Why So Serious?

On rare occasion, I am told or am in a spot to overhear comments describing me in words I don't understand. Sometimes words that even 'urban dictionary' didn't know. Some other times, it's a word in every dictionary, and I still have trouble getting it.

Serious. "You're so serious!" Or, overheard while dancing, "he's so serious!"

Both people who have said this to me personally I happen to respect. They seem well-intentioned when they say it. And at least in hindsight I'm grateful that they've said it. It prompts questions. And as painful as it is for me to question my personality, experience tells me that doing so can give skills for living with it.

Both people who have told me also seem to have meant at least two different things. The first person seemed to mean, in their usual hyperbole, "lacking a sense of humour," which I understand to mean "lacking their sense of humour." It was interesting later on, feeling solidarity with Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory. It was with that show that I could see what I'll call 'sarcasm-shortsightedness' as a not overly rare personality trait.

That first time I was told, some years ago now, I was annoyed. The second time, last year while discussing government surveillance, it seemed so empty a remark, like saying grass is green. Most recently, the third time, has charmed me into writing about it.

Mostly because it was put so considerately: "you don't always have to be serious." It's hard to disagree with such a measured remark.

It's also hard because I have trouble picturing what 'not being serious' is like. To question such an apparently simple thing feels reminiscent of a story about the German mathematician Theodor Kaluza, who - to learn to swim - supposedly read a treatise on swimming, then dove into the ocean.

Except, in questioning this, there is no book. Near as I can tell, they meant to say that I could, sometimes, be uninhibited. To suspend concern for consequence. They were even generous enough to imagine I could do that without alcohol.

There are only three possibilities here, they see a strength in me that I don't, they think I could find such strength, or they are cruelly taunting my fear. I can't believe the latter.

I see strength differently. To describe me as serious overlooks two separate inhibitions: I avoid situations in which I don't know how to act - where possible - and when they are not possible or desirable to avoid, I inhibit any hope for anything more than a distraction.

Only this year did I realise that my alienation only serves to alienate others, and that to stop the mood of disappointment betraying me I have to abandon such hope. This is the sole brand of "fake it 'till you make it" I know how to pull off. By not being fake at all. If that earns the title of seriousness, I'll just live with that.

A little pre-writing research revealed how people usually feel frustrated or annoyed when their seriousness is pointed out to them. It doesn't feel like something under our control. I've heard of studies that say introverts can act extroverted occasionally - it's just not an act they can maintain for long. Could I act less serious more often? It sounds possible.

I have friends who I know appreciate me for who I am. When others say "be yourself," it is hard to call them selfish. It is very easy, when others call for you to act.

All they have to do is talk. I would have to learn the act (how?) and endure failure. Is it selfish not to try? Is there more enduring pain if I don't try?

That's a thought that haunts me.

Humility as a Driver of Innovation?

I'm just a singer with a song
How can I try to right the wrong
For just a singer with a melody
I'm caught in between
With a fading dream

-- Freddie Mercury, In My Defence

Typically when someone acts on behalf of an organisation, it is the organisation, not that someone, who is considered responsible for making sure they both act in each-other's interests. This recognisably feudal attitude - where labour is traded for security - is the basis for such things as "commissions, profit sharing, efficiency wages," and so on.


It would be a clear failure of imagination on the part of an organisation to try and buy solidarity from an employee for whom the only dollar figure able to do that would best go towards their independence.

At least, it would be - if organisations knew the feelings and attitudes of those working with them. In this light it is curious but unsurprising that things like 'twenty-percent time' and horizontal business structures are mostly discussed as policies of innovation rather than policies of humility.

Just as whistleblowers are only desirable in the presence of imperfect institutions, when managers can justifiably not know some thoughts of those working for them, empathy is critical from colleagues who are trusted with that information.

If blindspots are not formally acknowledged as they may be in such practices as Valve's (which seems superior for this to Google's individualistic policy - though I work for neither), then the only remaining line of defence against wasted talent is that of employees who are proud of good, meaningful work. And since little of meaning can be achieved without collaborating, empathetic colleagues who have time to spare.

