All posts by TPPA = CRISIS

Hi, my name is Hans Hilhorst. I am just a private individual hoping to contribute to our debate about matters of Political Economy. I am not affiliated with or a member of any commercial entity, political party or organization of any kind. - All my life I have been interested in psychology and economics, the things that define human society. I have also always been an avid reader of everything remotely related to those topics and I have gained a fair bit of ‘research material’ and ‘empirical evidence’ during my career through the Neoliberal nightmare, or ‘User Pays’ as we call our brand of Neoliberalism down under. - My opinions are neither here nor there, they are mine alone. I share them merely to throw in my 5 cents, looking for common spirits and clear young minds, open to new thinking. I endeavor though to keep my contributions controlled and prefer to put forward those of the multitude of academics, scientists, thinkers, authors and whoever else of credible authority. Those who have done the research, spoken to the victims, walked in their shoes and dealt with the consequences of our economic and social policies. In this way I hope to show that the cry for urgent attention to our social economic policies is not just the sound of a leftist mob, but a well supported and professional crowd of experts from around the globe. - I wish to stir the debate on our economic direction. I think it has been lopsided. Not because we are biased or stupid, but because we have been deliberately misinformed, censored and deceived. - At this juncture in time we are truly faced with the consequences of our progress: Robot Domination! Will it be like SkyNet and Arnie’s goldmine or just a happy invasion of our workplaces, allowing us time for ‘the good life’, the beach, and reading. - Hans

First home buyers need LVRs to stay – Liam Dann. 

Real estate agents are wasting their breath calling for a removal of Loan to Value Ratio restrictions. They will not be removed prior to the election, nor should they be.

Though the housing market has cooled there is a risk that it will bounce back post-election as spring takes hold. That would be a disaster for first home buyers.

We know that population pressure is still far stronger than the rate of new building.

Those looking to get in to the housing market need prices to stay flat – or ideally fall further over the next 12 months – long enough for housing supply to reach the kind of peaks that could prevent another bubble.

If that happens then LVRs will inevitably be loosened and first home buyers will be in far better shape than they would have been without them.

The LVRs have been highly successful in cooling the housing market, but even the Reserve Bank would acknowledge that they have been just one of several factors. It’s possible they are getting too much credit.

The retail banks have also tightened their lending based on concerns that the market was in bubble territory.

Nevertheless LVRs stand out as a piece of policy that is doing what it is supposed to do.

Specifically LVRS were designed to target New Zealand’s dangerously high levels of housing debt and remove the wider risk to the economy.

The growth in mortgage lending has slowed but not by enough yet to say that the job is done.

It seems highly unlikely that Reserve Bank Governor Graeme Wheeler or his immediate replacement Grant Spencer will be swayed by lobbying.

Spencer is currently head of financial stability for the Reserve Bank so was instrumental in putting the LVRs in place.

Real Estate agents are unhappy because the market is seeing a huge slump in the volume of sales – that effects their livelihood.

Their industry concern is understandable

But the slump in the past few months is largely to do with the toughening of restrictions on investors – the big change to LVR rules last year.

REINZ’s claim that LVRs are hitting first home buyers is disputed by Kiwibank chief economist Zoe Wallis.

“While REINZ notes that LVR restrictions have been particularly hard on first home buyers, the data suggests that the recent changes to property investor lending LVR restrictions have instead opened up some opportunities for first home buyers and other owner-occupiers,” she wrote last week.

“The latest round of LVR changes has meant that the percentage of bank mortgage lending to investors has fallen from 33 per cent of all loans in July last year, down to 24 per cent.

“Over the same time period the share of lending to first home buyers has increased from 11 per cent to 14 per cent.

“Lending to other owner occupiers (i.e. people moving up the property ladder) has also increased,” she concludes.

Many first home buyers won’t need a 20 per cent deposit either. LVR rules allow banks to offer 10 per cent of their loans to owner-occupier buyers who have less than 20 per cent deposit.

So basically if you have a decent job and in excess of 10 per cent on a good solid property then there is a good chance you can find a bank that will lend to you.

And even if that takes more time, LVRs are helping your cause.

You are less likely to need a $200,000 deposit if we stick to our guns now.

Prices are falling, so the pressure to get in the market quickly has gone. Would be home owners can keep saving without feeling like they are being left behind.

There will of course be some, ready to buy now, who feel hard done by.

But it seems that the most aggrieved parties right now are would be investors and the real estate agents themselves.

Giving up on LVRs now would be akin to quitting a tough fitness regime after you’ve done most of the hard work but before you reached your goal.

It would be a wasted opportunity.

NZ Herald

Caesar’s Last Breath. The Epic Story of the Air around us – Sam Kean. 

The ghosts of breaths past continue to flit around you every second of every hour, confronting you with every single yesterday.

Short of breathing from a tank, we can’t escape the air of those around us. We recycle our neighbors’ breaths all the time, even distant neighbors’. Just as light from distant stars can sparkle our irises, the remnants of a stranger’s breath from Timbuktu might come wafting in on the next breeze.

Our breaths entangle us with the historical past. Some of the molecules in your next breath might well be emissaries from 9/11 or the fall of the Berlin Wall, witnesses to World War I or the star-spangled banner over Fort McHenry. And if we extend our imagination far enough in space and time, we can conjure up some fascinating scenarios. For instance, is it possible that your next breath, this one, right here, might include some of the same air that Julius Caesar exhaled when he died?

