"I believe in pluralism!"
Thus bellowed Depapriya Bhattacharya at a party we attended. For a die-hard Marxist, who did his PhD in Moscow, this was quite a volte-face.
Of course, nowadays many pretend to believe in pluralism and democracy and all that because the rewards are immense - and the prestige of the idea is so vast that if you say that you don't subscribe to it, you risk being laughed at.
Psychologists have a term for it: cognitive dissonance. A person will pretend to himself to believe something he doesn't believe in if the rewards are low! If the rewards are high, the person need not even fool himself. It seems that it takes very little to get people to say the opposite of their true beliefs; but it causes more stress. On the other hand, if you offer high rewards - or high penalties - then it becomes easier to lie about your real beliefs.
The lesson from this is that people who merely stand to lose 'face' undergo a lot of inner strain to lie about their political belief, but people like Bhattacharya, who have grown rich on these ideas, need only deceive other people, not themselves.
Therefore, it may be that the donors are paying too much to get people to parrot their views: small rewards to the Bhattacharyas would be just as, in fact, even more, effective. The evidence is that they will take greater pains to fool themselves.
Clearly the donors are paying too much - but then it's their money, isn't it?
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Racial Climbing Again
Gulf Times – Qatar’s top-selling English daily newspaper - SriLanka/Bangladesh
A Bangladeshi-born person has been elected to the House of Commons - and thousands celebrate in Bangladesh. This is really sad: this is racial climbing at its worst. When will this stop?
A Bangladeshi-born person has been elected to the House of Commons - and thousands celebrate in Bangladesh. This is really sad: this is racial climbing at its worst. When will this stop?
Friday, May 7, 2010
Desacralisation and the Intellectual
"Desacralisation" was a phenomenon that occurred in western Europe between 1500 and 1900 AD. This was the identification of the sacred and the profane, and began with Martin Luther's pronouncement that all work was sacred, not just a priest's work (the conclusion that if all work was sacred, then no work was sacred apparently did not occur to him). The work was carried on by the so-called Enlightenment. Consequently, today, in Europe, God is just a word without meaning, and even in America religion is only one among several possible world-views, as pointed out by Charles Taylor.
Therefore, our intellectuals have imbibed these ideas from the west, and have regurgitated them here (another sad came of 'commit and vomit'). This explains their hatred of Islam. This also explains the appeal of the anti-Muslim Awami League to these intellectuals, while only practical types, especially businesspeople, are drawn to the BNP - and, latterly, those hostile to the anti-Islamism of the League.
So far, so consistent.
But consistency is not the hallmark of the Bangladeshi intellectual. While he (or she) may hate Islam, he doesn't hate all religions. And how can he? The experience of desacralisation occurred over 500 years in a particular corner of the world, and however much we may imbibe ideas, they can never be part of our digestive system: we can never feel them in the 'guts'.
Consequently, intellectuals have a passionate fondness for Hinduism, and by extension all things Indian. I have described a bureaucrat, who is currently a secretary, in my blog An Evening With A Lunatic. I have met countless incoherent lunatics like him - all Awami Leaguers.
Therefore, our intellectuals have imbibed these ideas from the west, and have regurgitated them here (another sad came of 'commit and vomit'). This explains their hatred of Islam. This also explains the appeal of the anti-Muslim Awami League to these intellectuals, while only practical types, especially businesspeople, are drawn to the BNP - and, latterly, those hostile to the anti-Islamism of the League.
So far, so consistent.
But consistency is not the hallmark of the Bangladeshi intellectual. While he (or she) may hate Islam, he doesn't hate all religions. And how can he? The experience of desacralisation occurred over 500 years in a particular corner of the world, and however much we may imbibe ideas, they can never be part of our digestive system: we can never feel them in the 'guts'.
Consequently, intellectuals have a passionate fondness for Hinduism, and by extension all things Indian. I have described a bureaucrat, who is currently a secretary, in my blog An Evening With A Lunatic. I have met countless incoherent lunatics like him - all Awami Leaguers.
