat, Japod, možda Ilir.

I tad sam se prvi put upitao -
kako bismo izdržali dobrotu,
mi koji smo od pamtivijeka
na zlo naviknuti?

Ovako znam - sve će,
ma koliko postalo prekrasno,
jednako biti poharano, razoreno,
popaljeno, opljačkano, uništeno.

Kad dođe čas koji će svakako doći.
Kad se oglasi rog u mračnoj šumi
i iz šipražja izmile prikaze s močugama.
Podlaci na čelu s herojem.
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Lost_Found
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Location: Sarajevo

#1263 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by Lost_Found »

http://www.jutarnji.hr/globus/Globus-zi ... n/6784029/

Image

Kakva bi vas Hrvatska zadovoljila?

- Imao sam iluzija o višestranačkom sistemu, zalagao sam se i pisao o višestranačkom sistemu. Nisam znao da upadam u vječnu zabludu svih budala koje misle da je demokracija te vrste nešto dobro. Nasjeli smo svi na Churchillovu tvrdnju da je demokracija kakva-takva ali najbolja od svih rješenja. Kao što sada vidimo, nije. Nije dobra ni ta demokracija u rojalističkoj Engleskoj, kao što nije bila ni demokracija Atene ni Perikla. Ne znam kakva demokracija bi me zadovoljila.

Možda neki švedski model, švicarski?

- To da, jedna vrsta socijaldemokracije koja daje pravo na rad, koja osigurava čak i najbeznačajnijem članu tog društva neke minimalne socijalne garancije, zdravstvo, školstvo, relativno pristojne penzije, sve što u to ulazi. Svi mi to znamo, to je i titoizam imao. Zbog toga ljudi s nekakvim žarom bacaju pogled unatrag, osvrću se misleći da je to bio idealan sistem. Nije, imao je enormnih mana, kao što svaki sistem ima. Demokracija nije moguća na ovom svijetu, ona je contradictio in adiecto. Narod nikada nije vladao niti će ikada vladati. Narod ne vlada, to je laž koja je programirana i u našem Ustavu. Vlast dolazi iz naroda, za narod, a to je laž. Iz naroda ne proizlazi ništa, narod je glupa rulja. Tu važi ona Njegoševa: “Pučina je stoka jedna grdna!” Pučina je vrlo ružan plural riječi puk.
omar little
Posts: 16351
Joined: 14/03/2008 21:14

#1264 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by omar little »

#naumpadanje

The Value of Science

Of all its many values, the greatest must be the freedom to doubt

From time to time, people suggest to me that scientists ought to give more consideration to social problems -- especially that they should be more responsible in considering the impact of science upon society. This same suggestion must be made to many other scientists, and it seems to be generally believed that if the scientists would only look at these very difficult social problems and not spend so much time fooling with the less vital scientific ones, great success would come of it.

It seems to me that we do think about these problems from time to time, but we don't put full-time effort into them -- the reason being that we know we don't have any magic formula for solving problems, that social problems are very much harder than scientific ones, and that we usually don't get anywhere when we do think about them.

I believe that a scientist looking at nonscientific problems is just as dumb as the next guy -- and when he talks about a nonscientific matter, he will sound as naive as anyone untrained in the matter. Since the question of the value of science is not a scientific subject, this discussion is dedicated to proving my point -- by example.

The first way in which science is of value is familiar to everyone. It is that scientific knowledge enables us to do all kinds of things and to make all kinds of things. Of course if we make good things, it is not only to the credit of science; it is also to the credit of the moral choice which led us to good work. Scientific knowledge is an enabling power to do either good or bad -- but it does not carry instructions on how to use it. Such power has evident value -- even though the power may be negated by what one does.

I learned a way of expressing this common human problem on a trip to Honolulu. In a Buddhist temple there, the man in charge explained a little bit about the Buddhist religion for tourists, and then ended his talk by telling them he had something to say to them that they would never forget -- and I have never forgotten it. It was a proverb of the Buddhist religion:
"To every man is given the key to the gates of heaven; the same key opens the gates of hell."

