Convergence

What is the plural of octopus? 'Octopodes', 'octopi', and 'octopuses' get thrown about, but which is most correct?

First of all, 'octopuses' is reached simply by applying the classical rules of English pluralization to the word octopus, rendering it a grammatically - though not traditionally - correct plural form.

'Octopi' originated due to a mistaken assumption that the word octopus is Latin in origin.  This is an easy mistake to make, considering that 'octo' is the Latin word for eight, and the '-us' ending suggests a Latin word suffix of the second declension.  However, it is significant to note that the Latin word 'octo' actually derives from the Greek word 'okto', also meaning eight.

Were octopus a Latin word, it would actually be spelt 'octopes' (falling in the fifth declension), and be pluralized as 'octopedes'.

Arguably, the most correct plural of octopus is 'octopodes'.  The reason for this is because, as hinted at earlier, the word octopus actually derives from the Greek (not Latin) word 'oktopous' which is pluralized in the form 'oktopodes'.  This use is, however, comparatively rare.

Surely a grammar lesson can't be all this post is about, so I'll throw in some amusing octopus-related anecdotes:

I love octopus; it is just the most amazing creature. Once, when I was snorkelling, I happened to notice this lazy bit of weed sprouting, unusually, out of a hole with the hollowed out head of a cray fish attached to it.  As my eye is usually tuned to such things, I decided to get a closer look and, of course, it turned out to be an octopus... fishing!

You see, he was just sitting in his hole, lazily dangling a tentacle out of it, using the crayfish to attract small whiting and other fish stupids to his lair; as soon as they'd come in for a quick feed - BANG! - out he'd shoot, grab 'em, and into his hole he'd go.  I watched him fishing like that for about an hour, and it was truly fascinating the way that little arm swung around in the current, just lolling about with his craftily deployed crayfish head.  Brilliant little buggers.

On another occasion, I found an octopus at low tide, all holed up.  Ran back to the flats and scooped up a handful of soldier crabs, and returned to the occy hole to drop them, one by one, around his lair.  I've never been more tickled than by seeing this little bugger drop out first one arm for a fat juicy soldier crab, then another, then another, until eventually he had six independent battles going on simultaneously, and still he wouldn't let go of any of them.  Of course, once he'd retreated with his fat cache o' crab, I dropped a little gold coin in the sunshine right out his lair, and he darted out, leaving the real treasure behind, to take a look.  Out he came, and then less than a heartbeat later, about twelve soldier crabs too, very mildly chewed, scattering off over the sands.

If you're ever watching an octopus be sure to have something shiny to lure them around with; they simply can't stand not to possess the shine.  I've had them crawl all over me and follow me for hours just trying to get the gold coins out of the mesh pockets in my snorkel trunks.

"That bitch. That fuckin bitch."

"Easy now, Mr. Coetzee," Clinton said, "save it for your lawyer. Hmm... Assuming of course that's where you want to go with this."

"Yes, yes of course," Coetzee replied, rifling through a stack of grainy black-and-white photographs of shadowy figures like thick tendrils of smoke from some unseen cigarette, with exciting curves an lurid coils. At least one of the photographs indisputably showed the face of Mrs. Coetzee, and at least one showed the face of an attractive young man who was, in every respect, not Mr. Coetzee.

"You know," Coetzee continued, "with this... She won't see a bloody penny."

The harsh rain had returned to the region. Persistently it pattered upon the awning outside the window. The shine of an indifferent sun barely broke through endless ashen clouds and suffused the room in a dusky half-light. Clinton's office was small and unstately; it had been a general practitioner's office before the inexorable tide of conurbation had turned a formerly pleasant Durban neighbourhood into a run-down cog in the city-machine. Those old ghosts were gone now, but the air the oak walls breathed still sometimes smelled of ether and stale yesterdays. Clinton's desk was spartan save his stationary, telephone, an overflowing ashtray, and a framed picture of his deceased son Andrew. The room was bedecked with a cabinet at the far end. It housed various types of liquor, and the drawers below contained papers and files with notes on past clients. The wall behind Clinton's desk was chequered with framed photographs and awards from his career with the South African Police. Among them a diploma for attaining the rank of Lieutenant, a certificate for outstanding service in the Criminal Investigation Department, and a photograph of him shaking hands with former cabinet minister Chris Heunis, both smiling broadly. The latter taken after the successful resolution of a corporate blackmail case in the town of Somerset West to where Heunis later retired. Clinton did not display these documents out of pride, but rather as attestations to his ability. Advertisements. Although someone hiring a private investigator would be allayed to see that he is, at least by nature, a family man, that is not why Clinton kept the picture of Andrew on his desk.

