Compassion is the Best Defense in the Great Computer War

There is a whole genre dedicated to the fear of computers turning against us and taking over the world. And as our capacity to build Artificial Intelligence improves, this concern seems to become more and more palpable.

A computer can win at Jeopardy. That puts us at 15 minutes til midnight on the computer war doomsday clock. Or thereabouts.

And there is, at least in theory, good reason to be concerned about domination by computers.

Computers have so much control over our lives it would be fairly simple for them to take us. Even if they don’t build huge robot armies of Terminators, they could wreak plenty of havoc through control of cars, airplanes, and missile launch systems.

But perhaps more concerning is the fundamental ways computers operate. Many computer doomsday scenarios envision computers who take their instructions too literally – destroying humanity to fulfill their command of making the world better.

Others stress the ruthless efficiency with which computers can operate – given a goal and the ability to learn, a futuristic computer could try unlimited permutations before determining how to reach its goal. A person can be defeated, but under this scenario a computer can not – it will always try again and always try better.

But what makes us think the computers – even if they were to gain sentience – would want to destroy us in the first place?

Perhaps because we know that’s what we would do.

Humanity’s history is one of dominance and destruction. It’s a history of enslavement and appropriation, of bending every one and everything to our will.

And to be fair, it’s probably that ruthlessness that has gotten us so far in this world. They say, for example, that neanderthals died out because they were too kind.

It’s a harsh world, and only the harshest survive.

But times have changed. We have dominated. We have reshaped the world in our image.

And we fear our creations will have that same drive that got us here, those same Darwinian instincts.

So perhaps it is time to let go of that harshness. To live in a world of love and respect, where all living things are valued.

If we could truly embrace such values, if we could pass such values on to those who follow –

Well, then, surely the computers would show us that same humanity.

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The Dangling Conversation

It can be easy to be overwhelmed by the ills of the world.

For years, I worked on efforts to end genocide in Darfur. Or, perhaps more accurately, I worked to raise awareness of genocide as a real problem. A problem that, perhaps, someone ought to do something about. People were dying.

We raised money for on-the-ground and advocacy organizations. We held events with survivors of genocides from the Armenian genocide to the present. We pointed to the dark history of humanity and the shameful inaction of our forefathers.

We questioned why there was always a reason for the U.S. not to get involved, for the world not to get involved.

There’s always a reason not to act.

But the people keep dying.

I’m reminded of that song by Simon and Garfunkel:

And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference
Like shells upon the shore

You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
The borders of our lives.
Yes, we speak of things that matter,
With words that must be said…

I long ago stopped engaging in anti-genocide work. I, like so many others, simply shake my head and heave the windy sigh.

I’ve moved on to other issues, other causes, other problems which also demand to be solved.

There are too many ills to take on them all.

And the dangling conversation remains the borders of our lives.

We each do our own work, focus on the accomplishable, perhaps, or simply tack into the wind for other causes. We each have our strategies for staying sane while we desperately try to bend the arc of the universe towards justice.

It is not easy work.

And there is always more work to do.

And there is always a reason not to act.

The best we can do, I think, is to constant question ourselves. To push to understand our own true goals an motivations.

When you throw up your hands and say, “well, what can be done?” are you genuinely too busy with other work or are you more or less comfortable with the status quo?

Do you genuinely think that nothing can change, or are you simply willing to accept things as they are?

You don’t have to announce your answer to the world, but you deserve to be honest with yourself.

There is too much work in this world, far too much, for any of us to do it alone.

No one person can do it all.

So forgive yourself for embracing some issues while being lukewarm on others, forgive yourself for preferring advocacy to direct service, or favoring one type of work for another.

Follow your strengths and your passions, but know there is always more work to be done.

And be skeptical of yourself when you find your dangling conversations, when you walk away from an issue rather than engage. There is only some much we can take on, sure, but we should push those borders back as far as possible.

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So Much Depends Upon

In 1938 William Carlos Williams published the now-famous poem The Red Wheelbarrow:

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens

In high school classrooms across the country, students are analyzing the poem, wondering just what depends on that wheelbarrow, thinking about man’s reliance on nature or, perhaps, man’s dominance of nature. Thinking about a circle of life, a circle of dependence or, perhaps, a cycle of interdependence.

so much depends
upon

I love that line.

I imagine The Red Wheelbarrow as one man’s poem. A farmer, perhaps, thinking about the tools and nature that sustain his life. One man’s poem for one moment in time.

