Of Walls and Drowning

Geopolitics of Climate Change in the 21^st Century

William Sundwick

The term “geopolitics” was first used in the 19^th century to refer to the influence of geography on political actions of nations. When U.S. Navy Captain Alfred T. Mahan published his seminal work, The Influence of Sea Power on History, 1660-1783, in 1890, imperialism was in full bloom. Great Power rivalry was centered around the part of the world we now know as the global South. It was competition among Britain, France, Germany, and the United States for resources needed by exploding industrial development – and growing populations in those “Northern” countries.

Early in the 20th century, Halford Mackinder introduced his “heartland theory” in The Geographical Pivot of History, published in 1904 in Great Britain. Mackinder emphasized the “world island” instead of Mahan’s “world ocean.” But both fathers of geopolitics had one thing in common: an underlying assumption that Malthusian population growth would outrun resources needed to sustain it, unless countries experiencing that growth could acquire more resources from places that weren’t experiencing such growth. That was the definition of imperialism: organized theft, via military power, from the poor to the rich. Not much changed until late in the century, when the collapse of the Soviet Union ended the Cold War, ushering in a “uni-polar” world where one country, the U.S., dominated the new imperial order.

Now, in the 21^st century, we are confronted anew by a demographic challenge threatening stability and peace in the world. It is the looming specter of climate change. Just as it’s clear that world power relationships divide those with resources from those without, so is it clear that climate change will affect some countries more than others. Island states expect to be hardest hit, next are nations where the bulk of their population and resources are in low-lying coastal areas, such as India and Bangladesh. Rising sea levels threaten to wipe them out over the next several decades. Drought is also a climate change issue – affecting food supplies for many populations. These factors, along with the consequent disease, potentially will create huge waves of migration away from places most affected, and toward “safer” locations.

Even internal migration can threaten regional stability. Civil wars, like Syria’s, destabilize neighboring countries with secondary migrations of refugees. Weak governments, lacking access to resources, exacerbate the situation. And corruption is always a destabilizing influence.

When the United Nations was formed in the wake of World War II, its founders understood many of these factors. An organization built to promote world peace would need to address all of them to be successful. IPCC (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change) is pursuing worldwide commitments from all governments regarding the impending threats of climate change, under the UN charter.

Unfortunately, many governments are still locked into the legacy of 19^th- 20^th century imperialism. The United Nations and IPCC aren’t imbued with the kind of authority needed to force progress from national, or tribal, loyalties to something approaching the “human family.” Once they acquire resources, nations tend to hoard them, stockpiling and guarding them against potential thieves.

When we hear expressions like “no borders, no country” we are hearing the selfishness of wealthy countries. Poor countries, those most at risk from climate change, don’t need borders. All borders are essentially intended to be fences. And, representative governments are chosen to represent the feelings of those who elect them, including irrational anxieties about “identity” loss. Wealthy countries tend to have more representative governments than poor countries, where corruption and strongmen often hold sway.

A world of “us vs. them” might work if resources were distributed equitably among all players. Cultural identity would then be quaint but wouldn’t carry life-or-death consequences. In the world of climate change and capitalism in the 21^st century, that is not the case. Saying “you have your own place, stay there” literally is consigning large numbers of human beings to death.

Aren’t people a resource? Why should migration be a threat? In a full employment economy, especially, additional labor can be a very real growth opportunity. Yet, the hoarding instinct and tribal preservation seem to be too easily ginned up in many Western nations’ political environments.

We’ve been through two or three decades where the promise of globalization seemed to offer a way out of the limitations of nationalism. It looked, for a while, like the world was “flat,” as Thomas Friedman wrote. Perhaps borders could someday be erased.

However, we came to realize, after the worldwide financial crisis of a decade ago, that capital flowed only in one direction -- toward the top. It didn’t flow outward or down. The world wasn’t flat, but a suction cup. Hence, issues of tribal identity and scarcity rose once again to prominence. Nations with a great deal of capital at their disposal could maintain powerful military establishments to enforce nationalism (if not expand it beyond their borders), and political expediency allowed capital to maintain its power. The multinational side of globalization began to lose its clout.

What is the meaning of “security” for any nation? If it means keeping its people safe, then meeting their needs should be equally important to countering any threats, real or imagined, from outside. Wars are seldom caused by efforts to meet a population’s economic needs, and there is even a body of opinion (socialist) that says wars originate from capitalism’s need to burn through excess capacity.

If we “follow the money” in international relations, we may be able to identify the real threats to national security and devise strategies to counter them. It’s important to understand boundaries between class, between haves and have-nots, not merely between nation-states. Power elites compete with one another – sometimes within a country, sometimes across borders – but, they compete as businesses do, not as national or cultural entities. Workers, their labor supply, are the pawns in this game. If elites need to import labor, they will – and as cheaply as possible. If they need to keep labor competition low, due to expansion, they will do that.

In order to move beyond the perverse cycle of hoarding and war, cooperation, at some high level, must replace competition. The human family must be exploited but not pitted against itself. Borders should be de-emphasized, not fortified. The United Nations has an admirable 75-year history of promoting world peace. It should be encouraged, not fought.

