Dear All
Office work (or office-work as it has come to be called in more fashionable sectors of the labour market (or labour-market as it has come to be called in more parlours of the dilettantes and hyphen jockeys)) is perhaps one of the more misunderstood of career choices. In a recent survey of desirability it polled at number 387, positioning it between fluid retainer and Arts Minister of Albania. And yet it boasts a fine history of achievement with a surprising number of dignitaries working in its hallowed halls. Albert Einstein's Uncle Wolfgang, Bertrand Russell's second cousin Ernest and Orson Welle's labrador retriever, Sparky to name but a few. The latter headed up Australia's Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade for 10 years during the Menzies era, a fact which is often forgotten when discussing Australia's primacy in the export of doggie treats and low-angle camera shots during the 1950s.
The dignity of office work derives from a purity of purpose which can only be obtained by the combination of two daily fifteen-minute coffee breaks (or coffee-breaks) and the application of Einstein's General Theory of Relativity to the dimensions of time sheets and office space. Members of the general public fail to discern the Zen aspects of the work, with its concentration on prolonged periods of meditation (with the unfortunate side effect of drastically elongating customer phone call queues) and mindfulness of daily experience, particularly which colleague has stolen the office stapler (or stapler as it is known in the Redundant Zen school of thought and thinking).
While it is well known that Einstein himself worked in a Swiss patent office, few would be aware that a large number of prominent physicists also worked down the hall. Erwin Schrodinger would often lock colleagues in a broom closet with a vial of poison and back issues of National Geographic in an attempt to demonstrate quantum entanglement. He was asked to leave the office after experimenting with a Geiger counter and entanglement with one of the secretaries from the typing pool. Also, Heisenberg worked for a time as a team supervisor but was chronically unable to make firm decisions. Neils Bohr worked on an early draft of his theory of the complementarity while acting as tea-lady. When questioned about his frequent absences from the office he would cite his dual nature whereby he might appear to be in the office or not but could exist in both states at the same time. When observed coming into the office the quantum wave would collapse and he would, indeed, exist in the workplace environment. In the end, his immediate supervisor encouraged him to take early retirement and a Nobel Prize in Physics. The disappearance of the company tea urn, however, have never adequately been explained and this may be part of the reason that Bohrs and Einstein fell out over the years.
In any event, office work has been the metaphorical smithy in which much of modern science has been forged. Lest we forget - many are cold-called, few are chosen.
Thank you for your time.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
On Freedom
Dear All
A recent brush with the law has forced me to reflect on the flimsy nature of freedom in this country. I was taken into custody after allowing a guinea fowl to drive me down to the shops for a magazine and a flavoured milk. Apparently I had transgressed some obscure regulation forbidding the operation of heavy machinery by poultry. Fortunately, my attorney managed a plea bargain and my sentence was reduced to the death penalty.
It goes to show, however, that freedom cannot be taken for granted. A salutary example from history - Corporal Lance Heinrichtoffen. He is the only man to have escaped from Stalag XI a total of 476 times. Revisionist historians have belittled his feats by pointing out that he was a guard at the prison and after going home each evening, he returned to his post early the next morning. Such mean-spirited point scoring is the kind of thing we have come to expect from the time-wasters and lickspittles who typically occupy university History faculties in this day and age.
So what is freedom? How do we define such a tenuous concept? Is it just another word for nothing left to lose? And should we even be leaving the discussion of such pivotal concepts to Kris Kristofferson? Or anybody with double initials for that matter? And why so many question marks in this paragraph? What's wrong with the odd exclamation mark!?
Freedom does come at a price though. After all, when Nelson Mandela was released from prison in 1990, he found his coffee shop loyalty cards had expired and a crippling overdue bill for a video he had hired (That Touch of Mink, as it happens) - a debt that South Africa still finds itself trying to address, letters to Cary Grant's agent notwithstanding.
Well, as much as I would love to discuss these matters further, I have a pressing engagement with an Australorp, an iced coffee and a copy of Recidivist Weekly. Now where did I leave those car keys?
Thank you for your time.
