It's In The Neurons

04 April 2012

 

I often wonder what makes some people espouse strong beliefs more than others or what it is that makes an individual, a group or a society attached to a particular belief system.  More importantly, why, when faced with a difference of opinion or a different belief system, the reaction is very strong, often emotional and even physical as well as violent. 

For example, some people are actually demanding that the atheist civil servant from West Sumatra should be beheaded for committing blasphemy.  Which is basically saying that they honestly believe that in a society that demands you to conform to an unquestioning belief in a supernatural being, atheism is a real and physical threat to the unity of the society and therefore must be eradicated.

As a matter of fact, we ourselves, often feel a negative reaction when we encounter opinions and views that greatly differ to ours on practically any topic, from religion, politics, to favourite celebrities and football teams;  whether at the dinner table that turns into a shouting match, or in the boardroom during meetings that degenerate into clashing arguments of stubbornly held views.     

Personally it has always been a mystery to me why, for instance, when even though nine out of ten people agree with my views, it is that one person who disagrees with me that I fixate upon and ends up getting on my nerves.  Why is it so important for me and my sense of who I am that others share my particular view point?  What is it that makes me defensive of my beliefs?
The other day, while browsing through the Internet, I found the answer.  It is posted on Youtube under the heading Athene’s Theory of Everything.  I advice you to check it out.  Once you get past the rather strange accent of the narrator, the documentary, with good visuals and music, purports to relate through recent scientific breakthroughs in neuroscience, everything from life, death and the origin of the universe.  Including my question, why we don’t like it when other people have a different opinion from us.

I learn that the human brain is a network of a hundred billion neurons, and depending on what get stimulated or ignored, neurons can get stronger or weaker.  A talent for example, can be trained by continually stimulating the relevant neurons, say, by continuous practice.  Rationality and emotional resilience too are neural connections that can be strengthened. 

This is where how we think and how we deal with our thoughts come into play.

The reason why we get attached to our views and opinions is because ‘specific neurons and neurotransmitters such as norepinephrine trigger a defensive state when we feel our thoughts have to be protected from the influence of others.  If we are then confronted with differences in opinion, the chemicals that are released in the brain are the same ones that try to ensure our survival in dangerous situations.’

So that’s why some fundamentalists who are so attached to their belief system tend to react violently.  It’s in the neurons.  And if this type of response sounds primitive, it is, because it uses the primitive part of our brain.  ‘In this defensive state, the more primitive part of the brain interferes with rational thinking and the limbic system can knock out most of our working memory, physically causing narrow-mindedness.’

I suppose this is why, even though I know rationally that my view or idea is actually wrong, I still get annoyed and defensive and would happily slap my critic if I could get away with it.  I cannot at this moment rationally process the truth and beauty of that other idea.  My brain tells me I’m under attack!

But what happens when people agree with our opinions and appreciate how brilliant our ideas are?  These ‘defense chemicals decrease in the brain and dopamine neurotransmission activates the reward neurons, making us feel empowered and increasing our self-esteem...’

Isn’t that fascinating?  That we are actually mere expressions of these billions of neurons firing off different things at the same time?  Which leads us to the question of who is this ‘I’, this identity that we form about ourselves and how others see us?  Actually we are a lot of things at the same time, depending which of our ‘mirror neurons’ are at play.  These are the neurons leading to emphatic emotions.  They connect us through our imagination, to other people, allowing us to feel what others feel.  Giving us a sense of both identity and a part of society. 

‘We are in constant duality between how we see ourselves and how others see us.‘   ‘Our beliefs have a profound impact on our body chemistry.  Self-esteem or self-belief is closely linked to the neurotransmitter serotonin. Lack of it causes depression, self destructive behaviour and suicide.‘   This is where the need for society and social validation comes in.

When we get social validation, it actually increases the levels of dopamine and serotonin in the brain, allowing us to become more self-aware; so we don’t act in blind, impulsive and random manner that are both frustrating and negative.  Hence, self-awareness is the key to controlling which neurons in our brain that we need to release and the thoughts we want to have. 

Why? Because ‘self-observing profoundly changes the way our brain works.  It activates the self-regulating neo-cortical regions, which gives us an incredible amount of control over our feelings.‘  So there you go.

By the way, I also read somewhere that eating dark chocolate can actually increase the level of serotonin in the brain.  Now I know the recipe for peace of mind.  Chocolate and staying well away from critics.  (Desi Anwar:  First Published in The Jakarta Globe)

 

Beating An Argument

Monday, 12 March 2012 11:58 DA

When I was little, every time I got into a verbal argument with my older sister there would be a point when I came up with a cutting remark that I knew she wouldn’t be able to retort to, as in those days my mouth was pretty sharp despite my diminutive size.  And at this point too, my sister, who was physically far bigger than me, would glare at me while struggling for words, and finding none that was adequate, resorted to using the ultimate weapon of the inarticulate to fight me.  She would pinch my arm so hard that tears welled up in my eyes.  I refused to cry however, and bore the pain patiently until she let me go.  She had the satisfaction of hurting me.  But both of us knew who won the argument.  I equated her anger and violence as a clear sign of defeat.

Since then I’ve been a great believer that you cannot win an argument except with a better line of argument, you cannot change someone’s opinion unless you provide a more persuasive one, and you cannot force someone to share your belief unless you successfully come up with a more convincing and rational explanation.  Violence, censorship and criminalisation of what is ultimately an abstract debate is a clear sign of some sort of defeat, whether intellectual, moral or just plain rational argument.
And yet, force is often the favoured way of settling an argument, especially if you’re too lazy, thick headed or couldn’t be bothered to really think properly about what is actually at stake.  For example, it’s so much easier to beat and arrest someone (a civil servant by the name of Alexander Aan in West Sumatera) for claiming that God doesn’t exist on Facebook because atheism goes against the country’s principal philosophy of a belief in the supreme deity, than to come up with a better explanation (posted on Facebook) that God does exist.

Or better still, leave the poor fellow alone with his beliefs because an opinion is just that, an opinion.  Jails are good for those who kill hapless pedestrians because of drunk and dangerous driving for instance, and not for people with beliefs that don’t match with our own narrow view of the world.  Imagine if thousands of Indonesia’s Facebook members posted the same thing.  We would waste a lot of time, prison space and resource on these atheists without the certainty of changing their mind or even prove the existence of God. 

Authoritarian governments are inclined to curb freedom of expressions because often this type of regime relies on the people’s ignorance and fear for the legitimacy of their power.  There is nothing more frightful to dictators than having an enlightened and thinking population that ask a lot of questions and demand answers, for that would be the beginning of the end of the rule and the transfer of the power to the people. 

What is surprising however, is when in these days and age there’s still the belief that an atheist deserves to be beaten up and treated like a criminal because this is the right way to deal with an opinion or belief that is contrary to the norm.  If the authorities bother to think, they would see the absurdity of such a punishment.  Surely the point of the country’s philosophy of a belief in God is to ensure a harmonious existence and tolerance between the different religions and not necessarily to force a belief? 

After all, if you really believe in God, wouldn’t you also believe that God’s existence will not be threatened by a few unbelievers, and that actually those atheists are also God’s creation?  And if the opinions of such dissenters are viewed as dangerous, then perhaps it is time to review the quality of one’s belief or come up with a more cogent treatise.  Whichever way, God is not the losing party in this argument, so why the jail?  The way I see it, if anything, the guy has won the argument.  If God exists, surely God will be the first to defend him.


Another example of authorities trying to criminalise a point of view is happening right now in France where the French Senate is trying to pass a bill that would make it illegal to deny the Armenian genocide by the Turks.  Anyone denying the massacre that took part in the early part of the twentieth century faces fines of $57,500 and a year in prison.  In response to Turkey which, until now still makes it a criminal offense to remember the massacre,  France in effect is behaving exactly like Turkey in repressing her dissenters.   

No doubt Sarkozy has political objectives.  However, two authoritarian legislations don’t make a right, especially in the land of the free and the enlightened. It is a testament to the world’s human diversity that we end up with a plethora of diverse views and arguments.  Some of these views may be terrible, offensive, one-sided or just badly argued.  But calling the police and arresting those for having supposedly incorrect views is repressive and archaic.  An argument must be dealt with an argument and not by force.

A seven-year old little girl I knew once who had a fight with her father.  ‘I hate you, Daddy!‘ she screamed.  Her exasperated father told her in a stern voice to go to her room and skip dinner until she came to her senses.  After a while he relented and allowed her to have her food, saying something to the effect that she was not allowed to shout such things to her own father. 

At which the little girl replied calmly, ‘Yes, but I still hate you, Daddy.’

