Afghanistan: The Irrelevance of Race and Nationality in the 21st Century (The Tattoo Question)

I spent some time in Afghanistan...

I read somewhere once that if you could create a single human who is most representative of the entire human race, based on the prevalence of all phenotypes throughout the global population, you would have an Afghani. 

For those who don't know, Afghanis are not Arabs. They are separated from the Arab world by Persia (now Iran . . . which is also not Arab) and are wedged against Pakistan (Indian subconinent) the "-istan" countries (all central Asian, former U.S.S.R.) and China. There are fair skinned, blue eyed Afghanis, distinctly Tibetan-Asian looking Afghanis and very dark, Punjabi looking Afghanis. Of course there are also interesting combinations of all of those.

The complicated racial and tribal composition of Afghanistan has definitely been a challenging factor for anyone who has ever wanted to get anything done there. In the context of my recent whirlwind of travel I find it indicative of a global reality. Race no longer means anything.

We identify with people who look like us. We gravitate toward the familiar. 

The thing that we call "race" is not really a scientific term. The clusters of phenotype expressions that we recognize as race (African, Asian, Latin etc.) are really just strains - variations within a 46-chromosome chassis that all humans share, regardless of how different they may appear.

Why are we so different? 

We're different because for the majority of human history, populations have been isolated to specific regions. Inuit people of the polar North tend to be short, heavy-set and eastern-Asiatic in appearance. Watusi people from the arid plains of Africa tend to be tall and thin. These characteristics are shaped by climate, geography and diet to name a few. Basic evolution dictates that shortness and stoutness will be prevalent among the Inuit because those qualities favor heat retention and the ability to easily convert sparse carbohydrates into fat. The tall, thin Watusi, inversely, are able to easily dissipate heat, and their light construction is well suited to hunting over great distances on foot.

Human strains are products of these simple environmental inputs. For the majority of our history it was impractical if not impossible for people separated by great distances, oceans, mountains and deserts to fan out and contribute to distant gene pools. Therefore, specific geographic regions tended to produce populations whose prevailing characteristics were more and more stark.

Watusi aren’t just tall, thin and black – they’re very tall, very thin and very black.

Since people sharing those characteristics were living among one another - the common appearance, the common language and the resulting common experience lent themselves to the perception of communality. When it all takes place in a specific geographic area, communality becomes nationality.

We identify with people who look like us. We gravitate toward the familiar. It is perhaps an unspoken understanding that those who look like us share our fate, and that conditions which are good for them will be good for us as well. We're cautious and uncertain when it comes to those who do not look like us.

Afghanistan is unique because people from that place look like everyone. It sits at a historical crossroads between east and west. A literal crossroads.

Today, descendants of Genghis Khan and Alexander the Great drive around in wildly painted Chinese flatbed tractor-trailer trucks; speaking Urdu and Dari and praying to the God of Abraham. This is a place where geography allowed people to mingle. That's why the Afghani is the quintessential, generic human.

Leaving Afghanistan I was dropped into Dubai. Suddenly surrounded by families and children. Dubai also sits at a crossroads; a crossroads of ancient shipping lanes whose old port infrastructure still handles everything from palm oil to bats of raw silk. 

Dubai is still a convenient stopping point, but now it's a conduit for people going from Australia to London, Johannesburg to Amsterdam, or Chicago to Lagos. As you pass through the terminal you see just how completely those old barriers that gave humanity it's distinct strains are no longer relevant. People from anywhere can now go anywhere else in a matter of hours. Mountains and valleys no longer confine populations. A shepherd from Wales can meet a shepherd from Morocco at a sheep herding convention in Auckland. This is the way it is. 

Invariably, as people travel unlimited distances, they will meet other people, relationships will form, sex will be had and babies will be born who look a little bit Moroccan and a little bit Kiwi.

Back in the days of compasses and tall ships this happened in small doses, but now the floodgates are open. Now the whole world is a crossroads.

The Inuit and Watusi can meet in a breakfast buffet at the Days Inn by the airport in Charlotte, then run off and make a baby. You know what? . . . The kid will probably be gorgeous.

...it's downright silly for me to ascribe just about anything to my bloodline.

I have been debating a tattoo for quite some time. I think a tattoo should have some meaning. It should suggest something about you. 

When we take stock of who we are we tend to run through some familiar categories. Hobbies, work, family, meaningful experiences and of course . . . ethnicity.

A casual stroll through the Benson-Hurst neighborhood of Brooklyn (or a few episodes of "Jersey Shore") will showcase all of the tattoo options for Italian-Americans. Apparently, this is me. Unfortunately, I am not at all partial to golden bull-horns or Lamborghinis with red, green and white paint schemes so none of those would ever do.