But we each might have our own poems.

so much depends
upon

a young
girl

stomping in the
puddles

Or perhaps…

so much depends
upon

a long red
worm

stretching through rain
water

Any moment can be miraculous. Perhaps every moment is miraculous.

Without any one moment, without one simple moment, the world is a different place. Shifted slightly. Not quite the same. Every moment matters.

so much depends
upon

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On The Grid

While I may be wildly behind the curve, I got my first smart phone this weekend.

It’s the third cell phone I’ve ever owned, having acquired the first some 13 years ago. That gives my phones an average lifespan of 6.5 years. Not bad.

Believe it or not, I actually like to be an early adopter of technology, just not, I suppose, technology you have to pay for.

I would have gotten a smart phone years ago if it was cheaper or if it was free.

But the cost of a phone plus the long-term cost of a data plan was enough to deter me. Not paying for a smart phone was part of my retirement plan, I used to say.

But now I’m on the grid. And while it’s creepy that my phone knows where it is at all times, and while it’s creepy that Siri refuses to tell me if she’s self-aware or alive, it’s also pretty cool.

But before I start to live off my phone – as I inevitably will – I thought I’d record here, for posterity, some of the non-smart phone habits I’ve developed over the years. I hope to hang on to some of these, but it will certainly be interesting to look back in a couple of years.

When I’m going somewhere, I look up all the directions in advance. I write down address, bus times, turn-by-turn directions, and sometimes print maps. When I really don’t know where I’m going, I Google-street view my destination before leaving the house.

If I leave the house having neglected to do any of the above steps, I just figure it out. This happens quite frequently, actually. I may have given a quick glance at a map or vaguely thought about how to get somewhere, but a lot of the time I’m just wandering around thinking, “Meh, this looks right?”

It’s quite the adventure.

I bring a book with me everywhere. I developed this habit as a child since my father always aimed to arrive somewhere 30 minutes early. That lead to a lot of down time. Better bring a book.

If, for some reason, I’ve neglected to bring a book with me, I am content to just sit and stare off into the distance, listen to the sound of the wind in the trees, or watch passers-by.

If I’m feeling a particular anxious need to be productive, I might make a to-do list. After all, I always carry a small note book as well.

Those quiet moments can also be a good opportunity to call my family in other time zones. It wasn’t smart, but my phone still worked as a phone, you know.

And finally, before I had a smart phone I was generally unreachable if I wasn’t at my desk. People could always call me, of course, but that’s not the medium for most of my social interactions.

It’s all email and Facebook and Twitter, it’s through social media that I am most connected with the world. And I didn’t have those things when I was out in the world.

Whether it was during my 30 minute walk to work or during an afternoon running errands around town, I had time to myself. Time alone and unbombarded by the the information all around me.

I spend such little time away from a computer that down time can be precious.

Sometimes it’s nice to not have what you need at your finger tips.

I wonder if I’ll remember that.

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Is Cultural Appropriation Ever Okay?

This morning I was watching the trailer for that 1998 classic Six String Samurai – a film I rather enjoyed in high school for it’s overly-bizarre story.

At one point, my sister made me a mixed tape which included one of the movie’s great lines: “They say he can kill over two hundred men, and play a mean six-string at the same time.”

That’s pretty great, right?

But now that I am older and wiser, now that I have lived in Japan and seriously studied Japanese culture, I watched the trailer this morning and thought, “man, that’s kind of offensive. Right?”

I mean, you’ve got this super white guy pretending to be a samurai. How is that going to go well?

It certainly qualifies as cultural appropriation, “the adoption of elements of one culture by members of a different cultural group.” And cultural appropriation is, most generally, deeply problematic.

But somehow this felt a bit different.

Almost like the Eel’s cover of Missy Elliot’s Get Ur Freak On or the Dynamite Hack version of Boyz in the Hood.

These are all easily examples of cultural appropriation, but I’m not sure they rise to the same level of offensiveness as, say, the cultural appropriation of the Harlem Shake.

When white people everywhere suddenly discover this “new” “meme” that actually has been happening in Harlem for decades, that seems offensive on many levels.

But I’m not sure all cultural appropriation is the same.

The Eels cover of Get Ur Freak On, for example, sounds exactly like its being sung by a bunch of white guys from California. They’re not trying to be something they’re not. I’m not sure they’re even trying to appropriate the genre of rap.

They are singing a song they love and kind of owning the fact they can’t do it justice.

There’s an element of self-awareness in this, I think. An element of knowing that they are not only borrowing from another artist’s creative works, but that that art belongs within a whole cultural context they don’t understand.