A recent brush with the law has forced me to reflect on the flimsy nature of freedom in this country. I was taken into custody after allowing a guinea fowl to drive me down to the shops for a magazine and a flavoured milk. Apparently I had transgressed some obscure regulation forbidding the operation of heavy machinery by poultry. Fortunately, my attorney managed a plea bargain and my sentence was reduced to the death penalty.
It goes to show, however, that freedom cannot be taken for granted. A salutary example from history - Corporal Lance Heinrichtoffen. He is the only man to have escaped from Stalag XI a total of 476 times. Revisionist historians have belittled his feats by pointing out that he was a guard at the prison and after going home each evening, he returned to his post early the next morning. Such mean-spirited point scoring is the kind of thing we have come to expect from the time-wasters and lickspittles who typically occupy university History faculties in this day and age.
So what is freedom? How do we define such a tenuous concept? Is it just another word for nothing left to lose? And should we even be leaving the discussion of such pivotal concepts to Kris Kristofferson? Or anybody with double initials for that matter? And why so many question marks in this paragraph? What's wrong with the odd exclamation mark!?
Freedom does come at a price though. After all, when Nelson Mandela was released from prison in 1990, he found his coffee shop loyalty cards had expired and a crippling overdue bill for a video he had hired (That Touch of Mink, as it happens) - a debt that South Africa still finds itself trying to address, letters to Cary Grant's agent notwithstanding.
Well, as much as I would love to discuss these matters further, I have a pressing engagement with an Australorp, an iced coffee and a copy of Recidivist Weekly. Now where did I leave those car keys?
Thank you for your time.
Monday, June 8, 2009
On the Future of Newspapers
Dear All
Editor of Die Katzemitkartoffelzeitung, Heinrich Muttergottenhammer, once said "Morgen fahre ich mit dem Zug nach Heidelberg." Despite having uttered those words in 1765 he encapsulated the essential dilemma that faces the modern newspaper today. The fact that he was born in 1766 need not bother us here. What is important is that he nailed his colours to the mast, which proved a little inconvenient when he needed to wear them to softball practice.
The newspaper was once the prime purveyor of information to a data hungry populace and major supplier of insulation for avian accommodation. Now it faces a future as uncertain as it is futuristic. It seems a sad demise for a medium which has spanned several centuries of illustrious innovation - from the use of movable type in the 17th century through to the invention of the bingo card in the 20th. What has brought this once proud documenter of the doings of kings and common people, statesmen and servants, plenipotentiaries and podiatrists to its metaphorical knees?
Television delivered the first smack in the kidneys back in the fifties. In a typical assault on the urban tissues, a sock-puppet named 'Sneaky Rochester' read the news on network television in the States while juggling a bag of nectarines. The direct knock-on effect is said to have cost the New York Post 35% of its readership. Such events were indicative of a general shift in mood in newspaper readers. The modern equivalent would be the Fox News Channel. Coincidentally, 'Sneaky Rochester' owns a sizable stake in Fox and has since retired to a luxury deck shoe in Florida.
Of course, nowadays the boogieman is the Internet. The advent of the world wide web is said to be the last nail in the coffin of the urban dailies. In a well-publicised survey, it was found that 56% of Americans got some or all of their information re the 2008 Presidential elections from a website. What is not generally known, however, was that the website was 'Naughty Congress Capers', a hard core pornographic site believed by federal authorities to be a front for a sinister group who share deviant macrame patterns.
In short, the fall of the newspaper has been overstated. As long as a computer screen cannot be folded into a workable pirate hat or rolled to provide a disciplinary tool for micturitionally challenged canines, the newspaper still has a role to play.
Thank you for your time.
Editor of Die Katzemitkartoffelzeitung, Heinrich Muttergottenhammer, once said "Morgen fahre ich mit dem Zug nach Heidelberg." Despite having uttered those words in 1765 he encapsulated the essential dilemma that faces the modern newspaper today. The fact that he was born in 1766 need not bother us here. What is important is that he nailed his colours to the mast, which proved a little inconvenient when he needed to wear them to softball practice.