A few years ago, Kasey and I went to Europe. When we were in Rome, we noticed the initials 'SPQR' were stamped into various things like manhole covers and lamp posts. I wasn't sure if it was the name of a foundry or a concrete company at first, but I eventually got the skinny. SPQR stands for "Senatus Populus Que Romanus" or "The Senate and the People of Rome". A Caesarian declaration! It's a remnant of the Roman empire! Cool!

It's smart, it's a little mysterious, it's essentially political, it looks cool as hell in a bold Roman font and it's indicative of my Italian heritage without being too guido. Perfect!

"SPQR" right across my clavicles!

But as is the case with me, certainty led to more questions.

I started really thinking about the whole "Italian heritage" thing. 

Do I love my grandma? Of course. Do I love meatballs? Yes. Would I love to retire in Tuscany? Absolutely Would I love to park my Ferrari 599 GTB Fiorano on the glossy white marble floor of my garage, which is behind my retirement villa in Tuscany? Yes, yes, yes!!!

But what about you? Do you love your grandma? Do you like meatballs? How does the villa in Tuscany with the Ferrari on the impossibly clean marble floor sound to you? Are you Italian?

Maybe you are and maybe you aren't, my point is this: Being Italian is not a prerequisite for any of the above, therefore it is silly for me to ascribe my penchant for these things to my bloodline. In fact it's downright silly for me to ascribe just about anything to my bloodline.

Does my family have a distinct character? You better believe it, but how much of that is truly a product of something endemic to the Italian peninsula vs. the natural vibe that emerges due to overlapping generations of unique personalities? What about those who are adopted or are absorbed into the family by marriage? Are they outsiders? Do they struggle to fit in because they can't trace their DNA back to Italy?

The very notion is absurd. Of course they fit in. Of course they're family. If they yell, gesticulate, eat cannolis and swill red wine like an Italian, then I guess those behaviors ultimately have nothing to do with genetic predisposition. I guess those things are learned over years of Sunday dinners and Christmas Eve's at Grandma and Grandpas house. 

So if I declare something about my "heritage" across my clavicles, what am I really saying? I'm saying, 

"This informs my world-view and my perception of truth. This is a component of who I am. This is one thing you don't have to learn about me because I am writing it on my skin."

In a few hundred years, the ability to distinguish yourself as a member of one group or another will become more and more difficult and equally pointless.

I don't suppose there is any real harm in that, but when I consider the merging paths of all strains of the human genome  I fail to see the value or the point.

What we perceive as "race" has always been an affectation of geography and human logistics - two forces that have been overcome with global travel and instant communication. As our gene pools get wider and deeper, these little fantasies that we maintain about the unique cultural experiences that supposedly make us who we are will become less and less plausible. 

Eventually, the differences between the Italian experience, the Irish experience, the Nigerian experience and the Japanese experience will all be revealed as minor variations on the same theme. In a few hundred years, the ability to distinguish yourself as a member of one group or another will become more and more difficult and equally pointless.

Some may say, "But I love the diversity of the human race!"

Well don't worry. It's going to take more than a few generations to manifest itself, but make no mistake - it is the natural course.

Some may say, "My (insert ethnicity here) background is a major component of who I am and it will be a major component of who my children are as well. It's important to be connected to your past."

Your ethnicity is as much a component of your personality as you want it to be. There are members of every ethnic group that defy the stereotype and must constantly field accusations that they are not being true to who they are. In fact, they are exemplary models of being true to oneself. As far as connection to your past is concerned, you will hear no argument from me if you are extolling the virtue of knowing your history and gleaning wisdom from those who have come before you, but if you are suggesting that it is critical to embody something that a previous generation embodied you are wrong.

Who was your maternal great great great great great great grandfather? You can skip the ancestry.com stuff, I don't mean name and occupation, I mean who was he? What was he like? When did he first fall in love? What was his favorite color? What was his dream in life? When was his first kiss? What did he fear most?

Okay, so you really don't know him do you? Do you speak the same language he spoke? How do you think he would feel to know that his great great great great great great grandchild was speaking a foreign language in a foreign country? Does it matter?

How likely is it that your great great great great great great grandchild won't know who the hell you are or speak the same language you speak? Pretty likely . . . and honestly, who cares? 

Some may say, "I am a pure (insert ethnicity) and I can't stand the idea of my pure race being mongrelized!"

You aren't a pure anything except for a pure asshole. You are what's wrong with humanity and you are doomed. Your ilk exist in every strain of the human species and you all labor under the same infantile, simple-minded, ill conceived fantasy that propagation of your phenotype is tantamount to eternal life.

Well too bad you dunce! You're gonna die and your ideas will die with you.

Right, the tattoo...

