NÃO, O QUE NOS ESTÁ A ACONTECER NÃO É NORMAL NEM TOLERÁVEL

A 25 de Junho de 2009, José Sócrates jantou com Henrique Granadeiro na casa de Manuel Pinho. O chairman da PT informou então o primeiro-ministro que a compra da TVI pela empresa de telecomunicações não se concretizaria. No dia seguinte, no Parlamento, Sócrates anuncia aos jornalistas que se vai opor a um negócio que, nessa altura, já não existia. Estranho? Não, como o mesmo Sócrates explicou quarta-feira: "Do ponto de vista formal, o Governo não foi informado."
Pronto, e assim está tudo resolvido. Do "ponto de vista formal" nunca nada aconteceu. A começar pelo conteúdo das escutas reveladas pelo Sol, pois o senhor presidente do Supremo Tribunal e o senhor procurador-geral entenderam não haver indícios de crime contra o Estado de direito nesses documentos.
Logo esses documentos não existem. E tudo o resto quer-se fazer passar por "normal". Ou seja, é normal que um ex-jotinha de 32 anos, Rui Pedro Soares, seja nomeado para a administração da PT e premiado com um salário anual de mais de um milhão de euros. É normal que esse "gestor" em ascensão trate com Armando Vara, um outro "gestor" de fresca data e socrático apadrinhamento, da compra da TVI pela PT e discuta com ele e com Paulo Penedos a melhor forma de afastar José Eduardo Moniz e acabar com o Jornal de Sexta. É normal que um jornal propriedade de um "grupo amigo" publique manchetes falsas para dar uma justificação política e económica à compra da TVI pela PT. É normal que seja depois esse "grupo amigo" a comprar a TVI beneficiando de apoios financeiros do BCP de Armando Vara e da PT. É normal que, na sequência dessa aquisição, Moniz deixe a direcção da estação e acabe o Jornal de Sexta. Se tudo isto é normal, também é normal que o BCP, que tinha uma participação no jornal Sol, tenha criado dificuldades de última hora à viabilização financeira daquele título, quando nele saíram as primeiras notícias sobre a investigação inglesa ao caso Freeport. Tal como é coincidência Vara já ser nessa altura administrador do BCP. Também será normal que o Turismo de Portugal tenha discriminado a TVI em algumas das suas campanhas - o mesmo, de resto, que fez com o PÚBLICO - e que o presidente desse organismo seja Luís Patrão, o velho amigo de Sócrates desde os tempos de liceu na Covilhã. Como normal será Mário Lino, ex-ministro das Obras Públicas, ter reuniões no ministério com Rui Pedro Soares quando o seu interlocutor natural é o presidente da PT. Como Lino disse à Sábado, é assim quando se conhece muita gente nas empresas. Como homem bem relacionado não se estranha que tenha recebido, de acordo com o Correio da Manhã, uma "cunha" de Armando Vara no âmbito do processo Face Oculta. No fundo é tudo boa gente.
Mas como todos estas factos padecem de várias "informalidades", passemos a eventos mais formais, que sabemos mesmo que aconteceram, que foram testemunhados e até deram origem a processos na ERC. Como o das pressões exercidas pelos assessores de José Sócrates para desencorajarem qualquer referência pelas rádios e televisões à investigação do PÚBLICO sobre as condições em que o primeiro-ministro completou a sua licenciatura. Como o de o Expresso, que rompeu o bloqueio e prosseguiu com a investigação, ter sofrido depois um "boicote claro" e "uma hostilidade total do primeiro-ministro", como escreveu esta semana o seu director, Henrique Monteiro. Ou como o das palavras ameaçadoras dirigidas por Sócrates a um jornalista do PÚBLICO por alturas do congresso em que foi eleito líder, em 2004: "Você tem de definir o que quer para a sua vida e para o seu futuro.
"Excessos de quem ferve em pouca água? Infelizmente não. A actuação metódica e planeada sempre foram uma marca deste primeiro-ministro e dos que lhe são mais próximos no PS. Por isso, quando Vara teve a tutela da comunicação social, criou um monstro chamado Portugal Global que integrava a RTP, a RDP e a Lusa e nomeou para a sua presidência um deputado do PS, João Carlos Silva. Pouco tempo depois, caído Vara em desgraça, seria José Sócrates a conseguir colocar na RTP o seu amigo Emídio Rangel. Um favor logo retribuído: na noite eleitoral que se seguiu (e que determinaria a demissão de Guterres), os únicos comentadores em estúdio foram o próprio Sócrates e o seu advogado, Daniel Proença de Carvalho; e na curta travessia do deserto até o PS regressar ao poder, Sócrates pôde ter, a convite de Rangel, um programa semanal de debate com Santana Lopes. Já primeiro-ministro apressou-se a propor um conjunto de leis - estatuto do jornalista, lei da televisão, lei sobre a concentração dos órgãos de informação - que se destinavam, segundo Francisco Pinto Balsemão, a "debilitar e enfraquecer os grupos privados" de informação - ou seja, os que não dependem do Governo. E não, não é verdade estarmos apenas perante mal-entendidos, excessos pontuais ou uma mera má relação com as críticas: estamos face a uma forma de actuar autoritária e que não olha a meios para atingir os fins. Até porque o que se relatou é apenas a pequena parte do que temos vivido (vide caso Crespo).Da mesma forma não existe nenhuma má vontade congénita dos jornalistas para fazer de Sócrates, como lamentou Mário Soares, o primeiro-ministro mais mal tratado pelos órgãos de informação. O que houve de novo foi Portugal ter como primeiro-ministro alguém que esteve várias vezes sob investigação judicial (por causa de um aterro sanitário na Cova da Beira, por causa do Freeport), cujo processo de licenciatura levantou dúvidas e que se distinguiu como projectista de maisons no concelho da Guarda. Isto para além de ter mostrado uma tal incontinência ao telemóvel que somou e soma dissabores em escutas realizadas noutros processos, como os da Câmara da Nazaré, da Casa Pia e, agora, no Face Oculta. Ainda é possível achar que tudo é normal? Ou porventura desculpável? Só se estivéssemos definitivamente anestesiados.

SÓCRATES ATÉ QUANDO?

“Como explicar que o povo que foi sujeito da Revolução de Abril tenha hoje como Primeiro-ministro, transcorridos 35 anos, uma criatura como José Sócrates? Como podem os portugueses suportar passivamente há mais de cinco anos a humilhação de uma política autocrática, semeada de escândalos, que ofende a razão e arruína e ridiculariza o Pais perante o Mundo?”