The newspaper was once the prime purveyor of information to a data hungry populace and major supplier of insulation for avian accommodation. Now it faces a future as uncertain as it is futuristic. It seems a sad demise for a medium which has spanned several centuries of illustrious innovation - from the use of movable type in the 17th century through to the invention of the bingo card in the 20th. What has brought this once proud documenter of the doings of kings and common people, statesmen and servants, plenipotentiaries and podiatrists to its metaphorical knees?
Television delivered the first smack in the kidneys back in the fifties. In a typical assault on the urban tissues, a sock-puppet named 'Sneaky Rochester' read the news on network television in the States while juggling a bag of nectarines. The direct knock-on effect is said to have cost the New York Post 35% of its readership. Such events were indicative of a general shift in mood in newspaper readers. The modern equivalent would be the Fox News Channel. Coincidentally, 'Sneaky Rochester' owns a sizable stake in Fox and has since retired to a luxury deck shoe in Florida.
Of course, nowadays the boogieman is the Internet. The advent of the world wide web is said to be the last nail in the coffin of the urban dailies. In a well-publicised survey, it was found that 56% of Americans got some or all of their information re the 2008 Presidential elections from a website. What is not generally known, however, was that the website was 'Naughty Congress Capers', a hard core pornographic site believed by federal authorities to be a front for a sinister group who share deviant macrame patterns.
In short, the fall of the newspaper has been overstated. As long as a computer screen cannot be folded into a workable pirate hat or rolled to provide a disciplinary tool for micturitionally challenged canines, the newspaper still has a role to play.
Thank you for your time.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
On the Budget
Dear All,
Budget night has come and gone and some colleagues at the Institute have drawn my attention to the need for an analysis that meets the needs of the common man. Not for me the high faluting language of the Economics PhD with the J-curve hanging out of his back pocket and a glint in his eye that says he's going to go co-variant regression on your sorry ass. Or arse as the case may be.
It has indeed fallen to me to translate the rude vernacular of the dismal science into the Queen's English. And from there to translate the Queen's English into a local dialect of Farsi that is more or less user friendly to the man on the street. (Please note I am well aware of the gender discriminatory bias in my language. But let's face it, while the women retire to do the dishes it's down to the guys to break out the port and cigars. Well, at least I would but my wife controls the finances in my house and there's nothing left in the household budget for either strong liquor or carcinogens.)
It helps I think to imagine the Australian economy as a biscuit barrel. Probably a biscuit barrel that is a mite bigger than Auntie Beryl's. We can then think of the Gross Domestic Product (or GDP) as the total number of biscuits in said receptacle(or TNBSR). We can then imagine that the investment in national infrastructure is akin to buying three or four more biscuit barrels. Or at least promising to buy three or more biscuit barrels in the next twenty years or so. Though how we're going to afford to fill those extra containers is a bit beyond me as yet.
The current accounts deficit then is the difference between the number of Tim-Tams currently residing in the sweet pastry filled urn and the number we've promised to donate to the parish fete. Though if it's a deficit then it must be a negative quantity of biscuits. Or cookies if we deal in U.S. currency. If anyone can tell me the current exchange rate of Iced Vo-vos to Oriels I would be eternally grateful (though not in any legally binding or indeed financially debilitating sense). Now a negative quantity of biscuits is not an insurmountable conceptual leap if we invoke quantum mechanics, though I'll leave you to do the heavy shifting re the maths.
The Treasurer then is the local greengrocer who vends said yummy confections. The only difference is that the government minister wears a smarter cut of suit and is more likely to come round to your house and poison the azaleas if he thought there might be a dollar in it.
Hopefully this has clarified the issues. If not, send me a cheque or money order for 25 packets of Milk Arrowroot bikkies and I'll gladly come round for a cup of tea and show you my collection of Burkina Faso zinc roubles.
Thank you for your time
Budget night has come and gone and some colleagues at the Institute have drawn my attention to the need for an analysis that meets the needs of the common man. Not for me the high faluting language of the Economics PhD with the J-curve hanging out of his back pocket and a glint in his eye that says he's going to go co-variant regression on your sorry ass. Or arse as the case may be.
