A week to miss astronomy

Tomorrow morning, I will tutor a Science Olympiad student on astronomy. The topics this year are stellar evolution and exoplants. 

It hits a bit close to home, as these were two topics I had spent most of my undergraduate and graduate studies contemplating (when I was actually contemplating astronomy). It should be relatively easy to coach the student on the quantitative aspects; she had already taken an intro astronomy class at Fullerton College, but didn't learn some of the equations required of her. Though much is taken, much abides.

I had forgotten that there is something attractive about being able, with relatively simple models, to characterize in broad strokes the habitability of a world, the warmth of a star, the importance of just the right amount of greenhouse gases. 

Time and Death and God 

Perhaps not quite. But death, and rebirth. The precious origins of metal. The cutoffs determining the fate of stars -- just numbers, but each painstakingly determined by the collision of theory and data. Lies, partially. Simplifications -- that's a better way of putting it.

In a minute there is time:

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

Maybe, maybe, with a bit more math, or even just qualitatively, how to estimate mass limits using the wobble of stars. Maybe direct detection. Maybe gravitational lensing -- GR, which has stormed into the headlines, those waves just a tad late to the 100th anniversary party. And whispers of reflected spectra, and now hushed whispers of an oxygen detection, something that will dwarf even gravitational waves, perhaps not scientifically, but philosophically. Why else look for these other worlds? Why else hunt for a Second Earth? We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring will be

To arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

There will be no time, perhaps, to delve into the social history -- the female "computers" that gave us stellar classification, the racism and colonialism and amateurish arrogance that perhaps led to the dismissal of Chandrasekhar, the resignations and scandals. The funding fights. How so many NASA sites ended up in regions of the country that seem, now, to hate the agency so much.

No time for remorse, to miss the learning, even as I know I do not miss the work, or the life, that in spite it all, I am free to not care.

For thine is

I celebrate you friends who stayed, and thrived. It has been a good week for astronomy. It has even been a good week to miss it.

Again, the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love.

Dear Najet

As a grad student, I was pretty miserable. I  felt trapped on a path that seemed increasingly divergent from my interests and for which I felt increasingly unprepared and ill-equipped.

But if I am honest, there were bright moments. Najet was one of them.

She knocked on my apartment door. Evidently she had just moved in and was unfamiliar how the shower worked. I helped her with that, and took her grocery shopping. She cooked me a delicious meal, a curry I think, though to be honest I wasn't paying so much attention to the food. It was then that she told me that she had a boyfriend in France.

Still, we spent many months going out to eat, talking occasionally on the phone. By all external appearances, we probably seemed a couple to most people. We laughed, though internally I wept.

Then she broke up with Kader. After ten years, it was over.

In the months preceding the breakup, I remember talking with her several times. The relationship was never ideal. Sometimes she cried. I held her hand, and sometimes held her in my arms. I was a good friend.

I had learned a bad habit over the years. To deal with heartache and fear, I tended to rationalize why a relationship couldn't work out before it even started. It had taken many forms over the years.

"It's bad if we're both only children."

"I shouldn't fall for people in the same field."

"I'm a replacement for another Asian ex, and not valued in myself."

"I'm too young."

"I'm too old."

And always, in the background, my mind hissed:

"I will end up like my father. I must protect her from the horrible fate of having a mentally ill partner."

It was easy in Najet's case. Cultural difference (she was French Moroccan), religious difference (she was Muslim), and professional uncertainty (she was on a postdoc, and would leave within a year). I was also a mess at the time.

But I was a good friend. And because I was a good friend, I didn't seize upon her breakup.

And a week later, she had met someone else. Khalid. Online. In France.

We talked a bit of politics. But mostly it was about life. About relationships and family and academia and how many chickens she had killed as a virologist and whether life was out there in the universe.

Like all cases of heartache, I thought I would never get over her. But I did. We drifted apart. She moved to Germany. I moved to Maryland, and then back home. We haven't spoken in five years.

Did she ever know that I loved her? Or that I felt what I thought was love? It's hard to say. She might've known. Or maybe it's easier to believe in a less complicated friendship. Maybe I lacked the words -- or the right connection between words and feelings, in any language.

It's not just the Paris attacks that brought her to mind. I met up with Marc, a fellow grad student, on Monday. Marc speaks French. I remember when they met at a party, he and Najet were able to converse effortlessly . It speaks to my humanity, and I smile at it now. But how jealous I was at that moment! Even though I knew Marc was happily in a relationship with someone else, and in fact Najet, though less happily, was attached to one of the K boys at that time. Even though I had given up hope or ambition, still, I was in that moment, so profoundly human.

For that moment, and for all the others, I am grateful.

And so I think about her now. She is French, and spent many years in Paris, and so is in mourning. She is Muslim, and so is afraid perhaps of what is to come. I fear for her, too. I mourn with her, too.

And so this is what I think of when I think of Paris. I spent a week there, alone and somewhat depressed, in 2005. The city itself has no sentimental hold on me. But the people, I miss.

I worked with a postdoc, Frantz from France. He was seven feet tall. His wife might've been under five feet. He was so kind; even as my world and my mind was falling apart, he always treated me kindly and as a valued colleague. We talked about family, about the future. Though perhaps more than either me or Najet, he had a greater sense of calm and certainty. Maybe that came from aikido. Maybe it came from his own wisdom.

I remember one of the last times I went into the department, I heard his deep bass voice shout, "Ryan!" I didn't turn around; I was so depressed and lost at that time I felt numb. But I wish I had, and wish I had told you how much you had done for me. You hadn't saved my graduate career, but you did save a piece of my humanity and self-respect. And for that I am eternally grateful.

Frantz... he is safe. He is not in Paris. And he is not Arab. He is Safe. But Najet...

I have met other French citizens over the years. But those two loom largest. And so I can't grieve for Paris. I grieve for them. For their way of life, and what they love, and hate, and love to hate about their nation was attacked. And both the best and the worst of humanity will emerge from this. I grieve for them because I love them.

That will have to be enough.

Frantz -- I hope you are still mentoring and teaching, and doing amazing things with light that the French seem to own so well. Fresnel, Fourier, Fizeau, and Frantz. :)

And Najet -- bisou.

Dinner with Neil

I once had dinner with Neil deGrasse Tyson.

Not alone, of course. I'm not that well-connected or important. But I was one of a few astronomy and physics grad students who were lucky enough to be treated to a delicious dinner (Cornish game hen, if I recall) at the Cornell Hotel School. It was a relatively small setting, and, as I was still reasonably brash, I couldn't resist busting his balls a bit about Pluto. (Tyson, as director of the Hayden Planetarium, had recently and conspicuously demoted Pluto in the Hayden's planetary exhibit.) He responded with good humor, and, I believe, some semi-serious discussion about the reasons for it. (I might discuss this in a separate post, if there's interest, including some speculation as to the timing of the IAU decision -- after New Horizons had been launched.)

During his public talk, after the reception, he did make a great joke about Pluto -- "The real reason it got demoted? It was too small for New York! Ha ha!" He has an infectious laugh.

If memory serves, that same talk, he ventured into what then, and probably now, is controversial territory -- that scientific advances stop when an investigator self-limits, often by invoking God.

But what I remember most of all is running into Tyson and Jim Bell (our grad department chair and one of the lead researchers on the Mars Exploration Rovers mission) at the hotel bar afterwards. They were watching a baseball game.

It was interesting seeing Neil deGrasse Tyson "off". He is a presence, and a performer, and an educator. But like many, he has a stage personality and a normal personality. It wasn't a dramatic difference, but he was less jovial, and probably tired after a long day. I don't know if I was with another student, but we joined them and talked for a bit. He discussed some serious things -- about academia, about his wife and her experiences in it, careers in astronomy, etc. I think I must've confessed my unhappiness at some point.

Anyway, at some point, I think we, the grad students, realized we were intruding on their private time. They weren't, at the moment, lofty role models. They were just a couple guys drinking beer and watching a ball game.

Neil deGrasse Tyson is hated by some astronomers. Leading up to his arrival, a couple emails went around by some lower-ranking staff scientists and researchers (not professors), complaining that he wasn't a real astronomer and that he had done a crappy PhD thesis. At that point, I knew enough about the people on the email list to suspect something less than clear-eyed objective analysis in their judgment.

I encountered similar sentiments in a dinner at UCLA with a couple astronomy professors. I had become a lay person by then, but through a sequences of events, I ended up joining them. There was discussion that he hadn't, in fact, done a stellar job on his thesis, which I think had to do with galaxies -- possibly radio or UV observations. I forgot whether or not I weighed in, but given that I was a guest, and no longer an astronomer, I probably was less brash and more passive this time around.