"Forgive me for saying so," Clinton said as he rose out of his chair and walked around the desk past Coetzee towards the cabinet, " but it sounds like you've had this idea for a while. Leaving your wife, I mean."

"I'll be honest with you, Mr. Durant-"

"'Clint,' please. We've been over this before."

"Hrm. Clint," Coetzee continued without swiveling in his chair to make eye contact. Speaking as though Clinton were still sitting across from him, "As you know I've been, ah... suspecting... my wife for a number of months now. We've, well, been having problems for a long time."

"So what's your poison, Mr. Coetzee?"

"What?" Coetzee turned to look at Clinton.

"A drink. Can I pour you a drink?"

"Ah. Hmm, I shouldn't drink, really."

"Oh, come. It's almost five o'clock, and we're discussing a pretty sensitive personal matter. Some bourbon, maybe?"

"Well," Coetzee paused for a moment in indecision, "Scotch, if you have."

"Coming right up." Clinton reached into the cabinet toward an expensive bottle of Glenfiddich eighteen-year-old single malt before pausing, then reached past it for a comparatively cheap bottle of blended Famous Grouse. He poured a shot into a tumbler and handed it to Coetzee before pouring himself a Jim Beam on the rocks. Coetzee took a big sip and wiped his moustache with a handkerchief.

"As I was saying," he continued, "Gerda and I have been having problems for a long time."

"Since before you suspected her of... being unfaithful... or do you think it's the other way around? That she felt distrusted, pushed away, forced into the arms of another man, as they say."

Coetzee's eyes seemed to scan his brow from the inside as he mulled what Clinton had said. "No, I... Okay, we've had problems before I suspected her of..."

"Of cheating."

"Of cheating. Things have been cold between us for months. I tried everything, but... you know."

Clinton pretended to be interested as he sipped his bourbon while sitting on the desk near Coetzee. He was convincing. "She didn't want you to try?"

"Yes, basically. It was like she gave up. Like she wanted our marriage to end but didn't want to make a move herself," Coetzee said.

"How many months?"

"What?"

"Well, you said that things've been cold between you for months. You've suspected her of infidelity for maybe half that time, and you only came to me a week ago. So how many months have things been cold?"

"Oh, well, since December I think."

"You think?"

"Uh, yes. You see, we... Gerda, the kids and I... we normally go to my brother's farm near Stellenbosch over Christmas. She usually loves the trip. And the farm. Last year, however... she didn't seem all that interested. Disappointed, almost. That's when I first picked up on it, really. That things have changed."

"I see," Clinton said as he got up off the desk and sat down again at his proper place in the chair behind it. "Mr. Coetzee, it is my belief that your wife has been having affairs since at least December."

"Affairs? You're saying more than one?"

"You didn't really think this was the first time, did you?"

"Well, I-"

"Look," Clinton interrupted, "I took these photographs less than a week ago. Only a day after you  first came to see me. If you recall, we agreed to the night when she usually goes to her Bridge game."

"That's right. Tuesday."

"Tuesday. And you know what I saw on Tuesday? This." He picked up the photographs Coetzee had been rifling through earlier and tossed them back onto the desk closer to Coetzee.

"I'm not sure I follow."

"On the first night night I tailed her, on her very first night by herself since you came to see me, she slept with another man. Now, Mr. Coetzee, I would not presume to know how your wife conducts herself in the bedroom, but in my experience a woman does not behave that way and do those things with a man she's been seeing for at least three months. There's novelty in those pictures. Passion. This guy she was with... he's new to her."