Miguel Urbano Rodrigues

Pertenço a uma geração que se tornou adulta durante a II Guerra Mundial. Acompanhei com espanto e angústia a evolução lenta da tragédia que durante quase seis anos desabou sobre a humanidade.

Desde a capitulação de Munique, ainda adolescente, tive dificuldade em entender porque não travavam a França e a Inglaterra o III Reich alemão. Pressentia que a corrida para o abismo não era uma inevitabilidade. Podia ser detida.

Em Maio de 1945, quando o último tiro foi disparado e a bandeira soviética içada sobre as ruínas do Reichstag, em Berlim, formulei como milhões de jovens em todo o mundo a pergunta

«Como foi possível?»

Hitler suicidara-se uma semana antes. Naqueles dias sentíamos o peso de um absurdo para o qual ninguém tinha resposta. Como pudera um povo de velha cultura, o alemão, que tanto contribuíra para o progresso da humanidade, permitir passivamente que um aventureiro aloucado exercesse durante 13 anos um poder absoluto. A razão não encontrava explicação para esse absurdo que precipitou a humanidade numa guerra apocalíptica (50 milhões de mortos) que destruiu a Alemanha e cobriu de escombros a Europa?

Muitos leitores ficarão chocados por evocar, a propósito da crise portuguesa, o que se passou na Alemanha a partir dos anos 30.

Quero esclarecer que não me passa sequer pela cabeça estabelecer paralelos entre o Reich hitleriano e o Portugal agredido por Sócrates. Qualquer analogia seria absurda.

São outros o contexto histórico, os cenários, a dimensão das personagens e os efeitos.

Mas hoje também em Portugal se justifica a pergunta «Como foi possível?»

Sim. Que estranho conjunto de circunstâncias conduziu o País ao desastre que o atinge? Como explicar que o povo que foi sujeito da Revolução de Abril tenha hoje como Primeiro-ministro, transcorridos 35 anos, uma criatura como José Sócrates? Como podem os portugueses suportar passivamente há mais de cinco anos a humilhação de uma política autocrática, semeada de escândalos, que ofende a razão e arruína e ridiculariza o Pais perante o Mundo?

O descalabro ético socrático justifica outra pergunta: como pode um Partido que se chama Socialista (embora seja neoliberal) ter desde o início apoiado maciçamente com servilismo, por vezes com entusiasmo, e continuar a apoiar, o desgoverno e despautérios do seu líder, o cidadão Primeiro-ministro?

Portugal caiu num pântano e não há resposta satisfatória para a permanência no poder do homem que insiste em apresentar um panorama triunfalista da política reaccionária responsável pela transformação acelerada do país numa sociedade parasita, super endividada, que consome muito mais do que produz.

Pode muita gente concluir que exagero ao atribuir tanta responsabilidade pelo desastre a um indivíduo. Isso porque Sócrates é, afinal, um instrumento do grande capital que o colocou à frente do Executivo e do imperialismo que o tem apoiado. Mas não creio neste caso empolar o factor subjectivo.

Não conheço precedente na nossa História para a cadeia de escândalos maiúsculos em que surge envolvido o actual Primeiro-ministro.

Ela é tão alarmante que os primeiros, desde o mistério do seu diploma de engenheiro, obtido numa universidade fantasmática (já encerrada), aparecem já como coisa banal quando comparados com os mais recentes.

O último é nestes dias tema de manchetes na Comunicação Social e já dele se fala além fronteiras.

É afinal um escândalo velho, que o Presidente do Supremo Tribunal e o Procurador-geral da República tentaram abafar, mas que retomou actualidade quando um semanário divulgou excertos de escutas do caso Face Oculta.

Alguns despachos do procurador de Aveiro e do juiz de instrução criminal do Tribunal da mesma comarca com transcrições de conversas telefónicas valem por uma demolidora peça acusatória reveladora da vocação liberticida do governo de Sócrates para amordaçar a Comunicação Social.

Desta vez o Primeiro-ministro ficou exposto sem defesa. As vozes de gente sua articulando projectos de controlo de uma emissora de televisão e de afastamento de jornalistas incómodos estão gravadas. Não há desmentidos que possam apagar a conspiração.

Um mar de lama escorre dessas conversas, envolvendo o Primeiro-ministro. A agressiva tentativa de defesa deste afunda-o mais no pântano. Impossibilitado de negar os factos, qualifica de «infame» a divulgação daquilo a que chama «conversas privadas». Basta recordar que todas as gravações dos diálogos telefónicos de Sócrates com o banqueiro Vara, seu ex-ministro foram mandadas destruir por decisão (lamentável) do Presidente do Supremo Tribunal de Justiça, para se ter a certeza de que seriam muitíssimo mais comprometedoras para ele do que as «conversas privadas» que tanto o indignam agora, divulgadas aliás dias depois de, num restaurante, ter defendido, em amena «conversa» com dois ministros seus, a necessidade de silenciar o jornalista Mário Crespo da SIC Noticias.

Não é apenas por serem indesmentíveis os factos que este escândalo difere dos anteriores que colocaram José Sócrates no banco dos réus do Tribunal da opinião pública. Desta vez a hipótese da sua demissão é levantada em editoriais de diários que o apoiaram nos primeiros anos e personalidades políticas de múltiplos quadrantes afirmam sem rodeios que não tem mais condições para exercer o cargo.

O cidadão José Sócrates tem mentido repetidamente ao País, com desfaçatez e arrogância, exibindo não apenas a sua incompetência e mediocridade, mas, o que é mais grave, uma debilidade de carácter incompatível com a chefia do Executivo.

Repito: como pode tal criatura permanecer como Primeiro-ministro?

Até quando, Sócrates, teremos de te suportar?

