Fear and Risk

This extract is a review of “Risk – The Science and Politics of Fear”. I’m posting it in the context of a proliferation of blogsites (A Western Heart is a good example) using fear as a driver for a range of loony viewpoints. Perhaps the head can be taught to rule the gut in this issue. It’s worth a try.

Many of you won't believe this, but Western societies are safer than they ever have been in history. This is hard to believe because of a constant struggle between two human factors, the Head (rational thought) and the Gut (hard-wired survival instincts). This conflict is laid bare in a new book by Dan Gardner: “Risk: the Science and Politics of Fear.” Within this 300+ page book, Mr. Gardner, a journalist and historian, throws the fear that pervades our lives into sharp relief. He not only shows how we're all wired to be terrified of unrealistically small risks, he also shows that the media, our governments, and big corporations encourage these fears. Sometimes they encourage them for mercenary reasons; other times, the fear is encouraged inadvertently.

A century ago, your window to the world was in fact the front window of your house. You paid attention to threats that were local. You could read the paper and note the threats that were far away, but they had little impact on your daily assessments. Fifty years ago, your window to the world was the television. With visuals and the humanizing effect of in-person interviews, distant threats became more real and pertinent to Gut. Today, what you see on television has become your local community, with all of the rapes, murders and abductions from around the world neatly organized and queued up for your consumption. When a sweet little girl 1400 km away goes missing, Gut tells you that all little children in your immediate community are at risk. The truth, of course, is quite different.

Where were you on 9/11? Everyone remembers. I also remember that the U.S. airline industry took it in the pouch for a full year after that tragic day. Almost no one wanted to fly, because Gut said that the risk was too great, and Head had no data to mitigate that fear. Everyone decided to drive instead, and this choice caused a spike in driving deaths. In the U.S., there is a 1-in-135,000 chance of being killed in a hijacking if you fly once a month for a year -- trivial odds, especially when you consider that there is an annual 1-in-6,000 chance of being killed in a car crash. Nearly 3,000 people lost their lives on 9/11. The switch from flying-to-driving caused an additional 1,595 people to die the year following 9/11. The news media didn't notice, because it wasn't spectacular like 9/11 or Hurricane Katrina. Only the loved ones of the dead paid any attention.

Looks like a good read.

Millennials and History

I’ve been asked by a history teacher at my daughter’s school to do a number of presentations on Vietnam (specifically about conscription and the divisions it caused). Thinking about it – this is a daunting task.

The teacher in me asked her what prior learning the students had and what it was she wanted to focus on. The answer came back – social division and conscription.

How do you get these concepts and a true sense of the time across to a group of Millennials who generally have lived the good life (this is a relatively expensive private school) in a provincial city on Queensland – shielded by their wealth and lifestyles from an understanding of the historical realities of the sixties and seventies? How can they understand the tensions and debates of the time – then so stark without the distractions of the Net and the mobile?

The answer is that probably you can’t, so I’ll tell them my story, invite questions in the hope that I can turn a lecture into a conversation, and hopefully pepper it with some tips about researching the source documents and interrogating them to determine the difference between truth and spin.

If I can ignite a spark of interest that leads to honest and organised inquiry in just one or two of them, it will be worthwhile

Fuel

This letter in today’s Australian makes sense to me –

We badly need solutions that require courage and vision. In spite of the rhetoric, neither side of politics can do much about fuel prices. Reducing the excise by 5c a litre would have a negligible impact and be overtaken within days by further price rises, and government inquiries into oil pricing are toothless. High oil prices are here to stay due to diminishing supply and increasing demand from China and India. We badly need solutions that require courage and vision. Why do thousands of heavy trucks travel each night between Melbourne/Sydney/Brisbane, for example, when a single freight train could carry the cargo of more than 100 trucks? This would surely reduce cartage costs, fuel consumption and road accidents. With nuclear-powered energy, we could produce as much clean electricity as we need to power industry, trains and small electric vehicles for short journeys and city driving. The Government needs to stop waffling and get the infrastructure right. It can't "Fuelwatch" its way out of this. Mick Whybrow Birkdale, Qld

The problem, of course, is that solutions requiring courage and vision may not necessarily prove popular, and the repercussions would be felt at the ballot box. There is too much vested interest in the transport industry (for example) to give the revival of the railways a guernsey. Nice thought though.