(Desi Anwar:  First Published in The Jakarta Globe)

 

Up The Slopes

In general I'm not a very sporty person.  At school I was always one of those people who got picked last for any team game, whether netball or hockey, and even then it was normally to make up the number or because my friends felt sorry for me.  I didn't use to mind.  My height was never sufficient for any sport involving throwing a ball into a hoop.  Also I actually enjoyed being a fielder in hockey, well away from being attacked by those lethal hockey sticks wielded by high spirited school girls.  I did get into squash at one point, but after a while I couldn't see the point or the fun in hitting a small rubber ball against the wall over and over again.  Perhaps the sport is best played with a partner, but then you'd have to play for points and losing is not something I take kindly to.  So, for exercise these days, I content myself with swimming a few times a week.  It's solitary, stress free and a great opportunity to indulge in uninterrupted day dreaming.

There is however, one sport that I truly enjoy, perhaps because it's not one where I could just go off and do whenever the desire strikes me.  And that is, skiing.  For the past decade, downhill skiing, a sport that can only be done in winter and involves a trip to a mountain preferably with plenty of snow on it, has been an annual getaway that I look forward to with uncharacteristic excitement.  Don't get me wrong.  When it comes to skill, I'm only a so-so skier who can now just about do the blue and red runs without getting my skis tangled or tumbling headlong down the slopes.  Moreover, after a few days, skiing really kills my knees and often leave my legs and feet swollen and sore.  And if snow conditions are not good, or my skiing style is on an off-day, it's not rare that I come home from the holiday more exhausted than ever, not to mention covered in bruises and aches and pains.
So, what is it about skiing that I enjoy, apart from the fact that snow and winter sports are not something we could enjoy in this tropical country of ours?  Especially seeing very few of my friends and colleagues greet my proposal for a skiing trip with a modicum of enthusiasm.  It's too cold up on the mountain, says one.  Sliding down a mountain at great speed sounds scary, protests the other.  Another, who has tried it, doesn't like it.  She had a problem with lifting her buttocks off the ground every time she fell down.

Indeed, for the newbie still trying to find her balance and getting used to walking around in big heavy boots, there really is no fun or joy in the sport.  During my first few days of trying to learn to ski, I spent more time on the ground than standing up on the skis, let alone doing zigzags on the snow.  As you lie sprawled face down on the flattest part of the mountain with a mouthful of snow, while little three year whizz by you effortlessly like penguins on skis, normally this is the point when you curse with pain, humiliation and frustration not to mention sheer exhaustion and wonder why, at your age you bother to waste so much time and energy on such a silly sport that you will never be very good at.

In a way, this is precisely the reason why I take to this sport where others, such as the genteel golf and the gentle yoga, leave me cold.  Skiing has all the elements that appeal to my somewhat masochistic and solipsistic side.  This is one sport that doesn't involve scoring, competing with others or winning.  But it does require you to conquer your fear, overcome your frustrations and to put up with never ending tumbles and constant falling flat on your behind.  Any sane adult with better things to do would most likely laugh it off as an activity best mastered when young and sensibly work on their après ski drinking skills. A holiday, especially to far off lands, should best be enjoyed stress and bruise-free.

Skiing is hardwork.  Not just in terms of planning where and which mountain in the world to go to, but in the whole process of getting ready to ski.  After piling three layers of clothes under your thick ski jacket, putting your wooly hat, warm neck muffler, gloves and ski goggles on, the time comes for the most tiring part of the sport:  putting on the ski boots.  Heavy, chunky Robocop kind of boots that are impossible to put on without much straining and struggling as your feet need to be coaxed into them so snugly there should be very little wiggle room for the toes and ankles.  An effort beneath all the thick clothings that is already burning up your precious breakfast calories.  You're exhausted even before you're anywhere near the mountain slopes.

Then comes the carrying of your heavy skis, while tottering around on your unwieldy ski boots, to the chairlift or the gondola that takes you to the top of the mountain.  An experience not for the faint hearted nor those suffering from  vertigo.  Swaying about in the air with your feet weighed down by boots and skis with the snowy slopes beneath you as you make your way to the top however, you feel excitement creeping up.  And by the time you slide off the chair at the top of your slope with the skis beneath your feet, the heaviness and the exhaustion is gone.  Instead there's only anticipation.

And when the skis take you riding down the powdery snow with the breathtaking mountain peaks around you, while above nothing but an endless bright cerulean sky like in some picture postcard, and in your ears only the sound of the wind and the swishing and scraping of snow beneath the bottom of your skis, then you feel nothing but joy and exhilaration.  Because there's only just you and the snowy mountain.

(Desi Anwar:  First published in The Jakarta Globe)
 

Musings on Life and Death

Sitting in the waiting lounge at the airport watching people hang around for their flight to be announced invariably conjures up in me metaphors for our human existence. For here, in this limbo state of neither coming nor going, in that transient moment of waiting, the pause within a series of movements, is usually the time when I find myself confronted with thoughts about life being a journey of sorts and other profound existential musings that cross my mind when anticipation turns to boredom and the wait interminable.

Caught in the threshold between coming and going, between the bidding of farewells and the welcoming of a new adventure or a homecoming, this is the space where all are bereft of status and identity, having only the generic appellation of Traveller. The person in the waiting room is a person without a past nor a future but one who experiences a true state of life: that of Being. A rare state these days as our lives are measured less by the pauses we make during our journey than by how fast we move our feet even when we're heading nowhere in particular.

Thus, waiting forces one to reflect. On the things left behind and on what lie ahead. On the things that are dying and on those about to be born. This in-between mood is felt even keener as we approach the moment when time shifts visibly, during the counting down of the seconds as we wave goodbye to the passing old year and usher in the coming new year. Adios 2011, hello 2012! So what exactly are we letting go? For letting go we must, to make room to allow new things to enter. Overall, it has been an eventful and tumultuous year, and perhaps one that we're relieved to see the back of. But then again, perhaps a sign of more turbulence to come.

2011 saw the final death throes of the old ways of governing as democracy enters those parts of the world that have only known dictatorship and oppression. It is the year of The Protester, a mass awakening sparked by rallies in Tunisia that ousted longtime president Ben Ali who fled to Saudi Arabia, that led to the Arab Spring and the ignominious ends of decades-old dictators, such as Hosni Mubarak in Egypt and Muammar Ghadafi in Libya. A movement that inspired other citizen-led protests across the other side of the globe in the form of the Occupy movements of financial centres in the US by ordinary citizens protesting against economic hardships and financial injustices.. To cap it all, the year closes with the death of North Korea's Kim Jong-Il, one of the world's last remaining weird and cultish leaders with the strange hair and the outlandish attire.

Does this portend the shape of things to come, where the world is truly becoming flatter and government and policies succumb to the pervasive and yet inchoate power of the netizens of Twitter and Facebook?

It is not only the old ways of governing that are changing, the Old World is also changing as the old rulers of the worlds, namely the European countries, have to face a changing reality - a growing national debt and a people increasingly unhappy with their new poverty and forced austerity, in an economic zone that is fast losing its reason for being. Classical economic theories can no longer provide the answer to the current economic and financial problems that have never before been dealt with in text books. For the solution lies not in the past but in the future, if only we can open our mind to it.

Unfortunately this is a process that proves to be a lot more painful than the closing of the mind, as we see how narrowmindedness and knee-jerk primordialism is increasingly the shrill tune that is being played by politicians in the US in their desperate attempt to wield influence in a public increasingly disenchanted and disheartened by the way their leaders run the country. So far, this attitude has only resulted in a shameful political failure and inability to reach a compromise on any issue that is a threat to the prosperity of the nation as a whole, such as reducing the deficit.

In a flat world, future struggles will likely be between those who are open minded and embrace the future against those who cling to the past and find comfort in shallow beliefs and narrowly defined identities. Between those who see the world as a common responsibility that must be taken care of for the sake of the future generation and those who see the planet as the property of the privileged few. Between those who view humanity as one big, diverse family and those that find differences frightening and other fellow humans a threat to their existence.

2011 is the year when American special forces managed to track down and kill number one terrorist Osama bin Laden in Pakistan, and also the year when blue-eyed Norwegian right-wing extremist Anders Breivik set off a carbomb in Oslo and went on a shooting rampage killing 69 youths taking part in a Labour Party camp.

It is the year when nature unleashed her power in Japan with a powerful earthquake generating a Tsunami that swept away towns and villages and caused a meltdown of nuclear reactors in Fukushima, reminding us once again that when it comes to the question of who is really in charge of the planet, humans are merely playthings in the face of Mother Nature's power and unpredictability.