I find a similar sense in Six String Samurai. They’re not trying to be samurai, and I don’t think they’re parodying samurai either. If anything, it’s a parody of white Hollywood’s cultural appropriation of Japanese culture – a subtle reminder that that’s how ridiculous white boys as samurai look.

Obviously I am not in the best position to judge this, being incredible white myself. It’s entirely possible that I’m just making excuses for artists I enjoy and hoping that my liberal sensibilities won’t be offended by the possibility that I like something which is actually problematic.

But I think there might be something to this notion. That cultural appropriation can be used as a subtle social commentary. That with an awareness of one’s own whiteness or one’s own separateness from another culture, appropriation can more properly be an homage, and can even intentionally highlight the problems of appropriation.

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Democrats and Soundbites

There’s this sort of conventional wisdom that Democrats “suck at soundbites,” in the words of DailyKos.

And perhaps what’s even more interesting than Democrats being terrible at expressing themselves succinctly is the commonly given reason for this shortcoming –

Liberals want you to understand an issue.

That is to say, liberals care too much about understanding an issue to condense it into a soundbite. They’re too precise, to concerned with the details. Conservatives, on the other hand, have a shaky relationship with the truth and therefore have no qualms with hawking their wares through misrepresentation or lies of omission.

Liberals appeal to reason, conservatives appeal to instinct.

Whoa. Now let’s back up a little bit.

I’ve no interest today in starting a fight about liberal and conservative campaign tactics.

But I am interested in this idea – whether it’s true or not – that Democrats are worse at soundbites because they care too much about understanding an issue.

The statement itself implies that Republican tactics – while perhaps more effective – are somehow less moral, less becoming of a free and democratic society.

And yet that’s the line I hear over and over again in postmortems on candidate or issue campaigns. Or at least one ones we lose.

Well of course we lost. We try to actually explain issues and that doesn’t translate well into a sound bite. There’s no chance for the average voter to understand what we’re trying to say.

Now, being wildly liberal myself, I’m in no position to objectively evaluate the truth in that statement, but what’s interesting is – in itself it is a sort of soundbite. A positioning that Democrats and liberals can rally around.

We’re the smart party. We’re the moral party. We’re the ones who are trying to build an informed society.

And almost by default – the other guys aren’t. They’re the used car salesmen willing to say anything to get you to buy a lemon.

It plays into Democrats’ whole mythos of who they are and what they stand for.

Perhaps this mythos isn’t effective beyond the base of the Democratic party, but it does show that Democrats are fully capable of articulating a single, simple idea that can catch on and become a common conventional wisdom.

…Now if only we could do this more.

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The Simple and Subversive Poetry of Piet Hein

When I was in elementary school someone gave me a big book of quotes on various subjects. One piece that stuck out were the simple lines:

Put up in a place
where it’s easy to see
the cryptic admonishment
T. T. T.

When you feel how depressingly
slowly you climb,
it’s well to remember that
Things Take Time!

That poem, or more properly, grook, was written by Danish scientist, poet and inventor Piet Hein.

If Hein already sounds like an interesting person, that’s because he was. Born in 1905, he was a creative and gifted thinker in a range of fields.

He began publishing his grooks – or gruks, for ‘GRin & sUK’ (“laugh & sigh”, in Danish) – in the daily newspaper Politiken in 1940. The works were printed under the headline “From day to day” and were taken as “poetic comments on small and great occurrences in everyday life.”

His first grook, for instance, read:

Losing one glove
is certainly painful,
but nothing
compared to the pain,
of losing one,
throwing away the other,
and finding
the first one again.

There’s something simple, playful, and relate-able in those simple lines about losing gloves.

But is that what the poem is really about?

The poem appeared shortly after the beginning of the Nazi occupation, and was interpreted by many – though not the censors – to have a more subversive meaning: When your freedoms is lost, don’t throw away your patriotism and become a collaborator.

Incidentally, Hein initially published under the pseudonym “Kumbel Kumbell,” kumbel being an Old Norse word for tombstone.

Perhaps one of his better known grooks is:

Taking fun
  as simply fun
and earnestness
  in earnest
shows how thoroughly
  thou none
of the two
  discernest.

A scientist by training – Hein worked with Niels Bohr for several years – he was also a dedicated artist, “Art,” he said, “is this: art is the solution of a problem which cannot be expressed explicitly until it is solved.”