How could something as ephemeral as a breath still linger? If nothing else, the atmosphere extends so far and wide that Caesar’s last gasp has surely been dissolved into nothingness by now, effaced into the æther. You can open a vein into the ocean, but you don’t expect a pint of blood to wash ashore two thousand years later.

Your lungs expel a half liter of air with every normal breath; a gasping Caesar probably exhaled a full liter, a volume equivalent to a balloon five inches wide. Now compare that balloon to the sheer size of the atmosphere. Depending on where you cut it off, the bulk of the atmosphere forms a shell around Earth about ten miles high. Given those dimensions, that shell has a volume of two billion cubic miles. Compared to the atmosphere at large, then, a one-liter breath represents just 0.00000000000000000001 percent of all the air on Earth. Talk about tiny: Imagine gathering together all of the hundred billion people who ever lived, you, me, every last Roman emperor and pope and Dr. Who. If we let those billions of people stand for the atmosphere, and reduce our population by that percentage, you’d have just 0.00000000001 “people” left, a speck of a few hundred cells, a last breath indeed. Compared to the atmosphere, Caesar’s gasp seems like a rounding error, a cipher, and the odds of encountering any of it in your next breath seem nil.

Consider how quickly gases spread around the planet. Within about two weeks, prevailing winds would have smeared Caesar’s last breath all around the world, in a band at roughly the same latitude as Rome, through the Caspian Sea, through southern Mongolia, through Chicago and Cape Cod. Within about two months, the breath would cover the entire Northern Hemisphere. And within a year or two, the entire globe.

The same holds true today, naturally, any breath or belch or exhaust fume anywhere on Earth will take roughly two weeks, two months, or one or two years to reach you, depending on your relative location.

While on some level (the human level) Caesar’s last breath does seem to have disappeared into the atmosphere, on a microscopic level his breath hasn’t disappeared at all, since the individual molecules that make it up still exist.

So in asking whether you just inhaled some of Caesar’s last breath, I’m really asking whether you inhaled any molecules he happened to expel at that moment.

One liter of air at any sort of reasonable temperature and pressure corresponds to approximately 25 sextillion (25,000,000,000,000, 000,000,000) molecules.

When you crunch the numbers, you’ll find that roughly one particle of “Caesar air” will appear in your next breath. That number might drop a little depending on what assumptions you make, but it’s highly likely that you just inhaled some of the very atoms Caesar used to sound his cri de coeur contra Brutus. And it’s a certainty that, over the course of a day, you inhale thousands.

Nothing liquid or solid of Julius Caesar remains. But you and Julius are practically kissing cousins. To misquote a poet, the atoms belonging to his breath as good as belong to you.

You could pick anyone who suffered through an agonizing last breath: the masses at Pompeii, Jack the Ripper’s victims, soldiers who died during gas attacks in World War I. Or I could have picked anyone who died in bed, whose last breath was serene—the physics is identical. Heck, I could have picked Rin Tin Tin or Jumbo the giant circus elephant. Think of anything that ever breathed, from bacteria to blue whales, and some of his, her, or its last breath is either circulating inside you now or will be shortly.

Why not be more audacious? Why not go further and trace these air molecules to even bigger and wilder phenomena? Why not tell the full story of all the gases we inhale? Every milestone in Earth’s history, you see—from the first Hadean volcanic eruptions to the emergence of complex life—depended critically on the behavior and evolution of gases. Gases not only gave us our air, they reshaped our solid continents and transfigured our liquid oceans. The story of Earth is the story of its gases. Much the same can be said of human beings, especially in the past few centuries. When we finally learned to harness the raw physical power of gases, we could suddenly build steam engines and blast through billion-year-old mountains in seconds with explosives. Similarly, when we learned to exploit the chemistry of gases, we could finally make steel for skyscrapers and abolish pain in surgery and grow enough food to feed the world. Like Caesar’s last breath, that history surrounds you every second: every time the wind comes clattering through the trees, or a hot-air balloon soars overhead, or an unaccountable smell of lavender or peppermint or even flatulence wrinkles your nose, you’re awash in it. Put your hand in front of your mouth again and feel it: we can capture the world in a single breath.

This includes the formation of our very planet from a cloud of space gas 4.5 billion years ago. Later a proper atmosphere emerged on our planet, as volcanoes began expelling gases from deep inside Earth. The emergence of life then scrambled and remixed this original atmosphere, leading to the so-called oxygen catastrophe (which actually worked out pretty well for us animals). Overall the first section explains where air comes from and how gases behave in different situations.

Human beings have, well, harnessed the special talents of different gases over the past few centuries. We normally don’t think of air as having much mass or weight, but it does: if you drew an imaginary cylinder around the Eiffel Tower, the air inside it would weigh more than all the metal. And because air and other gases have weight, they can lift and push and even kill. Gases powered the Industrial Revolution and fulfilled humanity’s ancient dream of flying.

Our relationship with air has evolved in the past few decades. For one thing, we’ve changed the composition of what we breathe: the air you inhale now is not the same air your grandparents inhaled in their youth, and it’s markedly different from the air people breathed three hundred years ago.

You can survive without food, without solids, for weeks. You can survive without water, without liquids, for days. Without air, without gases, you’d last a few minutes at most. I’ll wager, though, that you spend the least amount of time thinking about what you’re breathing.