What has always been desirable, but never achievable, may be due to intrinsic evil in human nature. However, Darwin’s theory of natural selection does note that the most successful species are those that optimize  cooperation, not competition.

Our species deserves to die if it can’t overcome that evil side of competition. But even a dire apocalyptic vision allows for “some” to be saved!

Friends

Is it What They Do for Us? Or, What We Do for Them?

William Sundwick

Aristotle defined three types of friends in the Nicomachean Ethics. Friendship could be for utility, pleasure, or goodness. Friends of utility are like business relationships; goods and services are exchanged by such friends. Friends of pleasure are those to whom we are attracted, either by physical appearance or for amusement. The third kind of friend, however, the friend of goodness, is the Justice friendship. It is based not on what they can do for us, but what we can do for them.

It is this third type of friendship that is the deepest, and longest lasting. It also may take the longest to develop. It is marked by intentionality, whereas the first two may be accidental. Aristotle’s “city” needs all three types to flourish. But it is the third type, the justice friendship, which maintains the city as an entity.

To be called a “friendship,” surely a relationship with another human being must have a component of mutuality. All friendships are two-way. But the motivator is not always so mutual. Children start with friends of pleasure only. As they become more autonomous, common interests emerge, thus friends of utility. These continue into adulthood, some early friendships fading, new ones developing, and slowly the justice, or goodness, friends begin to reveal themselves. With modern telecommunications, not even distance can interfere with goodness friendships. They may last a lifetime.

But no friends are made unless we take a chance, either with stimulus or response. When we do a good turn or start thinking about opportunities to give, we are on our way to developing “level 3” friends. Often, the principal barrier to such behavior is difficulty in trusting others. As adults, we are vulnerable to many hurts, and even financial loss, when we jump too quickly at overtures from strangers and acquaintances. We also erect cultural barriers against friendship with “certain kinds” of people, based on our understanding of personal or tribal history.

Loneliness at all ages comes from the sense that something is missing, something either not yet defined or lost in the past. That empty feeling is aggravated by fear of the unknown – of taking risks. It is mitigated by the goodness factor. Through dispassionate risk analysis, or faith, we endeavor to overcome the fear.

It’s worth some effort, since there is evidence that friends can make the difference between good mental health and serious disability, even death. The deep friendships are the best, but the child (or adolescent) in us can also benefit from pleasure friendships, and the adult “operator” in us can benefit from friends of utility. Common interests, flattery, and physical attraction work at any age. Adults tend to dig deeper when they start asking questions like “where am I going?” In adulthood, we start playing chess in our relationships, thinking several moves ahead. And, we discover politics! “What can I get if I give this much? A little more?” The onset of old age brings new questions, like “Does anybody notice me any more?” – and, possibly, more assertive reaching out. We may discover that new friendships based on nostalgia have limitations. Activities, social or otherwise, are far more interesting.

These days, many of us live in two social environments -- traditional face-to-face friends sharing common interests, or mutual attraction, and  virtual friends on social media. The virtual world has friends of utility and friends of pleasure, but also friends of goodness. Your comfort level in either of these two environments may vary with practice. The virtual world contains all the same motivators for establishing and maintaining friendships as the “real world,” and all the same constraints.

One question I have about virtual friends is: do they see themselves as real people? Or, have they so given themselves over to the virtual world that they have now lost touch with their real flesh-and-blood selves? I have difficulty ascertaining this about some Facebook friends whom I’ve never met “IRL.”

There are some additional constraints in the online world -- language vs. physical touch and emojis vs. body language. Words do have meaning, but touch is more intimate (even given the same level of privacy). And, those emojis were invented by an artist in a studio, whereas your body language (including tone of voice) is likely unconscious and spontaneous unless you’re a trained actor. Then, there is eye contact – not achievable any way I know in the virtual world. Evaluating the quality of online friendships over “real-life” can be challenging, even in the Aristotelian schema. Your friends in the ether should help, just like IRL!

In retirement, I have probably developed a richer world of virtual friendship than my IRL milieu. This may have come naturally for me, as my network of real-world friends, beyond my immediate family, was always slim. Indeed, a primary reason for my decision to “cut the cord” four years ago was that the quality of friendships at work was deteriorating – without much hope for improvement. I had questions about mutuality with my work friends: was I doing as much for them as they were for me? When the answer to that question became “no,” I decided to leave. It didn’t hurt that I retained a fair degree of confidence in my ability to make new friends in retirement, thinking my skill set was perfectly adequate to the task.

As a test of those skills, I now ask myself whether any work relationships have survived, four years on. Some have survived in the online realm but I’ve physically met up with work friends only occasionally in four years, and only at parties. A valid test?

Another question I’m asking myself lately – is there anybody I would ask to deliver a eulogy at my funeral? I am hard pressed to come up with any names aside from immediate family. Am I just too private? Have I not given enough to others? Surely, if there were somebody, I would know, right?

 “They may forget what you said, but they will never forget how you made them feel.” - Carl W. Buechner

Cold War

Deeper Context for Pawel Pawlikowski’s Film?