It has indeed fallen to me to translate the rude vernacular of the dismal science into the Queen's English. And from there to translate the Queen's English into a local dialect of Farsi that is more or less user friendly to the man on the street. (Please note I am well aware of the gender discriminatory bias in my language. But let's face it, while the women retire to do the dishes it's down to the guys to break out the port and cigars. Well, at least I would but my wife controls the finances in my house and there's nothing left in the household budget for either strong liquor or carcinogens.)
It helps I think to imagine the Australian economy as a biscuit barrel. Probably a biscuit barrel that is a mite bigger than Auntie Beryl's. We can then think of the Gross Domestic Product (or GDP) as the total number of biscuits in said receptacle(or TNBSR). We can then imagine that the investment in national infrastructure is akin to buying three or four more biscuit barrels. Or at least promising to buy three or more biscuit barrels in the next twenty years or so. Though how we're going to afford to fill those extra containers is a bit beyond me as yet.
The current accounts deficit then is the difference between the number of Tim-Tams currently residing in the sweet pastry filled urn and the number we've promised to donate to the parish fete. Though if it's a deficit then it must be a negative quantity of biscuits. Or cookies if we deal in U.S. currency. If anyone can tell me the current exchange rate of Iced Vo-vos to Oriels I would be eternally grateful (though not in any legally binding or indeed financially debilitating sense). Now a negative quantity of biscuits is not an insurmountable conceptual leap if we invoke quantum mechanics, though I'll leave you to do the heavy shifting re the maths.
The Treasurer then is the local greengrocer who vends said yummy confections. The only difference is that the government minister wears a smarter cut of suit and is more likely to come round to your house and poison the azaleas if he thought there might be a dollar in it.
Hopefully this has clarified the issues. If not, send me a cheque or money order for 25 packets of Milk Arrowroot bikkies and I'll gladly come round for a cup of tea and show you my collection of Burkina Faso zinc roubles.
Thank you for your time
Monday, May 18, 2009
On Immigration
Dear All,
The vexed subject of immigration has once again surfaced in the quality press. In response to growing concern among the gatekeepers of common sense in this country - talk back radio DJs, conservative politicians, guinea pigs with cerebral contusions and agoutis - I have taken it upon myself to conduct a little on the ground research (under the ground research having proven to be a little physically taxing).
My methodology was as breathtaking in its simplicity as it was inaccurate in its deployment. I would speak to the average Australian and glean his views. As luck would have it, the average Australian lives three doors down from me. In order to respect his privacy I will refer to him as Malcom. His wife, Jillian Blanchard Bottleneck, was most insistent on this point due to his position as branch manager working for one of the big four Australian banks (though not the National Australia Bank,Westpac or ANZ).
He proffered the opinion that there were too many queue jumpers in this country. He then proceeded to proffer my knees until I insisted that he stop. I asked him about the government's response to people smuggling and he suggested that it was alright in as far as it went but was deficient in one or two minor aspects. When asked for more detail re these deficiencies, he pointed out the lack of shooting of uranium enriched warheads at arriving boats as one area in which our federal gatekeepers had dropped the proverbial spherical object.
In order to get the other side of the story I decided to interview a typical asylum seeker. In one of those amazing coincidences that makes the laws of chance look decidedly shonky - ha!ha! take that Law of Independent Probabilities - a typical illegal immigrant lived four doors down from me. Literally. He had arranged four doors into some kind of makeshift shelter. So with a spring in my step and a song in my heart (both conditions can be medically treated I am reliably informed though the cardiologist has told me that the latter will require lifetime medication) I arrived at the doorstep of Mr. X. After some confusion about which doorstep I should use he invited me in and then proceeded to lecture me on the corruption and decadence prevalent in the West and how it was impossible to get access to a decent trouser-press these days. He then railed about the baleful influence of the 'Great Satan' in the modern world. In fact, the 'Great Satan' turned out to be Mr. Milson from No. 14 who had borrowed and not yet returned Mr X's leaf blower - an offence punishable by death in his culture. Problematically, possession of a leaf blower was also a capital offense and so my interviewee had found himself ensconced in an ethical dilemma that I was unable to advise him on. I made my excuses and tried to leave quickly through what I thought was the back door but which in fact led to a fracture in the time-space continuum. I was momentarily trapped in an alternative dimension where everything was exactly the same as our world except that barnacles were used as currency.