Caesar’s Last Breath aims to change that. Pure air is colorless and (ideally) odorless, and by itself it sounds like nothing. That doesn’t mean it’s mute, that it has no voice. It’s burning to tell its story. Here it is.

Caesar’s Last Breath. The Epic Story of the Air around us. by Sam Kean

get it from Amazon

The Opportunities Party Campaign Launch – Gareth Morgan. 

New Zealand was founded on the idea of a fair deal, the concept that peoples from different backgrounds could come together and work out their differences without resorting to warfare and hatred.

The idea of that deal was to allow everyone in this country the opportunity to pursue their dreams.

That deal hasn’t always been honoured, but it is at the very core of what we as a nation are all about, fairness and opportunity.

This land of egalitarianism and opportunities has seen Kiwis achieve some remarkable things in the past century and a half….

A scientist from Nelson became the first person to split the atom

A beekeeper from Auckland conquered the highest mountain in the world

A girl from a tough background in Rotorua became the greatest opera diva of her generation

Writers, artists, sportspeople, thinkers, inventors people from every walk of life in New Zealand have proved time and time again that given the opportunity Kiwis can be the best in the world.

We have led the way in woman’s rights, social welfare, anti-nuclear activism and gay rights……..we have much to be proud of.

The opportunities that allowed us to do that were also based on the notion that each generation would pass on to the next a better country than they were born into.

A country with better education, healthcare and economic openings.

A country that was fairer, more egalitarian more civilised……in short, a country that offered ever greater opportunity.

But something has gone terribly wrong with that idea… the current generation…..the baby boomers ….. may be the first to leave behind a New Zealand of shrinking opportunities, less fairness and more inequality than they were born into.

We are in the process of flicking an intergenerational hospital pass to our children and grandchildren

We’re leaving them loaded with debt for their education, while we ask them to pay for our retirement.

We’re pricing them out of the housing market so we can make tax free capital gains.

We’re importing cheap unskilled labour to cut them out of entering the job market..and turning the country into a low wage, treadmill economy.

And when they don’t conquer the massive hurdles we put in their way we make them jump through hoops for welfare payments while calling them lazy dope heads.

We’re screwing the environment they will have to live in, by tolerating farming practices that degrade our waterways…..paying lip service only to the idea of climate change and the solutions needed to overcome or adapt to it, while pandering to industry sector groups without regard to the sustainability of their businesses.

We are criminalising and locking up ever growing numbers of men and women who don’t even get a chance in this shrinking world of opportunity, and we are standing by as the gap between the haves and the have nots widens.

You don’t need me to tell you how wrong all this is, you hear about it every day when you read our suicide statistics, homeless numbers, real estate ads, and crime stories.

And what is our political establishment doing…..pretty well nothing. Stuck in outdated left versus right political ideology with a tax & targeted welfare regime that is obsolete, they trade insults and argue at the margins as New Zealand, the land of opportunity, slips away.

They fight, not to restore the fairness of our society but to perpetuate their own political power in some vain belief that an ideology is what’s needed to get this country back on track.

Let’s be very clear TOP doesn’t care who leads the next government.

Those who campaign to change from blue to red or right to left are like a bunch of kids screaming “DAD’s burnt the dinner…let’s get the dog to cook”.

What New Zealand desperately needs are ideas to restore opportunities…..policies that aren’t designed to get a party into power but to fix the problems we have, reduce inequality, and take us forward into a world where our children again have more opportunity than we did.

If we don’t, we’ll end up with a select few owning million dollar houses in a ten-cent economy.

We know what those policies are.

Fair tax reform to close the 11 billion dollar property loophole, and deliver income tax cuts to every worker.

A UBI to end witch hunt welfare, underwrite human dignity, and ensure that when any of us are at our most vulnerable, our society is backing us.

Tenancy reform to give renters real rights so they can build secure homes without the mission Impossible of property ownership.

Real action on cleaning up our waterways, and having polluters pay, while encouraging best environmental practice from all industries.

A democracy reset to give us all clear constitutional rights, curb the power of cabinet and recognise the Treaty of Waitangi.

Real commitment to confront and deal with the challenges of climate change and make the country resilient to its inevitable assault.

A justice policy that wages war on prisons not prisoners

Education reform that recognises schools should lie at the centre of communities, and that the role of education is to prepare New Zealanders for a world of ever-increasing automation and diminishing income from mundane work.

And health policies that stop us literally killing ourselves, be it through suicide, or the ever increasing consumption of deadly foodstuffs.

None of these policies are rocket science, they are based on expert, evidence-based analysis of what New Zealand needs and can achieve with the resources we have available right now.

The only thing lacking has been a political establishment with the will to see, and courage to embrace the way forward.

We are all here today as part of the TOP movement to make a change……… not a change of government, but a real change of direction and focus…to make a real change in the lives of all New Zealanders to restore opportunities for future generations.

We’ve come a hell of a long way since November, thousands have put up their hands to join TOP, hundreds have volunteered, and we have awesome candidates standing across the country.

It hasn’t been easy – we’re the new kids on the block, so we don’t get the sort of coverage or funding the old establishment parties have access to.

But we have one huge advantage, we are free of the hatred of old tribal politics, we know what we stand for, and we can work with anyone who is genuinely prepared to implement policies that restore opportunities to New Zealanders.