2011 is also the year of saying goodbye to the man whose technological innovation has not only changed the way we communicate and do things but also has made our life and our world a fun playground to be in. Someone who brought and will always bring the future within our grasp, even long after he ceased to walk the planet. Happy 2012!

(Desi Anwar: First Published in The Jakarta Globe)

In Search of Beauty

If there's an adjective that doesn't belong to Jakarta, it's Beauty. You know, in the real sense of the word. The balance and harmony in all the senses, the sight, the sound, the smell, those sensations that evoke within us the finer feelings of awe and appreciation, piercing through the depth of our emotions and stirring the soul. These sensations are absent in roads and streets dominated by misshapen buildings and constructions that pay no attention to their surroundings, in the jagged and twisted metals of bridges and flyovers, in the uneven tarmac and stingy pavements that shun pedestrians so they weave and wind their way between stubborn cars and suicidal motorbikes. For sure there is no beauty in the smell, a mixture of fumes, sewage and long uncollected rubbish, as for the sound there is only cacophony. After all, what else can the heavy traffic, loud speakers and the noise of millions of people living in close proximity and seemingly deaf produce other than discord?

Indeed, Beauty these days is a luxury. It's not something one can readily find. Perhaps one can stumble upon it in a passage of a book, a line of poetry or a painting hanging in a gallery. Or in a beautifully designed piece of technology. But beauty other than the landscape that Nature graces us with, is a rare treat for those of us living in a city that is constantly changing, perpetually under construction and becoming the repository of all our wastes and dirty habits.
I wanted to search for a different kind of atmosphere and I couldn't think of a place more different and so opposite to my hometown than the city of Venice in Italy. Even the very name conjures up so much history, literature, art, romance and a touch of mystery. Here is one place on earth I hadn't visited, though I have seen many times in films.

Taking the train from Rome I arrive at the station at Venice Santa Lucia in the late afternoon and stepping out into the open air, with the damp winter chill against my face, I catch my first glimpse of the city. There is water, there are boats, there are historic looking buildings lined up along the canal whose rooftops blend into the flat cloudy sky as in a watercolour sketch. A thin mist is descending. And there is not one car nor a motorbike in sight.

I wonder how to navigate the place. A mixture of laziness and desire for surprise when travelling prevents me from consulting the map or locating where my hotel is, prior to the journey. At least I know the name of the hotel and the street, and the island. San Marco. Venice has several islands joined together by hundreds of waterways where other cities would have main roads. Other than via water, finding your way around the city is by walking on narrow cobbled streets, paved roads and crossing little bridges. A Taxi signage takes me to the edge of the water. It is the Grand Canal, Venice's main highway, so to speak. Here the water is wide and a deep green with choppy waves. It is surprisingly clean and doesn't have much of a smell. I expect it's different in the summer.

Seeing I have no idea which public transport to take, there appears to be many water buses, I have no choice other than agree to a 70 Euro fare offered by the taxi boatman, who incidentally looks like an aging Alain Delon. He promises to take me directly to the hotel and since my suitcase is the size of a baby whale, I hop on. Times are tough in Italy, I say to myself. I shouldn't begrudge helping the economy a bit. As it turns out, Venetian taxis are notoriously expensive, but then you do get the entire boat to yourself and can pretend you're in a James Bond film.

The motorboat winds in and around small canals, under foot bridges, often so narrow that it bumps the sides of the buildings. Looking up from the canal the sky is a long stretch of grey between the rows of facades of washed out pastel-coloured buildings. The trip lasts barely ten minutes (I would say the most expensive ten minute taxi ride ever) after many complicated right-angled turns and passing by elegant black gondolas carrying cold-looking tourists. I wonder how I'm going to get dropped off my hotel. The building is on a higher level than the canal and the lobby would have to give way directly to the water.

Sure enough, the boat stops right outside the hotel. A helping hand by the boatman and the hotel concierge and I'm inside the lobby which is only slightly higher than the boat. In the mornings I notice that boats carrying supplies and provisions and taking garbage away would come plying the water to service the hotels and presumably the residences along the canals.

I begin to explore the city, the once maritime republics that were famed for their wealthy merchants and their seafaring traders. And here beauty is not only in the palaces, the churches and the ancient and historic buildings that line the canals and the huge squares that attract visitors. Beauty is there from the moment you step out of doors, in the terra cotta roof tiles, the curve of the street lamps and the boats moored along the water.

Everything in this place evokes beauty, from the narrow passage ways with cobbled streets flanked with shops selling brightly coloured Murano glass beads, jewellery and trinkets, ornate masks of harlequins, pierrots, feathers and fabulous animals and to buy or rent for the famed Venetian carnivals and masquerades, to the curved footbridges separating one alley way with another, giving out onto picturesque views of pink facades with shuttered windows and potted plants. Even the sound here rings of beauty. No honking of traffic and other loud industrial noises. Only the sound of the bell ringing every hour from the San Marco bell tower.

(Desi Anwar: First Published in The Jakarta Globe)

Of Rats and Men

Be careful calling somebody a ‘rat bag’ or a ‘dirty rat’ as recent research shows that rats are not only kind and generous creatures, but they also have a sense of empathy often not shared by their human equivalents. In experiments done on rats, scientists discover that these rodents would display signs of distress when they see their fellow rats trapped and would go to great lengths to try and free them. Not only that, given the choice of gobbling a tasty chocolate treat over mounting a rescue, these much-maligned creatures ‘frequently chose to complete the rescue before tucking in and sharing their chocolate stash with their companion.’ How about that for courage, comradeship and selflessness?

As these behaviours are not taught, it can only mean that they are inherent and instinctive in these animals. To quote the news article on the Daily Mail, ‘The research team said that acting out of empathy is clearly not unique to humans – and suggested we might be able to learn a thing or two from the humble rat. Professor Mason said: 'When we act without empathy, we are acting against our biological inheritance. 'If humans would listen and act on their biological inheritance more often, we' d be better off.'

I find this interesting because empathising in a fellow creature that is in distress, actively going out of the way to relieve that distress and showing a willingness to share with others is not merely a simple display of empathy, of being able to put oneself in another’s shoes, but it is the very basis of collective ethical behaviour that until now we regard as unique to humans as moral and thinking creatures.

A lot of the time however, we don’t act in a kind, generous and selfless way. If anything, it’s the opposite, we don’t empathise and we are not willing to share. We act in a selfish, corrupt and insensitive manner. And when we do this, we excuse ourselves by saying, ‘I’m only human.’

And yet, if the ability to empathise and to be ethical (i.e. putting the needs of others first before one’s own selfish interests) is, as the Professor says, a biological inheritance, then our claim to being ‘only human’ in instances of lapses in our behaviour need to be looked at. Which part of our ‘humanness’ is not working or being suppressed? Here, we needn’t compare ourselves with a saint, but with a rat.

Let’s say we’re faced with a similar situation, what would we do? We see a friend in trouble. We feel sorry perhaps and really want to help. And yet we don’t know how. It seems so difficult. It’s cold and inhospitable outside. What if we get into the same trouble? Besides, we don’t really know the person that well. May be somebody else will be able to help. So we don’t do anything, although we feel sad and a bit helpless. And then somebody gives us the choice; help the friend first or have a good time eating our favourite food first? Now, we’re really in two minds. May be we have the food first and rescue the friend after. This way we won’t have to share the food with anyone.

The rats in the experiment are not taught how to rescue their trapped fellow creature, but they learn and succeed because something motivates them internally to keep trying even though there is no reward for such behaviour, such as being allowed to play with them. Moreover, the rats choose to mount a rescue first before grabbing and sharing the chocolates with the friend. Self-interest is not a factor in the rat’s behaviour, but their instinct is.

On the other hand, we humans tend to rationalise, analyse and cogitate over things, weighing over the pros and cons and whether something is worthwhile or not. The impulse often being reward rather than moral consideration. Our collective system is more or less designed to curb this selfishness, introducing a ‘civilising’ element in our behaviour. But if the system allows me to be lazy, selfish and corrupt and does not reward me for my virtue and hard work, then chances are my behaviour would display a higher degree of tolerance for corruption and laziness compared to say, a system that punishes this sort of behaviour.

How we create our collective system, however, depends on the mental model of the society we move in, the building blocks of which consist of who we are as human beings. If our rat friends’ mental model is their naturally wired altruism, what are our internal drivers? In the book I’m reading ‘Who Am I? And if so, how many’ by Richard David Precht, it explores the different layers within us that make up who we are and how we think. A human being is complicated creature with different internal drivers often working in conflict with each other; a complexity that has given rise to the world’s great philosophers all trying to understand what life is all about and why.