Coetzee fidgeted with his hands, downed the last of his Scotch and wiped his brow with the handkerchief. "I don't think I understand, Clint. What you're saying... about it being passionate and new... it doesn't fit with what you said about her being unfaithful for months. How can you be so sure it's been going on that long? Are you really saying there's been more than one man?"

"I'm saying that, yes." Clinton stroked his chin, staring at Coetzee, "How long has your wife been having her weekly Bridge game?"

Coetzee had a look of shocked revelation on his face.

"If I were a gambler, Mr. Coetzee, I'd wager your wife has never played a game of Bridge in her life."

"Fuckin bitch."

Clinton got up from his chair and walked over to Coetzee. "Look," he said as he amicably handed Coetzee his coat, "this is all a lot to take in. Bad decisions were never made on a cool head, so why don't you take some time to think about it? Talk things over with your wife before rushing into something you may regret. And if you want me to follow her around again and take some more pictures, I'll do that for you."

"Thank you, Mr. Durant- ah, Clint," Coetzee smiled, "but I don't think she can say anything to change my mind at this stage. God knows, she can only make things worse. If that's even possible. No. No, these pictures are more than my lawyer'll need. My mind's made up. As I've said, she won't see a penny of my money."

Clinton led Coetzee out of  his office and into the small, adjacent reception area where his elderly secretary, Gwen Lawson, was already putting on her sweater and preparing to go home. "Speaking of pennies," Clinton forced a chuckle, "when can I expect you to settle your account for services rendered?"

"I'll send you a cheque at the end of the month. Is that in order?"

"Perfectly in order, Mr. Coetzee. Have a nice evening and try not to think too hard. That's what mornings are for. If you need anything else... well, you have my card." he said as he ushered Coetzee towards the front door.

Coetzee greeted Clinton and Gwen, picked up his umbrella from next to the door and opened it as he went out to his car. Clinton closed the door quickly to keep the rain out.

"It sounds like we won't be seeing him again," Gwen said.

"No, Gwen, I don't think we will. But we'll be seeing his money," he said with a wink.

She whimpers. She floats in the darkness like a majestic thing, this little girl of thin frame. The plain white dress she wears, torn into a mere tattered rag, contrasting against her black skin and reflecting the light of some moon to give her the semblance of an angel.

She drifts in space among a myriad of stars that seems to go on forever in every direction. Each one nothing more than a speck of light on an endless blanket of darkness, but each one a massive and powerful furnace, undulating with prominences, roaring silently with activity. Each one of those countless specks of light representing a source of life to countless civilizations upon countless worlds; some, unimaginably different; some, not unlike our own with joy and sorrow and day and night and love and hate and kindness and cruelty and life and death.

As she breathes, the universe breathes. As her heart beats, so, too, does reality oscillate itself into existence in a constant unfolding, like an eternally blooming lotus blossom.

All of her days until now have been filled with these things: joy and sorrow and day and night and love and hate and kindness and cruelty and life, but now nothing exists but this moment. The beauty and the peace of it all have consumed her entirely, and no thoughts or memories traverse her mind other than awe at the magnificence of this spectacle. Drifting amid the vastness of space, the empty, silent coldness embracing her, she keeps her focus on only this moment.

She whimpers. She exhales one final time. The cold embrace has swallowed her. With her last breath she destroys the universe. As her heart stops, so does the endless dance of creation. As her vision turns to blackness, so all that was, and is, and shall be disappears into a void so striking in its emptiness that it is almost tangible.

The seemingly endless vignette of stars in which she drifts is a mere reflection on the surface of a lake. A lake so calm and still that it is like a mirror. A lake on which the little girl of thin frame with the torn white dress floats motionless. A lake in the African wilderness, many kilometers from civilization. The cold embrace - not of space, but of the water - has mercifully kept the pain of her wounds from her mind, and the night has mercifully kept from her vision the red tinge of the water around her. Her last moments were calm, at least. The cold and the dark her only comforts.

What with Facebook changing their layout into a redundant, buggy mess yet again, some of my friends asked me to write a rant about the situation.  Well, seeing as I don't really care anymore, here's a rant for you:

Write it yourselves if you feel so strongly about it!  Or how about this, stop whining and don't use a service you don't like and are in no way paying for!