I want to thank all of you for putting your hands up and having the courage to be part of a real change for good in New Zealand.

For having the courage to leave behind the class warfare and name-calling that has dominated politics for so long.

For having the brains to know that more of the same-old-same-old isn’t going to cut it for future generations

And most of all, believing that good ideas and genuine dialogue will beat self-interest and political game playing any day of the week.

We have already moved the policy debate in this country without a single vote being cast for TOP.

Acceptance of the need for cannabis reform is now widespread, our tenancy reforms have been lauded for their foresight, the UBI is now an accepted part of this country’s welfare debate.

But there is a long way to go.

I know we will be in Parliament after September the 23rd……just how much we can change the direction of this country will be up to voters.

You are the people that will help them make the right decision, to restore the values this country was founded on, and give equal and growing opportunities for everyone no matter what their gender, age, social status or ethnicity.

You can do that by sharing our ideas, reaching out to the good in every Kiwi’s heart, and making sure every New Zealander makes the decision to

CARE, THINK, VOTE and TICK TOP

The Opportunities Party

Why Women Had Better Sex Under Socialism – Kristen R. Ghodsee. 

When Americans think of Communism in Eastern Europe, they imagine travel restrictions, bleak landscapes of gray concrete, miserable men and women languishing in long lines to shop in empty markets and security services snooping on the private lives of citizens. While much of this was true, our collective stereotype of Communist life does not tell the whole story.

Some might remember that Eastern bloc women enjoyed many rights and privileges unknown in liberal democracies at the time, including major state investments in their education and training, their full incorporation into the labor force, generous maternity leave allowances and guaranteed free child care. But there’s one advantage that has received little attention: Women under Communism enjoyed more sexual pleasure.

A comparative sociological study of East and West Germans conducted after reunification in 1990 found that Eastern women had twice as many orgasms as Western women. Researchers marveled at this disparity in reported sexual satisfaction, especially since East German women suffered from the notorious double burden of formal employment and housework. In contrast, postwar West German women had stayed home and enjoyed all the labor-saving devices produced by the roaring capitalist economy. But they had less sex, and less satisfying sex, than women who had to line up for toilet paper.

How to account for this facet of life behind the Iron Curtain?

Consider Ana Durcheva from Bulgaria, who was 65 when I first met her in 2011. Having lived her first 43 years under Communism, she often complained that the new free market hindered Bulgarians’ ability to develop healthy amorous relationships.

continued … New York Times

It’s Time to Shift the Economy into Fourth Gear Capitalism with Basic Income – Scott Santens. 

The economy is in between gears right now, and that’s a growing problem because as is true with all higher gears, we could be accomplishing so much more with so much less and prosperity could be greatly increased for not only the lucky few, but everyone. What do I mean? Well let’s look at the gears of capitalism, of which there have so far been three, before moving on to what fourth gear is, what’s stopping us from it, and how we can achieve it.

The Gears of Capitalism

First gear was made possible by the invention of the steam engine which allowed for the beginnings of industry and the bridging of great distances with trains and steam-powered ships.

Second gear was made possible by the invention of electricity which allowed for industrialization to go into overdrive while bridging even greater distances with the telegraph and telephones.

Third gear was made possible by the invention of the computer which allowed for full globalization and the connection of everyone to each other all over the world with information technology and the internet.

So what is fourth gear?

Fourth gear is the handing over of labor to machines, and that does not only include muscle labor as was already true in lower gears, but mental labor. It is the long awaited freeing of humanity to pursue human interests, paid or unpaid, as payment is of less concern when machines are working for us… that is as long as we humans are earning the machines’ paychecks to purchase what they’re producing.

And that’s the rub. That’s why we’ve so far refused to shift into fourth gear capitalism, because in fourth gear, human labor necessarily becomes unnecessary. This can be an obstacle within the mind, for capitalism itself was built to combat scarcity, and the division of labor meant everyone need pull their weight so that all may survive. But each gear along the way has enabled us to do more with less energy expended, so where once a majority of humanity’s time was spent in the fields, now about one percent is.

continued … Medium

Unlearning the Myth of American Innocence – Suzy Hansen. 

My mother recently found piles of my notebooks from when I was a small child that were filled with plans for my future. I was very ambitious. I wrote out what I would do at every age: when I would get married and when I would have kids and when I would open a dance studio.

When I left my small hometown for college, this sort of planning stopped. The experience of going to a radically new place, as college was to me, upended my sense of the world and its possibilities. The same thing happened when I moved to New York after college, and a few years later when I moved to Istanbul. All change is dramatic for provincial people. But the last move was the hardest. 

In Turkey the upheaval was far more unsettling: after a while, I began to feel that the entire foundation of my consciousness was a lie.

Who do we become if we don’t become Americans? If we discover that our identity as we understood it had been a myth?

My years as an American abroad in the 21st century were not a joyous romp of self-discovery and romance. Mine were more of a shattering and a shame, and even now, I still don’t know myself.

The politics I heard about as a kid had to do with taxes and immigrants, and not much else. Bill Clinton was not popular in my house.