What ultimately separates us from our rat friends is the fact that we can create our own meaning in our action, think things over and present ourselves with a set of choices to play with. Including the choice to be selfish, greedy and corrupt. Choices that the naturally moral rat don’t have.

Indeed, as the Professor says, there’s much we can learn from our rat friends in being kind, sensitive, generous and courageous. All we have to do is to be a little less of a thinking human being and to choose to be more like a rat.

(Desi Anwar: first published in The Jakarta Globe)

The Art of Listening

The perpetual learner that I am, I'm currently following a course that involves awareness training which includes learning how to listen. This is very useful, as unlike speaking and communication skills, listening skills are not something that are often taught. After all, our propensity is to talk, to make a point and to air opinion. Listening feels like a passive action, an impatient pause or lull while waiting for our turn to open our mouth and speak our mind. As a matter of fact, many of our conversations consist of people speaking whatever it is that interests them with nobody really listening to what the other person is saying.

My professor tells me in order to really understand what 's happening and to see the big picture on how things work, it's important to connect to the deeper source of knowing within ourselves. Observing and deep listening is crucial to arriving at this understanding, without which we cannot move forward and generate new ideas and thinking.

There are, according to him, four levels of listening. The first is what he calls 'downloading,' where the act of listening is one of reconfirming the same old ideas, opinions and judgments of 'Yeah, yeah, yeah, I've heard that one before,' or 'I wish he'd stop talking so I could go and pick up my laundry.' This is the level where we often operate, when we make small talk, try to be polite and pretend to show interest where there is actually none. On this level we listen out of habit and from the perspective of our judgmental self. The sort of superficial chitchats we make at cocktail parties.

The second level of listening is slightly deeper and more attentive. We pay attention to what is being said and offer a different perspective or new information in a dialogue or an argument type of exchange depending on how we respond to the facts presented. This level of listening comes from outside us as we keep our mind open to new data. We listen not merely to reconfirm our existing belief, but are open to new information even though they are different from ours. With this type of listening we can have a good intellectual discussion or a combative argument, depending on the direction the conversation takes us.

The third level of listening is deeper still, coming from within. Our open heart. Here we listen empathically, trying to comprehend from the speaker's perspective and making an emotional connection. We listen to understand, not to judge; to connect with the other person, not by adopting their point of view but by being able to see where that view comes from in a heartfelt and positive interaction. The result of this open heart conversation is a greater sense of connection, tolerance and understanding.

The deepest level of listening is listening from the Source. A listening that embodies the open mind, heart and also an open will. This type of listening is generative, in the sense that what comes up from the conversation is not only a deeper connection but the birth of new ideas, a shift in the self and identity and a sense of an emerging future.

This generative listening is also the hardest to do. Normally when we listen to others we are conditioned by the 'voices' that arise within us. Voices that are there through the force of habit and which influence our reactive responses. These are the Voice of Judgment, the Voice of Criticism and the Voice of Fear. We know them because they're always there when we interact with others, colouring our perception, influencing our opinion, shaping our reactions and emotions. And the reason why they're there is because they are the manifestations of our mental model; our belief system, the values and the perspectives that we adopt throughout our lives and define our so called character.

Deep listening requires us to suspend all these voices. It requires an open will and a real intention. It involves the silencing of our mind with the objective is to come up with new ways of responding to situations that are not reactive, habitual or prone to the same old mistakes. Instead, this level of listening takes us to a place where a possible future situation is emerging, born out of a different way of looking at things. Listening without judgment, without criticism and without fear frees us from the trap of our Ego and allows us to access our deeper wisdom. The practical result is creative solutions to problems that are more wholistic, inclusive and relevant to all the stake holders.

This approach is actually quite spiritual, at least to my ears. Although the way my professor explains it, makes it sound technical and systematic. This is after all, an MIT course. There's a tested method to all of this. To reach this level of listening requires practice and going through some disciplined steps involving the conscious raising of one's attention and level of awareness. He then gives us a solo assignment, which is to go off on our own for a few hours, stay outdoors and practice stillness and listening to natureWhIt MIT professor is telling us to go and meditate!

Go forth and connect with the source and return with what new wisdom and understanding you come up with. Let go of your past and your emotional baggage. Note what impressions you get and the possible future that emerges. I put on my sunhat, head to the beach, sit cross legged on a slab of rock and stare at the sea unmoving for three hours, watching the tides ebb and flow and listening to the sound of the incessant rise and fall of the rolling waves. I listen to the sound around me and the sound within me, to my pulsating and beating heart. By the end of it I was thoroughly drenched and covered in coarse sand.

But I was happy and energised. I have learned a new wisdom. Which is the creative energy that moves the Universe is the same one that moves within us. We just need to listen and connect with it.

(Desi Anwar: first published in The Jakarta Globe)

In Two Minds

What with the increasing number of new-fangled gadgets I have about me, keeping me company and comforting me like little Linus' security blanket, not to mention ensuring that I'm only a touch of the screen away from human contact, it would seem that technology is the perfect answer to ward off any pang of loneliness. Indeed, what use are these smart gadgets, these palm-sized electronic friends and these fancy tablets that have found their home between my hands, if not to make me feel that I'm never for one second missing out on real life, that I'm never separated from my fellow humans and that I'm only a tweet away from the global conversation? Technology and communication devices are the lifelines keeping me connected with the world wide web and the big beautiful world. These objects bridge my incessant inner chatter with the incessant external chatter in a constant and congested flow reminiscent of Jakarta's Monday morning traffic. I am a vehicle in a sea of vehicles.

And yet somehow, being continually connected in this way, still fails to make me feel connected. Being stuck in a traffic jam still doesn't make me feel that I'm a part of it or happy that I'm in it. Instead, this feeling of connectedness I only find in moments such as yesterday when I decided to escape the hustle and bustle of the city to check out on a piece of land that I leased from some local farmers in Mega Mendung so I too could play farmer and indulge in a bit of tree planting. That is, if I could get around to it.

Feeling the warm morning sunshine on my face and breathing in some fresh air, a real luxury for city dwellers, while picking my way through the dirt path overgrown with grass, I truly felt connected. Not in the communication-device-in-my-hand way of being connected, but in my whole-being way of connection where I felt truly a part of my surrounding. With the solid and rather slippery earth beneath my feet, the trees and rolling green hills around me, the dark blue mountains in the near distant crowned with white fluffy clouds, and with the clear morning sky promising a fine sunny day, I felt a sense of belonging. Not only that, but I felt more aware of the different sounds entering my ear, the rustling of leaves and the chirpings and stirrings of invisible creatures from the bushes and the trees, all in the background of stillness and permanence that only nature could offer.

Getting back to my gadgets and the constant busyness and wealth of connection I could log on and plug myself into, is like stepping into another world with another reality, and with a completely different feeling. It is as if there are two different parts of me. One that enjoys tinkering around with things that stimulate my mental activity (if not intellectual), conversing, expressing ideas, having opinions, responding to comments, playing around with words and retweeting things that interest me, and the other one that doesn't say or do much, but feels a sense of contentment when just sitting around doing nothing or when taking a walk in the open air among the trees and not thinking of anything. Which is rare.

Indeed, according to brain scientist Jill Bolte, there are actually two very different personalities residing within us, with very different perspectives on reality. One that inhabits the left part of the brain and the other inhabiting the right side of the brain. She should know, not just because she is a brain expert, but because she actually experienced the two very different personalities and realities when she suffered a stroke that temporarily shut down the function of her left brain. In a Ted lecture called A Stroke of Insight, she recounted the surreal experience of solely inhabiting the right side of the brain and gave a first hand experience of how the human brain actually functions and processes information.

As we all know, our brain is made up of two separate parts, the left hemisphere and the right hemisphere. The two hemispheres communicate via a connector called the corpus colossum, but otherwise they process information separately, think about different things, care about different things and have very different personalities. The right brain concerns itself with the present moment, the here and now. It thinks in pictures, learns through the movements of the body and processes information in the form of energy. The right brain knows itself as an energy being connected to one another through our consciousness as a part of the entire energy of being.

The left brain, the brain that we as individuals generally habit, thinks linearly and methodically, about the past and the future and busies itself with categorising and organising information. It works through associations and projections and expresses reality through language and the ongoing brain chatter that connects the internal world to the external. This is the part of the brain that makes us feel that we are separate individuals, the 'I am' that has a story and a history, that reminisces about the past, worries about the future and calculates about the present. And, according to Jill Bolte, this was the normal Jill Bolte that went silent went she suffered the stroke on the left side of her brain, 'as if someone has put the mute button on' to her internal chatter.