What, then, is the value of the key to heaven? It is true that if we lack clear instructions that determine which is the gate to heaven and which the gate to hell, the key may be a dangerous object to use, but it obviously has value. How can we enter heaven without it?

The instructions, also, would be of no value without the key. So it is evident that, in spite of the fact that science could produce enormous horror in the world, it is of value because it can produce something.

Another value of science is the fun called intellectual enjoyment which some people get from reading and learning and thinking about it, and which others get from working in it. This is a very real and important point and one which is not considered enough by those who tell us it is our social responsibility to reflect on the impact of science on society.

Is this mere personal enjoyment of value to society as a whole? No! But it is also a responsibility to consider the value of society itself. Is it, in the last analysis, to arrange things so that people can enjoy things? If so, the enjoyment of science is as important as anything else.

But I would like not to underestimate the value of the worldview which is the result of scientific effort. We have been led to imagine all sorts of things infinitely more marvellous than the imaginings of poets and dreamers of the past. It shows that the imagination of nature is far, far greater than the imagination of man. For instance, how much more remarkable it is for us to be stuck -- half of us upside down -- by a mysterious attraction, to a spinning ball that has been swinging in space for billions of years, than to be carried on the back of an elephant supported on a tortoise swimming in a bottomless sea.

I have thought about these things so many times alone that I hope you will excuse me if I remind you of some thoughts that I am sure you have all had -- or this type of thought -- which no one could ever have had in the past, because people then didn't have the information we have about the world today.

For instance, I stand at the seashore, alone, and start to think. There are the rushing waves ... mountains of molecules, each stupidly minding its own business ... trillions apart ... yet forming white surf in unison.

Ages on ages ... before any eyes could see ... year after year ... thunderously pounding the shore as now. For whom, for what? ... on a dead planet, with no life to entertain.

Never at rest ... tortured by energy ... wasted prodigiously by the sun ... poured into space. A mite makes the sea roar.

Deep in the sea, all molecules repeat the patterns of one another till complex new ones are formed. They make others like themselves ... and a new dance starts.

Growing in size and complexity ... living things, masses of atoms, DNA, protein ... dancing a pattern ever more intricate.

Out of the cradle onto the dry land ... here it is standing ... atoms with consciousness ... matter with curiosity.

Stands at the sea ... wonders at wondering ... I ... a universe of atoms ... an atom in the universe.


The Grand Adventure
The same thrill, the same awe and mystery, come again and again when we look at any problem deeply enough. With more knowledge comes deeper, more wonderful mystery, luring one on to penetrate deeper still. Never concerned that the answer may prove disappointing, but with pleasure and confidence we turn over each new stone to find unimagined strangeness leading on to more wonderful questions and mysteries -- certainly a grand adventure!

It is true that few unscientific people have this particular type of religious experience. Our poets do not write about it; our artists do not try to portray this remarkable thing. I don't know why. Is nobody inspired by our present picture of the universe? The value of science remains unsung by singers, so you are reduced to hearing -- not a song or a poem, but an evening lecture about it. This is not yet a scientific age.

Perhaps one of the reasons is that you have to know how to read the music. For instance, the scientific article says, perhaps, something like this: "The radioactive phosphorus content of the cerebrum of the rat decreases to one-half in a period of two weeks." Now, what does that mean?

It means that phosphorus that is in the brain of a rat (and also in mine, and yours) is not the same phosphorus as it was two weeks ago, but that all of the atoms that are in the brain are being replaced, and the ones that were there before have gone away.

So what is this mind, what are these atoms with consciousness? Last week's potatoes! That is what now can remember what was going on in my mind a year ago -- a mind which has long ago been replaced.

This is what it means when one discovers how long it takes for the atoms of the brain to be replaced by other atoms, to note that the thing which I call my individuality is only a pattern or dance. The atoms come into my brain, dance a dance, then go out; always new atoms but always doing the same dance, remembering what the dance was yesterday.