We were all patriotic, but I can’t even conceive of what else we could have been, because our entire experience was domestic, interior, American. We went to church on Sundays, until church time was usurped by soccer games. I don’t remember a strong sense of civic engagement. Instead I had the feeling that people could take things from you if you didn’t stay vigilant. Our goals remained local: homecoming queen, state champs, a scholarship to Trenton State, barbecues in the backyard. The lone Asian kid in our class studied hard and went to Berkeley; the Indian went to Yale. Black people never came to Wall. The world was white, Christian; the world was us.

We did not study world maps, because international geography, as a subject, had been phased out of many state curriculums long before. There was no sense of the US being one country on a planet of many countries. Even the Soviet Union seemed something more like the Death Star – flying overhead, ready to laser us to smithereens – than a country with people in it.

We were free – at the very least we were that. Everyone else was a chump, because they didn’t even have that obvious thing. Whatever it meant, it was the thing that we had, and no one else did. It was our God-given gift, our superpower.

By the time I got to high school, I knew that communism had gone away, but never learned what communism had actually been (“bad” was enough). Religion, politics, race – they washed over me like troubled things that obviously meant something to someone somewhere, but that had no relationship to me, to Wall, to America. I certainly had no idea that most people in the world felt those connections deeply. History – America’s history, the world’s history – would slip in and out of my consciousness with no resonance whatsoever.

Racism, antisemitism and prejudice, however – those things, on some unconscious level, I must have known. They were expressed in the fear of Asbury Park, which was black; in the resentment of the towns of Marlboro and Deal, which were known as Jewish; in the way Hispanics seemed exotic. Much of the Jersey Shore was segregated as if it were still the 1950s, and so prejudice was expressed through fear of anything outside Wall, anything outside the tiny white world in which we lived. If there was something that saved us from being outwardly racist, it was that in small towns such as Wall, especially for girls, it was important to be nice, or good – this pressure tempered tendencies toward overt cruelty when we were young.

I was a child of the 90s, the decade when, according to America’s foremost intellectuals, “history” had ended, the US was triumphant, the cold war won by a landslide. The historian David Schmitz has written that, by that time, the idea that America won because of “its values and steadfast adherence to the promotion of liberalism and democracy” was dominating “op-ed pages, popular magazines and the bestseller lists”. These ideas were the ambient noise, the elevator music of my most formative years.

I came across a line in a book in which a historian argued that, long ago, during the slavery era, black people and white people had defined their identities in opposition to each other. The revelation to me was not that black people had conceived of their identities in response to ours, but that our white identities had been composed in conscious objection to theirs. I’d had no idea that we had ever had to define our identities at all, because to me, white Americans were born fully formed, completely detached from any sort of complicated past. Even now, I can remember that shiver of recognition that only comes when you learn something that expands, just a tiny bit, your sense of reality. What made me angry was that this revelation was something about who I was. How much more did I not know about myself?

It was because of this text that I picked up the books of James Baldwin, who gave me the sense of meeting someone who knew me better, and with a far more sophisticated critical arsenal than I had myself. There was this line:

But I have always been struck, in America, by an emotional poverty so bottomless, and a terror of human life, of human touch, so deep, that virtually no American appears able to achieve any viable, organic connection between his public stance and his private life.

And this one:

All of the western nations have been caught in a lie, the lie of their pretended humanism; this means that their history has no moral justification, and that the west has no moral authority.

And this one:

White Americans are probably the sickest and certainly the most dangerous people, of any colour, to be found in the world today.

I know why this came as a shock to me then, at the age of 22, and it wasn’t necessarily because he said I was sick, though that was part of it. It was because he kept calling me that thing: “white American”. In my reaction I justified his accusation. I knew I was white, and I knew I was American, but it was not what I understood to be my identity. For me, self-definition was about gender, personality, religion, education, dreams. I only thought about finding myself, becoming myself, discovering myself – and this, I hadn’t known, was the most white American thing of all.

I still did not think about my place in the larger world, or that perhaps an entire history – the history of white Americans – had something to do with who I was. My lack of consciousness allowed me to believe I was innocent, or that white American was not an identity like Muslim or Turk.

Of this indifference, Baldwin wrote: “White children, in the main, and whether they are rich or poor, grow up with a grasp of reality so feeble that they can very accurately be described as deluded.”

Young white Americans of course go through pain, insecurity and heartache. But it is very, very rare that young white Americans come across someone who tells them in harsh, unforgiving terms that they might be merely the easy winners of an ugly game, and indeed that because of their ignorance and misused power, they might be the losers within a greater moral universe.

In 2007, after I had worked for six years as a journalist in New York, I won a writing fellowship that would send me to Turkey for two years. I had applied for it on a whim. No part of me expected to win the thing. Even as my friends wished me congratulations, I detected a look of concern on their faces, as if I was crazy to leave all this, as if 29 was a little too late to be finding myself. I had never even been to Turkey before.

In the weeks before my departure, I spent hours explaining Turkey’s international relevance to my bored loved ones, no doubt deploying the cliche that Istanbul was the bridge between east and west. I told everyone that I chose Turkey because I wanted to learn about the Islamic world. The secret reason I wanted to go was that Baldwin had lived in Istanbul in the 1960s, on and off, for almost a decade. I had seen a documentary about Baldwin that said he felt more comfortable as a black, gay man in Istanbul than in Paris or New York.