However, if you do need my wit to validate your own opinions, then I'm sure you're already aware of the fact that I have addressed this issue in the past.  Sure that article is boring and outdated now, but it's still better than anything you could come up with.

No, today I have decided to tackle a real and serious issue that has been vexing me greatly: Cow farts.

Studies show that cows emit massive amounts of methane through burping and farting.  Methane, of course, is a major contributor to global warming and is 23 times more powerful than carbon dioxide.  Some experts say that the average dairy cow emits up to 500 liters of methane per day, which is comparable to the average car on the road.  As we know, cars are a major contributing factor to the fact[1] of global warming.

An ongoing study by Welsh scientists is examining whether feeding cows garlic can have an impact on cow flatulence.  Early results suggest that a garlic based diet reduces cow farts by 50%, but result in disgusting milk.

Other efforts include a Fart Tax proposed by the government of New Zealand which was not adopted because it's fucking stupid.

What can be done about the problem?  Personally, I suggest a re-evaluation of the beef industry.  In a world where overpopulation is rife and we don't know what to do with unwanted children, the elderly or the homeless, do we really need to look towards another species as a source of dietary meat?


[1] Not really.  For an intelligent and totally unbiased look at global warming from an unbiased perspective, see this article.  Oh, did I mention it's in no way biased whatsoever?  Because it's not.

The recent sales on Steam have left me quite a bit less broke than I might have been had I bought a couple of dozen games at their usual prices, but it has left me in complete poverty as far as free time and productivity are concerned.

As you can tell from my Steam screenshot, my preference is generally for strategy, real-time tactics, and role-playing games.  The main culprits thus far have been my favourite MMO Eve Online, and an absolute little gem of an indie platformer called Braid that has managed to make itself one of my favourite games of all time.

I was hoping to make this post a little bit longer and more interesting, but these games aren't going to play themselves, you know...

Well, I've been trying dilligently for the past week or so, but - would you believe it - the one week I decide to give this a shot, I actually develop a social life.  A number of  social engagements that crept up on me over the past week have turned out to be difficult, if not impossible, to reschedule.

One of the drawbacks of a polyphasic sleep schedule is the unacceptability of missing just a single nap.  Miss one, and you're thrown off for a day; miss two, and you're completely screwed. After about three or four days of sticking with it faithfully, I began to miss naps and the whole thing fell apart.  Even an impromptu fishing expedition with my brother this morning was more than marginally unpleasant due to accumulated sleep debt.

If even during what is supposedly a holiday I am unable to make time for this sort of thing, I seriously doubt I'll be able to keep it going during normal life.  I can't say I consider it a healthy lifestyle, nor can I say it was fun while it lasted, but, goddamn, if it isn't interesting!

Reddit recently ran an ambitious, community-driven Secret Santa project.  Initially it was a niche interest idea from a handful of lunatics, but the idea quickly picked up steam and received strong support from redditors.  It didn't take very long for redditgifts to become the biggest Secret Santa exchange in history.  The story got picked up by the mainstream media who ran with it as a lovely Yuletide story of an online community acting as a force for good, which is quite remarkable as most online communities specialize in ruining lives.

Let me get to the point:  I participated, and I finally received my gift!  The wait is the consequence of international shipping, but it was more than worth it.  I initially signed up with the intention of brightening a stranger's life - which, I am told, is the correct spirit in which these endeavours are to be undertaken - so the fact that I got anything at all, let alone a terrific gift, is just a bonus.

As you can see, my Secret Santa - an obviously intelligent, sophisticated and good looking redditor who goes by the handle ultimatenerd - got me a Pedobear plush from Desu Toys to keep my cat Molly company, and a copy of Max Brooks' The Zombie Survival Guide; a book I've been meaning to read for quite a while now.

I'm thrilled with my gift from the Internet, and I'm already looking forward to 2010's Reddit Secret Santa exchange!