The experience has affected me deeply and given me a great deal of insight into the intractable nature of this issue. If you'll just excuse me, I'm going to have a little lie down and sort it all out after lunch.
Thank you for your time.
NOTE: It has been brought to my attention that the above comments may have been offensive to agoutis. If this is indeed the case then I apologise unreservedly. At least I apologise to agoutis of the genus Dasyprocta. Members of the genus Myoprocta can, however, go back to whatever backwater of the world they come from and stop stealing Australian jobs.
The vexed subject of immigration has once again surfaced in the quality press. In response to growing concern among the gatekeepers of common sense in this country - talk back radio DJs, conservative politicians, guinea pigs with cerebral contusions and agoutis - I have taken it upon myself to conduct a little on the ground research (under the ground research having proven to be a little physically taxing).
My methodology was as breathtaking in its simplicity as it was inaccurate in its deployment. I would speak to the average Australian and glean his views. As luck would have it, the average Australian lives three doors down from me. In order to respect his privacy I will refer to him as Malcom. His wife, Jillian Blanchard Bottleneck, was most insistent on this point due to his position as branch manager working for one of the big four Australian banks (though not the National Australia Bank,Westpac or ANZ).
He proffered the opinion that there were too many queue jumpers in this country. He then proceeded to proffer my knees until I insisted that he stop. I asked him about the government's response to people smuggling and he suggested that it was alright in as far as it went but was deficient in one or two minor aspects. When asked for more detail re these deficiencies, he pointed out the lack of shooting of uranium enriched warheads at arriving boats as one area in which our federal gatekeepers had dropped the proverbial spherical object.
In order to get the other side of the story I decided to interview a typical asylum seeker. In one of those amazing coincidences that makes the laws of chance look decidedly shonky - ha!ha! take that Law of Independent Probabilities - a typical illegal immigrant lived four doors down from me. Literally. He had arranged four doors into some kind of makeshift shelter. So with a spring in my step and a song in my heart (both conditions can be medically treated I am reliably informed though the cardiologist has told me that the latter will require lifetime medication) I arrived at the doorstep of Mr. X. After some confusion about which doorstep I should use he invited me in and then proceeded to lecture me on the corruption and decadence prevalent in the West and how it was impossible to get access to a decent trouser-press these days. He then railed about the baleful influence of the 'Great Satan' in the modern world. In fact, the 'Great Satan' turned out to be Mr. Milson from No. 14 who had borrowed and not yet returned Mr X's leaf blower - an offence punishable by death in his culture. Problematically, possession of a leaf blower was also a capital offense and so my interviewee had found himself ensconced in an ethical dilemma that I was unable to advise him on. I made my excuses and tried to leave quickly through what I thought was the back door but which in fact led to a fracture in the time-space continuum. I was momentarily trapped in an alternative dimension where everything was exactly the same as our world except that barnacles were used as currency.
The experience has affected me deeply and given me a great deal of insight into the intractable nature of this issue. If you'll just excuse me, I'm going to have a little lie down and sort it all out after lunch.
Thank you for your time.