The Remarkable Idea
When we read about this in the newspaper, it says, "The scientist says that this discovery may have importance in the cure of cancer." The paper is only interested in the use of the idea, not the idea itself. Hardly anyone can understand the importance of the idea, it is so remarkable. Except that, possibly, some children catch on. And when a child catches on to an idea like that, we have a scientist. These ideas do filter down (in spite of all the conversation about TV replacing thinking), and lots of kids get the spirit -- and when they have the spirit you have a scientist. It's too late for them to get the spirit when they are in our universities, so we must attempt to explain these ideas to children.

I would now like to turn to a third value that science has. It is a little more indirect, but not much. The scientist has a lot of experience with ignorance and doubt and uncertainty, and this experience is of very great importance, I think. When a scientist doesn't know the answer to a problem, he is ignorant. When he has a hunch as to what the result is, he is uncertain. And when he is pretty darn sure of what the result is going to be, he is in some doubt. We have found it of paramount importance that in order to progress we must recognize the ignorance and leave room for doubt. Scientific knowledge is a body of statements of varying degrees of certainty -- some most unsure, some nearly sure, none absolutely certain.

Now, we scientists are used to this, and we take it for granted that it is perfectly consistent to be unsure -- that it is possible to live and not know. But I don't know whether everyone realizes that this is true. Our freedom to doubt was born of a struggle against authority in the early days of science. It was a very deep and strong struggle. Permit us to question -- to doubt, that's all -- not to be sure. And I think it is important that we do not forget the importance of this struggle and thus perhaps lose what we have gained. Here lies a responsibility to society.

We are all sad when we think of the wondrous potentialities human beings seem to have, as contrasted with their small accomplishments. Again and again people have thought that we could do much better. They of the past saw in the nightmare of their times a dream for the future. We, of their future, see that their dreams, in certain ways surpassed, have in many ways remained dreams. The hopes for the future today are, in good share, those of yesterday.


Education, for Good and Evil
Once some thought that the possibilities people had were not developed because most of these people were ignorant. With education universal, could all men be Voltaires? Bad can be taught at least as efficiently as good. Education is a strong force, but for either good or evil.

Communications between nations must promote understanding: So went another dream. But the machines of communication can be channeled or choked. What is communicated can be truth or lie. Communication is a strong force also, but for either good or bad.

The applied scientists should free men of material problems at least. Medicine controls diseases. And the record here seems all to the good. Yet there are men patiently working to create great plagues and poisons. They are to be used in warfare tomorrow.

Nearly everybody dislikes war. Our dream today is peace. In peace, man can develop best the enormous possibilities he seems to have. But maybe future men will find that peace, too, can be good and bad. Perhaps peaceful men will drink out of boredom. Then perhaps drink will become the great problem which seems to keep man from getting all he thinks he should out of his abilities.

Clearly, peace is a great force, as is sobriety, as are material power, communication, education, honesty, and the ideals of many dreamers.

We have more of these forces to control than did the ancients. And maybe we are doing a little better than most of them could do. But what we ought to be able to do seems gigantic compared with our confused accomplishments.

Why is this? Why can't we conquer ourselves?

Because we find that even great forces and abilities do not seem to carry with them clear instructions on how to use them. As an example, the great accumulation of understanding as to how the physical world behaves only convinces one that this behavior seems to have a kind of meaninglessness. The sciences do not directly teach good or bad.

Through all ages men have tried to fathom the meaning of life. They have realized that if some direction or meaning could be given to our actions, great human forces would be unleashed. So, very many answers must have been given to the question of the meaning of it all. But they have been of all different sorts, and the proponents of one answer have looked with horror at the actions of the believers of another. Horror, because from a disagreeing point of view all the great potentialities of the race are being channeled into a false and confining blind alley. In fact, it is from the history of the enormous monstrosities created by false belief that philosophers have realized the apparently infinite and wondrous capacities of human beings. The dream is to find the open channel.