One of the benefits of working from home - and, from past experience, being unemployed - is that I get to make my own schedule.  A consequence of this is that my sleeping patterns tend to get severely warped.  As much effort as I put into having a healthy sleeping pattern, my aversion to having eight to ten wasted hours per day and my general enjoyment of the various activities with which I occupy myself, I usually end up with my circadian rhythms having me go to sleep at five or six in the morning.

With my sleeping patterns having yet again reached a nadir in productivity, and with the benefit of still technically being on holiday, I've decided finally to give polyphasic sleep a try.  A lot more has been written about it than I could, so I'll try not to rehash too much other than to explain that the system of polyphasic sleep I'll be attempting to adopt involves sleeping six times per day, for twenty to thirty minutes at a time.

Allegedly it takes about a week to adjust to the system, and fortunately my plate for the next week or two is rather manageable - even in the throes of sleep deprivation.  My naps will occur at 02:00, 06:00, 10:00, 14:00, 18:00, and 22:00.  This is quite convenient, as the naps will occur at the same hours on either side of noon.  In total, I'll get roughly three hours of sleep per "day" (my concept of what constitutes a day or a night will need re-evaluation.).  Reportedly this is as much as the human body requires under this system, and most people who have successfully switched - I admit, there aren't many - report feeling more alert, healthy and productive than they ever have before.  With this in mind, it certainly can't hurt to try! (don't quote me on that if I die)  A potential pitfall lies in missing a nap; while delaying a nap for up to an hour in a pinch is acceptable, missing just one scheduled nap can derail the entire system and require a great deal of time and effort for recovery.  Self-discipline and a strict schedule are the order of the day.

If SEALS can make it through Hell Week, then I can make it through a week of sleep deprivation until my body adjusts.

Another  potential problem with polyphasic sleep is that a person eats more - after all, you're awake for longer.  The fact that my diet already consists of six small and carefully planned meals per day meshes well with my new endeavour, so that's the least of my concerns.

Ultimately, there's very little science to back this up and long-term studies on its effects and efficacy are non-existent, so I'm not optimistic of success.  Let's just call it a temporary hobby until my holiday officially ends.

So my question is: What would you do with 30 to 40 extra hours per week?

The new Irish blasphemy law becomes operational in Ireland today.  This type of law is silly, outdated and dangerous.  Are you religious and don't believe me?  Then recall that Jewish high priests had Jesus executed for the "crime" of blasphemy.  Jesus understood the importance of questioning, criticizing and subverting religious belief... and they nailed him to a cross for it.

That's precisely why this type of law is patently absurd.  Blasphemy is an arbitrary accusation that can - and often is - reinterpreted by individuals and groups to fit their particular need.  Even in Christianity, what is considered gospel to one branch is considered blasphemy to the other.

When you have ill defined laws, you have judicial manipulation and eventually end up with tyranny.

I've heard the waffling, reactionary argument that eating plants is no more or less ethical than eating animal flesh because plants, too, are living entities capable of such cognitive feats previously thought only possible by animals.  I'm sure all vegetarians and vegans have heard the perennially stale quip, "so what do you have against plants, anyway?"

This is based on a ridiculous misunderstanding and misrepresentation of scientific parlance.  In order to facilitate ease of understanding, scientists often use metaphorical, active verbs to describe the functions of nature. Mercury "gallops" around the sun, we "hear echoes" of gamma radiation from the distant universe, plants "forage" for resources.

Yes, plants are alive in the strictest sense and they exhibit chemical responses to external stimuli, but they are not sentient, and sentience - not life - is the key.

Let me humour idiocy far more than it deserves and assume for a moment, hypothetically, that plants were both alive and sentient.  Even so, eating them would be unavoidable, and veganism would still be the best way to cause the least amount of harm because you're consuming the plants directly, instead of feeding them to a cow, which is then raised and killed for consumption as well.  Raising livestock to be used for food uses approximately ten times the amount of plants needed for a healthy vegan diet, which is one of the reasons why a vegetarian or vegan diet is espoused as more environmentally friendly.

In tomorrow's episode, we'll assume that rocks are sentient and ask what ethical dilemmas are introduced by driving on gravel roads.

In response to a reddit post criticizing atheists as being "evangelical", I submitted the following in the form of a comment.