I haven't seen Cosmos yet. I hope to get around to it. But, unlike many people I know, I never saw it growing up. I hadn't read a single Carl Sagan book before I attended Cornell, and didn't even know he had been a professor at Cornell until I showed up as a grad student. So I don't have a lot of emotional attachment to it.

Interestingly, one did get the impression that Carl Sagan himself was not particularly popular in Cornell's Astronomy department. There was a plaque and a photo. But he wasn't referred to often. No doubt some of the professors had worked in the shadow of his popular image, and that it probably was good for the department to not be anchored to the past. Still, it seemed odd, given the amount of effort made to do outreach, how little it was discussed. At this point, his absence was not deafening, but it was a discernable murmur.

(I once talked with an impressive Cornell grad alum who was active in both science policy and astro research, and one of Sagan's students. He said he had come back only once to the department, for Carl's funeral. I think his words were, "there's nothing left for me here." Perhaps an over-harsh indictment, especially given some of the amazing humans there. But that gives you a sense of the degree of alienation some of Sagan's students felt toward the rest of the department.)

There are people who decide and rank scientific research. It's generally done by peers, and is seen to be a decent system for sorting great ideas from good, and good ideas from terrible ones. It doesn't always work, and the pressures inherent may lead to a host of sins, cardinal and venal. But it's good enough, I suppose, for it to keep going. The process by which Pluto was downgraded was generally accepted within the astronomical community, even if it did arouse controversy within and outside of astronomy.

Yet it always irked me that some scientists -- generally not the best, mind you -- felt that this meant there was a clear measure of defining science in general, value in general, and value of people to science. I couldn't shake the notion that some of these critics of Tyson couldn't handle the idea that the value system they possessed, one ingrained into them since the beginning of their careers, one in which they were completely invested, one which, to varying degrees had rewarded them, might not be universally true. Maybe it takes a level of buy-in in order to make it far enough. But it seemed... myopic, and self-defeating.

How did Tyson's success take away from theirs? How was the popularization of astronomy damaging their work? It didn't make sense, but people do tend to react badly when you question their value system, even obliquely.

I left the faith a while ago, and so I don't have anything to say specifically on astronomy. What I do know is that, looking back, I remember the tired, quiet men at that hotel bar table.

And I realize now that I'm jealous of them -- not because they are successful, respected and reknown, each in his own way. I'm jealous because they can sit down and enjoy a ball game with a friend, and put aside all the other things associated with their jobs and lives. They valued their time, and their friends.

They valued baseball.

Once, one summer, Jim Bell gave me a ride to our Astro baseball team practice. (The team name: The Big Bangers.) I was incredibly depressed at that time, and all I could think of was how grateful I would've been for a dad like Jim to take me to baseball practice. But how could someone say that? So this someone never did, until this moment, though I think he noticed a few tears.

I failed to become a scientist, not because I didn't study enough, or try hard enough. I failed because at some point I separated science from being a person, and failed to build those relationships with other human beings that make a person whole. And part of that is putting aside everything else for time with people.

I'm going to see Cosmos. But I'm going to see it because it gives me a chance to spend time with my mom, and maybe, make up a bit of that lost time.

The Cornell Folder

I have a Cornell leather folder. It’s one of those interview folders sold in a student store. It was probably never meant to see such heavy use – I use it to hold my notes for tutoring. It’s a bit torn and ragged and beat up, and I suppose that’s appropriately symbolic. My time there was quite painful.

I don’t know why I keep it. Or I do, and I am afraid of the reason. There’s something possibly pathetic about clinging to this vestige of respectability, to a past that never was as impressive as is pretended. But it’s something that I excuse by saying that it impresses parents.

A few days ago, I was at a Starbucks. I had a few minutes before a tutoring session nearby, and planned on logging on to Facebook for a few minutes. I remember thinking in the parking lot- should I bring the folder? For whatever reason, it was a question, and for whatever reason, I answered in the affirmative.

I sat down, and powered up my computer. A man nearby noticed my folder, and asked me about it.

“Cornell? Did you go there?”

I answered that yes, I had gone there as a graduate student. Thinking the conversation was over, I went back to my computer.

“What did you study?”

Reflexively, I told him “astrophysics”. And I’ve done this enough to know that when I say “astrophysics”, I intend it as a conversation-stopper. I say “astronomy” or “space science” when I wish, consciously or unconsciously, for the conversation to continue.

“What’s that?”

I explained to him that it involved studying the stars, using physics. He sounded impressed, and claimed that that was far beyond him, though he did mention that he was a civil engineer.

He asked me what I did now. It’s a sore topic; I know I’ve fallen far down the social and economic hierarchy. But I did the best I could to muster my dignity and reply that I tutor students full-time.

He returns to the topic of Cornell, and elite schools. He mentions his cousins, graduates of Stanford and Princeton, respectively. I act appropriately impressed, and perk up a bit when he mentions his high school age nephew. Maybe there’s a tutoring job here.

We talk a bit more, my interest now focused more by greed and humanity. But it wasn’t completely cynical salesmanship; I had told myself at some point earlier in the day that I needed to engage more with people, and here was an opportunity. I remember feeling like a sociopath as I was thinking these things.

We spoke more. I found out he was 48, and hadn’t worked for a couple years because of cancer. He was currently undergoing chemotherapy.

At some point, I ask him if he’s changed anything about how he lived life because of cancer. I didn’t mean the practical and routine, or lifestyle changes due to physical limitations. I didn’t mean that, and he didn’t hear that.

“My brother has always said that I had a temper. I was angry a lot. Now, I try to be more calm.”

I would’ve never guessed that this was an angry guy, though he had plenty to be angry about. He had cancer. He lost his job. He didn’t have any kids to help him. He was sitting in a coffeeshop, on a Wednesday afternoon, while others were living, working, picking up their children, and not dying of cancer.

I told him that he seemed like he had a good heart, and that he was a better person now. I don’t know if it came off as trite, or hackneyed. But it seemed to fit, and the compliment, as is customary I suppose, evoked a response that combined polite dismissal with understated hope that it was true.

I had to excuse myself. I expected that tutoring and the rest of the day would fall into place, as it should if this were an allegory. But it was a chaotic mess of difficult students and long hours on the road between appointments. Life may give you these moments, but it rarely strings them together for you. You have to fight to extract perspective.

I don’t think he would’ve spoken with me had I not had that folder. I would’ve been just another guy in business casual on his laptop.

There’s some irony here; brand-name institutions like Cornell build their reputation on exclusivity, not inclusiveness. But that itself provides us something to talk about. It gave this man an opening to talk with a stranger. For a brief moment, both of us felt less alone. 

Pernicious memories from grad school

Why doesn't it die?

I'm tired right now. I think I'm getting a cold. I tutored a student for about 5 hours today in microeconomics. He did a fantastic job; I'm so proud of him right now. I wouldn't be surprised if his semester GPA ends up at least a full point higher. I worked on some revisions for this pdf guide for AP Physics C - Mechanics. I tried, and failed, to complete some statistical analysis looking at whether students really did run out of time on the third free response question. (I'll reexamine Turkey's test tomorrow if I think it's worth it. Right now it looks like the score for the first problem is significantly higher than the other two, but there is no significant difference between the second and third questions.)

And all of a sudden, the image comes flooding back from grad school. It's a story I don't think I told anyone else -- I try really, really hard not to speak ill of specific people from my professional past. But it bothers me enough to write it.

I think my mother and (future) stepfather had come to Cornell to visit. By then, my mental health was deteriorating... it was probably early 2007. There was snow on the ground. I reluctantly took them to Space Sciences. At that point, I hadn't stopped showing up to work, but I think it was clear by then that things weren't working out.

Just in front of the building, I saw my advisor rushing outward. I called to him. He looked up quickly, and kept on walking.

Maybe he didn't recognize me. Maybe he was busy.  I've invented a hundred different reasonable explanations why he didn't acknowledge my presence, or the presence of my family.

But right then, and right now, it's hard to hang onto that.

I don't remember if I took them into the building after that. If I did, it was for a very quick tour. Another grad student from my year and in my research group expressed some surprise that she hadn't had a chance to meet my parents when they were in town.

Several months later, another grad student, also in my year and in my research group, had his father (and possibly other relatives) come into town for a visit. My advisor talked with them, and they sat in the conference room for a lunch talk.

And then, as now, I couldn't help feeling resentment. I tried to think of a hundred reasons why this happened this way with them and why it worked out differently with my family. My mental health was bad, so I couldn't play host. The dad had a PhD, and therefore knew better how academia worked. His family just cared more about what he did, and where he worked.

Anything to avoid thinking that it was directly related to the fact that he was just a better grad student than I was.