EMBARCAÇÕES DA AMERICA'S CUP

USA-17 (Oracle) Alinghi 5
USA-17 (Vela-asa) USA-17 (Detalhes)
USA-17

Alinghi 5 e USA-17

O AFEGANISTÃO SEGUNDO EÇA DE QUEIRÓS

Os ingleses estão experimentando, no seu atribulado império da Índia,a verdade desse humorístico lugar comum do sec. XVIII: 'A História é uma velhota que se repete sem cessar'.
O Fado e a Providência, ou a Entidade qualquer que lá de cima dirigiu os episódios da campanha do Afeganistão em 1847, está fazendo simplesmente uma cópia servil, revelando assim uma imaginação exausta.
Em 1847 os ingleses, "por uma Razão de Estado, uma necessidade de fronteiras científicas, a segurança do império, uma barreira ao domínio russo da Ásia..." e outras coisas vagas que os políticos da Índia rosnam sombriamente, retorcendo os bigodes - invadem o Afeganistão, e aí vão aniquilando tribos seculares, desmantelando vilas, assolando searas e vinhas: apossam-se, por fim, da santa cidade de Cabul; sacodem do serralho um velho emir apavorado; colocam lá outro de raça mais submissa, que já trazem preparado nas bagagens, com escravas e tapetes; e, logo que os correspondentes dos jornais têm telegrafado a vitória, o exército, acampado à beira dos arroios e nos vergéis de Cabul, desaperta o correame, e fuma o cachimbo da paz... Assim é exactamente em 1880.
No nosso tempo, precisamente como em 1847, chefes enérgicos, Messias indígenas, vão percorrendo o território, e com os grandes nomes de "Pátria" e de "Religião", pregam a guerra santa: as tribos reúnem-se, as famílias feudais correm com os seus troços de cavalaria, príncipes rivais juntam-se no ódio hereditário contra o estrangeiro, o "homem vermelho", e em pouco tempo é tudo um rebrilhar de fogos de acampamento nos altos das serranias, dominando os desfiladeiros que são o caminho, a estrada da Índia... E quando por ali aparecer, enfim, o grosso do exército inglês, à volta de Cabul, atravancado de artilharia, escoando-se espessamente, por entre as gargantas das serras, no leito seco das torrentes, com as suas longas caravanas de camelos, aquela massa bárbara rola-lhe em cima e aniquila-o.
Foi assim em 1847, é assim em 1880. Então os restos debandados do exército refugiam-se nalguma das cidades da fronteira, que ora é Ghasnat ora Kandahar: os afegãos correm, põem o cerco, cerco lento, cerco de vagares orientais: o general sitiado, que nessas guerras asiáticas pode sempre comunicar, telegrafa para o viso-rei da Índia, reclamando com furor "reforços, chá e açúcar"! (Isto é textual; foi o general Roberts que soltou há dias este grito de gulodice britânica; o inglês, sem chá, bate-se frouxamente). Então o governo da Índia, gastando milhões de libras, como quem gasta água, manda a toda a pressa fardos disformes de chá reparador, brancas colinas de açúcar, e dez ou quinze mil homens. De Inglaterra partem esses negros e monstruosos transportes de guerra, arcas de Noé a vapor, levando acampamentos, rebanhos de cavalos, parques de artilharia, toda uma invasão temerosa... Foi assim em 1847, assim é em 1880.
Esta hoste desembarca no Industão, junta-se a outras colunas de tropa índia, e é dirigida dia e noite sobre a fronteira em expressos a quarenta milhas por hora; daí começa uma marcha assoladora, com cinquenta mil camelos de bagagens, telégrafos, máquinas hidráulicas, e uma cavalgada eloquente de correspondentes de jornais. Uma manhã avista-se Kandahar ou Ghasnat;- e num momento, é aniquilado, disperso no pó da planície o pobre exército afegão com as suas cimitarras de melodrama e as suas veneráveis colubrinas do modelo das que outrora fizeram fogo em Diu. Ghasnat está livre! Kandahar está livre! Hurrah! Faz-se imediatamente disto uma canção patriótica; e a façanha é por toda a Inglaterra popularizada numa estampa, em que se vê o general libertador e o general sitiado apertando-se a mão com veemência, no primeiro plano, entre cavalos empinados e granadeiros belos como Apolos, que expiram em atitude nobre! Foi assim em 1847; há-de ser assim em 1880.
No entanto, em desfiladeiro e monte, milhares de homens que, ou defendiam a pátria ou morriam pela "fronteira científica", lá ficam, pasto de corvos - o que não é, no Afeganistão, uma respeitável imagem de retórica: aí, são os corvos que nas cidades fazem a limpeza das ruas, comendo as imundices, e em campos de batalha purificam o ar, devorando os restos das derrotas.
E de tanto sangue, tanta agonia, tanto luto, que resta por fim? Uma canção patriótica, uma estampa idiota nas salas de jantar, mais tarde uma linha de prosa numa página de crónica...
Consoladora filosofia das guerras!
No entanto, a Inglaterra goza por algum tempo a "grande vitória do Afeganistão" - com a certeza de ter de recomeçar, daqui a dez anos ou quinze anos; porque nem pode conquistar e anexar um vasto reino, que é grande como a França, nem pode consentir, colados à sua ilharga, uns poucos de milhões de homens fanáticos, batalhadores e hostis. A "política" portanto é debilitá-los periodicamente, com uma invasão arruinadora. São as fortes necessidades dum grande império.
Antes possuir apenas um quintalejo, com uma vaca para o leite e dois pés de alface para as merendas de verão...