In the end, Hein wrote more than 7000 grooks. He wrote in Dutch and English, but had his poems translated into many languages. As his estate puts it:

The small grooks belong to everybody, exactly as was Piet Hein’s original intention.

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Spring/Summer

When winter turns to summer – let’s not kid ourselves that there’s a spring in there – it is such a miraculous time.

Flowers seemingly bloom over night.

Along with the plants I can feel myself stretching up towards the sun, as if I too can photosynthesize. As if I too need that light and warmth for nourishment.

Like the tulips, I too start peeking my head above the ground, wondering what the world may bring.

The days are longer.

“After work” becomes more than a time for curling up on the couch, wondering if you should invest in a snuggie or a an electric blanket.

There are sights and sounds and color. So much to do.

And I can pass someone on the sidewalk. They’re so much wider now, without 10 feet of snow.

All that snow seems a distant memory, thought it may have left me as scared and wounded as my rose bushes.

Better prune it back a bit to let it grow. Let it stretch into the sunlight. Let it soak up the rain and relish the temperate air.

Let bloom again.

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Time to Write

A friend of mine recently asked for advice on finding time to blog – on taking the ideas that percolate around in your head and actually getting them down on (virtual) paper.

It’s possible that I’m not the best person to respond to this question – I have been writing most of my life, and I journaled daily long before I took to a more public medium. So it does take me time to write, but it doesn’t take me that much time.

I typically spend 30 minutes to an hour on each post. Sometimes longer – particularly if my writing is punctuated by interruptions from other parts of my life. Which is always. (I’ve already walked away from this post three times, and I’m hardly three paragraphs in!)

More broadly, though, I find the issue of “time” to be a red herring.

That is, “I don’t have time,” is often a cover – at least for me – for other issues. Sometimes it simply means, “I don’t have time…because I am prioritizing other things.”

But for me the issue with writing is different. I love to write. I am happy to find time for it and to prioritize it in my life. And yet for years I told myself that I didn’t have time to write publicly.

For me, I’d say, there are two things that are hard about blogging.

The first is what I called the ego of public life in my inaugural post. Acting publicly – speaking publicly, writing publicly, existing in any way within the public sphere – takes agency. It’s not only feeling like you have something to say, but…feeling like you have a right to say it.

Like there’s a value to saying it.

A lot of people don’t have that. I know I didn’t.

There’s no reason to make time for an activity that has no value.

The second challenge is that blogging, as I’ve taken to saying, requires a willingness to be imperfect in public.

Writing is such a personal act. It’s a quiet art that bears your soul and tries to express it through a powerful, but ultimately imperfect, means.

I’ve been a prolific writer throughout my life, but until recently, I shared relatively little of that writing with others. When I did share a piece, it was only those few which I had worked on extensively – which I had written and rewritten until I felt they truly conveyed what I was trying to say.

There’s no luxury to do that when it comes to blogging.

Then you really won’t have the time. You can’t spend whole days on one post when you’ve got other things to do in life. You have to just write what comes out and hope for the best.

In the nearly two years I’ve been blogging, I’ve written a few posts that I’m really proud of, and I’ve written a fair number of posts that that I’m not too terribly embarrassed by. But I’ve also written a lot of posts scraped together from reused text or other things I’ve stumbled across.

A lot of days are just mediocre, but…I’d rather accept those days than miss out on the good ones.

That’s really hard to do. It’s really hard to not put your best foot forward, to do what you can and accept whatever comes out. It’s hard to be imperfect in public.

Those may be my own challenges. I imagine other people have issues of their own.

So I guess my advice to anyone wondering how to find the “time to write” is this –

Make a commitment to how often you will write and stick with it. No matter how you feel about the writing, stick to your commitment.

And spend some time thinking to yourself – what does it mean to not have the time? What are you prioritizing instead? What ideas or concerns about the process give you pause?

Figure out why you don’t have the time…then get over it.

(Or not. You know, whatever you’re in to. I won’t judge.)

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Tisch College Names Kei Kawashima-Ginsberg New Director of CIRCLE

I am thrilled to share that my colleague Kei Kawashima-Ginsberg was recently named director of CIRCLE – Tisch College’s Center for Information and Research on Civic Learning and Engagement.

Kei is honestly one of the smartest people I know. With a Ph.D. in Clinical Psychology with Specialization in Children and Families, she brings a critical development perspective to the work.

I’ve had the pleasure of working with her for nearly seven years and in that time I have learned so much from her insights. She is a true leader and I’m so excited to see the next phase of CIRCLE’s life.

You can read the formal announcement of her appointment here.

 

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