Because that's the weird thing about depression. You start seeing things that could be innocuous, but add up to a giant conspiracy against your happiness. I brought in research money into the group with the NSF; neither of the other students had that, at the time. But they got the computer workstations, while I spent time alone in an empty computer lab. They got offices on the same floor as my advisor, while I remained in an office three floors up. They got to go to AAS, and so did I-- but only admission was covered, not my airfare.

Was this their fault? Or his? Not really. I could've asked about getting a second floor office, but I didn't. (Besides, I treasured my officemates -- they helped me keep what sanity and human-ness I had left.) I could've asked for more things. I could've transferred groups if it really was a problem. But at that point I had embraced the giant bullseye I imagined on my back.

He tried, I think, to be a good advisor. Maybe it was cultural/class -- his father had been a prominent diplomat, and on his wall hung proudly an invitation to a dinner with the Prime Minister. I think he tried to reach out to me, and I pushed him away, telling him that he already had one baby to take care of; he didn't need another.

So why do I still feel this pain? Why does it go away for a long period, and resurface? Why, after all the work I've done to rebuild my mind, my ego, to give myself perspective and distance, to generate new priorities?

Why do I still feel such pain? Not hatred, nor desire for another chance. But just pain?

Sleep will probably make me feel better. But I guess some have expressed questions as far as my time there. This is another peek. Were I a stronger or better man, I would've buried this along with the other bodies in my psychological backyard.

But it returns, unsummoned. And I have no way to deal with this, right now, other than to write, and hope, by writing, I can wake up unburdened by it.

"Intelligence"

It's kind of striking that I haven't written this post, even though, at some level, I've been thinking about it, on and off, for decades. If all goes according to plan, this will be about how I ended up with a reputation for academic giftedness, the extent to which I feel I am gifted, and connections to general thoughts on intelligence. Bear with me -- those who know me probably don't anticipate a self-aggrandizing ego fest, but those less familiar might be leery of reading further.

It's taken me a while to articulate and accept, but I think I can say that I'm definitely above average in certain areas. I have, or had, an above-average memory for material I've read, whether technical or literary in nature. I have or had an above-average ability to make connections in seemingly disparate fields. I have an above-average ability to solve mathematical problems.

But I can't be any more specific than that. The quantitative data I have is all outdated, and perhaps problematic. I tested in the 99th percentile in most, and sometimes all, standardized test subjects in K-12 education.

I took a single IQ test in 7th or 8th grade--I couldn't tell you what grade it was, but I can tell you I badly mangled the spelling of luciferous and reversed a pattern I was supposed to construct with red and white blocks, which in retrospect might've indicated some sort of visual dyslexia. I got a 140, which is gifted, but not quite genius level. I got a 1580 on my SATs, which sounds horrible, until you realize that, under that system, a 1600 was a perfect score.

Note that these measures aren't stable over time, are each problematic in their own way, and, obviously, thus far, haven't translated into financial success or personal happiness.

I had some native advantages growing up. I was middle-class in a mostly low-income school community. Unlike many of my kindergarten classmates, I had English as the primary language spoken at home. Additionally -- and precisely how or why this is remains a bit of a puzzle -- I came into kindergarten able to read and count at least to 100. Also, even though I'd say that my mom is not at all academically inclined and of average intelligence, she was an elementary school teacher, and read to me as a child. She also facilitated a culture of reading by providing me with plenty of children's books.

I can't emphasize this enough -- these were substantial advantages at my elementary school, sufficient to identify me early on as a "gifted" student. I'm not sure how unusual any of this is now -- I think many, many children come in knowing more than I did. But it set me apart then, which research has shown can be maintained and extended throughout K-12 education.

Some of the path was shaped by external expectation and reputation. In kindergarten, I had my own reading group in kindergarten, which, being the TV child of the '80s that I was, I promptly named the "Scrooge McDuck reading group". In 6th grade, I was sufficiently advanced in math to be permitted to play Amazon Trail in the back of the classroom while everyone else did math lessons. Most critically, I had a 4th grade teacher that pushed me to do more advanced work in both math, writing, and public speaking, even over my mother's objections.

Notably, my mom did not put pressure on me. She even laughed the time I brought home a "C" on a 6th grade math test. I think she was relieved her child was normal, like her, even if it didn't last.

A lot of the push was internal. I deliberately forced myself to max out reading hours during reading competitions in elementary school. In a high school English class, I wrote essays that regularly exceeded the page limit by a factor of 3. I wish my motivations were more pure, but I genuinely relished the attention, even as I was blind to how isolating it was.

I think I did well in school, in part, because I depended tremendously on the approval of teachers for my self-esteem. As I've written elsewhere, my father is bipolar, and even though I didn't live with him after the age of 3, I saw him regularly, and had enough negative experiences that I'm still dealing with it. I'm also an only child. So I wanted to do well, which ended up distinguishing me from, say, people I met in high school who were brighter and more articulate, but very lazy, or resentful of the pushing they got from their parents, or from even more chaotic homes.

For these reasons, it's difficult for me to accept that I'm somehow innately different. Maybe I just had lots of advantages. Perhaps I deserve some credit for taking advantage of certain opportunities, or making certain choices with time. (I was a quick reader, but it still took a lot of time to read my US history book twice, and I did so just because I was genuinely interested.) But I also recognize that I did have time--I didn't have to work during high school. I didn't date. I did some sports, but not a massive amount. I had time to waste on video games. I spent time on Academic Decathlon, which, in retrospect, wasn't as structured as it could've been, but it did give me the opportunity to get a bit more well-rounded with some self-taught instruction in art history, psychology, music history, economics, and other fields.

But that could just be my liberal, egalitarian philosophy talking. Maybe I do have some genetic advantages. Maybe my application early on translated into increased abilities that, while not necessarily genetic, are more or less permanent.

So, after nearly 30 years of life, if someone were to ask me, "Hey Ryan. Just how smart are you?", I couldn't reply with anything other than "above average".

Because I was. Not just in high school, but college. I went to school with a lot of really, really bright people. No von Neumann savants, but some people who must've had some genetic and cultural advantages AND took advantage of them. I was probably an average to above-average physicist my year, though I looked better on paper (GPA-wise) thanks to good grades in my history courses.

I was also very, very lucky that I made a conscious choice the first semester of college. The first semester at Harvey Mudd College is pass-fail-- there are no letter grades, only "high pass", "pass", and "fail". Some used this as an opportunity to get drunk. I personally felt fear -- people were talking about double-majoring, placing in advanced math and physics classes, and I had tested just below the cutoff to be placed in the incrementally advanced introductory physics course.

Simultaneously, I didn't assume I couldn't catch up. Maybe it was irrational, or prideful. But it worked. I studied my ass off, high-passed a few of my classes (enough to get the "get a life" letter), and generally did well until I hit junior year physics (the triumvirate of statistical mechanics, theoretical mechanics, and PDEs). Even as my grades started to drop off, I still graduated with a GPA somewhat above a 3.7, which is a very respectable grade at HMC.

Grad school was weird. I got the NSF based on a massive amount of work put into the application, and, possibly, because of some things I did in undergrad that let me characterize myself as someone who might serve the country in a science policy position in a few decades. But I was out of my depth, and, honestly, didn't care enough, or believe in myself enough, to keep from drowning. And I've paid various consequences for putting all my emotional eggs in that academic basket.

But back to the positive. In many ways I got very lucky. But I guess I am a bit different. I was with some of the brightest students in the country, and if I didn't hold my own, I did better than I might have reasonably expected.

Looking back, my best friend in high school worked a lot harder than I did. I don't know if it was because he cared more, or if it was because he had to. It did get him a slightly higher GPA (literally, 0.01). And while I paid for the lack of discipline and organization later, I got away with it for a surprisingly long period of time.

And yet, because I went to school with such smart people, my benchmark is a bit skewed, and I can't report anything stronger than "above average". It's taken me a while to say even that. I considered myself average or below average for chunks of college, and most of graduate school. If it's a surprise to you, then you see things that I didn't, and, to this day, still don't.

There are different models for intelligence, and different types of intelligence. I have a passing familiarity with some, but that's partly not the point here. There's a genetic component, and there's an environmental component.

Generally, I believe that the vast majority of us operate far below our genetic potential, and so it's a matter of improving the environment, customized to our history and our dispositions, to make us smarter. Don't drink so much. Exercise more. Eat more healthily. Do hard thinking during certain periods of the day. Sleep better, if not more. And so on -- things that are probably readily obvious, but we make excuses and cut deals with ourselves, with the end result being that we sell ourselves short.