What, then, is the meaning of it all? What can we say to dispel the mystery of experience?

If we take everything into account, not only what the ancients knew, but all of what we know today that they didn't know, then I think that we must frankly admit that we do not know.

But in admitting this, we have probably found the open channel.

This is not a new idea; this is the idea of the age of reason. This is the philosophy that guided the men who made the democracy that we live under. The idea that no one really knew how to run a government led to the idea that we should arrange a system by which new ideas could be developed, tried out, tossed out, more new ideas brought in; a trial and error system. This method was a result of the fact that science was already showing itself to be a successful venture at the end of the 18th century. Even then it was clear to socially minded people that the openness of the possibilities was an opportunity, and that doubt and discussion were essential to progress into the unknown. If we want to solve a problem that we have never solved before, we must leave the door to the unknown ajar.

Our Responsibility as Scientists
We are at the very beginning of time for the human race. It is not unreasonable that we grapple with problems. There are tens of thousands of years in the future. Our responsibility is to do what we can, learn what we can, improve the solutions and pass them on. It is our responsibility to leave the men of the future a free hand. In the impetuous youth of humanity, we can make grave errors that can stunt our growth for a long time. This we will do if we say we have the answers now, so young and ignorant; if we suppress all discussion, all criticism, saying, "This is it, boys, man is saved!" and thus doom man for a long time to the chains of authority, confined to the limits of our present imagination. It has been done so many times before.

It is our responsibility as scientists, knowing the great progress and great value of a satisfactory philosophy of ignorance, the great progress that is the fruit of freedom of thought, to proclaim the value of this freedom, to teach how doubt is not to be feared but welcomed and discussed, and to demand this freedom as our duty to all coming generations.

Richard Feynman
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Bloo
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#1265 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by Bloo »

naumpade mi na omarkino naumpadanje

Ramanujan, Erdos, Feynman -The Eternal Golden Triad
“Generations to come and generations to go, will scarcely believe that such a one as he, had walked upon this earth in flesh and blood.”
Primjenjivo na svu trojicu.
riverflow
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#1266 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by riverflow »

Lost_Found wrote:http://www.jutarnji.hr/globus/Globus-zi ... n/6784029/

Image

Kakva bi vas Hrvatska zadovoljila?

- Imao sam iluzija o višestranačkom sistemu, zalagao sam se i pisao o višestranačkom sistemu. Nisam znao da upadam u vječnu zabludu svih budala koje misle da je demokracija te vrste nešto dobro. Nasjeli smo svi na Churchillovu tvrdnju da je demokracija kakva-takva ali najbolja od svih rješenja. Kao što sada vidimo, nije. Nije dobra ni ta demokracija u rojalističkoj Engleskoj, kao što nije bila ni demokracija Atene ni Perikla. Ne znam kakva demokracija bi me zadovoljila.

Možda neki švedski model, švicarski?

- To da, jedna vrsta socijaldemokracije koja daje pravo na rad, koja osigurava čak i najbeznačajnijem članu tog društva neke minimalne socijalne garancije, zdravstvo, školstvo, relativno pristojne penzije, sve što u to ulazi. Svi mi to znamo, to je i titoizam imao. Zbog toga ljudi s nekakvim žarom bacaju pogled unatrag, osvrću se misleći da je to bio idealan sistem. Nije, imao je enormnih mana, kao što svaki sistem ima. Demokracija nije moguća na ovom svijetu, ona je contradictio in adiecto. Narod nikada nije vladao niti će ikada vladati. Narod ne vlada, to je laž koja je programirana i u našem Ustavu. Vlast dolazi iz naroda, za narod, a to je laž. Iz naroda ne proizlazi ništa, narod je glupa rulja. Tu važi ona Njegoševa: “Pučina je stoka jedna grdna!” Pučina je vrlo ružan plural riječi puk.[/b]
Istina je to što kaže Mandić..