When I heard that, it made so little sense to me, sitting in my Brooklyn apartment, that a space opened in the universe. I couldn’t believe that New York could be more illiberal than a place such as Turkey, because I couldn’t conceive of how prejudiced New York and Paris had been in that era; and because I thought that as you went east, life degraded into the past, the opposite of progress. The idea of Baldwin in Turkey somehow placed America’s race problem, and America itself, in a mysterious and tantalising international context. I took a chance that Istanbul might be the place where the secret workings of history would be revealed.

In Turkey and elsewhere, in fact, I would feel an almost physical sensation of intellectual and emotional discomfort, while trying to grasp a reality of which I had no historical or cultural understanding. I would go, as a journalist, to write a story about Turkey or Greece or Egypt or Afghanistan, and inevitably someone would tell me some part of our shared history – theirs with America – of which I knew nothing. If I didn’t know this history, then what kind of story did I plan to tell?

My learning process abroad was threefold: I was learning about foreign countries; I was learning about America’s role in the world; and I was also slowly understanding my own psychology, temperament and prejudices. No matter how well I knew the predatory aspects of capitalism, I still perceived Turkey’s and Greece’s economic advances as progress, a kind of maturation. No matter how deeply I understood the US’s manipulation of Egypt for its own foreign-policy aims, I had never considered – and could not grasp – how American policies really affected the lives of individual Egyptians, beyond engendering resentment and anti-Americanism. No matter how much I believed that no American was well-equipped for nation-building, I thought I could see good intentions on the part of the Americans in Afghanistan. I would never have admitted it, or thought to say it, but looking back, I know that deep in my consciousness I thought that America was at the end of some evolutionary spectrum of civilisation, and everyone else was trying to catch up.

American exceptionalism did not only define the US as a special nation among lesser nations; it also demanded that all Americans believe they, too, were somehow superior to others. How could I, as an American, understand a foreign people, when unconsciously I did not extend the most basic faith to other people that I extended to myself? This was a limitation that was beyond racism, beyond prejudice and beyond ignorance. This was a kind of nationalism so insidious that I had not known to call it nationalism; this was a self-delusion so complete that I could not see where it began and ended, could not root it out, could not destroy it.

In my first few months in Istanbul, I lived a formless kind of existence, days dissolving into the nights. I had no office to go to, no job to keep, and I was 30 years old, an age at which people either choose to grow up or remain stuck in the exploratory, idle phase of late-late youth. Starting all over again in a foreign country – making friends, learning a new language, trying to find your way through a city – meant almost certainly choosing the latter. I spent many nights out until the wee hours – such as the evening I drank beer with a young Turkish man named Emre, who had attended college with a friend of mine from the US.

A friend had told me that Emre was one of the most brilliant people he had ever met. As the evening passed, I was gaining a lot from his analysis of Turkish politics, especially when I asked him whether he voted for Erdoğan’s Justice and Development party (AKP), and he spat back, outraged, “Did you vote for George W Bush?” Until that point I had not realised the two might be equivalent.

Then, three beers in, Emre mentioned that the US had planned the September 11 attacks. I had heard this before. Conspiracy theories were common in Turkey; for example, when the military claimed that the PKK, the Kurdish militant group, had attacked a police station, some Turks believed the military itself had done it; they believed it even in cases where Turkish civilians had died. In other words, the idea was that rightwing forces, such as the military, bombed neutral targets, or even rightwing targets, so they could then blame it on the leftwing groups, such as the PKK. To Turks, bombing one’s own country seemed like a real possibility.

“Come on, you don’t believe that,” I said.

“Why not?” he snapped. “I do.”

“But it’s a conspiracy theory.”

He laughed. “Americans always dismiss these things as conspiracy theories. It’s the rest of the world who have had to deal with your conspiracies.”

I ignored him. “I guess I have faith in American journalism,” I said. “Someone else would have figured this out if it were true.”

He smiled. “I’m sorry, there’s no way they didn’t have something to do with it. And now this war?” he said, referring to the war in Iraq. “It’s impossible that the United States couldn’t stop such a thing, and impossible that the Muslims could pull it off.”

Some weeks later, a bomb went off in the Istanbul neighborhood of Güngören. A second bomb exploded out of a garbage bin nearby after 10pm, killing 17 people and injuring 150. No one knew who did it. All that week, Turks debated: was it al-Qa’ida? The PKK? The DHKP/C, a radical leftist group? Or maybe: the deep state?

The deep state – a system of mafia-like paramilitary organisations operating outside of the law, sometimes at the behest of the official military – was a whole other story. Turks explained that the deep state had been formed during the cold war as a way of countering communism, and then mutated into a force for destroying all threats to the Turkish state. The power that some Turks attributed to this entity sometimes strained credulity. But the point was that Turks had been living for years with the idea that some secret force controlled the fate of their nation.

In fact, elements of the deep state were rumoured to have had ties to the CIA during the cold war, and though that too smacked of a conspiracy theory, this was the reality that Turkish people lived in. The sheer number of international interventions the US launched in those decades is astonishing, especially those during years when American power was considered comparatively innocent. There were the successful assassinations: Patrice Lumumba, prime minister of the Democratic Republic of Congo, in 1961; General Rafael Trujillo of the Dominican Republic, also in 1961; Ngo Dinh Diem, president of South Vietnam, in 1963. There were the unsuccessful assassinations: Castro, Castro, and Castro. There were the much hoped-for assassinations: Nasser, Nasser, Nasser. And, of course, US-sponsored, -supported or -staged regime changes: Iran, Guatemala, Iraq, Congo, Syria, Dominican Republic, South Vietnam, Indonesia, Brazil, Chile, Bolivia, Uruguay and Argentina. The Americans trained or supported secret police forces everywhere from Cambodia to Colombia, the Philippines to Peru, Iran to Vietnam. Many Turks believed that the US at least encouraged the 1971 and 1980 military coups in Turkey, though I could find little about these events in any conventional histories anywhere.