QUANDO A ECOLOGIA PROFUNDA ENCONTRA O TERCEIRO MUNDO

There is a movement afoot in the United States that environmentalists call deep ecology (Tobias, 1985). In a nutshell, its basic tenet is that all living things have a right to exist—that human beings have no right to bring other creatures to extinction or to play God by deciding which species serve us and should therefore be allowed to live. Deep ecology rejects the anthropocentric view that humankind lies at the center of all that is worthwhile and that other creatures are valuable only as long as they serve us. Deep ecology says, instead, that all living things have an inherent value—animals, plants, bacteria, viruses—and that animals are no more important than plants and that mammals are no more valuable than insects (Blea, 1986). Deep ecology is similar to many Eastern religions in holding that all living things are sacred. As a conservationist, I am attracted to the core philosophy of deep ecology. Like the Buddhists, and Taoists, and supporters of the Earth First! movement, I also believe that all living things are sacred. When human activities drive one of our fellow species to extinction, I consider that a betrayal of our obligation to protect all life on the only planet we have.
Where I run into trouble with the philosophy of deep ecology is in places like rural Central America or on the agricultural frontier in Ecuadorian Amazonia—places where human beings themselves are living on the edge of life. I have never tried to tell a Latin American farmer that he has no right to burn forest for farmland because the trees and wildlife are as inherently valuable as he and his children are. As an anthropologist and as a father, I am not prepared to take on that job. You could call this the dilemma of deep ecology meeting the developing world.
The dilemma is softened somewhat by the realization that the farmer in the developing world probably appreciates the value of forest and wildlife better than we do in our society of microwave ovens and airplanes and plastic money. The Third-World farmer appreciates his dependence on biological diversity because that
dependence is so highly visible to him. He knows that his life is based on the living organisms that surround him. From the biological diversity that forms his natural environment he gathers edible fruit, wild animals for protein, fiber for clothing and ropes, incense for religious ceremonies, natural insecticides, fish poisons, wood for houses, furniture, and canoes, and medicinal plants that may cure a toothache or a snakebite.
There are indigenous peoples in some parts of the world who have an appreciation for biological diversity that puts our own conservation theorists to shame. I stayed once in southeastern Mexico with a Maya farmer who expressed his view this way:
“The outsiders come into our forest,” he said, “and they cut the mahogany and kill the birds and burn everything. Then they bring in cattle, and the cattle eat the jungle. I think they hate the forest. But I plant my crops and weed them, and I watch the animals, and I watch the forest to know when to plant my corn. As for me, I guard the forest.”
Today, that Maya farmer lives in a small remnant of rain forest surrounded by the fields and cattle pastures of 100,000 immigrant colonists. He is subjected to the development plans of a nation hungry for farmland and foreign exchange. The colonists have been forced by population pressure and the need for land reform to colonize a tropical forest they know nothing about. The social and economic realities of a modern global economy are leading them and their national leaders to destroy the very biological resources their lives are based upon.
The colonists are fine people who are quick to invite you to share their meager meal. But if you want to talk with them about protecting the biological diversity that still surrounds them, be prepared to talk about how it will affect them directly. If you look a frontier farmer in the eye and tell him that he must not clear forest or hunt in a wildlife reserve and that the reason he must not do these things is because you are trying to preserve the planet’s biological diversity, he will very politely perform the cultural equivalent of rolling his eyes and saying, “Sure.”
But he will not believe you. Instead, you should be prepared to demonstrate how he can produce more food and earn more money by protecting the biological resources on his land. The developing world colonist may understand his dependence on biological diversity, but his interest in protecting that diversity lies in how it can improve his life and the lives of his children. Colonists on the agricultural frontier do not have the luxury of debating the finer points of deep ecology.
The same thing can be said for the government planner in the nation where the pioneer farmer lives and the development banker in Washington, D.C. The planner and the banker may appreciate the moral and aesthetic values of biological diversity. They may lament the eradication of wilderness and wildlife. But if you want them to protect a critical area of forest or place their hydroelectric dam outside a protected area, be prepared to talk about the economic value of watersheds, income from tourism, and cost-benefit analysis.
In the developing world, as well as in our overdeveloped world, we are obligated to present economic, utilitarian arguments to preserve the biological diversity that ultimately benefits us all. Deep ecology makes interesting conversation over the seminar table, but it won’t fly on the agricultural frontier of the Third World or in the board rooms of the Inter-American Development Bank.
The day may come when ethical considerations about biological diversity become our most important reason for species conservation. But in the meantime, if we want to hold on to our planet’s biological diversity, we have to speak the vernacular. And the vernacular is utility, economics, and the well-being of individual human beings.
In the 1980s, the question seems to be, “What has biological diversity done for me lately?” The good news is that the answer to that question is, “Plenty, and more than you realize.” Our lives are full of examples of the logic of preserving the plants and animals that we depend upon as a species.
Our food is a good example. Human beings eat a wealth of plants and animals in the home-cooked meals and restaurant dinners that we live on day-to-day. Yet one of the most immediate threats posed by the loss of biodiversity is the shrinkage of plant gene pools available to farmers and agricultural scientists. During the past several decades, we have increased our ability to produce large quantities of food, but we have simultaneously increased our dependence on just a few crops and our dependence on fewer types of those crops. As much as 80% of the world food supply may be based on fewer than two dozen species of plants and animals (CEQ, 1981). We are eroding the genetic diversity of the crops we increasingly depend upon, and we are eradicating the wild ancestors of those crops as we destroy wilderness habitats around the world.
We are dependent on biological diversity in ways less visible than the plants and animals we eat and wear. We also depend on them for raw materials and medicines. We depend on the diversity of plants and animals for industrial fibers, gums, spices, dyes, resins, oils, lumber, cellulose, and wood biomass. We chemically screen wild plants in search of new drugs that may be beneficial to humankind. We import millions of dollars worth of medicinal plants into the United States and use them to produce billions of dollars worth of medicines (OTA, 1984).
We use animals in medical research as well, though sometimes with brutal results. We import tens of thousands of primates for drug safety tests and drug production (OTA, 1984). We use Texas armadillos in research on leprosy. When human activities threaten the survival of these animals and their wild habitats, they threaten human welfare as well.
At the same time, we have to acknowledge that we will never be able to demonstrate an immediate, utilitarian reason for preserving every species on Earth. Some of them may have no use for humankind beyond being part of the great mystery. But who will tell us which species are unimportant? Who can tell us which level of extinction will seriously disrupt the web of life that we depend upon as human beings?
Environmental writer Erik Eckholm says that one of the key tasks facing both scientists and governments is to identify and protect the species whose ecological functions are especially important to human societies. And “in the meantime,” Eckholm continues, “prudence dictates giving existing organisms as much benefit of the doubt as possible” (Eckholm, 1978).
One of the important factors in providing those species with the benefit of the doubt they deserve is educating ourselves and our governments’ policy makers about our dependence, as human beings, on biological diversity. That education tends to emphasize the utilitarian value of species protection. One of the results is that there is a growing, pragmatic ethic among scientists and conservationists. It is an ethic that centers on the realization that our ability to preserve biological diversity depends on our ability to demonstrate the benefits that diversity brings to human beings (Fisher and Myers, 1986).
On one level, these benefits take the form of immediate economic income through activities like wildlife harvesting, tourism, and maintaining agricultural production. On another level, they focus on unfulfilled potential—new crops, new medicines, new industrial products. Taken together, the benefits of biological diversity provide short-term income to individual people and improve the long-term well-being of our species as a whole.
These two levels of benefits work together in the sense that if we hope to see the long-term benefits of biological diversity, we have to focus first—or least simultaneously—on the immediate, short-term benefits to individual people. Few of the wild gene pools—the raw materials for future medicines, food, and fuels—are likely to survive intact in places where people have to struggle simply to provide their basic, daily needs (Wolf, 1985).
One of our long-term goals as a species is to enjoy the uncounted benefits that our planet’s biological diversity can eventually bring us. But in the short term, at a minimum for the next few decades, our basic strategy must concentrate on ensuring that people here and on the frontiers of the developing world receive material incentives that will allow them to prosper by protecting biological diversity rather than by destroying it (Cartwright, 1985). That done, we can return to the ethical and aesthetic arguments of deep ecology with the knowledge that when we look up from our discussion, there will still be biological diversity left to experience and enjoy.
The authors of the three chapters that follow are counted among the most successful and most dedicated of the scientists now working to point out the short-term and long-term benefits of biological diversity—three scientists who are working as quickly as possible to discover the unread books of our planet’s genetic diversity and to translate those discoveries into practical advantages for their fellow human beings.