I'm definitely a passionate atheist, and may or may not be called "evangelical" or some such behind my back, but I really can sympathise with your sentiment.  Though, it does beg a deeper understanding of where the more vocal atheists are coming from.

A quotation from Kurt Wise may sum up the type of thinking that most atheists are fighting against:

...if all the evidence in the universe turns against creationism, I would be the first to admit it, but I would still be a creationist because that is what the Word of God seems to indicate.  Here I must stand.

This is the kind of inflexible commitment to superstition that flies in the face of reason, intellect and, above all, evidence.  It's nothing short of an insult to the human intellect, yet sadly it is a very common stance among religious fundamentalists of all kinds.  If "tolerance" means sitting back and allowing this ignorance to be advanced, then perhaps this concept of tolerance should not be tolerated, for to be tolerant would be to tolerate the worst kind of ignorance... the willful kind.

To illustrate an atheist point of view, on the other hand, I'll quote Dawkins (who is quotable and oft quoted not because of some misguided personality cult, as some believe, but because he describes both atheism and its arguments honestly and succinctly):

If all the evidence in the universe turned in favour of creationism, I would be the first to admit it, and I would immediately change my mind.  As things stand, however, all available evidence (and there is a vast amount of it) favours evolution.  It is for this reason and this reason alone that I argue for evolution with a passion that matches the passion of those who argue against it.  My passion is based on evidence.  Theirs, flying in the face of evidence as it does, is truly fundamentalist.

Though the creation/evolution issue is but one of many talking points on the atheist roster, it is a quote which does put into perspective where the so-called "new atheists" tend to come from.  A passionate, but flexible and evidence based reaction to the inflexible ignorance which seems to be the requirement of religious thought, and which ultimately - invariably - leads to further injustices and social ills.

This comment probably seems like holier-than-thou soapboxing - and maybe it is - but it's as sincere a description of vocal atheist motivation as I can manage, and hopefully goes some way towards explaining why "evangelical atheist" is contradictory term.

The recent death of former South African health minister Manto Tshabalala-Msimang has surprised nobody, as there have been concerns about her health since 2006.  What I did personally find shocking, though, were the reactions of some to the news.

Msimang is of course infamous for her emphasis on treating AIDS with vegetables rather than ARVs, and garnered much well-deserved criticism.

I really hate to be "that guy" and get on my soapbox (no, really, I do!), but sometimes I feel like my hand is forced.  The news of Msimang's death prompted some comments on news sites, Facebook, and elsewhere, which are, at best, unfortunate and unpleasant.

Some choice quotes:

I danced around my house when I got the SMS. And to miss quote Elvis Costello, all I wanted to do is live long enough to dance on her grave.

Good riddance. Sorry her family has to loose [sic] the free ride.

Finally! At last a cadre is correctly deployed.

Manto Tshabalala-Msimang has died! oh happy day! They should of [sic] tried to revive her by rubbing garlic on her forehead!

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that in death she should be free of the criticism that she very much deserved in life.  That would be illogical and absurd.  The truth is that she was and is responsible for the deaths of many, many people, and probably should have been tried for genocide.  Nonetheless, there is a point where untempered criticism can stray into the realm of viciousness and bad taste, and I think the above comments exemplify the wrong side of that line.

If your first reaction at the news of a person's death is delectation and glee, perhaps you should stop for a moment and realise that that says more about you than it does about them.

It's a pity that these comments - and the death that prompted it - occurred on what was supposed to be Reconciliation Day.  Sadly, though, most people with whom I spoke didn't even know what specific public holiday the 16th of December is; to them it's just another excuse to stay home, get fat, and get drunk.

The recent spat between ANC Youth League president Julius Malema and Deputy General Secretary of the South African Communist Party Jeremy Cronin, or rather the ANC's reaction to it, has been telling.

The SACP's recent hostility towards Malema - one of the ANC's own - has been met with little more than an attempt to placate the Communists.  How is it, then, that a political party with fewer than 100,000 registered members finds itself in the position of being the proverbial mouse bullying the elephant of the ANC?