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hadzinicasa
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#1267 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by hadzinicasa »

http://www.prometej.ba/clanak/osvrti/ce ... ijeta-3647

C'est la vie – sjaj i bijeda polusvijeta

U onom životu, negdje s početka osamdesetih na diplomatskom zadatku u Stockholmu ispred bivše SFRJ, sasvim slučajno sam bio počašćen druženjem, potom prijateljstvom koji su, evo dokaza, ostavili značajne otiske do dan danas. Dakle, na rutinskom kraju tog i tog radnog dana, po običaju svratim do mog tržnog centra u otmjenom Gardet kvartu (nedaleko od glasovitog Svenska Filminstitutet) , sa ciljem da pokupujem svašta-nešto, namirim kuću. Plus, da usput skoknem u tamo nagodan poštanski ured i pošaljem rukom ispisane novogodišnje čestitke - o tempora, o mores (!).

Da ubijem vrijeme čekajući u redu, lagano se uključim u konverzaciju na francuskom između dvije dame ispred mene. Vidi se odmah, rođene Francuskinje, koje razmjenjuju zajedljive, ali 100 posto benigne i duhovite opaske o ‘preozbilljnim Skandinavcima’. Obadvije se ono baš obraduju još jednom frankofoncu na hladnom Sjeveru. Da skratim, odemo poslije na uneflûte de champagne, to francusko piće-razgovorušu bez premca. Glatko krene uzajamno upoznavanje na trilateralno zadovoljstvo. Kao ponosne patriotkinje posebno su ih dojmili moji utisci iz ranijeg života i rada u Parizu, te podatak da je i moj sin jednakopravni Francuz po rođenju, noblesse oblige(!) . Time su se u potpunosti stekli uslovi za neoročeno prijateljstvo i kredibilnu aplikaciju za naredna, manje-više redovna druženja utroje – uz adekvatno piće i raznorazne delicije, naravno.

Iako obadvije u poznim godinama, izuzetno obrazovane i sa neprocjenjivim životnim iskustvom, te švedske Francuskinje, bile su prave pravcate dame, vjerujte mi na riječ. Osim što su zadržale sav šarm, eleganciju i britak duh svojstven tom velikom narodu. Kad su joščule da sam nekad branio i odbranio onu ‘disertaciju’ o književnom djelu i filozofiji njihovog zemljaka Alberta Camusa (iz moje prethodne kolumne objavljene na ovom portalu, pa dalje), naši razgovori su dobili novi tonalitet, širinu, dubinu. Bio sam više nego počašćen njihovim komentarima, glasnim razmišljanjem o vrijednostima i smislu života kao i nepatvorenom željom da ih podijele sa tada preko dva puta mlađim ‘kolegom-strancem’ u Stockholmu. Tako smo postupno, pored ostalih književničkih i filozofskih gromada, došli i do Camusovog starijeg brata po peru kao oružju - do nadasve oštrookog i vidovitog Fridricha Nietzschea sa njegovim Zaratustrom, koji se nadalje uglavnom pogrešno čita. Ali, nakon onog što slijedi u drugom dijelu ovog teksta, o tom štivu možemo više nekom drugom prigodom.

Da ne izgubimo nit ove priče, misli se na ‘pero kao oružje’ kontra ovozemaljskog ZLA koje cvijeta u vremenima najcrnjih konvulzija čovječanstva, kada prevagu odnese zakon krvi i tla. Drugim riječima, kada su pohlepa, krdo i zločin pušteni s lanca i unaprijed blagosloveni kao avangarda i oprošteni svih grijeha od strane dežurnih dostojanstvenika dotičnog klera. Dapače, nema nikakvih problema, ako je to učinjeno u ime opstojnosti, jednakopravnosti ili supremacije ‘našeg naroda/nacije, naših vrijednosti, naše rase’.