Now crossing to the right side of the brain, she experienced a different reality where her consciousness shifted away from her body to the space beyond where she could no longer define where her arms ended and the wall of her shower, where she suffered the stroke, began, as the molecules seemed to merge. She could no longer distinguish words and numbers as she searched through the name cards to call for help, as they appeared as meaningless patterns and pixels.

Curiously however, she felt a sense of peace, of euphoria even as the burden of being an individual with stresses and emotional baggage gave way to a feeling of lightness and of largeness - a spirit that can no longer identify her body in space, as her left brain ceased to function. Moreover, in this 'lala' land, she felt connected to all the energy that all the human family is made of and everything is whole, perfect and beautiful. Life and the world seemed peaceful and beautiful.

What she learned from this experience is, we can if we want to, choose which part of the brain we spend more time in and create for ourselves a better and more peaceful life.

Though in my case, I need to learn how to make that crossing from left to right to begin with.

(Desi Anwar: first published in The Jakarta Globe)

What I Want for Christmas

(This article appeared in the Christmas edition of the Jakarta Globe)

As the year is drawing to a close, my list of what I want for Christmas grows longer by the day. Some I can cross off already (e.g the latest objects of desire, an overdue get-away-holiday and the huge Steve Jobs biography) but others look unlikely to be fulfilled, probably not even for the next few Christmases, if ever.

By the way, for those of you who think I’m a Christian, I’m not. I’m one of those who find religion is, at best a wishful thinking and at worst, the root of just about all earthly evils. But I do have a soft spot for all the nice things about Christmas such as the nicely wrapped presents, cute decorations, stuffed turkey (sans the Brussel sprouts), Christmas carols, Nigella Lawson style Christmas pudding laced with brandy and all lit up in blue flames and of course, the dreaming of peace on earth.

Which incidentally is somewhere on the list. Peace on earth is one of the items not yet crossed out however, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to either. At least not while in this supposedly plural and tolerant country of ours churches still have a hard time being built, and church goers are harassed and threatened by the locals while the police pick their nose. I hear that the notorious bunch of religious thugs known as the FPI have expressed readiness to ensure Christians will have a peaceful Christmas this year. Great. Just the kind of peace we all need. A peace guaranteed by thugs who should not even be allowed to roam around the streets and tormenting law-abiding citizens.

Which takes me to the next item on the list recently added, which is that I wish those Aceh police would leave those punks alone and stop acting like bullies once and for all. Ok, so those kids smell and look unkempt, but hey, they are youngsters trying to express themselves and at an age where they still need to find out where they fit or don’t fit into the society and the world.

Moreover, recent scientific findings show that teenagers’ brains are not yet fully developed - their prefrontal cortex (the part that deals with reason) is not yet joined up with their amygdala (the part that deals with impulse), so it’s only normal for these young adults to want to sport Mohican hair styles, pierce their bodies and wear weird clothes. Give them a few years more and the necessities of having to find a job and make a living will soon transform them into boring, unimaginative and mediocre individuals like the rest of us. In the meantime, the syariah authorities in Aceh should stop forcing people to be, look and act the same in the name of religious belief, when what it is, is just fostering a fascistic society. (I personally think it’s a mistake to have a part of Indonesia that does not conform to the Pancasila philosophy, but then that’s another issue).

This takes me to my other item on my list (which, as you can see, is not really a Christmas wish list at all, but more of my list of gripes). I wish Santa Claus would send those people who think they are godsends all the way to the north pole and leave us to struggle with our own dark nights of the soul ourselves. Yes, I’m talking about religious fanatics, evangelists and the likes of Tim Tebow whose belief in having the Holy Spirit on his side as the cause for their success and the millions of dollars that they earn. Those who, buoyed by their own faith, claim ownership to a privileged access to the divinity, appropriate God’s name for their own egotistical use to justify their every action, including boring others with their sermons, and who knows, irking the Almighty with their pestering.

Play football well, by all means, and bask in your success, but no need to attribute it to all to Jesus Christ who is there helping you win. Like Jesus said in the hilarious SNL skit on Tim Tebow, ‘it’s not a good week if every week, if I the Son of God have to come in, drop everything and bail out the Denver Broncos in the 4th quarter, okay? I’m a busy guy....‘ Yes, indeed, leave poor god alone, especially when it comes to wanting something for your personal glory. It’s tantamount to hubris and belittles the Almighty to a god that only cares for the winners. Besides, as Jesus complains to Tim Tebow in the skit, ‘I’m doing all the work here.‘ ‘Here’s something else you should do before the game, stretch, get the arm warm and read the play book...’

What I also don’t need in my life, and here I pray to the heavens above, are people who are concerned about the state of my soul and my salvation, like a Twitter follower who generously assures me that Jesus loves me and that only the Truth will set me free. That is, once I’ve seen the light. Now, I know that he means well, but this kind of thing invariably arouses feelings in me that are far from charitable. Whether Jesus loves me or not, is something I’m quite happy to leave to the Saviour’s good judgment, as is whether Santa Claus thinks I’ve been a good girl or a bad girl this year. What I find objectionable is some wise guy who thinks it’s perfectly okay to tell me what Jesus or God thinks or does, and claim what the Truth is, just because he believes in it.

As Herbie Hancock whom I recently met said, ‘there are many ways of looking at the same thing.’ But then, Herbie is a Buddhist. And that’s also on my wish list. To be more Buddhist.

(Desi Anwar: first published in The Jakarta Globe)

War, Peace and Cups of Tea

An overcast late afternoon in traffic-choked Jakarta. What better time to sit around in a cafe with a couple of friends over pots of Jasmine tea and hot chocolate and talk about, war? My friend Connie, long haired, with an attractive face, lively eyes and an intelligence that is matched by her articulacy, decries the country’s abysmal spending on defense. At the moment, less than 1%, when ideally it should be 5%.

I look at her ingenuously. And what can 5% do that less than 1% cannot? (I’ve never been very good at math). A lot. She explains. Our military can buy better fighter planes to defend our motherland and better warships to patrol our seas. From America? I ask. So we can have as good fighter planes as the US? Yes, from America, and no, we can’t buy the ones as good as they have. They will only sell us the not-so sophisticated versions.

How about if we buy the planes from China? Will they sell us their best fighter planes? They will sell us their planes, but not as good as the ones they have. By now, I’m thoroughly confused. So, what good are having all these fighter planes if we can’t protect ourselves from America or China? These planes are important to defend our territory from the enemies, Connie explained patiently. The strength of a country is measured by the strength of her defense. Besides, we’re friends of America and China. They see us as very strategic.

Bill, my other friend, who’s been listening with interest, interjects. Well, if they think that this country is of strategic interest, they wouldn’t let anyone attack us. They would defend us with their sophisticated war machines. We wouldn’t need to buy weapons from them. How about if we leave the defense to them and use that extra spending she proposes for something else a lot more useful, like health and education?

But I’m still curious about the idea of defense. Who are we defending ourselves against? Who, these days, are our enemies, really? Fortunately Connie is patient with her answers. There is of course the threat of radicalism and terrorism, the threat of national disintegration and the country imploding due to internal conflicts and tension, other people stealing our resources, global warming etc.

Can the military with their expensive war weapons deal with that? I ask, trying to imagine how the expensive fighter planes fit into the scenario. Isn’t it more of a question of strengthening the community, creating a feeling of inclusion and a sense of common objective as well as better policing with very little expensive arms needed?

Actually, Connie confesses, defense in this country is separate from security. We have the military dealing with defense and the police with security. It’s all very confusing and inefficient, especially when you can’t tell whether something is a security issue or a defense issue. These are things that the country still needs to solve. Our problems are still at the level of lack of basic capacity. In any case, we’re talking about spending money that we don’t have.

We go back to defense spending. Connie tells me that wars in the twenty-first century will be fought over religious conflicts, energy and trade. The world’s largest spending is on the military. Meanwhile, spending on things like basic health, water sanitation, women reproduction and education, is infinitesimal by comparison. On the global level, humans spend huge amount of money to allay their imaginary fears rather than on efforts that would better their daily lives.

Bill has a point. Perhaps it’s time to think out of the box. Instead of imagining war, why not imagine peace and do away with the need for the military altogether? My inner hippy embraces this idea. Resources, trade, energy, religious differences need not be fought over. They can and should be shared, while differences resolved peacefully, just like our mothers taught us. Spending money on so-called human security ultimately only buys us further insecurity as we create for ourselves a world built on suspicion and fear. And this kind of world we all know, is not a pleasant one to live in.

