Precedent vs Hindsight

          When the cover on my e-reader (not a Kindle) finally disintegrated, it was cheap and easy to replace. (By the way, this is just one of the advantages these devices have over printed hardbacks with their flimsy dustjackets.) After twenty minutes online, and for less than eight quid, I had a new one delivered directly from China. Even though I am not a citizen of the USA and cannot claim to understand fully the economic theories underpinning free trade, this simple transaction is enough, surely, to raise questions about the logic of President Trump’s tariff war? Especially considering the precedent set by President Hoover, whose protectionist tariffs screwed up international economies in the 1930s.

          Not that I intend to dwell on the crass antics of a bullying braggart but, while economists ponder and speculate over the eventual outcome of his diktats, whatever it is Trump is up to is, I’m sure, intended to enrich himself and the even wealthier billionaires for whom he toils so blatantly, shamelessly and relentlessly.

          Meanwhile, far below the level of macroeconomic and geopolitical jousting, populations at large suffer the divisive effects of widening income inequality and endure the vanishing prospects of job security, as businesses put profit before social responsibility. If we want to rein in the excesses of corporate greed and rescue what little is left of society’s commons, we might try playing them at their own game. I, for one, avoid buying from Amazon whenever possible, though I can only hope that millions of others will come together to boycott such monopolistic companies, causing their share prices to wobble and their oligarchs to concede that a more compassionate distribution of wealth is not only affordable but also beneficial to society as a whole.

          The fact that this is unlikely to happen is somewhat depressing, so it’s best not to dwell on it. Fortunately, there are still some small, inexpensive pleasures with which to distract oneself, such as poking around in local history - which is why I boarded a train for an afternoon excursion to nearby Exeter. I was aware of the rivalry between Exeter and Plymouth, the two cities of Devonshire, but did not know the root cause of it. Apparently, it stems from medieval times, when Exeter was a cathedral city and Plymouth a maritime town. Thus, the driving factors are snobbery on the one part and resentment on the other: what’s more, they are remarkably persistent.

          Plymouth has a much larger population but that of Exeter is posher, as evidenced by the fact that John Lewis is on its High Street. Exeter has a magnificent medieval cathedral and all that goes with it: extensive grounds bang in the city centre, with properties, including a posh school, all owned by the Church of England. The centre of Plymouth was erased by bombing during WWII and rebuilt in a modern, architecturally coherent style that is magnificent in its own way but commonly dismissed as ugly by many.  And it wasn’t until 1974 that a reorganisation of local government freed Plymouth from the humiliation of being ‘ruled’ from Exeter.

          No doubt the list of grievances goes on but, in a corner of the ancient church of St. Martin’s, next to the cathedral, I discovered a nugget of history that links the cities despite themselves. Plymouth made the national news last year when there was a dispute over the felling of trees in the city centre to make way for modernisation of the major boulevard, Armada Way. The council insisted (despite strong objections from many citizens) that the trees be removed, claiming that they served as cover for ‘undesirables’ and their nefarious activities. The CCTV cameras needed a clear field of vision.

          It seems the precedent had already been set. The same argument was used at St. Martin’s in 1555, when John Hooker, chamberlain of Exeter, cut down the elms that graced the boundary of the church “because under and behind the trees did hide many evil persons”. He got rid of the trees but, I suppose, the evil persons just relocated. Perhaps it's a good idea to look for precedents.

What's it All About?

          Mortality featured prominently on my agenda last week, beginning on Monday, when my Other Half and I finally got around to consulting a solicitor about amending our wills. We want to gift funds to the likes of Liberty, Greenpeace and Amnesty, in the hopeful expectation that these organisations will continue to fight the good fight long after we are deceased, for there is no definitive victory currently in sight.

          Then, on Tuesday, at our regular philosophy discussion session, some of the Ancient Greeks’ ideas on life and death were explored. I was gratified to learn that there was little or no nonsense about an ‘afterlife’ – at least not as far as Leucippus and Democritus were concerned. They had proposed the theory that everything in the universe is made up of indivisible particles called atoms (yes, 2,000 years before the science of physics emerged), thereby establishing the case for the ultimate recycling of life: ‘dust-to-dust’.

          Unfortunately, one of our number revealed during our discussions that he had a terminal illness and was trying to face up to the prospect of palliative care. Whether our discussion had prompted his revelation I couldn’t be sure, but I fear ours was not the most sympathetic forum in which to raise the matter, since philosophy tends to focus on the logical, not the emotional. I, for one, was stuck for words. But, that same afternoon – and entirely by coincidence – I attended a family funeral, at which I experienced the opposite: the overwhelming of logical discourse by the tide of emotion.

          It seems to me sensible not to hasten one’s own demise, which is one reason why I avoid risk of physical injury and always* take the doctors’ advice about maintaining a healthy lifestyle. Hence, I was at the clinic this morning for a covid vaccination boost. I had also organised a routine blood test appointment ten minutes later, followed by a visit to the nearby shop so as to optimise use of time and effort.

          These days, a visit to our clinic is an eerie, non-contact experience. The two receptionists (who, on this occasion, outnumbered the waiting patient) are redundant, apparently: unless, perchance, you are unable to negotiate the self-check-in screen and subsequent directions to take off your shoes and step onto a machine that records your vital statistics and sends the results directly to your digital record. I have heard that there are doctors on the premises, but I have never seen one.

          There is, certainly, a woman, dressed like a nurse, who takes blood samples and sends them off for analysis. The last time I tried to engage with her about the whys and wherefores of the process, I discovered that she doesn’t do interpretation or explanation. She does excel, however, at small talk (the weather being a classic opener). When she asked me which arm I would like to proffer, I pointed to the left one and joked that it had already been stabbed once, so I would prefer to keep at least one uninjured limb. “Was it the covid vaccination?”, she asked. “Yes”, I said, “better safe than sorry.” I was expecting her to nod approvingly but, instead, she implied that it was a waste of time and, when pressed, hinted that she didn’t believe the science. “Well, you hear so many stories”, she said. I wouldn’t be surprised if, next time I go, they tell me she’s emigrated to Texas, where the wages for vampiric operatives are more generous, and patients don’t ask awkward medical questions.

          Assuming I survive the next two weeks, I shall propose at the next philosophy session that we discuss whether we are wasting our time, considering how some people appear to be regressing to beliefs held prior to the 5^th century BC.

*Reduction of red wine intake is work-in-progress.