But what I could see was that the effects of such meddling were comparable to those of September 11 – just as huge, life-changing and disruptive to the country and to people’s lives. Perhaps Emre did not believe that September 11 was a straightforward affair of evidence and proof because his experience – his reality – taught him that very rarely were any of these surreally monumental events easily explainable. I did not think Emre’s theory about the attacks was plausible. But I began to wonder whether there was much difference between a foreigner’s paranoia that the Americans planned September 11 and the Americans’ paranoia that the whole world should pay for September 11 with an endless global war on terror.

The next time a Turk told me she believed the US had bombed itself on September 11 (I heard this with some regularity; this time it was from a young student at Istanbul’s Boğaziçi University), I repeated my claim about believing in the integrity of American journalism. She replied, a bit sheepishly, “Well, right, we can’t trust our journalism. We can’t take that for granted.”

The words “take that for granted” gave me pause. Having lived in Turkey for more than a year, witnessing how nationalistic propaganda had inspired people’s views of the world and of themselves, I wondered from where the belief in our objectivity and rigour in journalism came. Why would Americans be objective and everyone else subjective?

I thought that because Turkey had poorly functioning institutions – they didn’t have a reliable justice system, as compared to an American system I believed to be functional – it often felt as if there was no truth. Turks were always sceptical of official histories, and blithely dismissive of the government’s line. But was it rather that the Turks, with their beautiful scepticism, were actually just less nationalistic than me?

American exceptionalism had declared my country unique in the world, the one truly free and modern country, and instead of ever considering that that exceptionalism was no different from any other country’s nationalistic propaganda, I had internalised this belief. Wasn’t that indeed what successful propaganda was supposed to do? I had not questioned the institution of American journalism outside of the standards it set for itself – which, after all, was the only way I would discern its flaws and prejudices; instead, I accepted those standards as the best standards any country could possibly have.

By the end of my first year abroad, I read US newspapers differently. I could see how alienating they were to foreigners, the way articles spoke always from a position of American power, treating foreign countries as if they were America’s misbehaving children. I listened to my compatriots with critical ears: the way our discussion of foreign policy had become infused since September 11 with these officious, official words, bureaucratic corporate military language: collateral damage, imminent threat, freedom, freedom, freedom.

Even so, I was conscious that if I had long ago succumbed to the pathology of American nationalism, I wouldn’t know it – even if I understood the history of injustice in America, even if I was furious about the invasion of Iraq. I was a white American. I still had this fundamental faith in my country in a way that suddenly, in comparison to the Turks, made me feel immature and naive.

I came to notice that a community of activists and intellectuals in Turkey – the liberal ones – were indeed questioning what “Turkishness” meant in new ways. Many of them had been brainwashed in their schools about their own history; about Ataturk, Turkey’s first president; about the supposed evil of the Armenians and the Kurds and the Arabs; about the fragility of their borders and the rapaciousness of all outsiders; and about the historic and eternal goodness of the Turkish republic.

“It is different in the United States,” I once said, not entirely realising what I was saying until the words came out. I had never been called upon to explain this. “We are told it is the greatest country on earth. The thing is, we will never reconsider that narrative the way you are doing just now, because to us, that isn’t propaganda, that is truth. And to us, that isn’t nationalism, it’s patriotism. And the thing is, we will never question any of it because at the same time, all we are being told is how free-thinking we are, that we are free. So we don’t know there is anything wrong in believing our country is the greatest on earth. The whole thing sort of convinces you that a collective consciousness in the world came to that very conclusion.”

“Wow,” a friend once replied. “How strange. That is a very quiet kind of fascism, isn’t it?”

It was a quiet kind of fascism that would mean I would always see Turkey as beneath the country I came from, and also that would mean I believed my uniquely benevolent country to have uniquely benevolent intentions towards the peoples of the world.

During that night of conspiracy theories, Emre had alleged, as foreigners often did, that I was a spy. The information that I was collecting as a journalist, Emre said, was really being used for something else. As an American emissary in the wider world, writing about foreigners, governments, economies partaking in some larger system and scheme of things, I was an agent somehow. Emre lived in the American world as a foreigner, as someone less powerful, as someone for whom one newspaper article could mean war, or one misplaced opinion could mean an intervention by the International Monetary Fund. My attitude, my prejudice, my lack of generosity could be entirely false, inaccurate or damaging, but would be taken for truth by the newspapers and magazines I wrote for, thus shaping perceptions of Turkey for ever.

Years later, an American journalist told me he loved working for a major newspaper because the White House read it, because he could “influence policy”. Emre had told me how likely it was I would screw this up. He was saying to me: first, spy, do no harm.

The Guardian

Trump is the real nuclear threat, and we can’t just fantasise him away – Jonathan Freedland. 