Moje rečene sagovornice u Stockholmu poznavale su izbliza vremena uspona naci-fašizma u predvečerje Drugog svjetskog rata, a potom i ostalo kao učesnice pokreta otpora u Blitzkrieg-om neslavno okupiranoj Francuskoj. Logično, dale su nula bodova onoj ciničnoj anatemi never again ili prevedeno - ‘da se nikad i nikome ne ponovi’, toj, kako su je krstile, pustoj onomatopeji za naivne i budale - sve dok se non-stop ratuje i stradaju nečiji očevi, majke i djeca širom planete između dvije, i/ili u uoči nove svjetske reprize. Uglavnom su podržale svjetonazor i kasnije potvrđena crna predskazanja Nietzschea, sto je objašnjivo jer je isti bio notorno zadivljen i slab prema Francuzima i Francuskinjama. Budimo realni, to kod njega nije važilo za ostatak Europljana!

Evo kako su matematički precizno definisale Nietzscheov pojam Übermensch (Nadčovjek) koji su brutalno pokrali i vulgarizirali klasični i moderni nacisti: „Uzmimo da čovječanstvo čini 100 ljudi oba roda. Njih 70 posto su oni dobri, ali ubogi radnici, seljaci i poštena inteligencija 'koji bi (duga je priča) imali ponosa da nemaju trbuha'. Oni prate svakoga ko je nalik na vođu u nešto bolji život. Sljedećih 20 posto čini najgora sorta mediokriteta, onih formalno obrazovanih hulja i spretnih medolino-uvlakača koja je primarno odgovorna za promicanje pogrešnih lidera i vlasti koje obavezno vode u izdaju, nazadak i propast. Treću, najmalobrojniju grupu, ostatak od 10 posto čini istinska elita. Ova treća, oduvijek stanuje i prepoznaje se u pametnim, prosperitetnim društvima znanja, koja po definiciji ulažu u nauku, podupiru umjetnost i kao zjenicu oka čuvaju vladavinu prava“.

Istina, u svom vjerovatno najboljem i najprovokativnijem djelu (‘S one strane dobra i zla’), Fridrich Nietzsche upozorava kako ništa neće potrajati do prekosutra, sem jedne vrste ljudi - ‘neizlječivih mediokriteta’. U cilju ekonomičnosti postupka, ovdje slijedi obazrivo aktualizirana parafraza merituma rečene neumoljive presude tog majstora pera, pjesnika, klasičnog filologa i filozofa s kraja 19. stolječa. Da ne bude zabune, podsjetimo se da zasluge za post-mortem ‘kreativno’ objavljivanje i isčitavanje djela rođenog brata pripadaju njegovoj sestri Elisabeth F. Nietzsche, svojevremeno prononsiranoj simpatizerki Adolfa Hitlera - detalje ima Wikipedia.

Konzekventno, prevelikog Nietzschea, bez pardona svojataju falange kvazi obrazovanih debila nacističke, odnosno neonacistčke provenijencije - kako nekad u nacističkoj Njemačkoj i fašističkoj Italiji, tako i horde njihovih zombija danas. Zahvaljujući globaliziranim medijima, to sa zebnjom gledamo uživo. Svakodnevno. Naravno, radi se o istim, gore pomenutim mediokritetima kojima je more jedva ‘do koljena’. Kakogod, samo takvi-i-njima-slični, tvrdi Nietzsche imaju izgleda da nastave i umnože svoju vrstu - oni su ljudi budućnosti, jedini koji će preživjeti. Prepoznaju se neopozivo po prostoti koja odjednom iz njih probija poput prljave vode, kad se pronese kakva sveta posuda, knjiga ili relikvija sa znacima velike sudbine… Pa kaže: ‘…Možda ništa nije toliko odvratno kao njihov nedostatak stida, njihova ugodna drskost oka i ruke kojom sve dotiču i opipavaju…’