HUMANS WILL LEARN TO LEARN FROM DIVERSITY

Daniel L. Everett

I am optimistic that humans might finally come to understand that they can learn from other humans who are not like them. The supposed 'curse' of the Tower of Babel, the diversity of languages and cultures, is perhaps our greatest hope for continued healthy occupancy of this rock we all share in our unforgiving universe. Sure, there are dangers in this diversity that have led to murder and suffering. Diversity can all too easily be interpreted as 'incomprehensibility, inferiority, wrong-headedness'. But I am optimistic that our species has grown tired of this view of diversity. And I am optimistic that groups we have heard very little from will motivate us all to learn new solutions to old problems in the coming years.
However we define the group to which we belong, ethnically, geographically, linguistically, or nationally, I believe that 2007 could be the year in which we come to embrace a symmetry of status between groups and a cross-pollination of ways of living and ways of thinking about the world.
Let me say what I think it means for people groups to learn from one another and then why I am optimistic about it.
The world presents us all with similar problems at the level of biological and emotional need. We need shelter, food, companionship, affection, sex, and opportunities to develop our abilities, among other things. As humans we also have intellectual and social needs that go beyond other species. We need affirmation, we need respect, we need to feel good about our lives, we need to feel like we are useful, and we need to feel optimistic. And we need to know how to get more meaning out of the world around us. And, especially, we need to learn to love more and tolerate more. But how do we learn these things? Where can we go for new ideas for the problems we are still beset by in 2007? Anthropological linguistics can offer some suggestions. We can learn from the stories and values of smaller, overlooked groups, endangered peoples, and even extinct peoples that we have records of, about how to live more harmoniously in the world.
For example, when we look back to the now extinct cultures of the Narragansett Indians the Northeastern British colonies in the early 18th century and before, we learn about their tolerance of difference. When Increase Mather and his father Cotton Mather expulsed Roger Williams from the colony of Massachusetts in 1735, during a ferocious winter, Mather expected Williams to do the right thing and freeze to death. Williams had expressed views of tolerance and respect for others and against tenets of the church of Mather that Mather and Governor Winthrop found intolerable. But Williams was taken in by the Narragansett and spent the winter safely with them, learning about their language and their philosophy of tolerance, of which he was living proof. When Williams later wrote about these people, his writings influenced the thought of Thomas Jefferson and eventually the Narragansett philosophy seems to have influenced, though indirectly, the writings and thought of William James as he helped to develop American Pragmatism, perhaps the only uniquely American contribution to world philosophy — a philosophy that evaluates ideas by their usefulness, by their tolerance of diverse ideas, and by their rejection of the idea that any one group holds a monopoly on Truth.
We have spent most of our existence on this planet in an attempt to homogenize it. To remove uncomfortable differences. But I believe that we are growing weary of this. I believe that this year the hurt and pain that our species is inflecting on itself will surpass, for many of us at least, what we are willing to bear. We are going to look for other answers. And we are going to need to turn to humans who have mastered the art of contentment and peace and tolerance. These people are found in various parts of the world. Zen Buddhists are one example. But there are others.
My thirty years of work with the Pirahãs (pee-da-HANs) of the Amazon rain forest, for example, has taught me a great deal about their remarkable lack of concern about the future or the past and their pleasure in living one day at a time, without fear of an afterlife, with full tolerance for others' beliefs. The Pirahãs know that people die, that they suffer, that life is not easy, through their daily struggle to provide food for their families without being bitten by snakes or eaten by jaguars and from loved ones they bury young, dead from malaria and other diseases. But this doesn't dampen their joy of life, their love for other Pirahãs or their ability to look at death without fear and without need for the idea of heaven to get them through this life, to them the only life.
Religions have a concept of Truth that lacks tolerance, a Truth that wants to missionize the world to eliminate diversity of belief. Western history has shown what that leads to. But peoples like the Narragansett, the Pirahãs, Zen Buddhists, and many others offer alternatives to homogenizing and destroying the diversity of the world. They show us how different people can solve the same problems of life in ways that can avoid some of the by-products of the violent homogenization of Western history. I believe that the impact of the internet and of rapid dissemination of research in popular and professional forums, coupled with widespread disgust at some of the things that our traditional cultural values have produced, can be the basis for learning from other peoples.
What is there to learn? Let me give some examples from my own field research among Amazonian peoples.
Cooperation: I once thought it might be fun to teach the Pirahã people about Western games. So I organized a 'field day', with a tug of war, a foot race, and a sack race, among other things. In the foot race, one Pirahã fellow got out in front of everyone else. He then stopped and waited for all the others to catch up so they could cross together. The idea of winning was not only novel but unappealing. We cross the line together or I don't cross it. And the same went for the sack race. The tug of war contest was a joke — just guys keeping the slack out of the rope talking. The people loved it all, laughing and conversing all day and told me they had a good time. They taught me more than I ever taught them: you can have a great time and have everyone win. That is not a bad lesson. That is a fine lesson.
Pluralism: The Pirahãs, like the Narragansett and other American Indians, believe that you use your knowledge to serve yourself and to serve others in your community. There is no over-arching concept of Truth to which all members of society must conform.
Communalism: The Pirahãs seem to accept only knowledge that helps, not knowledge that coerces. Think of our English expression 'knowledge is power'. The concept as practiced in most industrial societies is really that 'knowledge is power for me so long as I have it and you don't'. But to many peoples like the Pirahãs, knowledge is something for us all to share. It is power to the people, not power to a person. The Pirahãs don't allow top secret conversations. Every member of their society knows what every other member is doing and how they are doing it. There is a communal mind. There is freedom and security in group knowledge.
Toleration: In Western society we associate tolerance with education — the more you learn, the more you tolerate. But there is little evidence for this thesis when we look at our society as a whole (where education is even compatible with religious fundamentalism, one of the worst dangers for the future of our species). Yet among some hunter-gatherer societies, toleration of physical, mental, and religious diversity can be much greater than our so-called pluralistic Western societies. Not everyone has to look alike, act alike, behave alike, or believe alike. In fact, they don't even have to pretend to do so. In the 1960s there was a similar optimism among my fellow hippies, as many of my generation went into fields like anthropology, literature, and science to learn more about diverse facts and truths and to give us a cornucopia of coping lessons for life. We are ready now for a new 60s-like exploration of diversity and I am optimistic that we will do this. I am optimistic that we will learn the simple and useful truths of cooperation, pluralism, communalism, and toleration and that no one Idea or Truth should be the ring to bind us all.