If employees are convinced their work is good, are we half way there? Or less?

Why I Dance

For better or worse, mostly worse, the question of why I dance has been a lens through which I have tried to understand myself. This question has occupied me for as long as I've danced: nearly a decade now; and new looks at old answers to the question occur to me every few months.

Introspection, like curiosity, is something you can only distract; never silence. Self-questioning is never boring, but it has become tiring.  After a while you have to wonder if they are the kind of questions which can have conclusive answers, or whether you'll always be keeping up with the subtle changes in your own silhouette. If like me most of the answers you come upon are upsetting, and you think that there's no point in self-questioning if all it leads to is self-flagellation, maybe you soon begin to doubt that you're asking useful questions.

That's where I am right now. I think I need a better lens.

The problem with the answers I find at present are not their accuracy, but their focus. They all cling to the past, and like all bad distractions make it impossible to be optimistic about the future. This monocle should retire to its proper home: fiction.

Unsurprisingly given this tunnel-vision, the best insight I've heard on this has come from the outside. Perhaps surprisingly from Madonna, in her tribute to my greatest dancing inspiration, at the 2009 Video Music Awards. She said that "when you never get to have something, you become obsessed by it." For Madonna, that something was a mother figure. In very different senses, for Michael Jackson and me that something was a missed childhood.

I have long felt I missed what seems the norm of this period; learning to make friends in a way that I can only express as to have them not seem like one-in-two-billion gifts of chance. To not have recoiled reflexively when touched for the first time on the shoulder by (my goodness!) a girl. To not (still!) occasionally blush when trying to make the most trivial conversation with an unfamiliar member of the opposite sex. To not have learned to feel helpless.

For a long time I hoped that dancing could compensate for the social skills I lack, could help me connect with others. Instead it entrenched the feeling that I would need to be someone else for that to happen. That I would find myself in more relationships if I was gay. That in order to be exceptional one must accept being an outsider. And that the only means for an outsider to escape loneliness are wealth and power.

Never did it, like writing this, make me think that considering every friend a product of random chance refuses both myself and those friends credit for the qualities that we have bonded over. I love that my friends seem so special to me, but hate that this makes me feel both old and childish - given a range of encounters that are either rare or novel (and blush-inducing). I feel cowardly whenever I leave it to others to break the ice, or when I otherwise know that I am only doing so because others are obliged to be friendly.

I can no longer endorse the idea that I could only have honed my hobby in an absence of friends. There's too much evidence that creativity does not have to be a casualty of socialising. Reality doesn't tolerate such grandiose musings. While Madonna may be right to say that most performers are "shy and plagued with insecurities", using statistics about insecurity to feel part of a privileged 'in-group' crosses the line between becoming more self-assured and further fortifying that insecurity.

I am tired of religiously defining myself by what should just be a fun cardio workout that doubles as entertainment. In the words of William Ernest Henley:

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

25+

Alan Kay - the pioneering creator of the now-dead programming language Smalltalk - once gently dismissed essays of the kind you now read when he said that "the best way to predict the future is to invent it."

Like anything with a short shelf-life, the key to opening this piece is controlling expectations. So this essay will continue as it begun: massively derivative - perched on giants' shoulders in the hope that we may not take the past for granted.

This is not prediction-by-committee, nor about protecting egos. As with beauty, time doesn't care for opinions. Rather than a foolish consistency, it reveals what remains constant: human nature.

“Begin at the beginning," the King said, very gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop.”

― Lewis Caroll (Alice in Wonderland)   

In the spirit - and only the spirit - of the late mathematician, we should consider the chimpanzee. Prior to Jane Goodall observing chimpanzee craftiness in 1960, our species had been defined as "Man the Tool-Maker." Louis Leakey realised the gravity of her findings, responding that "we must [now] redefine tool, redefine Man, or accept chimpanzees as humans."