Ako je to uopće neka utjeha, Nietzsche je opet po tisuću puta u pravu kada istovremeno tvrdi da u plemenitom narodu, u urbanim sredinama, kod nekorumpiranih i časnih ljudi u provinciji, ali i među nepatvorenim seljacima, još uvijek postoji više relativne otmjenosti u ukusu i takta u poštovanju, za razliku od onih koji trajno pripadaju polusvijetu duha…’ Zbog tih i takvih, u ovoj čudesnoj i prenapaćenoj balkanskoj zemlji, nada umire zadnja.
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Banksy
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#1268 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by Banksy »


Pit

U restoranu brze hrane, naručuje
Hot dog – na reklamu pokazuje palcem

Neće da govori engleski dvadesetipet godina
Njegovo srce – zaraslo je kao Hercegovina

U stanu, regali su odzidadozida, kao da je
Direktor osnovne Stolac, kao da je osamdeseta

Njegova žena, kad se vraća iz Bosne, u kutiji Ivine masti
Šverca kajmak, argetu, i melem za sve bolesti

Kad ga boli glava, on okonje veže salvetu
Bijelu, legne na kauč, okrene leđa Njujorku

Tada sanja – vrata na rodnoj kući, bosnike svih
Hercegovačkih čatrnja – kako prerastaju zgrade na Menhetnu

Kad umre, sahranit će ga na Long Islandu
Kraj šumice, gdje i zimi je zeleno drveće

Njegov nišan, iz zemlje će da strši, kao drvce
Kojim dijete obilježi grob ptice mrtve


http://strane.ba/author/alminkaplan/
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hadzinicasa
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#1269 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by hadzinicasa »

Banksy wrote:

Pit

U restoranu brze hrane, naručuje
Hot dog – na reklamu pokazuje palcem

Neće da govori engleski dvadesetipet godina
Njegovo srce – zaraslo je kao Hercegovina

U stanu, regali su odzidadozida, kao da je
Direktor osnovne Stolac, kao da je osamdeseta

Njegova žena, kad se vraća iz Bosne, u kutiji Ivine masti
Šverca kajmak, argetu, i melem za sve bolesti

Kad ga boli glava, on okonje veže salvetu
Bijelu, legne na kauč, okrene leđa Njujorku

Tada sanja – vrata na rodnoj kući, bosnike svih
Hercegovačkih čatrnja – kako prerastaju zgrade na Menhetnu

Kad umre, sahranit će ga na Long Islandu
Kraj šumice, gdje i zimi je zeleno drveće

Njegov nišan, iz zemlje će da strši, kao drvce
Kojim dijete obilježi grob ptice mrtve


http://strane.ba/author/alminkaplan/
ponekad kad ovako procitam nesto, kao ovo,
obecam sebi po ko zna koji put da cu pisati.
ali, niti imam vremena, niti discipline, niti strpljenja za rijeci. vise.
i ne sjecam se vise ni detalja svega onoga o cemu htjedoh pisati.
ni ljudi, ni situacija, ni emocija.
lazem mozda
vjerovatno je samo taj sindrom hostaplera ili varalice kojeg vucem
za sobom gotov' pobozno. i strah.
ali jednom, kad porastem i sve te sjene posjecem kao macem
pisacu i ja. obecavam.
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Banksy
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#1270 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by Banksy »

hadzinicasa wrote:
ali jednom, kad porastem i sve te sjene posjecem kao macem
pisacu i ja. obecavam.
pišeš, već :kiss:

ja sam pisala, kao mlada, i nadobijala se nagrada, ali tu je stalo... adolescencija mi je dokinula slobodu i odvažnost :D
kako starim, ravnam i u sebi i oko sebe, pa bih mogla opet krenuti...
lažem, neću nikad :mrgreen:
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hadzinicasa
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#1271 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by hadzinicasa »