There are other, more philosophical considerations. Why should we assume that knowledge and intelligence are the things that should be maximized for a good life? For a number of reasons, I believed (and a part of me still believes) that my intelligence, however humbly different, is the source of my unhappiness. I've done a decent job of smothering and suppressing it over the last few years through poor choices of time and action, ranging from Youtube videos to video games to chronic unemployment and borderline paranoia. I am, slowly, slowly, coming to accept that it's the same bullshit stereotype of the "mad genius" that makes me try this sort of cure.

There are smart people who are actually quite happy, stable, and successful, and serve as excellent counterexamples for the stereotype (which, by the way, is not really well supported by research). But one can lead a perfectly happy and meaningful life -- even a heroic one -- and be of far, far below average intelligence. Think of anyone you know, and love, with Down's Syndrome.

More mundanely, I did my best to undermine anything remotely resembling pride at my accomplishments, at least in K-12. Bright students with enough wits to be aware of their social surroundings know that a know-it-all can survive only by downplaying his or her intelligence (with it often being worse for women). I can only thank my excellent classmates and teachers for why I was never, ever bullied. Add to that some misguided Japanese false humility, and you had me, basically afraid to breathe in the same room as anyone else, less I affect their oxygen intake.

So yeah, I had, and still have, trouble accepting I'm gifted, or more intelligent than average, even though there is some evidence that I might be. And I don't even know what that precisely means.

What's the point of this post? I'm not sure. It's too long already, so I might cover some additional thoughts on intelligence in another one. But I think some parents have been quietly, or not so quietly, curious how I did so well academically. (We collectively are ignoring the whole dropping-out-of-grad-school-and-becoming-an-emotional-financial-social-existential-disaster component because it's inconvenient and uglies up the narrative.) So this is my retrospective read on how I achieved "success":

• I had some early advantages, which translated into both expectations and opportunities.
• I had access to books and read a lot as a child.
• I spent a lot of time alone as a child.
• I wanted to do well, perhaps to an unhealthy degree.
• I did not receive any pressure, or even guidance, from my mother, or really anyone else in my family.
• I went to a good college that challenged me to rise to a higher standard, and had just enough self-confidence at the time to rise to the occasion (as opposed to withdraw or crash from the system).
• I didn't have to worry about mundane things like money, or food, or personal safety (apart from a very few episodes with my dad) growing up. My Maslow's hierarchy of needs had a solid base, even if, in retrospect, I neglected the middle.
• I *may* have some biological advantages.

I rank the biological component last, for obvious reasons.

If anyone's truly interested, I can more formally write up what parents could do differently to improve their child's intellectual development, though in my experience, most parents just aren't up to giving up enough control to let their kid own their successes and failures, while providing structure for those less "gifted" or more confused. But that's that, for now.

Memories of a gay stepfather and mentor

There is a news story out about how Romney has been pretty rotten/tone-deaf to gay people. Yes, they do have children.

I don't want to focus on that. Instead, let me tell you a story.

By my second year of grad school, I was pretty depressed for a lot of reasons. It made it difficult to plan at any level, and I found myself desperately casting about for housing when my previous residence was sold. Fortunately, I had a friend who lived in a remarkably beautiful house near downtown Ithaca. My room was a 10x10 coffin, but that's all I really needed. Rent was very cheap.

The dining room gives an impression of the overall house. There was a table for eight, with wonderful wooden chairs that were comfortable and stylish. The tablecloth was white - always white - some sort of synthetic, with doilies beneath a candle centerpiece. Above, there was a small glass chandelier. The windows looked out to a yard with modern stone sculptures. An antique credenza housed the plates and cutlery. Most remarkably, the flooring had bits of a composition painted on the borders -- I can't remember which piece -- with phrasings in German.

He was a piano professor at Ithaca College -- a liberal arts school often overshadowed by Cornell, but one with an outstanding music program. I heard him play Rhapsody in Blue, which was, as expected, wonderful. Given his hand span, I think it would've been great to see him play a Rachmaninov piano concerto (2 or 3).

Despite my very comfortable living situation, I was pretty depressed out of my mind at this point in grad school. I was lonely. I was lost. My landlord noticed this, and we had a chat. We talked about fathers. He shared about how it was challenging dealing with a very macho Brazilian father, and empathized with my struggle to define my relationship with my dad.

 He, refreshingly, talked openly about therapy, and celebrated it -- "I think everyone should have it!" He isone of the most cheerful, optimistic, kind-hearted individuals I had ever met. He was one part father figure, one part older brother, at a time when I desperately needed it.

He is also gay.

Perhaps a mark of age, or maturity, or just his special type of patience: he wasn't easily angered or bothered by ignorance about homosexuality.

I remember we were discussing it, and I said something expressing confusion how homosexuality would fit in the larger biological picture, and whether it really was a human cultural phenomenon. Instead of getting angry, or expressing shock, he smiled, quietly went to a bookshelf, and handed me Biological Exuberance, documenting homosexuality and bisexuality among many different species. I paged through it, was surprised, and learned something. We talked a bit more. From his admittedly ever-present smile, I think we were both glad that he trusted me to be open-minded and to update my views in the face of new information.

My friend is also a stepfather.

I forget where he met his partner - it could've been in an airport (how Hollywood!), but it was definitely abroad somewhere. He visited Ithaca a couple times, and it was clear that they were serious.

The third or fourth time he visited, he brought his eight-year old son.

I still remember how nervous my friend was about making a good impression when his partner and his son came to visit. The ice was broken via finger-painting -- not the kindergarten variety. He used high-quality paints and a real canvas. I could tell the kid enjoyed it. It wasn't a breakthrough -- but it was the beginning.

Eventually, he left a tenured position at Ithaca College to move to Germany for love. Some probably thought he was crazy, either for leaving a highly prized position, or for moving to Germany, a nation which is culturally and climatically pretty different from Brazil. He probably was -- love makes people crazy. But I think he's still happy there.

So, I know one gay man who is doing a damn fine job of being a father. I know this, in part, because he was a fantastic mentor to me in my hours/months/years of need. Surprisingly, to my American self, he still keeps in touch at least once a year. I know this because I saw how much he worried about making a good impression on his partner's kid.

He's in Germany still, so he can't be an advocate and representative of the human decency of gay fathers. So I suppose it falls to me, and the others whose lives he touched, to be advocates for him. In the unlikely event that he could be seduced from Europe to bring his talent and great heart back to America, I'd like to see him welcomed as a scholar, a gay man, and a father.

Wait a minute - NOW I get research insight?

For those who want only the insight that I got from a dream, scroll down.

Introit (Introduction):

For those who don't know me well, I'm about four years out of grad school. It was rough going, and I actually left with a masters degree with a full year of NSF fellowship money to go. I suppose I could've stayed another year and no one would've bothered me too much, as I had my own money. But it was hell, mostly self-inflicted. It's tricky though to still be uncertain about whether it was the right choice.

During that time, I worked on something called non-redundant aperture masking interferometry. It's a lot of words, and it deserves them. I'll do my best to explain it without much jargon.

Assuming little or no science background
Because light behaves as a wave, it can form interference patterns. I used a specially designed device that "created" the interference pattern by forcing a star's light to pass through a small metal disk in a detector. The metal disk had a number of holes drilled into it (9 or 18), spaced apart just so that it would generate a snowflake pattern that was both pretty and scientifically useful. Very Important Fact - the spacings were such that no two holes were the same distance apart, and were arranged at a variety of angles along the disk. By analyzing the pattern using some sophisticated software, it was possible to identify binary stars that were otherwise too close together. The software could also be modified to do things like detect asymmetry - as in a planetary nebula. Second Very Important Fact: this only works at telescopes that have adaptive optics, which can help correct for atmospheric turbulence.

I was  part of observations at Palomar Observatory, a couple hours outside of San Diego. (Fun aside: one of the observatory staff told me stories of a former Cornell professor who shall remain nameless who, back in the day, would take his students to TJ when they were rained out. Once in TJ, they would get completely drunk. Needless to say, I'm guessing he had an all-male research group, and that he's a particular outlier as far as professionalism/personal adventurousness. I believe he's still a professor, and quite successful.)

Analogy for high school/early college physics students (non-majors):
Remember Young's double-slit experiment? Well, instead of two slits, I had pinholes arranged such that each set of pinholes was essentially a double-slit, each in a different direction. This is the non-redundant part.

More complicated, for engineers and scientists
The non-redundant mask generated an interference pattern that was spread across the near-IR detector (InGaAs, if I recall). The baselines ranged from about half the pupil length to nearly the full pupil, and sampled pretty comprehensively different orientations on the sky. The hole diameter was made to be smaller than the scale of an atmospheric turbulence cell, given by the Kolmogorov 5/3 law.

To wit, you use a (inverse) Fourier transform on the interferogram to reconstruct the original image. The key is to use closure phase, which basically says that for a flat incoming wave, the difference in phase across each leg of a triangle array should be zero. Any nonzero results are due to asymmetry in the wavefront, which is corrected using the telescope's adaptive optics system and a nearby calibration star.