Like money, technology does not change people, it reveals them. The next revelation was prophetic of anti-aging research when we defied gravity itself, first by Yuri Gagarin and later with NASA and their iconic 1968 'earthrise' photo. More strikingly than most technologies before or since, space-flight gave a view of ourselves from the outside-in, strengthening our sense of responsibility and restraining ego. "The Earth was blue, but there was no God."

Nassim Nicholas Taleb has made a strong case for the arrogance of assuming that past trends tell us anything about truly significant future events. When people predict, he has observed, they usually attend to novelties; when it it is much more reliable to consider what will be jettisoned by the market. Adam Smith's 'invisible hand' does its own 'natural selection'.

When studying Computer Science, we were told that we must usually wait about ten years before new discoveries see their first consumer applications. This gives anyone with eyes on the academy a sense of what will be attempted in that near future without any insight about what will succeed - and in turn inspire the next generation of researchers.

Any time technophiles talk about the future of their industry, Moore's so-called "law" has become cliché - often ignoring that its status as a law has been under fire since the beginning of the millennium. While CPU makers have been ramping up core numbers as a stop-gap, the diminishing returns of this strategy are described by an idea that actually deserves its name, Amdahl's law. Even if this weren't the case, with pockets around the world carrying hundred-fold more computing power than NASA used to launch the shuttle, almost noone harnesses them to make awe-inspiring giant leaps for humankind. John F. Kennedy's example of launching an effort that would get to the Moon in under a decade, especially when contrasting it with what we create now, reveals the power of concerted creativity far more than the technology it spawned.

“Once the rockets are up,
who cares where they come down?
That's not my department,
says Wernher von Braun."

― Tom Lehrer (Wernher von Braun)

After a brief glimpse at history, pessimism is easy. The greatest breakthroughs of recent history were made almost exclusively a) by the public sector b) during major (hot and Cold) wars.

If we are to have any optimism, it must rise out of the ashes of our chaotic past, in the great promise of the knowledge economy that conflict made possible.

We inherited a new kind of war from our violent history, with communications technology making conflict more sporadic and global, and blurring the distinction between soldier and civilian. It's hard to unite against exploited disposession. If anything is to replace the impetus traditional war gives to (often, unintentionally-) long-term blue-sky research, concern around global warming is a likely candidate. The fact that the efforts to reduce emissions by those concerned can be wasted by those who are not, also means that those concerned can overcompensate. But then, the climate-/geo-engineering approaches this endorses carry unknown risks, making old-fashioned diplomacy ever more attractive. Technology would still have a place given the need for alternative energy sources, but it would only be effective to the extent that we can cooperate in its use.

The success of these efforts will be measured by how little the changing climate shapes our livelihood. But what does it take for innovations to change how we live? Like penicillin, they could ensure that we do live at all. Communications technologies succeeded not only because they have become accessible - but also due to network effects: they jump in value with every person who gets connected. Uniting all of these qualities is that they are at the heart what it means to be human.

One conclusion from recent brain research is that Abraham Maslow's classic 'Hierarchy of Needs' is - while insightful  - wrong. We attend to the social before anything else, which explains the success of many technologies that have reduced social barriers.

This trend will surely continue, but areas outside communication leave more room for disruption. What does this mean for the next quarter-century? Some staples of sci-fi are unlikely candidates here: space elevators do not look feasible within that time, and even though we will have self-driving cars (another benefactor of network effects), flying cars (which would become more and more dangerous without such automation) are environmentally irresponsible no matter how much they could reduce congestion.

This discussion began by saying that technology reveals us: this will become more true than ever thanks to the foundations laid by neuroscience, genetics, biochemistry and robotics. The direct consequences are obvious, foreshadowed by terms like 'personalized medicine'. 

The indirect flow-ons, as always, are more interesting. Traditional incentives for drug companies endorse treating symptoms. As we better understand the causes of individual ailments,  people will come to expect the preventative rather than the apparently-curative, and ineffective treatments will more easily be pushed out of the market. 