President Obama's speech at Nobel ceremony

Following is a text of his remarks as they were prepared for delivery at the award ceremony in Oslo:

Your Majesties, Your Royal Highnesses, Distinguished Members of the Norwegian Nobel Committee, citizens of America, and citizens of the world:

I receive this honor with deep gratitude and great humility. It is an award that speaks to our highest aspirations - that for all the cruelty and hardship of our world, we are not mere prisoners of fate. Our actions matter, and can bend history in the direction of justice.
And yet I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the considerable controversy that your generous decision has generated. In part, this is because I am at the beginning, and not the end, of my labors on the world stage. Compared to some of the giants of history who have received this prize -- Schweitzer and King; Marshall and Mandela -- my accomplishments are slight. And then there are the men and women around the world who have been jailed and beaten in the pursuit of justice; those who toil in humanitarian organizations to relieve suffering; the unrecognized millions whose quiet acts of courage and compassion inspire even the most hardened of cynics. I cannot argue with those who find these men and women -- some known, some obscure to all but those they help -- to be far more deserving of this honor than I.
But perhaps the most profound issue surrounding my receipt of this prize is the fact that I am the Commander-in-Chief of a nation in the midst of two wars. One of these wars is winding down. The other is a conflict that America did not seek; one in which we are joined by forty three other countries -- including Norway -- in an effort to defend ourselves and all nations from further attacks.
Still, we are at war, and I am responsible for the deployment of thousands of young Americans to battle in a distant land. Some will kill. Some will be killed. And so I come here with an acute sense of the cost of armed conflict -- filled with difficult questions about the relationship between war and peace, and our effort to replace one with the other.
These questions are not new. War, in one form or another, appeared with the first man. At the dawn of history, its morality was not questioned; it was simply a fact, like drought or disease -- the manner in which tribes and then civilizations sought power and settled their differences.
Over time, as codes of law sought to control violence within groups, so did philosophers, clerics, and statesmen seek to regulate the destructive power of war. The concept of a "just war" emerged, suggesting that war is justified only when it meets certain preconditions: if it is waged as a last resort or in self-defense; if the force used is proportional, and if, whenever possible, civilians are spared from violence.
For most of history, this concept of just war was rarely observed. The capacity of human beings to think up new ways to kill one another proved inexhaustible, as did our capacity to exempt from mercy those who look different or pray to a different God. Wars between armies gave way to wars between nations – total wars in which the distinction between combatant and civilian became blurred. In the span of thirty years, such carnage would twice engulf this continent. And while it is hard to conceive of a cause more just than the defeat of the Third Reich and the Axis powers, World War II was a conflict in which the total number of civilians who died exceeded the number of soldiers who perished.
In the wake of such destruction, and with the advent of the nuclear age, it became clear to victor and vanquished alike that the world needed institutions to prevent another World War. And so, a quarter century after the United States Senate rejected the League of Nations -- an idea for which Woodrow Wilson received this Prize -- America led the world in constructing an architecture to keep the peace: a Marshall Plan and a United Nations, mechanisms to govern the waging of war, treaties to protect human rights, prevent genocide, and restrict the most dangerous weapons.
In many ways, these efforts succeeded. Yes, terrible wars have been fought, and atrocities committed. But there has been no Third World War. The Cold War ended with jubilant crowds dismantling a wall. Commerce has stitched much of the world together. Billions have been lifted from poverty. The ideals of liberty, self-determination, equality and the rule of law have haltingly advanced. We are the heirs of the fortitude and foresight of generations past, and it is a legacy for which my own country is rightfully proud.
A decade into a new century, this old architecture is buckling under the weight of new threats. The world may no longer shudder at the prospect of war between two nuclear superpowers, but proliferation may increase the risk of catastrophe. Terrorism has long been a tactic, but modern technology allows a few small men with outsized rage to murder innocents on a horrific scale.
Moreover, wars between nations have increasingly given way to wars within nations. The resurgence of ethnic or sectarian conflicts; the growth of secessionist movements, insurgencies, and failed states; have increasingly trapped civilians in unending chaos. In today's wars, many more civilians are killed than soldiers; the seeds of future conflict are sown, economies are wrecked, civil societies torn asunder, refugees amassed, and children scarred.
I do not bring with me today a definitive solution to the problems of war. What I do know is that meeting these challenges will require the same vision, hard work, and persistence of those men and women who acted so boldly decades ago. And it will require us to think in new ways about the notions of just war and the imperatives of a just peace.
We must begin by acknowledging the hard truth that we will not eradicate violent conflict in our lifetimes. There will be times when nations -- acting individually or in concert -- will find the use of force not only necessary but morally justified.
I make this statement mindful of what Martin Luther King said in this same ceremony years ago -- "Violence never brings permanent peace. It solves no social problem: it merely creates new and more complicated ones." As someone who stands here as a direct consequence of Dr. King's life's work, I am living testimony to the moral force of non-violence. I know there is nothing weak, nothing passive, nothing naive in the creed and lives of Gandhi and King.
But as a head of state sworn to protect and defend my nation, I cannot be guided by their examples alone. I face the world as it is, and cannot stand idle in the face of threats to the American people. For make no mistake: evil does exist in the world. A non-violent movement could not have halted Hitler's armies. Negotiations cannot convince al Qaeda's leaders to lay down their arms. To say that force is sometimes necessary is not a call to cynicism -- it is a recognition of history; the imperfections of man and the limits of reason.
I raise this point because in many countries there is a deep ambivalence about military action today, no matter the cause. At times, this is joined by a reflexive suspicion of America, the world's sole military superpower.
Yet the world must remember that it was not simply international institutions -- not just treaties and declarations -- that brought stability to a post-World War II world. Whatever mistakes we have made, the plain fact is this: the United States of America has helped underwrite global security for more than six decades with the blood of our citizens and the strength of our arms. The service and sacrifice of our men and women in uniform has promoted peace and prosperity from Germany to Korea, and enabled democracy to take hold in places like the Balkans. We have borne this burden not because we seek to impose our will. We have done so out of enlightened self-interest -- because we seek a better future for our children and grandchildren, and we believe that their lives will be better if other peoples' children and grandchildren can live in freedom and prosperity.