Don't ask me for any more mathematical details. It'll just remind me of the stony silence I got at my committee meetings when I struggled with the presentations.

Note: I realize this is fairly elementary to radio astronomers. The key excitement factor is getting the technique to work in optical and near-IR wavelengths. It deserves to be kind of a big deal.

Astronomer's note: the targets were nearby low-mass stars (class M), identified as such by spectroscopy and their high proper motions. 

Kyrie (frustration):

One of the frustrating things is that it often didn't work well. I was using someone else's software, and to be honest, I had trouble following the math. I had the background, but it was still a challenge, and my Fourier Transforms class at Mudd was right after lunch. (This means I fell asleep a few times, even though it was a class of only about 25 people.) Also, I'm guessing atmospheric turbulence made it challenging. Additionally, the targets we were looking at were relatively dim. More dim means less light, which means the snowflake pattern gets pretty weak. All of this conspired to make it such that, when it came time to present my work, I had no results from the dozen or so stars I looked at that actually used the technique. (I did identify a half-dozen or so previously undiscovered companions using standard adaptive optics.)

Rex tremendae (Research insight):


So here comes the dream. I'm in a Harvey Mudd classroom, specifically the electronics/modern physics lab in the physics department with people from high school. Then it hits me - the problem is throughput. Therefore, move the targets to brighter stars (sun-like stars). We did that for the calibration stars. But wait! This could be used to analyze the host of transiting systems detected by ground observations and the Kepler mission. (These are systems where a planet passes in front of the star, which is detectable from Earth as a small decrease in the star's brightness.)

Non-redundant aperture masking could actually improve the resolution such that it would be possible to determine the precise orientation of the planet and star along the sky. Coupled with radial velocity data, it might lead to improved resolution on the planetary masses.

Lacrymosa (Problems with this insight):


As I wake up more fully, I'm realizing a couple problems with this.

First, the point of this research was to get resolved data on a binary system. By taking snapshots at regular intervals, it would be possible to determine the orbit in 3-D space, allowing for a precise mass determination of both components in a binary. (It could be generalized to more complicated star systems, but the analysis gets - you guessed it - more complicated.)

Sampling from just across the planetary disk won't provide enough information on the orbit to actually provide a full 3-D picture of the orbit. Or, more accurately, it provides little that can't be determined just from regular techniques.

Another problem: Transiting systems are ideal for analysis precisely because they are edge-on systems. What this means is that the line of observation (Earth to the transiting system) is necessarily perpendicular to the angular momentum vector of the system. This means the radial velocity data provides not a lower mass limit, but the actual mass.

The potential improvement in determining this angle is minor, at best.

The only possibility for actually useful results would be if this technique still provided enough information about asymmetry that it could, with standard photometry, get a more accurate sense of the size of these planets. This could provide information about its density and potential composition, which could prove important for formation models.

But again, as I wake up a bit more, I'm less confident about this.

Agnus Dei (Conclusion):


It was interesting - I told a classmate in the dream that I was going to blog this.

Unfortunately, the wakeful, somewhat thoughtful part of me is now questioning the value of this "insight" gained in the dream. This is unfortunate, not because I felt like making a contribution to observational astronomy and extrasolar planet research, but because it was going to be the first problem I had solved in a dream. (During my first semester in college, I occasionally had dreams about programming and math, but I never actually solved anything this way. Also, in dreams where I'm being chased by bad guys, my gun never works. I wonder if my subconscious is trying to suggest I'm sterile or impotent. In that case, fuck you subconscious!)

Poo. This wasn't worth waking up and breaking Facebook fast.

An email from myself, four years ago

I received an unusual email today. It was from me, four years ago. I’d completely forgotten I signed up for, or used, Futureme.org. I had apparently written it on August 29, 2006, just at the end of my first year of graduate school.

Dear FutureMe,

Hi, this is me in grad school. Remember grad school? Yeah

Remember to laugh and love.

Remember how awesome Ann and Ryan and Dave and Suniti are.

Remember to be true to yourself, and to never give up.

You've been given a lot, so make the best of it!

-Ryan

Gender norms, advocacy, medicine, and the law - Cornell case study

When I first read that a friend had joined a group called "End Female Genital Mutation at Cornell", I braced myself for a report of an international student's child being subjected to mutilation according to their culture of origin. What I found was a different story that is currently taxing my vocabulary for appropriate descriptors.

I'm very bothered by this group and what it discusses on many levels. This is the kind of thing I would ordinarily ignore or otherwise not speak about - I really don't know how others, or even I, will respond to this.

But that's precisely why I am writing about it. It's a frontier I hadn't considered, with some pretty substantial stakes. And even though I am pretty damn far from an expert on gender/identity issues, I decided it was important for me to share this, and solicit opinions from my bright friends.

Killing the wunderkind

It’s occurred to me that the farther I am from grad school, the more I’ve been relying on academic achievements to shore up my shoddy self-esteem. It’s been sickening is how much I’ve clung to this anachronistic self-ideation. It’s as if I haven’t developed my non-intellectual identity at all. I still hang onto that damn NSF as if it’s some sort of validation of whatever preconceived notions and expectations, even though, at some level, I feel like a failure at best, and possibly even a fraud.

Resurrected post no 1: Ryan Yamada for Cornell Trustee

While surveying the worthy candidates for student trustee for Cornell, it occurred to me that I liked power, attention, and corruption, and that none of these candidates had my degree of ruthlessness, blind ambition, and utter lack of bureaucratic experience. In defense of the two-party system, which according to the Constitution I never bothered to read holds that the qualified must compete on equal grounds with the incompetent, I declare my candidacy for BOTH seats. Why both? I'm a firm believer in the strongman system of decisionmaking, and though I can't bench press a ferret, I do believe I have what it takes to make quick decisions. After all, marching somewhere, even in the wrong direction, is preferable to standing still.

Dale Corson

It appears a new book and DVD has come out on the life of Cornell President Dale Corson. I look forward to reading this.


http://www.news.cornell.edu/stories/Sept09/CorsonLegacy.html

I had the opportunity to interview Dale a couple times at the Kendall retirement community in preparation for a 50th anniversary Sputnik panel discussion. He is, today, at 95 years young, a bright and wonderful conversationalist. I began to understand WHY there are jokes about Kendal having a better physics department than Cornell - there are a lot of brilliant people there.

I think the book focuses on his tenure as Cornell President and controversies centered around the Vietnam protests. But I'm actually more interested in his earlier years. From what I gathered, Corson was a figure in the Presidential Science Advisory Council and was party to the remarkable post-Sputnik efforts in science education. He was also a key figure in creating Cornell's Science and Technology Studies department.

If you're interested in science policy or the history of science in postwar America get a chance, try to get a chance to speak with him. His legacy continues to be written - as are all of ours - by simple words and stories that, unknown to the speaker, sticks with the listener for a long time.

Stephen Biddle on Iraq - CU-SWAMOS Reception, July 22, 2008

Dr. Stephen Biddle, member of the Council on Foreign Relations and the Iraq Study Group, addressed the CU-SWAMOS conference this evening. His speech was focused on the state of Iraq, the changes between now and the situation when he last spoke at SWAMOS, and his perspective on what it would take to stabilize the situation.

A few things before I go into what he said.

First, Dr. Biddle was much more optimistic in his assessment than in the summer of 2007, for a number of reasons apparent in his comments.

Second, unlike his talk in 2007, he did not use two stories about his experiences in Iraq to illustrate the situation in Iraq. Rather, he focused on describing the trends and changes that have taken place at the local, national, and regional level. While this may seem less personal, I felt it allowed him to go into more detail about the overall strategic situation.

Enough from me - here are my draft notes from his talk.

*****

Biddle began by pointing out that strategic objectives should define troop counts and withdrawal schedules, not the other way around. Existing political discussions frequently take a contrary approach, starting with a desired troop level and a withdrawal date, and working from there to define objectives that can be met.

His talk was divided into two main sections:
(1) the causal dynamics of the continuing counterinsurgency/peacekeeping in Iraq
(2) achievable goals

He stated clearly that the probability of achieving the chief goal - avoiding persistent, large-scale violence - had improved dramatically since the last time he spoke in 2007. (In 2007, he claimed success probability of 10%, assuming the US did everything perfectly - and this assessment caused him to claim that he was far more optimistic than most. For those at SWAMOS, yes, I've got proof that Dr. Kirschner was wrong, and Biddle was right in his memory. Sorry Jon - not picking on you.)

He did emphasize that the achievable, positive outcome was not "Eden on the Euphrates" - that is, a vibrant, stable liberal democracy. Instead, the US can hope for, at best, a decentralized state or an authoritarian government similar to that under Saddam Hussein.