Socrates is attributed the phrase 'the unexamined life is not worth living.' If he were a millennial today, would he be endorsing even more minute examining? Few of todays' intellectually demanding environments take heed of how valuable introspection can be to the effectiveness of their staff. This will hopefully change, and strategies for better responding to everyday events - often under the label 'mindfulness' - will be less and less monopolized by a few spiritual movements and instead be accessible to anyone.

This is the earthrise of the twenty-first century - with the contours of the human brain replacing those of the lunar surface. If earthrise revealed our insignificance, our appreciating the brain qualifies it - by inspiring better use of our strengths.

In the background of that photograph-of-the-imagination are the technologies that persist. Their silhouette revealing the human limitations and weaknesses we understand.

Mosquitoes are estimated to have killed half the humans who have ever lived, yet we seem to need philanthropy to combat malaria. With the exemplary work of people like Bill and Melinda Gates, we are perhaps in the best generation for philanthropy in human history. This blogger shares their optimism. Still, over the next twenty-five years, the silhouette will become a great reminder of how unevenly these weaknesses are suffered.

Although we will surely make progress in reducing its harmful effects, aging is our most democratic weakness. Curiously, it is also one putting national borders in relief. Japan, with the fastest-growing senior citizenry in the world, is investing heavily in robotics in response. As Michio Kaku has explained, lest you worry, our robots are too stupid that we need worry about Skynet any time soon.

Japan's research is an exciting technological response to what is at heart a political problem. But recent headlines due to Edward Snowden emphasize the immense care needed when following such a path. And this will likely be the most important political shift of the next quarter century; after the maturing of communications networks in prior decades, we have the opportunity as a public to learn how to use them wisely.

Niall Ferguson has said that we only have one past, but multiple futures. In the end, these possible futures summon no single emotion from this blogger. Hope for what could be, awe toward the human spirit, concern for hubris - all come in equal measure. In the end, uncertainty is the only certain thing - but, paraphrasing Alan Kay, creativity provides us temporary respite.

So, happy creating!

Zombies

The island region of Haiti has long been a thorn in the side of those with a lust for power. For foreigners: it is the site of the only successful slave revolt in history, and the only independent black country for a century. For its own people, it has one of the most intriguing forces for social equality in the world: a religion known as Vodoun; popularly misunderstood by foreigners under the name 'Voodoo.'

It wouldn't be so remarkable if this was just ignorance, as this could be expected of outsiders. But Voodoo has been so maligned that it is often considered a black-magic cult. The US Marine Corps had a 20 year presence in Haiti early in the 20th century, after which all above the rank of Sergeant got book contracts, for titles like “Cannibal Cousins,” “Black Baghdad,” “Voodoo Fire in Haiti,” “A Puritan in Voodoo Land,” and “The Magic Island.” This was the era of Jim Crow, yet another period in history when all it took to be evil was to be different. All this pulp fiction and the movies of the 1940s they inspired held up the imperial banner that the only way to redeem the people was through military occupation.

They described such fantastic things as zombies crawling out of the grave to attack people; pins, needles and voodoo dolls that don't exist. The truth is much stranger, and anything but evil.

If I asked you to name the great religions of the world, what would you say? … What is the continent that is always left out? Sub-Saharan Africa. Which is absurd - more generations of humans have lived there than anywhere else on Earth. Sometimes I get the impression that – being without such disruptive technological changes – for a long time its cultures could attend more to what it meant to be human. That if eyes are the window to the soul, Africa would be the window to human nature. To understand Zombification is to realise a great deal about the strong links between the living and the dead, and just how blurry the distinction can be.

Similar ideas have been finding their way into modern medicine under the name of “suspended animation.” For Haitians, the distinction is not to be found in medical journals or TED talks, but as a constant presence in their conscience.