So yes, the instruments of war do have a role to play in preserving the peace. And yet this truth must coexist with another -- that no matter how justified, war promises human tragedy. The soldier's courage and sacrifice is full of glory, expressing devotion to country, to cause and to comrades in arms. But war itself is never glorious, and we must never trumpet it as such.
So part of our challenge is reconciling these two seemingly irreconcilable truths -- that war is sometimes necessary, and war is at some level an expression of human feelings. Concretely, we must direct our effort to the task that President Kennedy called for long ago. "Let us focus," he said, "on a more practical, more attainable peace, based not on a sudden revolution in human nature but on a gradual evolution in human institutions."
What might this evolution look like? What might these practical steps be?
To begin with, I believe that all nations -- strong and weak alike -- must adhere to standards that govern the use of force. I -- like any head of state -- reserve the right to act unilaterally if necessary to defend my nation. Nevertheless, I am convinced that adhering to standards strengthens those who do, and isolates -- and weakens -- those who don't.
The world rallied around America after the 9/11 attacks, and continues to support our efforts in Afghanistan, because of the horror of those senseless attacks and the recognized principle of self-defense. Likewise, the world recognized the need to confront Saddam Hussein when he invaded Kuwait -- a consensus that sent a clear message to all about the cost of aggression.
Furthermore, America cannot insist that others follow the rules of the road if we refuse to follow them ourselves. For when we don't, our action can appear arbitrary, and undercut the legitimacy of future intervention -- no matter how justified.
This becomes particularly important when the purpose of military action extends beyond self defense or the defense of one nation against an aggressor. More and more, we all confront difficult questions about how to prevent the slaughter of civilians by their own government, or to stop a civil war whose violence and suffering can engulf an entire region.
I believe that force can be justified on humanitarian grounds, as it was in the Balkans, or in other places that have been scarred by war. Inaction tears at our conscience and can lead to more costly intervention later. That is why all responsible nations must embrace the role that militaries with a clear mandate can play to keep the peace.
America's commitment to global security will never waiver. But in a world in which threats are more diffuse, and missions more complex, America cannot act alone. This is true in Afghanistan. This is true in failed states like Somalia, where terrorism and piracy is joined by famine and human suffering. And sadly, it will continue to be true in unstable regions for years to come.
The leaders and soldiers of NATO countries -- and other friends and allies -- demonstrate this truth through the capacity and courage they have shown in Afghanistan. But in many countries, there is a disconnect between the efforts of those who serve and the ambivalence of the broader public. I understand why war is not popular. But I also know this: the belief that peace is desirable is rarely enough to achieve it. Peace requires responsibility. Peace entails sacrifice. That is why NATO continues to be indispensable. That is why we must strengthen UN and regional peacekeeping, and not leave the task to a few countries. That is why we honor those who return home from peacekeeping and training abroad to Oslo and Rome; to Ottawa and Sydney; to Dhaka and Kigali -- we honor them not as makers of war, but as wagers of peace.
Let me make one final point about the use of force. Even as we make difficult decisions about going to war, we must also think clearly about how we fight it. The Nobel Committee recognized this truth in awarding its first prize for peace to Henry Dunant -- the founder of the Red Cross, and a driving force behind the Geneva Conventions.
Where force is necessary, we have a moral and strategic interest in binding ourselves to certain rules of conduct. And even as we confront a vicious adversary that abides by no rules, I believe that the United States of America must remain a standard bearer in the conduct of war. That is what makes us different from those whom we fight. That is a source of our strength. That is why I prohibited torture. That is why I ordered the prison at Guantanamo Bay closed. And that is why I have reaffirmed America's commitment to abide by the Geneva Conventions. We lose ourselves when we compromise the very ideals that we fight to defend. And we honor those ideals by upholding them not just when it is easy, but when it is hard.
I have spoken to the questions that must weigh on our minds and our hearts as we choose to wage war. But let me turn now to our effort to avoid such tragic choices, and speak of three ways that we can build a just and lasting peace.
First, in dealing with those nations that break rules and laws, I believe that we must develop alternatives to violence that are tough enough to change behavior -- for if we want a lasting peace, then the words of the international community must mean something. Those regimes that break the rules must be held accountable. Sanctions must exact a real price. Intransigence must be met with increased pressure -- and such pressure exists only when the world stands together as one.
One urgent example is the effort to prevent the spread of nuclear weapons, and to seek a world without them. In the middle of the last century, nations agreed to be bound by a treaty whose bargain is clear: all will have access to peaceful nuclear power; those without nuclear weapons will forsake them; and those with nuclear weapons will work toward disarmament. I am committed to upholding this treaty. It is a centerpiece of my foreign policy. And I am working with President Medvedev to reduce America and Russia's nuclear stockpiles.
But it is also incumbent upon all of us to insist that nations like Iran and North Korea do not game the system. Those who claim to respect international law cannot avert their eyes when those laws are flouted. Those who care for their own security cannot ignore the danger of an arms race in the Middle East or East Asia. Those who seek peace cannot stand idly by as nations arm themselves for nuclear war.
The same principle applies to those who violate international law by brutalizing their own people. When there is genocide in Darfur; systematic rape in Congo; or repression in Burma -- there must be consequences. And the closer we stand together, the less likely we will be faced with the choice between armed intervention and complicity in oppression.
This brings me to a second point -- the nature of the peace that we seek. For peace is not merely the absence of visible conflict. Only a just peace based upon the inherent rights and dignity of every individual can truly be lasting.
It was this insight that drove drafters of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights after the Second World War. In the wake of devastation, they recognized that if human rights are not protected, peace is a hollow promise.
And yet all too often, these words are ignored. In some countries, the failure to uphold human rights is excused by the false suggestion that these are Western principles, foreign to local cultures or stages of a nation's development. And within America, there has long been a tension between those who describe themselves as realists or idealists -- a tension that suggests a stark choice between the narrow pursuit of interests or an endless campaign to impose our values.