Access

I work with a number of kids with disabilities who access computers on a daily basis. To log on to school networks, they need to simultaneously hit the three keys “ctrl”, “alt”, and “del”.

This provides a practical barrier to kids with Hemiplegia or those who can’t use both hands at once. It’s very frustrating to them, and annoys the hell out of me, as part of my job is to advise the schools on ways of making sure that the student is as independent as possible.

I’ve asked quite a few technicians for a suggestion about a solution – to no avail. Does anyone out there have any ideas? I’m stuck.

Running

Published in today's Sunday Mail by Lou Robson -

The Vietnam vet couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he went back.
He numbed himself with beer until his marriage broke down and he was left with nothing but a flickering TV. Infomercials didn't help, so the 50-year-old started walking. While other Tweed Valley residents slept he hiked the region with his kelpie, a sleek black dog that padded silently at
his feet. He trekked through wooded fields and crossed creeks southwest of Coolangatta.
There was nothing commando about ii no military overtones. He was just trying to outrun his thoughts.
The flashbacks continued and so did the growths, ping-pong-ball-sized lumps that rose beneath the skin of his
forehead. "They just keep coming," he said during an interview in late 2000. "There were so many chemicals, so many things we were exposed to."
Ashamed at his outburst, he hid the growths beneath a dirty cap, covering the ever-changing topography of his bald head.
"Sorry mate," he said. "Don't get many visitors."
The small amount of information he'd divulged had come out staccato. Several rapid fire sentences about alcohol, losing his wife and the late-night hill hikes. Then he reined it in. He apologised.
The story I'd come to discuss was unrelated. A short piece about the man's growing collection of dead and dying Volkswagens. The car bodies lined the
road outside his rundown farmhouse.
They overlooked nearby cow paddocks. But someone complained and the complaint reached council headquarters. It was heard in the wood-panelled room where local government representatives gathered for monthly meetings.
The concern was one of many. Councilors and residents voiced fears about feral cats and carp. Fruit flies and ferrets. Decrepit VWs and property depreciation.
No one knew the cars were therapeutic. All day the Vietnam vet tinkered. Stripped and restored, avoided TV and the bottle shop by bringing old vehicles back to life. Like many returned soldiers he distracted himself and somehow stayed sane. And for many, like the unrecognised soldiers of the 1966 South Vietnam battle of Long Tan, the insults keep coming.
The Government's failure to ignore bureaucracy and give the green light to bravery awards almost 42 years after the fact is salt in the wound. Red tape aggravates mental and physical ailments. Some speak openly about their experiences. Others say nothing and their silence speaks volumes.
The returned soldier-turned-mechanic preferred to keep his own counsel. He was angered by his momentary lapse. Downed a spanner and disappeared. Returned 10 minutes later with two cups of tea and eyes red with tears. We talked cars, took a photo and then I took off. But I think of him often. Wonder if he's still striding streams until sun up.

I know half a dozen living this life. Don't forget them.

China and Tibet

This puts the whole vexed issue in perspective (Today's ABC on-line) -

"Chinese factory found making Tibetan flags: reports in a Hong Kong newspaper say police in China have discovered a factory making thousands of Tibetan flags for activist groups overseas.

The Ming Pao newspaper in Hong Kong says the Tibetan flags were being made at a factory in the southern province of Guangdong."

More -
http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2008/04/29/2229755.htm?section=justin

The One Day of the Year

I dragged myself out of a warm bed this morning, and drove the 150km to Brisbane to march with my old unit association. There’s no-one else in this town from 7RAR, so if I want any form of reunion, this is necessary.

I’m glad I did. Apart from running into old mates and sparring partners, I met “Leafy” who was repatriated to Australia fairly early in our tour with Scrub Typhus. I hadn’t seen him for 38 years, but recognition was instant.

We marched, had a few beers, talked about old times, and enjoyed the atmosphere, which was like nothing I’ve seen before. I remember a sea of faces, people shouting “thank you!”, and an amazing mix of garb, ages and races.

The only difficulty was when I arrived in the city without any idea of where the march was forming up. I asked directions of a couple dressed in merchant navy blazers. They were Scots – with brogues so thick that I couldn’t understand a word. A young Asian woman was just as helpful, but her “Engrish” was more comprehensible.

One arresting sight was the row of motorcycles in front of the Irish Club. It was a bit like Saigon on steroids- the bikes were as prolific, but on a different scale.