The closest Europeans have got to this was in the Victorian Era, when people became obsessed by the threat of premature burial. Coffins were fitted with a contraption that detected the slightest movement of the diaphragm. Its inventor was inspired visiting the funeral of a young Belgian girl, where “as the first shovelfuls of dirt landed on the wooden coffin, a pitiful scream rose from the earth, staggering the officiating priest and causing a number of young women to faint.” Those embracing the invention were responding to an epidemic of premature burials that coloured the popular press. One account talks of a “Reverend Schwartz, … who was reportedly aroused from apparent death by his favourite hymn. The congregation celebrating his last rites was stunned to hear a voice from the coffin joining in on the refrain.”

In Haiti, Zombification is used (now illegally) as punishment for serious selfish and antisocial behaviour. The guilty individual is poisoned to put them in a death-like state even skilled physicians have trouble detecting. After witnessing their own burial during the day, they are dug up at night, and from then on kept in servitude.

The folk preparation used to create zombies eluded outsiders for a long time. Uncovering it would mean infiltrating the secret societies – special judicial bodies inhabiting the Haitian countryside. While different bokor – witch doctors – would use different preparations, four common ingredients were found: extracts from puffer fish, a marine toad, a tree frog, and human remains.

Puffer fish is famous as a deadly Japanese delicacy, containing a nerve toxin called Tetrodotoxin or TTX, a toxin a hundred times more potent than cyanide. Its symptoms stand out for so neatly matching the accounts from the known cases of Zombies.

There are a number of accounts of unfortunate Japanese diners:

After “[a] dozen gamblers voraciously consumed fugu, … Three of them suffered from poisoning, two eventually died. One of these being a native of the town was buried immediately. The other was from a distant district … under the jurisdiction of the Shogun. Therefore the body was kept in storage and watched by a guard until a government official could examine it. Seven or eight days later the man became conscious and finally recovered completely. When asked about his experience, he was able to recall everything and stated that he feared that he too would be buried alive when he heard that the other person had been buried”

The second case was equally dramatic:

“A man from Yamaguchi … suffered from fugu poisoning at Osaka. It was thought that he was dead and the body was sent to a crematorium at Sennichi. As the body was being removed from the cart, the man recovered and walked back home. As in the case previously cited, he too remembered everything.”

Perhaps the most intriguing fact is that knowing the ingredients of the drug is not enough. Those who succumbed to puffer fish were not zombies, but merely poison victims. Any psychoactive drug  provides only the potential for certain results: how it will actually work is strongly influenced by individual psychology and expectations. For example, in Oregon there are a number of species of hallucinogenic mushrooms; those who go out to deliberately ingest them generally experience a pleasant intoxication, those who inadvertently consume them while foraging for edible mushrooms always end up in the poison unit of the nearest hospital. Haitians who believe in Zombies tend to think they are the result of sorcery, not substances, and you can imagine what difference this could make.

But it does raise a question; what was the first zombie thinking when paralysis started creeping through their body? Perhaps the history of Zombies reflects the history of Voodoo, just as the history of Voodoo is the history of Haiti. It's easy to imagine that they all tell us something about ourselves.

[ This speech borrows liberally from the wonderful Wade Davis, famous for his book "Serpent and the Rainbow" ]

An Introduction to Cryptocurrency

Gillette: Is it really the best a man can get? Isn't this setting the bar fairly low for human ambition? The McDonalds slogan? “Lovin' it.” Diet Dr. Pepper? “Unbelievably satisfying.” Our consumer culture has a penchant for sucking all meaning out of some essential parts to being human: from love, to belief and satisfaction – then diluting them in products.

As anyone in a group like this would know well, education – in the broad sense – is the antidote to the insecurities this culture can instill. Education is less effective in protecting what I consider another essence of being human: dissent. Someone charismatic and secure is barely more equipped than anyone else to deal with the suppression of speech or economic censorship.

It turns out our most powerful response to both is mathematics, and more specifically, really hard puzzles. These are the foundation of Cryptocurrencies. The first cryptocurrency, and the one you are most likely to have heard of from all the press received recently, is Bitcoin.

If Bitcoin was only useful to the usual targets of censorship, such as activists, it wouldn't be getting so much attention. Because of the recent financial crises, the fact that noone can tamper significantly with the money supply is a huge selling point. That is not to say their value is stable yet. Mass speculation will occasionally skyrocket and plummet their value by 10% within a few hours.

