Measure of Man

Is man measured by his worst deeds?
By his lowest ebbs, his nethermost?
Is that his worth, the totality of him?
Is that the sum and sigma of his being?

Is he no better than the reckoning
Of his errors faults, frailties,
Flaws, venal and cardinal sins,
Mistakes of commission and omission?

If that's the true measure of man,
His essence, his core, his soul.
Let no man's death be ever mourned.
Let no man try as hard as he can.

Saints are sinners who keep trying.
Sinners are saints once forgiven.
Measure not man by his lowest ebbs
Let his soul to its fullest flow.

Feb 2014

INFP

Not for me the rough, roughed up, roughened ways of brawn.
Not for me the slick, smarmy, syrupy forms of glib.
Not for me the undue, unsolicited, unctuous style of deceit.
These modes are not for me.

I'd rather be quiet on the sidelines, observing.
I'd rather be unseen and unnoticed, noticing.
I'd rather be humble and circumspect, absorbing.
This style suits me.

Strut, swagger, smear, obliteration.
Self-loathing in defeat, triumphalism in victory.
A knee-jerk zero-summing of everything to competition.
Is not how I see and effect things.
                                         
Hunger, thirst, ache, unrequitedness.
Petals torn off tulips in their bloom.
Leave for me the shards of delicate things.
The unswept confetti of your victory parade.

Aaron Swartz is me

https://free.aaronsw.com/

I am a geek, a nerd, a hacker. One of those average, everyday, people who have a healthy obsession in making computers work for humans. I have loved computers since my early teens. I love computers a lot.

I love people -- the common, every-day people who surround me. The barista at the coffee-shop who greets me by calling my name; the young woman with the headphones, oblivious to her surroundings; the homeless man whose "have a blessed day" I return with a "you, too". I love people much more than I love computers.

I know that there is data locked inside computers. Data can be mined to yield information. Information can lead to knowledge. Knowledge can lead to wisdom. And wisdom is what makes us human. Therefore, it's my relentless quest to free the data that's locked inside computers.

In my quest to free data sequestered inside computers, I know that locks must be unlocked. However, I'm no thief: I'm a gifted locksmith. I know that some locks are necessary. The locks that protect the data related to people's personal and private effects are sacrosanct. I know I could unlock them, if I wanted to. However, I would never do that: I love people more than I love computers.

I unlock the locks that are unnecessarily put on data the public has a right to access. The data public have already paid for. Like a physical padlock on a public park, I believe it's illegal. I know there are people who disagree with me: who believe that any lock must be respected. But what about the locks that were placed on the shackles around people's feet in olden times?

I have inspirations. Thoreau, Gandhi, King, Corrie. People who knew that not all locks are legal. Some boundaries ought to be breached. Some locks must be unlocked. I know these people paid a price -- often the highest price -- for their actions. Civil disobedience is often met with a highly uncivilized response.

I know that those with unchecked power will claim that I'm a miscreant, a thief, a destroyer of public good and a creator of mayhem. They perceive any unlocking of any data as a danger to their unchecked power. I know that the people I love will see me for what I am: a passionate hacker who loves the computers and wants to unlock the data inside them so that the people -- who I love more -- can make use of it.

I see the high-profile threats. I hear the bombastic language of those who wield power not for the benefit of others but for their own indulgence. It does scare me, for I'm human. I try to remain stoic because I have done no wrong. I only picked the locks that shouldn't have existed in the first place.

I am scared. But I know I'm right. The people I love, the people who love me and love computers and the large amounts of data locked therein -- waiting to be freed for the good of everyone -- know I'm right. That brings me hope.

I'm hopeful. This burden that hangs over me will be lifted. I'll be free, unfettered, unshackled -- like the data I helped free inside the computers I love for the benefit of the people I love more.

https://free.aaronsw.com/

Dark Continents

Yesterday, I visited two of the castles that are infamous for the slave trade from West Africa to the Americas. They are the Elmina Castle and the Cape Coast Castle on the southern coast of Ghana.

Walking through the structures is a difficult task. Not because of the roughly hewn stone and brick flooring or the extremely low doorway entrances. Not because of the bats that hang around in one of the rooms in Elimina. Not because most of the place is dark, musty and dolorous -- except the Governor's living quarters which are expansive, airy and ventilated in both castles. The difficulty is posed by imagining the horrors that were perpetrated in this very place by man upon fellow man.

Elmira castle provided slaves for the Portuguese colonials for use in Brazil; Cape Coast did the same for the British colonials in North America. Learning about the grave injustices that were done to Africans by Europeans and Americans is a difficult task. As if being bought and sold weren't enough, the slaves were chained to each other and to cannonballs, handcuffed, raped, beaten, tortured, stuffed into impossibly small quarters, forced to live for days and weeks in their own excrement that often rose to knee-height, and killed by slow starvation and thirst if they dared to try and flee.

Learning about all this made me wonder to which continents the label "dark" more aptly applies. If the absence of the light of knowledge, empathy and the milk of human kindness are any part of what "darkness" implies; it is not Africa that was the Dark Continent. It is us, Americans and our brethren in Europe who should accept our history and meekly accede that it is our continents that were truly dark and unlit.

Homecoming

I traveled to Africa for the first time in late July, 2012.

Flying south from Paris, the air route takes a south-southeast direction. It crosses the Mediterranean and then over north Africa, revealing the Sahara desert as a majestic sight, even from 35000 feet. The stark desolation of the landscape contrasts with the colors of the desert, and the shadows of the clouds as they scurry over the surface.

Upon crossing the sliver of sea and reaching the land, I couldn't help smiling. I am in Africa: in a strange way, this felt like homecoming. I guess our ancestral memories -- having been formed on this continent -- pass through millennia and reassure us when we come back to our one true motherland!

(I wrote this as part of an e-mail to my wife; then decided to publish it after my friend and colleague Cliff Morehead sent me wishes that "the motherland was treating [me] well"!)

Niceness can be a national asset

I visited the Philippines on assignment back in March, 2012. My time there left me searching for apt metaphors and adjectives without recycling cliches.

I found niceness to be a trait that the Filipino nation can rightly lay claim to. Even before I had arrived in the country, I witessed the politeness, patience and friendly demeanor that characterizes the inhabitants of these seven-thousand islands.

It started with the extremely patient flight attendant who kindly explained to a rather irate passenger in the seat across from me why he couldn't have his large handbag blocking the aisle during landing. It continued at Manila airport where three separate strangers took the time to explain the various uniquenesses that an international traveler often experiences. It has continued since then -- in encounters in another airport, at the hotel, at the marketplace, riding public transportation.

Cliches can be problematic, but sometimes they can be pithy distillers of truth. For the Philippines, niceness is a national asset.

Prepositions

I was under your spell once --
My salad days, when I was green and fresh --
I hung on every word of yours,
Especially those last few you wrote.

You sent me those words from afar,
Agitated electrons carrying your shocking missive.
Negatively charged minuscule particles --
An apter metaphor I cannot imagine!

I don't live there any more,
Where your hurtful words hit me hard.
I don't live @ that address,
I have found better digs, nearer people.