What would the results have been in Afghanistan, says Bill, if 10% of the Allies war expenditure had been divided up and given in cash to each person in Afghanistan with a message “This is for you to prosper, we hope you will remember that health and education are the cornerstones of development – and that war kills innocent people. With love from your white cousins overseas.”

Just like the John Lennon song, we can all imagine living in peace. Actually, looking back at our long and bloody history, these days we’re all leading a much more peaceful life on the global scale than we have ever experienced before, with less and less countries at war with one another. The era of the arms race should be well behind us by now. Our global challenges are less the rogue countries with warlike tendencies, but poverty, inequality, over population and climate changes where arms and military solutions may not be the answer.

And yet the selling and buying of arms continue, with the weapons and war machines becoming more and more sophisticated and expensive. Because fear and imaginary threat is good for business. Especially if you’re in the lucrative arms trade.

(Desi Anwar: first published in The Jakarta Globe)

Connecting the Dots

There have been a lot of events in the world recently that are food for thought: Libyan dictator Colonel Gaddafi finally killed by his own people after being hunted down for two months and cornered like a rat in a drainage pipe, and his body dragged through the streets. A two-year old got ran over twice in China and 18 people passed by without as much as a second glance. The toddler is now dead. And all over the world people are occupying financial institutions that they no longer have much faith in. While this weekend, they say that meteors will shower the earth.

These are random events in different parts of the world and trying to connect the dots seems to be stretching it a bit. Events happen all the time, some for no obvious reasons, others because they are inevitable and long due. But still, it’s interesting to try and find the meaning in why things happen. After all, having and creating meaning to our lives is an important part in our desire to exist and survive in an inexorable world. Humans are the only creatures on the planet who obsess about the past and who want to impact the future. And somewhere in the process, to discover who we truly are.

To do this we need to look beneath the events, to the cause why they happen. In the case of people murdering their former leader, it is behaviour responding to another behaviour. People can only put up with a certain amount of cruelty, a certain amount of injustice and hardships, before the situation becomes intolerable and the push for change inevitable. A government based on fear and oppression carries within it its own seed of destruction. Our history of the world has shown that over and over again.

Similarly, a country that is based on the unfettered rule and unchecked power of its financial overlords, would sooner or later have their authority and legitimacy challenged by those deprived of the fruits of its financial system. The Occupy WallStreet movement that started in New York is now spreading all over the globe as excessive greed is no longer seen as just and tolerable behaviour. It has become the 1% of the superrich versus the 99% of the ordinary citizen trying to find a job, pay their mortgage and making ends meet.

As we dig deeper to find the cause that promoted such behaviour to begin with, we see that it’s the underlying system that had given rise to it. Why is it that a helpless child be left injured in the middle of the road without anybody even thinking of doing anything about it? Is it that the child’s life has little or no value in a society where the people’s sense of humanity and respect for every individual life has long been robbed, and where the quest of material rights is seen to be a nobler pursuit than the quest for human rights? No doubt this incident would have gone unnoticed had it not been captured by video and prompted outrage all over the world.

The dots connect better when we pry even further, beneath the systems that we ourselves, as human societies, have created and lived by. In an indifferent universe, the earth is just another planet subject to meteor showers and cosmic turbulence throughout its six billion years of existence. But human beings are not indifferent creatures. We are creators of stories and of histories, dreamers of the future and masters of change. We are builders of systems and yet we are also destroyers of systems, especially when those systems are no longer tenable.

A system after all can only sustain itself when it produces the result that we set it out to do. Those in the financial institutions, cushioned from the crisis that they themselves created, must realise that the system that has supported them all this time, no longer work. A system designed solely for the pursuit of wealth can only lose legitimacy when it merely enriches the rich few at the expense and impoverishment of the many. The Occupy WallStreet movement is not so much against rich people as against a system that in practice, has turned out to be grossly unfair.

This global shift in mental model, the old way of thinking giving way to the new, is becoming more and more audible as global conversations. Sooner or later, institutions and those who fail to listen to them or to misunderstand what are being communicated, will find themselves caught by surprise. Such as the autocratic regimes in the Middle East, toppled one by one like dominoes, or the sudden riots and looting by feral Facebookers in London recently.

And the place to listen to these conversations is not in the traditional media, the big business-backed mass media like televisions with their string of experts, pundits and analysts airing stale opinions and narrow perspectives. Nor amongst the politicians caught up in their vested interest and deaf to anything but their own short term gains. Because their audience, the public and the people they purport to speak for, are no longer listening.

Instead, the public is creating their own discussion, their own policies and implementing their own actions through the most democratic of all communication channel, the social media - a media where communication is not one way or top down, but where every voice belongs to somebody and is heard by everybody. And where their new mindset and collective action can bring down age-old systems.

Those whose legitimacy lies in the validity of the system, would do well to start joining the conversations.

(Desi Anwar: first published in The Jakarta Globe)

The Certain Uncertainty

The date in which I write this article is on 11.11.11. There is symmetry in this row of number ones that does make you feel that there’s a significance to this day. As a matter of fact, there are many weddings taking place on this date, whether for good luck or so that couples could remember their wedding anniversary easier. Words that go round in Twitterverse is that if you make a wish on 11:11 on 11.11.11, it will come true: a sweet idea that has gone viral and as I’m typing this, generating a global outpouring of wishes that is making this date a Twitter trending topic.

It’s funny how as humans we are always fascinated and on the look out for the significant, particularly in numbers and dates and how they relate to our lives. We make a great deal of birthdays, anniversaries and commemorations of events that we find important in the course of our history and life’s journey.

We look back at our lives as a series of milestones comprising of dates and years signifying our achievements - when we finished high school, when we won that poetry prize, when we graduated from university, when we got married, when we got that first job or set up that business. Laid out in that fashion, it is easy to trace and make sense of the direction our life is taking. It creates meaning and makes us feel important.

Perhaps it’s precisely our ability to put our past in some kind of order - to see the symbolic in things and events and the desire to decipher and extract meaning out of them, as are our propensity to project our fears, desires and hopes on the things around us, whether in magic numbers or in our interpretations of disasters and natural phenomena - that have enabled us to survive for so long on the planet where other species have failed.

It is through the narrative that we create for ourselves, the myth that the workings of the world about us are replicas of the stuff that we carry in our heads that leads us to believe that there is an order to things. That there are meanings to events, even when they seem absolutely random or inexplicable. Our greatest achievement being the conjuring up of the idea of an omnipotent divinity; the ultimate anthropomorphism of our wishful thinking on an otherwise faceless Universe.

This ability to track neatly the course of our existence, taking note of a phenomenon and then trying to analyse how it came about and then making theories, conclusions and predictions about it, whether through science, philosophy or even economics and psychotherapy, rests on our ability to look at the past.

However, hindsight, as they say, is twenty-twenty vision. We are so much better at making generalisations and inferences on things that have already taken place. (Of course, that couple has a happy and lasting marriage. Their wedding day took place on 11.11.11. The day when all dreams come true!. In effect, there are probably many more wishes that came true than the ones made on 11.11.11, but you didn’t remember them because you didn’t jot down the dates in which they were made.)

Our confidence in our ability to see the pattern and to infer meanings to past events, however, easily turns into a confidence in our ability to predict the future. We look at the past in order to make predictions and conclusions about what lie ahead. And here lies the danger. According to Nassim Nicholas Taleb in his book The Black Swan, most of the significant events that happen in our lives, particularly huge disasters with major impacts, are impossible to predict. Presumably if we had been able to predict them, they wouldn’t have taken place or we would have taken steps to reduce the impact.

And yet, uncertainty is something that most of us are uncomfortable with and are unwilling to tolerate because it makes us feel that we are not in control. We study, analyse and theorise about the events that happen with the hope that they would not be repeated in the future, while at the same time we continue to be blind to the things we don’t know, simply because we don’t know what we don’t know.

This is because our view of the past is also incomplete and our understanding of what actually happened is incorrect. That the past is not a good predictor of the future is told by Taleb in his turkey story. A turkey fed daily by a farmer for a thousand days in a row cannot be blamed for thinking that this is its future for the rest of its life. It cannot predict that on the 1001th day it would grace the table at a Thanksgiving Dinner.

But still we like to stay on track, so we can trace some kind of progress and have this notion that we are going somewhere, even though in the process we might be taking ourselves further and further removed from what is actually happening and blind ourselves to the possibilities of uncertainty, not mindful of unintended consequences.

Unable to let go of our past, we continue to predict a future based on growth, numbers, indicators and statistics that only exist in our heads and yet we try to impose on our lives and in how we do things.

We refuse to accept and deal with uncertainty until it becomes a certainty. By which time, like the turkey, it’s already too late.