Fortunately, it is not just a stream of digital bubble fluid for greedy people to pop. The range of outlets accepting Bitcoin is growing far beyond the black market it is sometimes aligned with. From a large, billion dollar retailer to people selling Alpaca socks. From air travel, to space flights with Richard Branson's Virgin Galactic.

The genius of Bitcoin was to inherit the best qualities of traditional currencies, and divorce itself from the worst qualities. Like gold, it is a finite resource. Unlike gold, no-one can discover a new mine and flood the market. Beyond controlling supply, most of the technical marvels are about securing transactions: making sure people can not steal from nor impersonate others. In the tangible world, this is done with “locks, safes, signatures and bank vaults.” Bitcoin uses puzzles.

These puzzles are designed so that even the most well-financed governments and companies have little chance of subverting them. Curiously, this is due to more than the maths involved: it is largely about the incentives of people using the currency.

It turns out, when you remove a central bank, you need certain incentives to replace it. Effectively, with Bitcoin the bank is no longer something you go to. You are the bank – or at least a small part of it. Everyone can look at a shared ledger of all the transactions that have ever happened since the currency was founded. Account balances are easy to calculate – total deposits minus total withdrawals. Depending on how careful you are, account holders can be very difficult to identify.

Clearly, the challenge comes when we want to update everyone's copy of the ledger. When someone sends you some Bitcoins, the network has to verify they can do so. If enough of the network agrees that they can, the ledger is updated. The problem for the design of a cryptocurrency is to make sure that noone can set up a large enough number of puppets on the network to green-light fraudulent transactions.

By now, you won't be surprised to hear that Bitcoin solves this with puzzles. By using puzzles, it means that instead of needing a large number of puppets in the network, fraudsters need a lot of computer power.

Of course, most people wouldn't dedicate their computers to verify other people's transactions for some warm fuzzy feeling. And this is where incentives come in. The first to solve each new puzzle is rewarded with a certain number of Bitcoins.

This bears repeating: The supply of Bitcoins is increased by rewarding people who make it harder to defraud others.

The complexity of the puzzles is automatically adjusted so that they can be solved in about ten minutes. Since the total supply of Bitcoins will reach its cap of 21 million in the year 2140, the source of rewards will slowly change over time from new bitcoins, to a slowly growing fee included with each transaction. Even with this fee, transactions will still be very competitive with other forms of money transfer.

An opinion I've heard surprisingly often is that cryptocurrencies will never gain broad trust because they are not backed by a central authority like a reserve bank. I think these people have things backward. Reserve banks are not inherently trustworthy; they only gain our trust because they are backed by a powerful state. These currencies will derive their trust solely from what people are willing to trade for them, and in our interconnected world, this can be much more resillient to individual recessions. Admittedly, while it couldn't exist without the internet or electricity, if those go down, we have got bigger things to worry about.

I'll leave you with two intriguing facts. Bitcoin is more than a form of digital money. Every transaction can be customised using a special programming language, so that people using it can create new kinds of financial instruments. It is, in other words, programmable money. Finally, the identity of the person or group responsible for this remarkable system has not yet been uncovered. Only a few things are clear: they are probably very wealthy now, and they definitely know a lot about economics and psychology.

[ This discussion distills some of the more technical details of Michael Nielsen's wonderful, highly recommended post. ]

Gang culture and Victimhood; what's the difference?

Many youth of El Salvador are victim to and perpetrators of a long-burning gang rivalry. It is a rivalry fuelled as much by drug trafficking and bribery as by psychology. Matthew Charles and Juan Passarelli bring a camera into this terrible microcosm with their documentary The Engineer.

Around the same time as I was navigating the app, this document caught my attention. Notice how often it discusses 'anti-bullying' measures, and more importantly that it never even considers how teachers and other influential people could instead be pro-victim. This is not about blaming the victim. It means creating an environment where people can be resilient to, or even benefit from, acts that would otherwise make them victims.