Among the many terrifying facts that have emerged in the last several days, perhaps the scariest relate to the nuclear button over which now hovers the finger of Donald Trump. It turns out that, of all the powers held by this or any other US president, the least checked or balanced is his authority over the world’s mightiest arsenal. He exercises this awesome, civilisation-ending power alone.

As Trump has learned in recent months, the man in the Oval Office cannot simply issue a decree changing, say, the US healthcare system. He has to build majorities in the House and Senate, which is harder than it looks. If he wants to change immigration policy, a mere order is not enough. He can be stopped by the courts, as Trump saw with his travel ban. But if he wants to rain fire and fury on a distant enemy, bringing more fire and fury down on his own citizens and many hundreds of millions of others, there is no one standing in his way. Not for nothing does the geopolitical literature refer to the US president as the “nuclear monarch.”

The more you hear of the simplicity of the system, the more frightening it becomes. If Trump decides he has had enough of Kim Jong-un’s verbal threats, he merely has to turn to the low-level military aide at his side and ask them to open up the black briefcase that officer keeps permanently in their grasp. The bag is known as the nuclear “football”. (It gets its name from the code word for the very first set of nuclear war plans: dropkick.) Inside the bag is a menu of options, explained in detail in a “black book,” but also set out in a single, cartoon-like page for speedy comprehension. Trump has only to make his choice, pick up the phone to the Pentagon war room, utter the code words that identify him as the president and give the order. That’s it.

There is no need for consultation with anyone else. Not the secretary of state or the secretary of defence, nor the head of the military. The officer who receives the call at the Pentagon has no authority to question or challenge the order. His or her duty is only to implement it. Thirty minutes after the president gave the instruction, the nuclear missiles would be hitting their targets. There is no way of turning them back. Such power in the hands of a single individual would be a horrifying prospect even if it were Solomon himself whose finger was on the trigger. But as Bruce Blair, a former nuclear missile launch officer, and seasoned military analyst wrote during the 2016 campaign, Trump’s “quick temper, defensiveness bordering on paranoia and disdain for anyone who criticises him do not inspire deep confidence in his prudence.”

What’s more, Trump is the man who said in 2015, “For me, nuclear is just the power, the devastation is very important to me,” and who bellowed from the campaign podium, “I love war”. In last year’s election campaign, the former Republican congressman Joe Scarborough reported on a briefing a foreign policy expert had given Trump. “Three times, he asked, at one point, ‘If we have them, we can’t we use them?’ … Three times, in an hour briefing, ‘Why can’t we use nuclear weapons?’”

It turns out Hillary Clinton was right to warn Americans 14 months ago that, “It’s not hard to imagine Donald Trump leading us into a war just because somebody got under his very thin skin.” And here we are, Trump tweet-goading the North Koreans by declaring military solutions “locked an loaded”. We need imagine no longer.

Those who find themselves trembling at all this have spent the last few days grasping for a comfort blanket. A favourite has been the notion that those around Trump, especially the generals current and former, will not let him unleash nuclear Armageddon. This view holds that, yes, Trump may well be dangerously unhinged but fear not, the wiser heads of Washington will stay his hand. Indeed, this strain of thinking has been visible since Trump took the oath of office. Call it the deep state fantasy. It looks to the national security apparatus, the intelligence agencies and the permanent bureaucracy, the shadow government, to step in and do the right thing.

It hangs its hopes on a range of prospective saviours. It might be the trio of former generals made up of Jim Mattis, who heads the Pentagon, John Kelly, recently drafted in as chief of staff, and HR McMaster who serves as national security adviser. Alternatively, it looks to the loose alliance hailed this week by the influential Axios website as “The Committee to Save America”, consisting not only of the generals but also the cluster of New Yorkers that includes some of Trump’s less hot-headed economic advisers, with added reinforcements from the Republican ranks in Congress. The committee’s unofficial mission: to protect “the nation from disaster”. The ultimate deep state fantasy longs for the men in the shadows not merely to restrain Trump, but remove him from office. The designated hero of this story is Robert Mueller, the former FBI director now heading what is reported to be a swift and penetrating probe into allegations of collusion with Russia as well as Trump’s wider business dealings.

Mueller’s role may indeed prove to be critical. But the deep state fantasy itself, while comforting, is surely a dead end for Trump’s opponents. For one thing, events have reached an odd pass when liberals are dreaming of unelected generals thwarting an elected head of government: that used to be the fantasy of the militaristic right.

But it also relies more on hope than evidence. All these supposedly wise heads around Trump: what restraint have they achieved so far? Kelly was meant to impose order and discipline, and yet we still have Trump tweeting threats that could easily be misinterpreted as the cue for war. On North Korea, the US administration continues to send conflicting signals by the hour, with Trump outriders like Sebastian Gorka slapping down secretary of state Rex Tillerson on BBC Radio 4’s Today programme on Friday, creating confusion when a nuclear standoff requires calm clarity.

And we cannot escape the basic fact. All these advisers can try to hold him back, but when it comes to it, nuclear authority is Trump’s and Trump’s alone. He is the nuclear monarch.

The glum truth is that the only people who can effectively check a democratically elected menace like Trump are other democratically elected leaders. Ultimately it will be up to the men and women of Congress to do their constitutional duty by impeaching Trump and removing him from office. If Republicans won’t do it, then voters need to replace them with Democrats who will, by voting for a new House in the midterm elections of November 2018. The trouble is, it’s not clear that the US – or the world – have that much time.

The Guardian