I reject this choice. I believe that peace is unstable where citizens are denied the right to speak freely or worship as they please; choose their own leaders or assemble without fear. Pent up grievances fester, and the suppression of tribal and religious identity can lead to violence. We also know that the opposite is true. Only when Europe became free did it finally find peace. America has never fought a war against a democracy, and our closest friends are governments that protect the rights of their citizens. No matter how callously defined, neither America's interests -- nor the world's -- are served by the denial of human aspirations.
So even as we respect the unique culture and traditions of different countries, America will always be a voice for those aspirations that are universal. We will bear witness to the quiet dignity of reformers like Aung Sang Suu Kyi; to the bravery of Zimbabweans who cast their ballots in the face of beatings; to the hundreds of thousands who have marched silently through the streets of Iran. It is telling that the leaders of these governments fear the aspirations of their own people more than the power of any other nation. And it is the responsibility of all free people and free nations to make clear to these movements that hope and history are on their side.
Let me also say this: the promotion of human rights cannot be about exhortation alone. At times, it must be coupled with painstaking diplomacy. I know that engagement with repressive regimes lacks the satisfying purity of indignation. But I also know that sanctions without outreach -- and condemnation without discussion -- can carry forward a crippling status quo. No repressive regime can move down a new path unless it has the choice of an open door.
In light of the Cultural Revolution's horrors, Nixon's meeting with Mao appeared inexcusable -- and yet it surely helped set China on a path where millions of its citizens have been lifted from poverty, and connected to open societies. Pope John Paul's engagement with Poland created space not just for the Catholic Church, but for labor leaders like Lech Walesa. Ronald Reagan's efforts on arms control and embrace of perestroika not only improved relations with the Soviet Union, but empowered dissidents throughout Eastern Europe. There is no simple formula here. But we must try as best we can to balance isolation and engagement; pressure and incentives, so that human rights and dignity are advanced over time.
Third, a just peace includes not only civil and political rights -- it must encompass economic security and opportunity. For true peace is not just freedom from fear, but freedom from want.
It is undoubtedly true that development rarely takes root without security; it is also true that security does not exist where human beings do not have access to enough food, or clean water, or the medicine they need to survive. It does not exist where children cannot aspire to a decent education or a job that supports a family. The absence of hope can rot a society from within.
And that is why helping farmers feed their own people -- or nations educate their children and care for the sick -- is not mere charity. It is also why the world must come together to confront climate change. There is little scientific dispute that if we do nothing, we will face more drought, famine and mass displacement that will fuel more conflict for decades. For this reason, it is not merely scientists and activists who call for swift and forceful action -- it is military leaders in my country and others who understand that our common security hangs in the balance.
Agreements among nations. Strong institutions. Support for human rights. Investments in development. All of these are vital ingredients in bringing about the evolution that President Kennedy spoke about. And yet, I do not believe that we will have the will, or the staying power, to complete this work without something more -- and that is the continued expansion of our moral imagination; an insistence that there is something irreducible that we all share.
As the world grows smaller, you might think it would be easier for human beings to recognize how similar we are; to understand that we all basically want the same things; that we all hope for the chance to live out our lives with some measure of happiness and fulfillment for ourselves and our families.
And yet, given the dizzying pace of globalization, and the cultural leveling of modernity, it should come as no surprise that people fear the loss of what they cherish about their particular identities -- their race, their tribe, and perhaps most powerfully their religion. In some places, this fear has led to conflict. At times, it even feels like we are moving backwards. We see it in Middle East, as the conflict between Arabs and Jews seems to harden. We see it in nations that are torn asunder by tribal lines.
Most dangerously, we see it in the way that religion is used to justify the murder of innocents by those who have distorted and defiled the great religion of Islam, and who attacked my country from Afghanistan. These extremists are not the first to kill in the name of God; the cruelties of the Crusades are amply recorded. But they remind us that no Holy War can ever be a just war. For if you truly believe that you are carrying out divine will, then there is no need for restraint -- no need to spare the pregnant mother, or the medic, or even a person of one's own faith. Such a warped view of religion is not just incompatible with the concept of peace, but the purpose of faith -- for the one rule that lies at the heart of every major religion is that we do unto others as we would have them do unto us.
Adhering to this law of love has always been the core struggle of human nature. We are fallible. We make mistakes, and fall victim to the temptations of pride, and power, and sometimes evil. Even those of us with the best intentions will at times fail to right the wrongs before us.
But we do not have to think that human nature is perfect for us to still believe that the human condition can be perfected. We do not have to live in an idealized world to still reach for those ideals that will make it a better place. The non-violence practiced by men like Gandhi and King may not have been practical or possible in every circumstance, but the love that they preached – their faith in human progress -- must always be the North Star that guides us on our journey.
For if we lose that faith – if we dismiss it as silly or naive; if we divorce it from the decisions that we make on issues of war and peace -- then we lose what is best about humanity. We lose our sense of possibility. We lose our moral compass.
Like generations have before us, we must reject that future. As Dr. King said at this occasion so many years ago, "I refuse to accept despair as the final response to the ambiguities of history. I refuse to accept the idea that the 'isness' of man's present nature makes him morally incapable of reaching up for the eternal 'oughtness' that forever confronts him."
So let us reach for the world that ought to be -- that spark of the divine that still stirs within each of our souls. Somewhere today, in the here and now, a soldier sees he's outgunned but stands firm to keep the peace. Somewhere today, in this world, a young protestor awaits the brutality of her government, but has the courage to march on. Somewhere today, a mother facing punishing poverty still takes the time to teach her child, who believes that a cruel world still has a place for his dreams.
Let us live by their example. We can acknowledge that oppression will always be with us, and still strive for justice. We can admit the intractability of depravation, and still strive for dignity. We can understand that there will be war, and still strive for peace. We can do that -- for that is the story of human progress; that is the hope of all the world; and at this moment of challenge, that must be our work here on Earth