A Strange Sequel
No sooner was my article THE ETHNOCIDAL CIVILISATION published online than a report appeared in the Christian Post on trouble in the Chittagong Hill Tracts.
It appears that missionaries had converted some Buddhists in the area, and the locals have strongly resented this: they have used violence to reconvert their former brethren.
In my article, I observed how the British, despite protests from the East India Company, sent missionaries to India to convert as many as possible, using the English language as an instrument. I have described the conversion of the Garos: but the Buddhists are a different story. They have a strong sense of identity, especially in the hill tracts. I have observed that Muslims, over several hundred years, never tried to convert the Garos. Why is it that missionaries are so eager to convert? In the process, they have instigated violence.
It appears that missionaries had converted some Buddhists in the area, and the locals have strongly resented this: they have used violence to reconvert their former brethren.
In my article, I observed how the British, despite protests from the East India Company, sent missionaries to India to convert as many as possible, using the English language as an instrument. I have described the conversion of the Garos: but the Buddhists are a different story. They have a strong sense of identity, especially in the hill tracts. I have observed that Muslims, over several hundred years, never tried to convert the Garos. Why is it that missionaries are so eager to convert? In the process, they have instigated violence.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
The Racial Climbers
Most of my acquaintances are racial, not social, climbers.
That is because socially they are well-established and don't have much of a climbing to do. But racially, they perceive themselves to be untermensch.
They leave Bangladesh for the west, not because they are driven by pecuniary considerations, but because they wish to promote themselves up the racial ladder. They bring up their children to resemble the ubermensch as much as possible.
I am all for migration, but who are the people who should be migrating? Not these fat indoctrinated fellows, but the lean, uneducated, even illiterate ones. They are the ones who should be picking oranges in California or gutting cattle in Chicago. We don't need men and women with master's degrees and doctors leaving the country.
I have a friend who felt such respect for the untermensch that he used to describe America as 'heaven'. He is now ensconced there and very happy to be serving under the ubermensch when, in fact, he could live here like a lord. He even tries to speak English like the ubermensch (on the other side of the Atlantic) : he curls his lips around the vowels so that he takes on a positively simian appearance: ooooh ooooh ooooh!
They say slavery is illegal now, but what need is there for physical slaves when you have psychological ones? These don't even have to be policed for they'll never run away. They don't need to be branded because they are spiritually branded.
The recent recession has hurt these untermensch a little: the are losing jobs, tuition fees are going up, loans are disappearing....How can one feel sorry for them?
I know a driver of a three-wheeler here who is a credit to his faith: absolutely honest, totally reliable, and dirt poor, he was planning to sell his meager house for his father's prostate surgery. Well, that fate was finally avoided by the generosity of those who know him well. He bows before none but God, and does not know what an ubermensch is. He's the kind who should emigrate to escape poverty, and he's the kind the west will never accept.
That is because socially they are well-established and don't have much of a climbing to do. But racially, they perceive themselves to be untermensch.
They leave Bangladesh for the west, not because they are driven by pecuniary considerations, but because they wish to promote themselves up the racial ladder. They bring up their children to resemble the ubermensch as much as possible.
I am all for migration, but who are the people who should be migrating? Not these fat indoctrinated fellows, but the lean, uneducated, even illiterate ones. They are the ones who should be picking oranges in California or gutting cattle in Chicago. We don't need men and women with master's degrees and doctors leaving the country.
I have a friend who felt such respect for the untermensch that he used to describe America as 'heaven'. He is now ensconced there and very happy to be serving under the ubermensch when, in fact, he could live here like a lord. He even tries to speak English like the ubermensch (on the other side of the Atlantic) : he curls his lips around the vowels so that he takes on a positively simian appearance: ooooh ooooh ooooh!
They say slavery is illegal now, but what need is there for physical slaves when you have psychological ones? These don't even have to be policed for they'll never run away. They don't need to be branded because they are spiritually branded.