So even though "SPQR" would look cool, I will refrain from calling upon my ethnicity because I am confronted with the reality that my race doesn't REALLY say anything quintessential about me.

I prefer to take full responsibility for who I am, without attributing anything to a place I've only visited and long dead relatives that I never had a chance to know.

So my new tattoo idea is this:

In bold, Romanesque font across my clavicles I will get "EGO SUM NON CERTUS"

Translation: "I AM NOT SURE"

Person: Is that a tattoo?

Me: Yes

Person: What does it say?

Me: It says Ego sum non certus.

Person: Hmm . . . What does that mean?

Me: I'm not sure

Person: You don't know what it means?

Me: I know exactly what it means.

Person: What does it mean?

Me: I'm not sure

etc.

It will be in latin, so it's a little pretentious (like me). It essentially suggests uncertainty and an eternal receptiveness to alternative versions of reality (that's totally me). It's 100% smart ass (me) and I will have my own private Abbott and Costello joke that I can enjoy at other's expense for the rest of my life.

This will say more about me than any golden bull-horn or red, green and white Murcielago being driven by Super Mario ever could.

Beside, like-a I say . . . I like a de Ferrari on-a de white marble floor in Toscana!!!

Whatsamatta you no listen!?!?!?!?

Year...

A Whole Effing Year

That's how long it's been since I posted here.

How can I expect anyone to follow this blog or keep any interest whatsoever if that's the level of dedication I demonstrate? Shame on me.

I think it's because I'm vain and lazy. My Facebook feed gets headlines from Politico, Drudge, Politifact, the BBC - all the usual suspects, and it's just so easy to blab about something right there on my wall. That's the lazy part.

The vanity comes in the form of friends and followers who then either engage me with a rebuttal or just tell me I'm awesome. I know the truth. I am not awesome, but it's still gratifying to be praised. This blog was started because I wrote something that went viral and resulted in lots of friend requests from people I don't know; people who fell under the impression that I was awesome. I wanted to keep that illusion going by shielding them from my the inane reality of me, but the blog format is just not as conducive to praise, so there we are.

Lazy and vain.

Perhaps I should delete "The Calm Voice of Rage" and re-title this web space "Lazy and Vain"?

Moving Forward

I'm thinking maybe I should pare things down a bit and focus. Maybe I need to concentrate more on what's interesting. I do pretty interesting stuff in the grand scheme of things. I go interesting places and see interesting things, so maybe I'll focus on that for a while. 

The next series of posts will feature places I've been along with some some brilliant, profound philosophical observations about those places. 

That's the plan. If you're reading this you must really care. I owe it to you to give you a reason.

Free Markets and the Individual

Last year I told my wife that I wanted a new piece of furniture.

I wanted something two people could recline on at the same time, but that wasn't a giant 'recliner'. My wife suggested a 'chair and a half' with an ottoman. After some shopping and careful sale timing we purchased just such a set up at Haverty's; a reputable furniture retailer in our area.

We tend to be rather frugal in most cases, but we've also learned through experience that you get what you pay for, so in this instance we allowed ourselves a bit of a reasonable splurge. I won't get into exact figures for the set, but the ottoman alone was more than I'd expect to pay for a love seat, or even many couches of decent quality.

But this was us not compromising. This was us getting what we wanted.

So the handsome dark leather chair and a half, with matching ottoman, came home with us.

Fast forward a year and I come home to a disappointing development. It seems that someone stood upon the ottoman while decorating the Christmas tree and broke the frame beneath the foam padding on it's corner. The smart, dark leather was sunken and depressed above the obvious structural compromise below. Naturally I found this highly annoying. None of us are morbidly obese, so I would think that a piece of furniture designed to be kicked about and sat on could support the weight of a standard human while placing ornaments on a tree.

Perhaps something had just slipped out of place? A support of some type fallen out of a joint maybe?

So I turned the ottoman over and removed the thin felt on it's underside, which exposed it's wooden structure. What I saw made me shake my head is disgust.

Yes, the support was cracked in half, but worse was the fact that this rather expensive ottoman from a reputable retailer, was framed almost entirely out of cheap, pressed, oriented strand board. Not solid wood. Not even high quality plywood. The break, which ran right across one of the supports, resembled a broken cookie.

So I went down to Lowe's, bought some 1x4 pine board, some wood glue and some screws, and set about rebuilding my ottoman to the spec it should've been built to in the first place.

After-market, solid pine support. First of four. Screwed and glued.

As I drove the last screw I started contemplating the situation and thinking about the free market.

Champions of the free market expound upon it's virtue as an institution that empowers and benefits the individual. 

"Damn the intrusive, meddling hand of regulation!" they say. 