*****

Biddle said that the United States had two chief war aims, one humanitarian, and the other narrowly strategic.

1. Humanitarian: avert rapid escalation of violence
2. Strategic: ensure that the war does not spread to the rest of the oil-producing Middle East.

Unlike in 2007, Biddle is optimistic about prospects for success, as defined above, in Iraq.

One of the chief reasons is that the underlying strategic landscape is different from a year ago. He mentioned that the decline in violence has not been ephemeral. It is in fact sustained by a change in the self-interested strategic calculus of the principal combatants in Iraq.

Biddle focused on three particular changes - two which the United States did not plan, one of which we would have actively prevented if we could have.

1. Bombing of the Askariyya (Golden Dome) mosque in Samarra in 2006.

Prior to the bombing, the Sunni insurgency felt that it was in a superior position to Shiite forces. Consequently, their goals were to facilitate an American withdrawal, then retake control of the country.

However, the bombing and subsequent battle in Baghdad over the next year taught them that the Shiite militias were, in fact, far more powerful than they had predicted. This was facilitated by the fact that, prior to Samarra, the Shiite militias' function had been primarily defensive. After the bombing, Shiite militias successfully cleansed Baghdad of Sunni populations.

At the time, most Americans viewed the yearlong battle in Baghdad as a catastrophe. And, Biddle notes, it was, in humanitarian terms. Neither US ground forces nor the Iraqi Army was able to intervene in the struggle. Both opted to stay largely on the sidelines. But, as a consequence, the Sunni insurgency realized that if the Americans withdrew, Shiite forces alone could defeat them.

Biddle believes that in 5-10 years, when historians look back upon the Iraq War, they will see the "Battle of Baghdad" as a turning point.

2. Al-Qaeda in Iraq brutality to Sunni coreligionists

The second key shift came as a consequence of the defeat of Sunni insurgents by Shiite militias. Al-Qaeda has dealt harshly with its own allies, often providing severed heads of the children of Sunni leaders viewed to be less than enthusiastic in their support of the insurgency. The Sunni population had tolerated such brutality because their only alternative had been to face Shiite death squads.

This calculus changed after the Battle of Baghdad. Even with Al-Qaeda's help, Sunni insurgents were unable to prevent the Shiite takeover of Baghdad. The calculus that had supported the alliance had changed - in Biddle's words, it had become "all pain and no gain".

At this point, Sunni leaders began approaching US forces and attempted to broker a deal. They offered a cease-fire, in which Sunni forces would not engage US forces, Iraqi army, or other Sunni groups. (Biddle rather conspicuously left out Shiite militias; I assume that the agreement permitted self-defense against Shiite forces.) Furthermore, Sunni leaders would provide biometrics (fingerprints) and a contact list of their armed members and the names of their family. In return, the US provided identifying uniforms (polo shirts, baseball caps, chinos) to help identify non-hostile Sunni forces, recognized the Sunni forces as legitimate police authorities over their current zone of control, and provided a payment of $300 per month, per person. Contrary to some reports, they received no ammunition or armaments - as Biddle dryly pointed out, the insurgency hadn't had a problem with procuring ammunition and arms when it was firing at US forces over the last few years.

Consequently, by mid-2007, the Sunni insurgency had largely died out.

3. "The Surge"

Biddle points out that the negotiated settlements with Sunni leaders depended upon the Surge. The additional US forces helped were not sufficient to guarantee security to the nation as a whole - what they were able to do was provide security in regions where the Sunnis had negotiated cease-fires. With these new allies, Al-Qaeda lost the "cover and concealment" that is needed by any insurgency. Sunni allied forces, often referred to as the Sunni Awakening/Concerned Local Citizens/Sons of Iraq, provided the locations of Al-Qaeda safehouses and bomb-making factories, as well as a list of leadership and operatives.

Al-Qaeda and the Sunni insurgency had facilitated the rise of Shiite militias. These militias, including Jaish al Mahdi, realized that the Shiite population was completely dependent upon them for security. Consequently, the militias began assuming control over necessities and commodities (such as cooking oil) and profiting at the expense of local Shia. Increasingly, they were viewed as predators, not protectors, though the relationship was deemed, as in the Sunni case, as a necessary evil.

The Surge corresponded with the declining popularity of the Jaish al Mahdi, and thus changed the calculus for Shiite militias. In the prior two engagements with US forces, the Shiite militias had met heavy losses. However, the popularity of Moqtada al-Sadr and other militia leaders guaranteed that they would be able to make good their losses. But their eroded support, combined with increased US Army presence, caused many Shiite militias to negotiate a cease-fire.

Consequently, in autumn of 2007, the Sunni and Shiite militias had negotiated peace. Al-Qaeda and the remaining Sunni insurgency had retreated to a few areas in Mosul and its environs.

This change precipitated an interesting development in March/April 2008. Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki and the Iraqi Army took the fight to the Jaish al Mahdi in Basra. Ultimately - though only with the support of US and British forces - they were able to defeat al-Sadr's forces in Basra.

*****

Biddle notes that Iraq remains in the grip of an ethnosectarian civil war. Two prerequisites are needed for a sustained reduction in violence:

1. Cease fire participants continue to see peace as in their own self-interest
2. The presence of an outside peacekeeper that locals trust.

Biddle feels that #1 has already been achieved through over 200 negotiated cease-fires with various insurgent groups/militias. As he notes, many of these take the form of explicit contracts.

However, #2 remains a tricky issue. Neither Sunnis nor Shia trust the other with weapons, and both remain fully armed. Right now, the only possible outside force that can serve as effective peacekeepers trusted by each side is the US Army.

This brought the talk to the issue of troop withdrawal and counts. Biddle underlined his assessment that early drawdown would be dangerous - as noted in his 2007 talk, he felt that it could lead to a civil/regional war. He felt US forces needed to remain through two critical events in Iraq:

1. Provincial elections (2008)
2. National parliamentary elections (2009)

Biddle anticipates that both would be targeted for violent disruption, and had the potential to spark renewed conflict, depending upon the results.

The Balkans was held up as an example of what the United States should expect regarding its future commitment - a few years of sustained peacekeeping and stability, followed by a gradual reduction to half the existing force. Biddle suggests that a detailed Pentagon study would be needed to assess what forces are needed - but to provide an idea, Biddle recommends that about 100,000 (plus or minus a couple brigades) would be needed. If Iraq remained largely stable through provincial and national elections, then the United States could expect to reduce its forces by about 50% from 2010-2012.

On Afghanistan:

Biddle disagrees with Obama's emphasis that Afghanistan is the central front on the War on Terror, for two reasons:

First, Iraq is substantially more volatile. He notes that Afghanistan is currently under-resourced. (He quotes a figure of 10-15%, which he seemed to indicate should not be taken too seriously.) However, he felt that while things are getting worse, they would get incrementally worse over the course of 2-3 (maybe even 4!) years without running the risk of catastrophe. On the other hand, Iraq's stability is less certain, with the possibility, given a triggering event, of returning to high levels of violence over a matter of weeks.

Second, US interests in Iraq are more critical than its interests in Afghanistan, since Iraq is adjacent to the chief oil-producing nations in the Middle East. At present, Al-Qaeda has a significant presence in neither Iraq nor Afghanistan - it is currently headquartered in western Pakistan. However, Biddle believes if bin Laden were to choose which of the two countries he would rather have as a headquarters, he would probably choose Iraq because of its greater potential instability and resources.

He concludes with a clear call for an Iraq first strategy, akin to the Europe-first strategy that was outlined (though not always followed) in World War II.

I'll fill in Q&A a bit later - it was fairly extensive.

Q1: Where do the militias get their money?

A1: The Shiite militias get a lot of their money from Iran. The Sunnis get money from Saudi Arabia and Syria. Biddle also notes that a lot of money acquired by Ba'athists while Saddam Hussein was in power left the country. [NB: I don't think he mentioned when] Much of that money is returning to Iraq now. Critically, Iraq's own oil revenue helps the insurgency to be financed from internal resources.

Q2: What is your prediction for the configuration of US forces in the Middle East around 2010?

A2: Biddle focused on what he would like to see. He envisions 100,000 ground troops in 10-12 combat brigades. Some would be distributed among Iraqi army, and others doing peacekeeping. The key is to have American forces in sufficient numbers such that their presence is known and available, should fighting flare up. Currently, a lot of the American ground forces have shifted from counterinsurgency to peacekeeping (e.g. helping local law enforcement/militas track down violators of cease-fires using forensics).

Q3: My experience in Pakistan causes me to believe that it will be indefinitely unstable. Your thoughts?