The problem with being anti-bully is that it can only work from the top-down. It works to the extent that it becomes the bully's bully: assuming dominance, and then expressing it in a struggle to be recognised. If it worked from the bottom-up there would be no need for it; we would see a balance of power. It is constrained to be a half-measure because it endorses the kind of relationship that it campaigns against. It denies the worth inherent in everyone by endowing with prestige qualities people had little-to-no part in creating. For teachers this means seniority, just as bullies (and gang members) may have their strength and charisma.

That such half-measures can be valuable is attested by the longevity of law. It is such relationships that underlie the notion of statehood. In the face of historical successes, the question for the future therefore becomes when these relationships seem justified. As much as law must adapt to accommodate the changes around it, this question is always ongoing.

Legitimacy is an unavoidable membrane mediating between ideas in our heads and our physical actions in the world. At different times of our lives we will encounter it in many different forms. It takes "high-fidelity" shape in the nature of the scientific method, the development of wisdom; or lower-fidelity forms in the pressures for social conformity, the use of juries, the practice of elections. It is in constant metamorphosis; a neural network learning from the traces of past electrical impulses exchanged between one side and the other.

Fidelity is the degree to which signal is divorced from noise. I distinguish it from 'legitimacy' only in the sense that legitimacy depends on context - fidelity is context-free. Context itself is hugely susceptible to noise. For example people are able to distrust 'science' when they conflate the products of research and the method that merely assisted in producing them. Such notions of 'science' can - quite reasonably - lack legitimacy, no matter how high-fidelity the method in the background.

Here, another name for signal could be objectivity and for noise, subjectivity. That is, behind fidelity - high or low - is the matter of independence. Independence from singular, flawed interests. Wisdom is personal, yet its development is high-fidelity given a natural trend toward the universal. One gets a whiff of this in the Analects of Confucius, the Eightfold Path, gnothi seauton, Kant's Categorical Imperative, Jung's collective unconscious. What matters here is not so much the dialectical bridge between the subjective and the objective, and even less what is traveling across it.

Instead, what matters here is ambition towards the universal. Such ambition bolsters legitimacy by seeking common ground and - another, much harder task - accommodating differences. An ambition that builds community. An ambition that is conspicuous in its absence from 'anti-bullying' proposals.

Anti-bullying looks to be conceived mostly in the form of legislation, and therefore inherits the problem with any legal fiction (such as 'statehood'): you only get the sense that it exists when its boundaries are challenged. After damage is already done. Crime statistics make the principle that retribution discourages crime at least a little hollow. Legislation swims against the current in another way: that it treats children, to use an old phrase, as little adults; the schoolyard and classroom as miniature neighbourhood and economy. Instead, the tremendously simplified environment makes grass-roots campaigns much more feasible.

Being 'pro-victim' is not limited to, despite the singular nature of the term, helping individuals cope with abuse. Say, with self-defense training, or Stephen Fry's clever retort "no, no, don't touch me; you'll give me an erection." It is also about rewarding people who form supportive social groups (especially around those most in need of support), at once bringing everyone in the group greater security, instilling community values, and helping to preclude bullying, rather than just responding to it. These measures should preclude both in the nature of a deterrent, and also by combating insecurities that can lead to the abusive behaviour in the first place.

I was a little disturbed when it dawned on me that the impulse to unite in such groups, transplanted to the context of El Salvador, is exactly what allows gang culture to persist. The worst sense of security is a false sense of security; this is precisely the result when the bullied become the bullies, and two rival gangs - MS-13 and Eighteen Street - become each-others ideal out-group. This vicious circle can likely be escaped only with major economic reform in El Salvador. It is instructive for authority figures in less dangerous countries that this fire was only kindled due to Salvadorans carrying a particularly violent strain of gang culture from the United States. These behaviours are learned: it just needs to happen when looking at a friendly face, not down the barrel of a gun. To cohere a community of ambition, not to isolate insecurity.