"Let the individual human spirit soar unhindered by oppressive chains of bureaucracy!" they say. 

"We're all individuals, therefore we all benefit from a system that emphasizes the will of the individual. The only ones who think otherwise are the LAZY PARASITES OF SOCIETY!!!" they say.

The theory is, that a free market regulates itself.

Competition motivates suppliers to minimize cost and be efficient, which in turn minimizes consumer price. The suppliers who produce their product most efficiently can get that product to the market for less, charge less to the consumer than their less efficient competitor and win the battle for market share.

The best business person wins and the consumer wins. The only loser is the business who couldn't compete because they weren't efficient enough, and nobody's crying over them. The strong survive in the free market and the consumer wins as a result.

But what happens when the supplier decides to cut corners and shave a little off the bottom line?

"One of two things will happen," say the free market champions. "If the changes they make do not compromise quality, then they get higher profits. If the changes do compromise quality, the consumer will stop buying their product and opt for their competitor's product instead. That business will be forced to change or it will fail. See? The market corrects itself!"

It all sounds very tidy, and for the most part it is, but how does this scenario apply to me and my broken ottoman?

Remember, I am the individual in this scenario. The free market is supposed to benefit me.

I purchased a branded item from a reputable retailer. All of the information readily available to me indicated that the item was well built. 

I suppose I could have pulled out my box cutter on the furniture store showroom and inspected the frame prior to purchase, but I doubt the retailer would have permitted that. 

I could have called the manufacturer and asked for detailed information about their manufacturing process, but how would they differentiate me from their competition? How likely is it that they would send me blueprints and specs, or discuss the qualifications of their staff? Can you think of any corporations that share that information routinely?

So this product is in my home at a very early stage of it's useful life, and it fails. Upon closer inspection I see that the failure was due to substandard materials and workmanship. If I am beyond the warranty period, if any, what can I do?

I can go public. 

I can write a blog entry about my ottoman that indicts Haverty's and in doing so, warns my fellow consumers to reconsider any purchases they make from that retailer or it's suppliers. That will put the pressure on Haverty's to change and in doing so demonstrate the efficacy of the self regulated market. 

Hooray, right?

But wait!

The free market is supposed to be all about the individual. All of the measures I can take at this point may potentially serve other consumers, and may potentially compel the supplier to change, but how does that help the individual, who in this instance is ME?

The individual is screwed (and glued . . . so to speak, sorry).

It seems to me that the free market, which is supposed to serve the individual at the expense of every other overblown social ideal, actually casts the individual aside in the name of the free market itself. The real person who suffers real loss within this free market construct is not even afforded any remedy for their real time issue. Instead, their loss becomes 'information' that informs and compels people and decisions that follow, but otherwise does nothing for that individual in that moment.

(I can hear the eyes rolling)

"Okay so what would you suggest?" the free market champions shout in disgust. "Bigger government? That's alllllllways the answer right? Why don't we just become a society full of babies that can't do anything without a big government 'Mommy' getting involved in everything we do!?!"

Oh settle down . . .

I am not going to die because of a busted support in an ottoman. I managed to get out of Lowe's for about $13 in supplies, so I do not consider myself downtrodden by any means.

In fact, there simply is not enough vital gravity connected to most products and services out there, to justify governmental interference with their free exchange. I don't want government bureaucrats complicating the process of me hiring someone to mow my lawn, nor do I think it makes sense to have stacks of laws constraining the parameters by which picture frames are manufactured. It's annoying when you pay someone that winds up doing crappy work, and it's annoying when you buy something that turns out to be junk, but in the vast majority of cases, it's not the end of the world.  I'm not writing my congressman about the ottoman, believe me. I'm gonna be okay.

It is not my aim to decry the usefulness of the free market in theory. Rather, my experience with the ottoman demonstrates the fact that the free market, despite it's billing as a boon to the cause of the individual, often works to his or her disadvantage.

While most products and services have no patent connection to life and death, or equal protection under the law, some do.

Healthcare, defense, fire protection and law enforcement are industries that come to mind right away as examples of services that absolutely do have a patent connection to life, death, and equal protection under the law. 

It stands to reason therefore, that those industries should not be left to the indiscriminate forces that push and pull toward market equilibrium, all the while producing countless, hapless, individual victims in the wake of every statistical 'correction'. 

We must insist on the society that we deserve. If we shrug off the suffering of individuals victimized by a market that does not think or care, then we do not care. If we feel obliged to tolerate an economic system that harms us, then we are enslaving ourselves for it's sake.

Why would people who champion the cause of the individual, so completely embrace a system that requires individual sacrifice in the name of a broad, societal economic construct? Sounds downright egalitarian if you ask me.

It also sounds wrong.