William Sundwick

Despite its title, Cold War is first and foremost a love story -- a very Polish love story. Pawel Pawlikowski, as auteur, has already produced one Oscar-winning film, 2013’s Ida. Cold War is a contender for the foreign film honors in 2018.  Its inescapable, overt context is Poland’s artistically stultifying, soul-crushing period under Soviet domination. The film spans 15 years of the main characters’ lives, 1949-1964. Wiktor (Tomasz Kot), a musical ethnographer in the mold of Alan Lomax in the U.S., and Zula (Joanna Kulig), a folk singer from “the mountains,” weave an on-again/off-again affair extending over the prime years of their lives, star-crossed lovers like Romeo and Juliet, but old enough to know better!

 Wiktor is an idealist, a believable artist and intellectual. His passion: resurrect a dying folk culture from Poland’s hinterlands. He sees it as noble, genuine art. Zula, we learn almost from the moment we meet her, is a  player. She has a different sort of dream – to “make it.” If Wiktor can be her vehicle, so much the better. He features her in his touring ensemble, Mazurek, encouraged by the socialist authorities, which consists of singing, dancing, and plenty of class warfare propaganda (including giant portraits of Stalin unfurled as backdrop to their performances). Wiktor’s original collaborator, Irena, can’t stand the censorship of artistic overlords, personified by the apparatchik “watcher” Kaczmarek who follows the troupe around Europe as they perform.

Performing in Berlin sets up both Wiktor and Zula to defect to the West. But Zula reneges. Their careers intersect again later in Paris. Wiktor, a jazz pianist now, very bohemian, and Zula, singing Polish folk songs in French, reworked as jazz. She plays to her audience. He still searches for something genuine. In the end, they return to Poland together. Zula frees Wiktor from prison (a 15-year sentence for defection), via marriage and child-bearing with a Party official, and the film ends sadly. But Wiktor and Zula are finally together.

Reviewers agree that the film’s cinematography and musical score are sensational. Indeed, some have referred to it as a “musical” because of the rich score. Kulig is a talented singer cast appropriately as Zula; and, as actress, a cross between Jennifer Lawrence and Marilyn Monroe, with her sultry and manipulative ways.

More mysterious are the main characters’ motivations. Wiktor and Zula seem to have conflicting drivers. Wiktor, the true artist intellectual, continually searches for aesthetic purity. Zula comes across as more embedded in her Polish folk art – she is folk, Wiktor is merely seeking “folk.” Socialist realism, the overweening authority in all artistic matters, paints Zula as a proletarian worker’s hero. Its rules dictate how Wiktor should proceed with his project.  Its agenda sets the travel schedule through Europe.

In interviews, the director readily confesses that his two main characters represent his own parents – he even gave them the same names.

Pawlikowski emphasizes the grayness of Polish society by filming in black-and-white with documentary-like Academy 4:3 aspect ratio. He did the same in Ida. The melodramatic angst of the main characters leaves one to wonder if the socialist realism Pawlikowski (or Irena) presumably hates isn’t really a metaphor for the struggle of all artists against the norms of the state – or the critics. I believe this is the deeper context of Pawlikowski’s message. Further evidence is that, apparently, Poland has recently resorted again to state intervention and hijacking of musical performers.

Is the Polish state exploiting nationalism now? Endeavoring to promote that “simple peasant” narrative? Today’s cultural milieu in Poland is more diverse. The state may have designs on the popular imagination for political purposes but is not all-powerful, as in the Soviet past of Cold War.

After the Iron Curtain disappeared, Poland joined the EU, and a vigorous multi-party democracy emerged. Surely not the drab grayness of Pawlikowski’s scenario. Had Wiktor and Zula been able to see another 15 years into the future, after Cold War ends, they would both likely have become wrapped up in Solidarnosc and the sweet optimism of impending change.

Yet, perhaps Poland has not changed so much? We can imagine Wiktor as elderly sage lamenting that he still cannot find original, creative work in the youthful contemporary music scene.

Polish rock bands tend to align themselves with one or the other of their country’s ideological strands, either PiS (Law and Justice Party – conservative, nationalistic) or PO (Civic Platform – more socially liberal, pro-EU). Their musical styles may be hip-hop, heavy metal, or punk, but the musical genre is independent of the ideological persuasion of their songs. The Jarocin punk rock festivals have been a sounding board for these social conflicts since the 1980s.

The eternal compromises of art and politics are reflected in Zula’s accommodation to the authorities, and ultimately her bringing Wiktor back to Poland, and securing his release from prison, despite her own alleged parole on the murder charge for killing her abusive father. The Roger Ebert review doubts that the story of her parole and her father’s abuse (“he mistook me for my mother, so I showed him the difference with a knife”) is true. Reality itself becomes as gray as Cold War’s cinematography.

Perhaps the artistic meaning of the Iron Curtain to Pawlikowski is that it represents the boundary with the “other side” – whatever that may be. His critique may not be so much of enforced socialist realism in art as the perennial constraints placed on art by any ideology. That would be Wiktor’s complaint. In the film’s denouement, however, both Wiktor and Zula seem resigned to their fate. They have returned home again after all those years away.

Have they finally resolved their artistic conflicts?