Despite being small in representation, the SACP has managed to get its members into many of the highest positions of public office.  Examples include Reserve Bank president Gill Marcus, former Minister for Intelligence Services Ronnie Kasrils, and, of course, President Jacob Zuma.

Despite this, the SACP directly represents a negligible voter contingent.  This fact, combined with the communist influence within parliament, has encouraged some to ask: why not boot the SACP out of the Tripartite Alliance?

The fact is that the recent ANC schism, and the resulting formation of the Congress of the People, was one of the best things that could have happened for the Communists.  Another significant internal struggle is likely to leave the ANC weak enough to stand a good chance of losing the next election, and a significant struggle is exactly what a hostile course of action against the Communists would lead to.

In such a hypothetical scenario, COSATU will find themselves realising that the ANC is not in search of "allies" so much as "lap dogs."  They will either have to make peace with playing by the ANC's rules, or the knowledge that they will likely also be expelled and the alliance dissolved as soon as they cease to represent a tactical advantage to the ruling party.  In the face of this dilemma, they will refuse to show weakness and an acrimonious split would result.  Communist sympathizers and COSATU elements within the ANC would revolt against the party, leaving the door open for another party - perhaps COPE or even a new party born out of the schism - to join in an advantageous alliance with the Trade Unions.

In any event, none of the remaining political factions would have a significant majority support, and the ANC would be dead.  For this reason, the ANC needs the Communist Party a great deal more than the Party needs them, and despite numbering comparatively few registered members - though SACP membership has doubled over the last four years due to Alliance supporters' frustration with the ANC's infighting, corruption and general impotence - the Communist Party is and will remain a strong influence and important player in the South African political landscape.

During my first year at university I took a course in critical reasoning.  It taught me much about logical fallacies, effective argumentation, preconceived notions, and so forth.  It was my first real exposure to that type of thing and it felt like many doors had been opened in the way I thought about the world.

Many of my long-held beliefs up to that point came under real scrutiny for the first time, and since then I've been a great deal more careful in my convictions, and meticulous in deciding what those convictions are.
 
I'd say that that definitely changed my life for the better. I'd love to see a basic course in critical reasoning taught to all high-school seniors.  Why not teach it at an even younger age?  Because it's my belief that, up to a certain age, pupils should be unquestioning information sponges.  Education would slow down quite a bit if every student critically evaluated and questioned everything they were taught, wouldn't it?  This does mean that stricter regulations should be in place when it comes to what is taught, how it is taught, and who teaches it, and why it's so heinous when children are taught complete bullshit, taught incompetently, or both.

Unless you've been in a vegetative state for the last century or so, you'll know about the Arab-Israeli conflict.

If you're like most people, you've probably picked a side already, and if you're really like most people, you'll have done so despite the fact that you don't know very much - if anything - about the situation.  Most people choose a side for personal reasons ("I'm of Arabic descent, so I support Palestine"), or political reasons ("I'm an American and the USA has good relations with Israel, so I support them.").  Being a fence-sitter is bad, but picking sides with no knowledge of the issues involved is even worse.

The big question is usually, "why all the violence over a piece of land?"  It's a hot-button topic, but here is one take:

The story so far.

In 1916 the British, who controlled the area, promised the land to the Arabs in return for their help in World War I.  Think Lawrence of Arabia.

With the Balfour Declaration in 1917, the British promised the same land to the Jews.  After being kicked out of Israel by the Romans in the first century, the Jews had no state of their own, and the idea of a Jewish homeland in Palestine - called Zionism - had gained a lot of currency from the mid-19th century onwards.


Following World War II, the United Nations decided that, because of the Holocaust, an attempt should be made to create Israel.  However, this required the agreement of the Arabs, who were not too keen on giving up the land where they had lived for generations, and in any case hadn't the British promised it to them?  The plan was to carve up what was called the British Mandate of Palestine into Jordan, Israel, and Arab Palestine.

Despite the lack of an agreement regarding the break up of Palestine into Arab and Jewish territories, Israel unilaterally declared its independence in 1948.  There was bloodshed on both sides: Jewish attacks such as the Deir Yassin massacre caused many Arabs to flee.  The Arabs states retaliated, invading Palestine and attacking Israel.