A3: Biddle agrees that Pakistan is "a mess". He feels that principal-agent theory would play a prominent role in analyzing the situation in Pakistan. Pakistan is already waging a counterinsurgency war within its borders, especially in the West. He said that Pakistan deserved its own talk, and would defer to a Pakistan specialist.

Q4: Jonathan Kirschner pointed out that Biddle's talk a year ago claimed that either extreme (immediate withdrawal or continued, indefinite presence) would be preferable to a slow drawdown (a "middle road"). This year, it sounds like Biddle is actually advocating a "middle road" toward withdrawal. He also offered a realist take on Iraq: the issue is not security or confidence-building, but simply that the interests of the players are fundamentally different and irreconcilable. Wouldn't a withdrawal timetable just lead to the respective parties backward inducting and shifting their plans to incorporate the withdrawal date? Furthermore, you assume that the US peacekeeping effort will go through successfully - even if it did, mistakes might be made that would lead to renewed conflict.

A4: Biddle first noted, with humor, that he was happy realists were alive and well at Cornell. He feels, however, that currently it's in everyone's interest to cooperate. The key is to use the Balkans model of continued presence and a shift to peacekeeping to make sure it continues in everyone's interest to adhere to the 200 or so individual cease-fire agreements that have been negotiated.

Q5: How do you anticipate that your plan, McCain's plan, and Obama's plan would be affected by troop fatigue?

A5: The current level of 15 brigades (140,000 troops) is unsustainable.

One of the problems is that the current level may exist, in part, as a negotiation tactic by the current administration to make sure that troop levels aren't drawn down significantly below the minimum needed to maintain stability. (In his words, the administration would probably draw down to about 12 brigades today if they were certain that Obama wouldn't cut the force to 5 brigades upon taking office.)

Biddle feels that a political solution would be to work out a deal by which Bush and, say, an Obama administration would each help with the drawdown.

Q6: How would this assessment change if Israel attacked the Iran nuclear program?

A6: Biddle thinks this would be a huge disaster to American interests. However, he felt that America could prevent an Israeli raid. Israel would likely need to use Iraqi airspace in order to launch a strike. If the US were to withhold the IFF codes, it's possible that the Israelis would not want to run the risk of either crossing their powerful ally, or, barring that, being shot down by American anti-aircraft defenses.

Biddle says that very senior members of the administration have confirmed that the administration does not want a war with Iran. According to them, they have to pretend that military options are on the table to negotiate with a stronger hand to get Iran to dismantle its nuclear weapons program. They also note that it may be perceived to be an empty threat, because of ongoing operations in Iraq and Afghanistan.

In response to a comment that Dick Cheney might decide we should go to war: "Dick Cheney might pull a gun in the Oval Office and get a war in Iran. Life is probabilistic." (Biddle said "Life is probabilistic" a couple times in his talk, to underline that weird things happen that good theorists might not be able to predict or anticipate.)

The Israelis are another matter - they will definitely seek to attack Iran if it does not give up its nuclear ambitions.


Q7: Could you respond to Prime Minister al-Maliki's comments that indicated support for Obama's plan for withdrawal of US forces?

A7: Biddle believes that this is primarily driven by Iraqi domestic politics. He notes a couple key trends:
(1) Incumbents in Iraq are tremendously unpopular.
(2) Even though the al-Mahdi army and insurgent groups may be less popular then they are now, they are still considerably more popular than incumbents. Consequently, it is likely that they will increase their political representation in the upcoming provincial elections.
(3) The Sunnis will also increase their representation, especially in the form of political alignments built around the Sons of Iraq (note: the Sunnis largely boycotted the last election.)

According to Biddle, al-Maliki does not have a political base. He is Prime Minister because he was "everyone's second choice and no one's tenth choice."

Al-Maliki sees an opportunity to position himself as a Shiite nationalist - he can do this by pushing for a withdrawal of American troops.

Predictably, most Iraqi politicians do not want a withdrawal but will not say so publicly. More interestingly, most of the Iraqi people also do not want a withdrawal, but also blame American troops for a lot of the country's problems.

Anti-American rhetoric had been tolerated by the United States as being politically necessary for Iraqi politicians to campaign successfully. However, since the political debate has bid itself up such that withdrawal is a necessary plank in any candidate's platform, it will be difficult to negotiate a Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA) that permits US forces to legitimately remain in the country. However, Biddle thinks there will be a solution - possibly depending on some formula that provides enough flexibility for sufficient ground forces to remain in the country.

Q8: How long can we permit Afghanistan to deteriorate?

A8: Biddle feels that the condition in Afghanistan is not nearly as critical as that in Iraq. This is primarily because of the weakness of support for the Taliban. In Afghanistan, the enemy depends heavily upon ideology and not very much on ethnicity. Furthermore, the Taliban's ideology is itself unpopular with the majority. In Iraq, on the other hand, the prime driver for insurgents is ethnic, not ideological. He reiterated that Afghanistan is under-resourced, and will grow consistently - though steadily - worse, with a crisis occurring in 2-4 years if no additional forces are deployed.


Q9: Is it reasonable to envision UN forces in Iraq?

A9: Yes, but it will take a couple of years. Unlike in most countries, the UN is not very popular (because of the sanctions), and would not be welcomed any more than American troops.

Q10: Where in the world is Moqtada al-Sadr?

A10: He is apparently in Iran studying to be an ayatollah. Biddle claims that he wants to be the new al-Sistani. He is also establishing offices in Europe.

His policies are viewed as inconsistent with the needs and desires of his core constituency - poor Shiites - who seek basic access to necessities and jobs more than global revolution. His eroding political position has made Maliki think he can claim poor Shiites as his political base.

Q11: What could happen domestically that would convince America that your plan is correct? Alternatively, what could happen that would make your plan of 100,000 troops until 2012 impossible?

A11: It's important for negotiations about peacekeeping through 2012 to be distinct from the idea of permanent war. As Biddle pointed out, the Democratic party has been supportive of peacekeeping in the past. He maintains that it is important to recognize that whatever errors were made going into the war, it would be a gross national error to withdraw prematurely and leave an unstable Iraq, where a civil war would extend to a regional war, engulfing most of the oil-producing Middle East.

Epilogue:


Dr. Stephen Biddle is an incredibly impressive person - he's one of the most solid scholars I've met. At Cornell, I've had the privilege of listening to a number of distinguished public figures and academics discuss world affairs. But unlike some of them (Frank Fukuyama comes to mind - not that I'm picking on him), Stephen has a solid delivery, a clear logical structure, and a way of covering just about all the bases in an hour address. Though I've never heard or read any of George Marshall's speeches during World War II, I have heard that a large part of the general's distinctiveness was his ability to think widely and deeply, and articulate that thought in a distilled, concise manner. This is the impression I got today.

I'm also happy to report that, unlike when I greeted General Zinni with a half-chewed Nutter Butter in my mouth, I was able to comport myself with (relative) dignity in this gathering.

As additional evidence of Biddle's solid memory, he remembered that I had sent him an email and given him some astronomy pictures for his daughter, Anna. With a mind like that working on Iraq, I'm sleeping a bit more easily. :)

American Foreign Policy After Bush - Francis Fukuyama at Cornell

Francis Fukuyama, Cornell '74 and author of The End of History and the Last Man spoke today as the 2007 Einaudi Center Foreign Policy Distinguished Speaker.

Fukuyama's talk, "American Foreign Policy After the Bush Administration", was fairly critical of the policies of the last years. This is particularly noteworthy since he initially shared the ideology, training, and perhaps even dormroom of Straussian neocons, including Paul Wolfowitz (Cornell '65).

Fukuyama first articulated his opposition to the foreign policy of the George W. Bush administration. He began by outlining the four main components of the Bush doctrine, calling it "a coherent policy":

1. The US faces a dire threat assessment following 9/11.
2. Preemption is an effective way to eliminate current and future threats.
3. American leadership (unilateralism) is required in its dealings with allies.
4. Democracy promotion is the mission underlying policies involving preemption.

Fukuyama argues that while this policy is coherent and perhaps valid in a realist international system (with strong states), it uses faulty assumptions when operating in the modern world. "We live in a weak state world," he said. By this, he means that the Greater Middle East - defined by him as a swath of nations that encompasses North Africa, parts of sub-Saharan Africa, the Middle East proper, and South Asia to the India-Pakistan border - is composed of weak and failing states.

This point, he feels, has not been well understood by many people, including high-level American statesmen. He refers to an article Kissinger wrote after the 2006 Lebanon war, in which Kissinger recognizes that we no longer live in a world with Westphalian states. As Fukuyama wryly notes, anyone who has been paying attention to Africa in the last 20 years already knew that.