The recent recession has hurt these untermensch a little: the are losing jobs, tuition fees are going up, loans are disappearing....How can one feel sorry for them?
I know a driver of a three-wheeler here who is a credit to his faith: absolutely honest, totally reliable, and dirt poor, he was planning to sell his meager house for his father's prostate surgery. Well, that fate was finally avoided by the generosity of those who know him well. He bows before none but God, and does not know what an ubermensch is. He's the kind who should emigrate to escape poverty, and he's the kind the west will never accept.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
The Ethnocidal Civilisation (article)
The Ethnocidal Civilisation
(click above for article)
Ethnocide – culture murder – has been the repeated behaviour pattern of western civilization, as testified by Alexis de Tocqueville. The culture is not content with mere conquest: it must control the very thoughts of those conquered. A recently published book on a Christian mission in Bangladesh retells an old story against the background of both the Muslim and British invasions of India, centering the Garos and the loss of their ancestral religion.
(click above for article)
Ethnocide – culture murder – has been the repeated behaviour pattern of western civilization, as testified by Alexis de Tocqueville. The culture is not content with mere conquest: it must control the very thoughts of those conquered. A recently published book on a Christian mission in Bangladesh retells an old story against the background of both the Muslim and British invasions of India, centering the Garos and the loss of their ancestral religion.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
The Devil and the Intellectual
The young man was hunched over his book when he felt that somebody was standing behind him.
He turned slowly around and nearly emptied his chair with terror.
"Have no fear," came the deep-sounding reassurance. "I come as a friend." And this was performed with a bow.
The young man sat down and stared. The figure before him was that of a very handsome man in his mid-thirties; however, he wore a suit and jacket on a very hot and humid day, and his shoes seemed to conceal a hairy foot; he also wore a cap, which had two projections. A sharp arrow sneaked out from his trouser-leg and wagged at times.
"What...what...do you want?"
"Want? Why nothing. I'm here to give you everything YOU want. And I know what you want."
"What do I want?"
"You want your family to be proud of you, you want to do your PhD at a renowned western university, you then wish to come back and be an outstanding intellectual, fawned upon by both locals and foreigners alike....Need I go on?"
"How do you know all this?"
"There's very little I don't know, though I don't know everything" - he looked up with a frown - "unlike Him."
"You're not the devil, are you?" The young man looked at him out of the corner of his eyes.
"Why, a modern young man like you surely doesn't believe in the Devil, or in God, or Heaven and Hell, and all that rubbish, surely!"
The young man's vanity was wounded, and he drew in his chin. "No, of course not!"
"Or the soul?"
"Rubbish!"
"Good! Then you won't mind signing this paper, surely."
"What am I signing?"
"For everything you desire on this earth, you will give me your eternal soul."
"That's rubbish, like you said, and I'm not signing anything."
"Can your parents afford to teach you at Harvard?"
He became quiet and thoughtful.
"No! You know they can't. They have the middle-class problem. They want the best, but can't afford it."
"If I sign that stupid paper, then I'll study at Harvard?"
"Certainly! And other places you would care to visit."
"Gimme the pen. What have I got to lose?"
Then he signed on the dotted line.
He was hailed as a prodigy at Dhaka University.He electrified the students' union with talk of freedom and democracy. All eyes were on him as he flew to the USA. He outdid the finest students at Harvard,finished his PhD and came back to be a teacher. His parents beamed.
He was courted far and wide. He was always jetting off to some grand conference with the most eminent people in the world. Prizes and honours were heaped upon him. He married a brilliant academic and the two had brilliant children and they had brilliant children....
Of course, the first year after signing the document, he had forgotten all about it and he attributed every achievement to his own intellect. He recalled the contact, however, one day - on his death-bed.
He knew he hadn't long to live. The newspapers had been full of reports about his ill health. Heads of state and academics from famous universities hoped for his recovery.
"I remember you!" he said, lifting a trembling, wrinkled finger.