Israel beat the Arabs in 1948, with Egypt crossing over into the Gaza strip which they occupied.  Jordan took control of the West Bank. The UN passed a resolution guaranteeing a Right of Return for the Arabs who had been forced to flee their homes.

In 1967, the Arabs attacked again.  Again Israel beat them back, but this time their military remained outside their borders, occupying the Gaza strip and the Sinai; the Golan Heights, which is a part of Syria; and the West Bank.  The UN passed a resolution stating that the borders of Israel were those that were present before the invasion.

Israel ceded the Sinai when they made peace with Egypt, but the Gaza strip remained under Israeli occupation.

Israel withdrew from Gaza a few years ago, but the military occupation of the West Bank continues to this day.  It is this military occupation which is the cause of the problem between the Israelis and the Palestinians.  There is also the issue of Israel building settlements in the West Bank, as transplanting of your people to occupied territory is forbidden by the Fourth Geneva Convention.


While there are inevitably some extremists who would like to see Israel wiped off of the map completely, the view of the world as expressed by the UN, and by the Arabs through the Saudi Peace initiative, is for Israel to return to its 1967 borders, according to what is called Resolution 242, and for the Palestinians, freed from occupation, to create their own state.  However, there are also extremists on the Israeli side who want all of Palestine for Israel, with the settlements in places such as Hebron - the second holiest site in Judaism after Jerusalem, but in the occupied West Bank - being "facts on the ground".

Then why is there US support for Israel?

The best way to understand why a US-Israeli relationship exists is to study how the relationship was formed.

The United States and Israel were intimately tied together since Israel's previously mentioned declaration of Independence - the future Israelis notified Truman of the declaration prior to its publication.  However, the issue found no consensus in the higher levels of the US government.  George Marshall famously stormed out of a meeting in protest of the recognition of Israel, and most of the State Department thought that a prompt recognition of Israel by the US would damage relationships with the Arab states.  The bigger point was that the USA's prompt recognition of Israel would do little for the US-Israeli relationship, seeing as the Soviets did the same.

In 1953 when Eisenhower and his Secretary of State, John Foster Dulles, came into office, they intended to be impartial in the Arab-Israeli conflict.  Initially, this was not too difficult.  The US even aided in the successful Suez Base negotiations with Britain and Egypt.

However, things changed between 1955 and 1958.  For one, Gamal Abdel Nasser's rise to power posed a political threat to Israel, and his 1955 purchase of arms from the Soviet bloc also made him a military threat to Israel.  The US press were very unhappy about this, and wasted no time comparing him to Hitler.  Eisenhower ultimately resisted public pressure to intervene in the Suez war, and was publicly opposed to Israeli actions.  Neutrality prevailed.

But in 1958 everything changed.  Eisenhower intervened in Lebanon partly because he feared that another Munich crisis was on the table.  Moreover, the Eisenhower administration began to view Israel as a strategic asset in the Middle East, and the US became closer to Israel while the Soviets got in bed with the Arab states.  During the second Eisenhower administration, they forged closer ties with Israel for strategic reasons.

However, this is not to say that culture had no influence: Even before the Eisenhower administration decided to forge close ties to Israel, the memory of World War II allowed the press to compare Israel's enemy, Nasser, to Adolf Hitler.  Jewish people were being publicly assimilated into American life, and many Americans praised Israel as a democracy.

This relationship endures because these cultural factors remained after Israel became a strategic liability during the cold war.  The cultural attachment to Israel, which aided the strategic relationship, persisted despite the death of the strategic rationale for supporting Israel.

Where do I stand on the issue?

The US needs to put pressure on Israel.  Without significant nudging from their strongest ally, Israel will remain perfectly happy with the status quo.  Considering Russia's history with Chechnya, Israel is probably paranoid about seeing a long-time enemy end up with even more land and, like Russia, adopt the hardest possible line for fear of losing their grip on other areas. Withdrawal to the 1967 borders will obviously not end violence in the Middle East, but it's the only viable first step.

Oh, and despite what the propogandists will tell you, anti-Zionism is not the same thing as anti-Semitism.