NOTE: It has been brought to my attention that the above comments may have been offensive to agoutis. If this is indeed the case then I apologise unreservedly. At least I apologise to agoutis of the genus Dasyprocta. Members of the genus Myoprocta can, however, go back to whatever backwater of the world they come from and stop stealing Australian jobs.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
On U.S. Foreign Policy
Dear All,
Foreign policy has long been a spiny protuberance in the fleshy part of the lateral abdomen for American presidents since William Taft managed to lose both his wooden leg and South Dakota in a poker match with the Shah of Iran. With the aid of a good length of string, a compass and some sort of divining rod you can almost demonstrate a straight line from that incident to the current situation in the Middle East. In fact, mention the region in a room full of career diplomats and watch even the most hardened embassy jockey cough nervously, mutter something about an urgent podiatrist's appointment and quickly leave the room faster than you can say "geopolitical quagmire with the potential to destabilise multi-lateral relations on a quasi-global scale." And yet the solution is surprisingly simple. It's here somewhere. Maybe under these biscuits. No? Remind me to get back to it later.
As the smoke starts to clear following the Democrat fracas, and it seems more and more plausible that the White House will be inhabited by a sentient being as of this November, thoughts are turning to what policy change might be in the air. The appalling state of the marmoset industry, the Virginian toast buttering scandal and foreign outsourcing of aglet production are just three domestic issues which must be addressed as a matter of the utmost urgency if the U.S. is to avoid going down the same road as Mesopotamia did in the 1950's. Of more concern to us in the outer-suburbs though is American foreign policy. I will summarise the three most pressing problems facing a future inhabitant of the Oval Office smoking jacket and fez.
1.The Middle East
Foreign policy has long been a spiny protuberance in the fleshy part of the lateral abdomen for American presidents since William Taft managed to lose both his wooden leg and South Dakota in a poker match with the Shah of Iran. With the aid of a good length of string, a compass and some sort of divining rod you can almost demonstrate a straight line from that incident to the current situation in the Middle East. In fact, mention the region in a room full of career diplomats and watch even the most hardened embassy jockey cough nervously, mutter something about an urgent podiatrist's appointment and quickly leave the room faster than you can say "geopolitical quagmire with the potential to destabilise multi-lateral relations on a quasi-global scale." And yet the solution is surprisingly simple. It's here somewhere. Maybe under these biscuits. No? Remind me to get back to it later.
2.The lesser of two axes of evil.
Taking action in regard to countries such as North Korea, Iran and Syria is fraught with dangers for the new statesperson. My advice is start off with slightly less formidable targets. Iceland and New Zealand both contain vast reservoirs of geo-thermal energy and as yet, have not admitted UN weapon inspectors. How long is such cheek to be endured? Damned insolent rotters!
3.The United Nations.
The dignity and efficacy of the UN needs to be restored. This can be achieved in three ways
(1) A greatly expanded Security Council with the chair being rotated on an annual basis.
(2) Greater accountability and more transparent administration at all levels
(3) The immediate removal of any countries with risible names that undermine the dignity of this august body - Burkina Faso, Uruguay and any country with at least one Z in its name would be the first to be given the pink slip and a map to the international dole office.
As a minor aside, perhaps the Dutch situation should be reviewed as well. Suspicion is growing in diplomatic ranks that Holland and the Netherlands are in fact one and the same country, and giving them two votes in the General Assembly is being a tad over-generous, no matter how much we all enjoy the sight of grown men in mahogany footwear.
Thank you for your time
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
On Crime and Punishment
Dear All
On a recent snorkelling trip to Tuscany, a rogue dentist on a scooter stole my overbite while I was standing at the traffic lights. This started me pondering the subject of crime and how we address this issue in a caring and humane society. Or even New Zealand for that matter.
It was Cicero in 46 B.C., or possibly 1847 - I get a bit hazy with dates after my post-breakfast port, who said, "The twin pillars of crime prevention are prompt capture, speedy judgement and violent retribution." Cicero also said that it was OK to wear a purple toga with orange sandals so perhaps we should be a little circumspect when considering his advice. His point, though, is still relevant in today's society (the point about crime prevention, not togas). Recent research showed that 87% of Australian television current affairs programmes are concerned about the rise in crime.
Let us consider the approach of two different societies. Recent research from Sweden is promising. In selected prisons, hardened recidivists have been punished by being given reduced wine lists with their meals. In the case of particularly recalcitrant felons, the prison sommelier is only allowing access to the '85 Chateauneuf-du-Pape rather than the more fancied, and some would say over-rated '84 vintage. The rate of repeat offences in almost all crimes has decreased markedly, with the notable exception of wine bar heists which have increased by 372%.