(Desi Anwar: first published in The Jakarta Globe)

Nothing To Watch

Sometimes I wonder why I work in television.  For a start, I rarely watch it.  I’ve been on it for the past two decades that is true, though appearing on television and actually sitting in front of it are two very different things.  One is to make a living while the latter is purely for pleasure or entertainment.  But the rare moments that I find myself in front of the box with a remote control in my hand, skipping through the tens of channels that are available for simultaneous consumption, I’m always surprised how rarely I feel either pleased or entertained.

On the contrary, rather than revelling in the joy of mindless escapism, I feel lost in a myriad of worlds that are alien, scary or weird, or all of them, as if I were some castaway from a planet far, far away coming face to face with civilizations whose customs and mores I cannot comprehend.  I channel surf not out of idleness or for want of a longer attention span, but because I cannot bear to witness the peculiar antics going on in front of my eyes for longer than a couple of minutes.

When I started my career, there was only one commercial TV station in this country.  Any visual offering was watchable simply for its novelty value.  Nowadays, there are eleven national terrestrial channels plus countless local ones, not to mention those carried by cables and satellites in a smorgasbord of viewing delights.   You would think there would be something that would give a modicum of comfort or delight.  And you would think that the two decades of television industry have given TV stations enough skills and practice to create really good programmes.

I suppose there are a couple of shows that entertain.  But since they entail skills that are hopelessly beyond mine, namely cooking and singing, they can only make my feeling of alienation more acute.  I feel like the Camus character in the novel The Stranger:  never belonging and only skimming on the surface of life with the most shallow of emotions.  On this planet everybody is so talented, whether belting out the highest octaves without ever hitting a false note, or whipping up a perfect three-course meal during an intense competition.  Moreover, these programmes are usually foreign in origin with strong financial backing and high production quality.

As to the other hundreds of programs that fill the airwaves every minute of the day, notably those of the local variety:  the ‘sinetrons’, the variety, reality and games shows, the infotainments, the dramas and the serials - trying to watch them is more painful than having my wisdom tooth out.
If the television is supposedly the audio-visual reflections of our national conscience, psyche, aspirations or just mass idiocy, then I can only wonder at the kind of conscience or aspiration those programmes are reflecting.  Perhaps none.  Perhaps it is just a manifestation of our collective idiocy.  Hence the name, the ‘idiot box.’

It probably sounds strange coming from someone who has made a career out of being in television, but in my defence, and in my little ways, I have tried not to add too much to the audio-visual pollution by creating programmes that have at least, some kind of clear and positive intention - although whether I have succeeded or not is moot.  But intention is something that is elusive in most of the stuff that I see in television these days.

If the programmes are created in order to please, inspire, inform, entertain, tickle or educate, then either my definitions of these words are totally different, or my brains have ceased to function in the same way as the rest of the society because I rarely find any of them worth my undivided attention.  If anything, confronted with the images of those heavily-made up ‘artistes’ and ‘celebs’ that populate our television screen, enacting a range of emotions, whether in serial dramas, reality shows or chat shows, that have very little reference to the real human emotions they attempt to mimic, I find myself pushed to the brink of existential angst.

Is it me, or is it the programme here that is at fault?  It cannot be the programme.  Witness the high audience rating and the back-to-back advertising that constitute half of the airtime.  Perhaps I’m not the right target for the general or mass-viewing programmes, or I’m just a hardened old cynic who’s hard to please.

But then niche channels don’t provide me much reprieve either.  Sports leave me cold as I’m devoid of testosterone.  Similarly those stations airing religious programmes showing people proselytising and preaching about the kingdom of heaven make me want to escape into the comfort of hell, if only to get away from them.  Even channels showing wild animals in their natural habitats lose their charm after a while.  After all, there are only so many times I can watch lions mate or pounce on the wildebeests in the Masai Mara.  As to those travel shows, I’ve probably seen them the same number of times that they’ve been repeated.

Ok, so I’m grousing because after a few hours in front of the TV while nursing my jetlag, I’ve yet found anything decent to watch.

Oh, except one.  It’s Nigella Lawson’s cooking programme.  It’s the only show where nobody rushes around, gets tense and competitive, shout and overact like mad people.  And it’s the only cooking show where the chef goes out shopping, cuts and chops, watches the pot simmer, all the while sipping a glass of wine.  And she really gets to tuck into her delicious meal afterwards.
Now, that’s something really worth watching.

Desi Anwar:  First published in The Jakarta Globe

Cities

Recently I was in the United States of America and wrote some of my thoughts during my trip there. Enjoy!

I'm currently in New York City. Even before landing in the Big Apple, I already feel a thrill running through me. You see, I love big cities. Despite my many complaints about them, the traffic congestion, the pollution, the noise and the crowd, I don't think I can live anywhere else other than in a big city. Whether the energy of New York, the dynamism of London, the charm of Paris and even the mess of Jakarta, there is something about a place where lots of people choose to congregate and spend their time in constant close proximity - building, moving, creating, working, living - that is endlessly fascinating.

A city for me is a reflection of the modern human's desires. Parts of it can be pretty ugly. But then, so are some of our desires. Living on top of one another in an anonymous pile of concrete termite hill can be soulless. But then, it is often this nagging feeling of being a little out of balance with ourselves that reminds us of who and what we can be.

If being thrust in the midst of nature we find ourselves face to face with the wonders of the divine creative energy and the insignificance of our role in a limitless Universe, a city is where we, humans, can manifest our own creative powers and produce a physical reality limited only by the paucity of our imagination and the dearth of our ideas.


To explore a city, wandering up and down the avenues of New York, laid out in a perfect grid so one always knows where one is in any part of the metropolis, perambulating the cobbled streets of Paris with her hidden courtyards and the peculiar smell in the air that brings up images of the past, or navigating the filthy and narrow back streets of Jakarta behind the gleaming facades of tall buildings and wide boulevards, is to reveal the inside of the human mind and explore the depths of the human soul in all its ingenuity, its foolishness and its endless contradictions.

In Nature, whether in the greatness of a mountain, the expanse of the ocean, the uniqueness of a blade of grass and the mystery of a petal opening, there is only beauty. Because Nature reflects a creative energy generated by pure harmony, perfect symmetry and eternal balance: the key to Perfection. The secret that inspires all our artistic impulses, the philosopher's desire to seek the truth and human need to conjure up a Divine Creator in order to explain an otherwise inexplicable phenomenon. In Nature there is no beginning and no end, but one energy transmuting into another in one perfect universal symphony where not a single instrument is missing nor a single note misplayed.

Not so in cities: the product of the development of the human mind and years of human dreams. The city is a manifestation of the evolution of human creativity. As each human is different from one another, each city too has a different characteristic, with different level of growth and ambitions of what it wants to be.

That is why I enjoy wandering round a city, treading her uneven pavement, gazing at the peculiarities of her buildings: some huge and grand, some slim and elegant, still others ornate and showy, many are ugly and misshapen. Physical representatives of the myriad of human emotions. Here is pride, here is coyness, here is ostentation, here is nostalgia and here is just lack of thought and bad taste.

Wandering round a city we see our soul and desires reflected back to us, in all their imperfections, their arrogance and in flashes of their genius and shallowness of aspirations. The city is where we express both our love and our contempt for our fellow beings, our dislike of close proximity and yet our fear of being alone. Like the humans they inhabit, some cities are better at creating a friendlier and more pleasant living space than others. Some more romantic. Others are cold and unwelcoming. Some are even like a petulant teenager, ever changing, still looking for her identity and making endless mistakes. Some are old and cling on to the past with a tenacity that is charming, refusing to succumb to modern trends of architecture. Many want to grasp the future. Most wish to be the object of global desire and admiration.

Everywhere we look a city is our desire to make a point of our existence. Our way of carving our name in the enormous Universal tree. To say 'we are here.'

To live in a city is also to hate it. The same way that there are always parts about ourselves that we dislike and parts of others that we envy. That is why I love visiting other cities. To revel in the difference. To enjoy the things we're deprived of back home. Bask in the beauty of others who seem so much more interesting, so much more exciting. And New York for me is the epitome of all cities. The Big Apple and the top of the heap of human capabilities with a dynamism and vibrancy that is almost palpable.

A sales clerk in a New York shop asks a buyer in front of me where she comes from. Brazil comes the answer.

'That is so cool!' the sales assistant replies, almost passionately. 'New York is really boring. There's nothing here. It's one big mess. And there's definitely no good looking men in New York! I wish I could live in Brazil too!'