Banksy wrote:
hadzinicasa wrote:
ali jednom, kad porastem i sve te sjene posjecem kao macem
pisacu i ja. obecavam.
pišeš, već :kiss:

ja sam pisala, kao mlada, i nadobijala se nagrada, ali tu je stalo... adolescencija mi je dokinula slobodu i odvažnost :D
kako starim, ravnam i u sebi i oko sebe, pa bih mogla opet krenuti...
lažem, neću nikad :mrgreen:
:oops:

ja u osnovnoj pisala za skolski list, zvao se Cvrkut (nekada su osnovne skole imale svoje skolske casopise), pa cak postadoh i urednik u nekim visim razredima. a onda je dosao rat. pa izbjeglistvo. pa buntovnistvo. pa puka borba za prezivaljavanje. pa osposobljavanje. pa prakticiranje.pa par licnih tragedija. i neuspjeha. pa zbrinjavanje nezbrinutih. a onda bih malo i da disem. pih... sta mi se desilo? zivot mi se desio :D
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Banksy
Posts: 28557
Joined: 18/07/2008 09:33

#1272 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by Banksy »

hadzinicasa wrote: :oops:

ja u osnovnoj pisala za skolski list, zvao se Cvrkut (nekada su osnovne skole imale svoje skolske casopise), pa cak postadoh i urednik u nekim visim razredima. a onda je dosao rat. pa izbjeglistvo. pa buntovnistvo. pa puka borba za prezivaljavanje. pa osposobljavanje. pa prakticiranje.pa par licnih tragedija. i neuspjeha. pa zbrinjavanje nezbrinutih. a onda bih malo i da disem. pih... sta mi se desilo? zivot mi se desio :D
Prošle smo sličan put. Ja mislim da nam život, kakav god da je, ne može biti opravdanje, već samo inspiracija. Ako to imamo u sebi. Ili nemamo. Biće da ja ipak nemam. Izašlo bi to dosad već napolje. :D
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hadzinicasa
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Joined: 08/11/2005 16:08
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#1273 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by hadzinicasa »

Banksy wrote:
hadzinicasa wrote: :oops:

ja u osnovnoj pisala za skolski list, zvao se Cvrkut (nekada su osnovne skole imale svoje skolske casopise), pa cak postadoh i urednik u nekim visim razredima. a onda je dosao rat. pa izbjeglistvo. pa buntovnistvo. pa puka borba za prezivaljavanje. pa osposobljavanje. pa prakticiranje.pa par licnih tragedija. i neuspjeha. pa zbrinjavanje nezbrinutih. a onda bih malo i da disem. pih... sta mi se desilo? zivot mi se desio :D
Prošle smo sličan put. Ja mislim da nam život, kakav god da je, ne može biti opravdanje, već samo inspiracija. Ako to imamo u sebi. Ili nemamo. Biće da ja ipak nemam. Izašlo bi to dosad već napolje. :D
pa slicno razmisljamo. ako si izvor - izbices ma kakve stijene na tebe navaljali. naci ces put.
sve ostalo su izgovori. ja cu pisati nekad, obecavam, kad pozavrsavam sve ovo jos i pocistim.
nekako se nisam jos odrekla te ideje. mora covjek o necemu i sanjati :)
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Banksy
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Joined: 18/07/2008 09:33

#1274 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by Banksy »

:thumbup:
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Gojeni H
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Joined: 28/04/2012 09:54

#1275 Re: Price, pjesme, intervjui...

Post by Gojeni H »

Academic philosophy is filled with people who spend a lot of time talking about things that are almost entirely abstracted from the pragmatic realities of human existence.

Contemporary academic philosophy is embarrassing

I will never forget I was sitting in our auditorium listening to a long talk about meta-ethics when right outside the doors of the university auditorium Black Lives Matters activists were marching (this was in St. Louis at the time of Ferguson).

I could hear them chanting — the stark contrast between the esoteric subtleties of meta-ethics vs the concrete realities of what would be considered “applied ethics” (a term usually uttered with slight contempt) made me deeply uncomfortable.

https://medium.com/@transphilosophr/why ... 0049ea4f3a
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