"That's all very well for those feisty fun-loving Scandinavian thugs," I hear you say, despite the purely visual medium I'm working in. "What about cities where crime is endemic. What about Reykjavik?" I would respond by asking you to step outside if you dare criticise my Icelandic chums again. Instead, let's look at a more celebrated case - New York City in the 1970s.
It's hard to imagine the climate of fear abroad in the Big Apple in those heady days. This is best exemplified by the crimes carried out by the notorious serial killer, Arthur 'The Notorious Serial Killer' Watson. His killing spree was all the more noteworthy because he taunted the investigating detectives with cryptic clues left at the scene of the crime such as signed confessions and detailed maps showing his whereabouts for the following two weeks. In one famous incident he actually assisted the pathologist at the autopsy of one of his victims, frequently dropping such comments as "A six inch gash to the abdomen! What was I thinking?" and "Hmmm. That mutilated torso looks familiar." He was finally caught while trying to put on a pair of pants during the 1977 St. Patrick's Day Parade. Unfortunately for him, those very same pants were being worn by the District Attorney at the time.
This, and crimes like it led to the the introduction of a policy of extreme tolerance. The NYPD were encouraged to round up suspects and take them to a Broadway musical or fringe theatre piece of their choice. When this made little impression on the crime rate, a rethink led to the introduction of zero tolerance and the rest, as they say, is history.
Thank you for your time.
On a recent snorkelling trip to Tuscany, a rogue dentist on a scooter stole my overbite while I was standing at the traffic lights. This started me pondering the subject of crime and how we address this issue in a caring and humane society. Or even New Zealand for that matter.
It was Cicero in 46 B.C., or possibly 1847 - I get a bit hazy with dates after my post-breakfast port, who said, "The twin pillars of crime prevention are prompt capture, speedy judgement and violent retribution." Cicero also said that it was OK to wear a purple toga with orange sandals so perhaps we should be a little circumspect when considering his advice. His point, though, is still relevant in today's society (the point about crime prevention, not togas). Recent research showed that 87% of Australian television current affairs programmes are concerned about the rise in crime.
Let us consider the approach of two different societies. Recent research from Sweden is promising. In selected prisons, hardened recidivists have been punished by being given reduced wine lists with their meals. In the case of particularly recalcitrant felons, the prison sommelier is only allowing access to the '85 Chateauneuf-du-Pape rather than the more fancied, and some would say over-rated '84 vintage. The rate of repeat offences in almost all crimes has decreased markedly, with the notable exception of wine bar heists which have increased by 372%.
"That's all very well for those feisty fun-loving Scandinavian thugs," I hear you say, despite the purely visual medium I'm working in. "What about cities where crime is endemic. What about Reykjavik?" I would respond by asking you to step outside if you dare criticise my Icelandic chums again. Instead, let's look at a more celebrated case - New York City in the 1970s.
It's hard to imagine the climate of fear abroad in the Big Apple in those heady days. This is best exemplified by the crimes carried out by the notorious serial killer, Arthur 'The Notorious Serial Killer' Watson. His killing spree was all the more noteworthy because he taunted the investigating detectives with cryptic clues left at the scene of the crime such as signed confessions and detailed maps showing his whereabouts for the following two weeks. In one famous incident he actually assisted the pathologist at the autopsy of one of his victims, frequently dropping such comments as "A six inch gash to the abdomen! What was I thinking?" and "Hmmm. That mutilated torso looks familiar." He was finally caught while trying to put on a pair of pants during the 1977 St. Patrick's Day Parade. Unfortunately for him, those very same pants were being worn by the District Attorney at the time.
This, and crimes like it led to the the introduction of a policy of extreme tolerance. The NYPD were encouraged to round up suspects and take them to a Broadway musical or fringe theatre piece of their choice. When this made little impression on the crime rate, a rethink led to the introduction of zero tolerance and the rest, as they say, is history.
Thank you for your time.
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