"Yes, I thought you would," said the handsome man with the tail, and the horns and the hoofs. This time he had come in puris naturalibus. He waved the contract.
"Then it was you all along who was responsible for all my greatness."
"How vain is humankind," smiled the Devil. "How vain are Bangladeshis, and how forgetful."
"And now you want...." The word was too terrible to utter. He saw his life flash before him. All the evil he had done, all the young lives he had ruined with his hypocrisy, all the stuff he had written to please people, all the lies he had uttered, all the ruin he had brought upon his country, all the men and women who had died or were raped as a consequence of his policies...all, all had been directed towards one end by this being standing before him. Evil.
"Your soul," finished the devil.
The last words that his auditors recalled where: "What have I done!"
He turned slowly around and nearly emptied his chair with terror.
"Have no fear," came the deep-sounding reassurance. "I come as a friend." And this was performed with a bow.
The young man sat down and stared. The figure before him was that of a very handsome man in his mid-thirties; however, he wore a suit and jacket on a very hot and humid day, and his shoes seemed to conceal a hairy foot; he also wore a cap, which had two projections. A sharp arrow sneaked out from his trouser-leg and wagged at times.
"What...what...do you want?"
"Want? Why nothing. I'm here to give you everything YOU want. And I know what you want."
"What do I want?"
"You want your family to be proud of you, you want to do your PhD at a renowned western university, you then wish to come back and be an outstanding intellectual, fawned upon by both locals and foreigners alike....Need I go on?"
"How do you know all this?"
"There's very little I don't know, though I don't know everything" - he looked up with a frown - "unlike Him."
"You're not the devil, are you?" The young man looked at him out of the corner of his eyes.
"Why, a modern young man like you surely doesn't believe in the Devil, or in God, or Heaven and Hell, and all that rubbish, surely!"
The young man's vanity was wounded, and he drew in his chin. "No, of course not!"
"Or the soul?"
"Rubbish!"
"Good! Then you won't mind signing this paper, surely."
"What am I signing?"
"For everything you desire on this earth, you will give me your eternal soul."
"That's rubbish, like you said, and I'm not signing anything."
"Can your parents afford to teach you at Harvard?"
He became quiet and thoughtful.
"No! You know they can't. They have the middle-class problem. They want the best, but can't afford it."
"If I sign that stupid paper, then I'll study at Harvard?"
"Certainly! And other places you would care to visit."
"Gimme the pen. What have I got to lose?"
Then he signed on the dotted line.
He was hailed as a prodigy at Dhaka University.He electrified the students' union with talk of freedom and democracy. All eyes were on him as he flew to the USA. He outdid the finest students at Harvard,finished his PhD and came back to be a teacher. His parents beamed.
He was courted far and wide. He was always jetting off to some grand conference with the most eminent people in the world. Prizes and honours were heaped upon him. He married a brilliant academic and the two had brilliant children and they had brilliant children....
Of course, the first year after signing the document, he had forgotten all about it and he attributed every achievement to his own intellect. He recalled the contact, however, one day - on his death-bed.
He knew he hadn't long to live. The newspapers had been full of reports about his ill health. Heads of state and academics from famous universities hoped for his recovery.
"I remember you!" he said, lifting a trembling, wrinkled finger.
"Yes, I thought you would," said the handsome man with the tail, and the horns and the hoofs. This time he had come in puris naturalibus. He waved the contract.
"Then it was you all along who was responsible for all my greatness."
"How vain is humankind," smiled the Devil. "How vain are Bangladeshis, and how forgetful."
"And now you want...." The word was too terrible to utter. He saw his life flash before him. All the evil he had done, all the young lives he had ruined with his hypocrisy, all the stuff he had written to please people, all the lies he had uttered, all the ruin he had brought upon his country, all the men and women who had died or were raped as a consequence of his policies...all, all had been directed towards one end by this being standing before him. Evil.
"Your soul," finished the devil.
The last words that his auditors recalled where: "What have I done!"
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