(Desi Anwar: First published in The Jakarta Globe)

Seeking Refuge in Nature

I am on a boat being pushed out to sea on the East coast of Bali. The wind is strong here, partly due to being in a bay and partly because it's winter in Australia, making the current somewhat choppy. But the cloudless blue sky promises a good snorkelling morning, even though I can imagine in these parts, close to the shore and the many 'jukung' boats anchored nearby, the corals are most likely denuded and lacking in variety.

Nevertheless, it's good to get away from the noises and the news that normally steal a big chunk of my attention. The thing about news is, its demand for constant newness renders it impermanent even as it is being generated. In the news business, human events, like human thoughts, are doomed to obsolescence and instant forgetfulness. Yesterday was a pie in the face story, today, the ambulatory bread man's musical chime, a while back something about a wig and a hotel chambermaid; no doubt tomorrow more scandalous, corrupt and criminal behaviours await. All making up the sorry tapestry of our human life. Which is essentially just a lot of noise. Noises that often make us feel significant, involved and part of this enormous world of information. But they are still noises all the same, without which we're hardly any poorer.

Nature however, reminds us of the existence of the Permanent. That is, if we bother to cease our navel-gazing for a second and actually look up and around us. There we will encounter an intelligence whose creative power goes back billions of years and at the same time whose every visible manifestation carries with it memories of the past.

Nature is the refuge I seek when the pettiness and shallowness of human concerns threaten to drag me down into the quicksand of useless thoughts. Nature gives us the true meaning of profundity, the real concept of vastness and a genuine display of patience. I feel this especially more so with the sea.

The first time I saw the sea I was already eight or nine years old. Though an avid traveller I must confess to being a late starter. As a child I used to suffer terribly from car sickness, which did not make me an attractive travelling companion, particularly to my impatient parents. Thus, my memories of childhood was waving good bye to the others as they packed merrily into the family Volkswagen beetle to go on yet another picnic, leaving me to amuse myself at home with my paper and crayons and wait until they came back with their stories.

I didn't know what possessed my parents to finally take me on holiday to the sea side. Perhaps they realised they could not keep me forever in the dark about how big the world was. Perhaps because it was the university faculty's outing and there were many obliging students at hand who could also help keep an eye on me so I would not be too much of a bother to them. In any case, there I was, a child among adults, on a bus heading towards Pangandaran, on the south coast of West Java.

Needless to say I was miserable throughout the journey and filled many plastic bags with the contents of my breakfast and lunch. I wished I had been left behind or dead; whichever was the less painful. What was worse, the whole bus seemed oblivious to my suffering, as they sang the entire trip away.

When the bus finally came to a stop, almost the whole day had gone. My father told me to get off the bus. I was drowsy from the many car sickness tablets that I took and my legs were unsteady from too much sitting down. My feet sank into something I had never felt before and for a moment I thought the ground had shifted beneath me. It was sand. Like an invalid I allowed myself to be led to the beach.

'This,' announced my father, as if a magician revealing his greatest trick, 'is the sea.'
I blinked my eyes, for the burnished sun was blinding. There before me, beneath a fiery ball of a sinking sun was something that I had never seen before, not even in the wildest of my dreams. It was vast, it was dark and deep, tinged with red here and there, the surface brilliant with dancing sparkles. It was solid and yet it wasn't. And there approaching the toes of my poor wobbly feet, were frothing foams that chased one another like children. Over and over again.

I was speechless. The fatigue and nausea of the miserable journey dissolved with every lapping of the water around my feet. I had never seen anything so huge, so alien and so dominating. Nor anything so beautiful. I was torn between fear and awe. And there was the sound so new to my ears. That of the rolling of the waves. It had a rhythm, like a pulsating heart. And it was incessant. Over and over again. Never ending.

I realised I was looking at something very old. And I knew that my life until then had been nothing. Had been small and insignificant. Like a grain of sand upon the shore that was as fine as my after bath talcum powder.

And until now, when the noise of life is too much for my ears, I seek out the sea. For it never fails to put everything in perspective.


(Desi Anwar: First published in The Jakarta Globe)

Learning By Playing

For the past week I've been at MIT Sloan Executive Education to learn. I'm not yet exactly sure about what, but I have an idea that it's about learning to learn, so I thought I'd share with you some of my observations and impressions of what I'm experiencing.

Now, being in MIT is an awe-inspiring experience in itself. The place is the seat of learning for just about the smartest people in the world: a pantheon of scientists, inventors, innovators, thinkers, Nobel prize winners and individuals instrumental in shaping the world as it is. I have in my notebook a leaf of an apple tree that is a descendant of that famous apple tree where Sir Isaac Newton sat when he discovered the theory of gravity.

It is also a place with some quirky-looking buildings designed by star architect Frank Gehry and students known for their ability to push practical jokes, called hacks, to an art form. There is a building called the Media Lab, an incubator of ideas and the birth place of creative inventions, laid out more in the spirit of a playroom rather than a research lab, complete with a Lego pit, a pingpong table and a seating area where people can doodle on and draw graffiti.

Fun is the first thing that comes to mind as my colleagues and I, a bunch of somewhat sceptical and world weary participants with little clue as what to expect, take in our surroundings and turn our eyes to our professor in the classroom. Those who come with the expectation of being taught and provided with answers to their problems, soon realise that this is not the kind of learning they will get. The professors, Otto Scharmer and Peter Senge, rather than teach, facilitate and prod us to see and think in different ways through asking questions and paying close attention to the responses in a way that is both humble and respectful. It is as if they are holding the door of learning open for us but it is entirely up to us whether to enter and what our intention is.
Because lesson number one, learning is a journey. It is an experience. A process with intention and attention. Of deep observation, of deep listening and of deep reflection. Not quite the idea of learning we get at school, of right and wrong answers, of grading and of passing tests.

According to Peter Senge school is a system of socialisation, not education. Certain things and skills are taught but in an environment that does not allow differences. This is because originally the concept of school was created to produce factory workers to work on assembly lines during the industrial age. The system was set up for efficiency, productivity and standardisation and uniformity. To produce workers who could do whatever task they were assigned to in a particular way and with a particular result. Somehow the system is carried over until today, where educational institutions still focus on standardisation, on test results and the right way of doing things.

But this is not real learning. Real learning is what children do and what we do when we are still open to it. It is doing and making mistakes. Peter gives the example of the way that children learn to walk. They don't need to be put in a class, taught how to stand up and move their foot one in front another, corrected, tested and then told that they now can walk. They just do. After a lot of falling and stumbling around. You know the child can walk without the need for testing. Soon the child is running and jumping around. Or talking and telling stories.
Every child has a natural capacity for real learning. Every child has a natural curiosity. Every child is different in character and in what he or she likes to do. No child is afraid of trying things out or making mistakes.

It is only when they are at school that they start to lose their capacity and love for real learning. When they are graded, tested and have to conform. When they are taught to avoid mistakes and give the wrong answers even though they cannot make much sense of the question or the point of the answer. Because school is a place where they are socialised and taught to know certain things, behave in certain ways and be a certain type of person. School is an assembly line of individuals that are ranked by their grades, an A grade student, a B grade student or a hopeless F grade student with little prospects for the future. That is, a future of a workforce based on factory assembly line type of organisation where innovation, creativity and uniqueness are neither required nor welcome.

This for me is a real eye opener. To think that the greater part of our formative years are spent in classrooms not to undergo any meaningful learning journey of discovery and creating things, but to be graded and tested on subjects that are soon forgotten and have little relevance to our lives and what we want to do as people, is quite depressing. Indeed for a lot of children now, the real learning that they do is during those limited times when they are allowed to play, do extra curricular activities, take up hobbies and hang out with their friends to do and create things together. Even now, the best memory I have of school is not the fascinating topics I learned from textbooks in the classroom and the good grades that I got, but writing short stories, making a magazine with a bunch of classmates and performing a school play. All without fear of criticism, of judgement and of failure.

Imagine the amount of energy, creativity, inventiveness, skills and ingenuity that could be tapped and harvested during those developing years, instead of waiting for certain individuals to become scientists and conduct research and experiments in their university years. Because every child is a potential inventor, a dreamer, an explorer and a creator of new ideas whose imagination has no boundaries. Every child can make a rocket, a robot and a spaceship out of Lego. And I imagine every child can dream up of innovative ways to take care of the planet and solve the world's many problems.
What strikes me most about my brief MIT experience is the approach to learning which takes us back to our natural childlike capability. Learning by observing, doing, coming up with ideas, making things with sticky notes, coloured pens and rubber bands. All the while keeping our mind open, our thoughts free of judgement and our hearts free of the fear of failure.

(Desi Anwar: First Published in The Jakarta Globe)