Fukuyama takes apart the four components of the Bush Doctrine:

1. The US faces a dire threat assessment following 9/11.

Fukuyama feels that the threat assessment is skewed, largely because of a fundamental misunderstanding of one question often asked in the weeks following 9/11:

Why do they hate us?

Two answers have frequently been offered:
1. They don't like our values.
2. They don't like our foreign policy.

The Bush administration officially concluded that answer 1 was correct, and frequently made reference to it in speeches. Considerable history and contemporary analysis suggests that answer 2 may be correct, and rooted in forward bases in the Middle East, the invasion of Iraq, and the US's unflinching support of Israel.

Fukuyama feels that both are needed to understand the situation. If "they" refer to Muslim extremists, then 1 is indeed the correct answer. If instead "they" refer to the populations of the Middle East, then 2 is more accurate.

2. Preemption is an effective way to eliminate current and future threats..

Fukuyama states that the logic of preemption is "iron-tight". If someone knew that an attack was imminent, it would make complete sense to do what it took to prevent it if possible, perhaps even through preemptive military action. Preventative war, however, fails to distinguish between deterring/combatting states within states (like Hezbollah or Al-Qaeda), and deterring actual states. While deterrence doesn't work well with the Taliban and Al-Qaeda in Afghanistan, Fukuyama feels that it does work effectively with states that have a functioning central authority - Iraq, Iran, and North Korea. His claim is that no matter how crazy their foreign policies appear, the interests of the leaders are such that they will behave more or less as Westphalian states - affected by deterrence, bilateral negotiatons and other tools in the realist's toolbox.

3. American leadership (unilateralism) is required in its dealings with allies..

Fukuyama points out that even Bush realizes that this is not accurate. The Six-party talks regarding North Korea and the attempts to include the EU in efforts to get Iran to suspend its nuclear program reflect the growing need, if not willingness, of the Bush administration to include its allies and other nations in its efforts to bring about stability in two very volatile - but very different - places in the world.

However, Fukuyama does agree that American leadership is still essential. He points to the failure of the European Union and Russia to collectively act during the Balkans wars until US involvement in the conflict.

Nobody appreciated the headwind of anti-Americanism following the collapse of the Soviet Union. This headwind, he feels, may simply be a product of the disproportionate influence of America on the world, and the non-reciprocal relationship that many nations have vis a vis the United States. While the US has the power - military, economic, and cultural - to influence the process and impact of international organizations, trade agreements, and military actions against its enemies, many nations lack the resources to effect such change at even a regional level. In other words, it may be less in the substance of American values, institutions and culture and more in the power that arguably results from these that much of the rest of the world resents.

4. Democracy promotion is the mission underlying policies involving preemption.

Fukuyama strongly believes that democracy promotion is and ought to be the underlying goal of most US foreign policy efforts. However, he recognizes that a commitment to democracy can often be at odds with American short-term interests, and that the failure to be consistent can be even more costly than accepting the consequences of democracy. For example, he feels that the US would have been wiser not to put all of its eggs in Musharraf, and instead actively encouraged Musharraf to hold free and open elections. (In the Q&A that followed, Fukuyama points out that the Pakistan case is distinct from Gaza, noting that Pakistan had lawyers protesting in the street to defend the rule of law.)

Overall, he feels that regardless of the errors in policy, the administration was most guilty of gross incompetence in implementing and administering policy. Two examples he highlights are the reorganization of the federal government to create the Department of Homeland Security and the attempts - twice - to reorganize the intelligence agencies under a single Director of National Intelligence. Another example he references is the F process (transformational diplomacy initiative), a process by which foreign development aid is allocated within a broader strategic framework driven by the State department's political agenda. He did not make particular criticisms, except to suggest that this leads to excessive and counterproductive micromanagement of funds.

Perhaps most interestingly, Fukuyama devoted somewhat less than half of his talk to Asia, where he felt the rules were significantly different. He argued that, by and large, East Asia consisted of fairly stable states with effective central governments. Consequently, the old rules under which the international system operated can and do work. He may not be the first to point out that the "international system" is neither uniform nor unchanging with time, but I think he is the first I have heard to actually point this out in different areas, and to actually take a stand for retaining some of the tools of the Cold War era system in a particular area of the world.

Fukuyama felt that the largest challenge in Asia was to figure out how to accommodate a rising China and India. (He focused his talk primarily on China, presumably because India, being a democracy and having many complications associated with federalism and internal divisions, would not be nearly as aggressive or effective in its efforts to increase its economic and political power).

Fukuyama notes that, with one exception, the international system has failed to accommodate the entry of rising powers. The classic example he references is the failure of Britain and France to recognize the changes brought about by German unification in 1871, which laid the seeds for two world wars.

He alluded to the thesis that "democracies don't go to war with each other", and that many hold the hope that China will inevitably become a democracy. He feels that this might be the case, and that indeed, China may be the first country to become a democracy because of environmental issues. However, he feels that this would not happen within the next 10-15 years.

Fukuyama notes that the pressures to become liberal democracies in Western nations occurred because of a critical mass of middle class individuals demanded political participation. However, China's rapid economic growth has benefitted a relatively small subset of the population - Fukuyama states "200 to 300 million" out of a population of 1.3 billion. This is reflected in the Chinese Gini coefficient of about 49. By comparison, the US has a Gini coefficient of 47.0 in 2006 (and interestingly, has had a secular trend upward from 39.7 in 1967, when Gini was first measured), while most Western industrialized nations have a Gini around or below 40. (A Gini of 0 represents complete equality, and 100 represents complete inequality.)

In the Q&A section, Fukuyama also suggests that one of the main challenges facing the average Chinese citizen is that the central government does not exert much authority at the local level - local political bureaucrats collude with developers and other wealthy groups to exploit local villages and the environment. One consequence is the rise of violent popular protests - an estimated 4,000 in China last year.

Yet even if China became democratic, it would not solve the foreign policy problem.

Fukuyama commented that in 1945, the "Wise Men" (Acheson, Kennan) thought very much in institutional terms, and that it would benefit the United States to do so at this critical juncture. "Would China's ambitions expand, or will it become a stakeholder in international institutions?"

He suggests that if the habits of interaction and channels of communication are established now, then China would be far more likely to be a willing participant and effective leader in international institutions. The Cold War strategy might be to encircle China and its satellite states with a hostile military and economic alliance, a Marshall Plan and NATO for the East. However, Fukuyama feels that any institution needs to build China in, and make it beneficial for the nation to promote and preserve the institution.

Fukuyama would like to see the Six-party talks converted into a more permanent OSCE-like body for North East Asian security. Such a body would be responsible for developing forward-thinking institutions and strategies for various crises, including the possibly inevitable and catastrophic sudden collapse of North Korea.

In the Q&A, Fukuyama also discussed the challenges facing the next president. In particular, he highlighted groupthink and the imperial presidency.

From his own time as a staff member in the policy planning office of the Reagan State Department, Fukuyama suggests that those outside of the bureaucracy severely underestimate the effect of tribalism within the Exectuive branch. Loyalty is to the tribe, above and beyond all other loyalties. The tremendous power of the presidency and this pressure towards tribalism guarantees groupthink and sycophantism.

One anecdote, borrowed from Zbigniew Brzezinski, illustrated the point. Brzezinski was the National Security Advisor for Jimmy Carter. During the first year of Carter's term, he was able to come into the Oval Office and offer criticism to the President's policies. By the 4th year, that became impossible, as the President had become accustomed to demanding respect and deference from his subordinates.

Fukuyama closed with a brief comment on civil-military relations. He recognizes that America now is different from the America that existed during his time at Cornell, when there were armed students protesting Vietnam. The dependence on a volunteer army and the limitation of armed service to communities largely in the south guarantees a disconnect between how civilians and the military perceive the world. He did not go so far as to say that that was dangerous, but it was implied that this was an area of concern that could in principle be ameliorated by universal service.

Overall, I thought this was a great talk. Fukuyama got panned after the press latched onto the title of The End of History and the Last Man, and his reputation suffered even more when neoconservativism reared its ugly head in the last few years. I look forward to reading his new book, America at the Crossroads: Democracy, Power, and the Neoconservative Legacy.

Protest at Starbucks, Collegetown

I was not prepared for the forest of uplifted chairs and products. I was also unprepared for muttering tongues conversing about monoculture and mothers' wages.

This was not a Pentecostal church. This was Starbucks in Ithaca.

At about 4:15, Collegetown Starbucks was taken over by about 25 protesters. Though the affiliation of the protesters is unknown, it seemed as though they belonged to an environmentally-conscious religious group. They were led by a middle-aged man who spoke with the intensity and the intonation of a southern preacher, inferred from a prayer-like quality of call and response between the leader and the group of protesters, interjected with an "Alleluia!" and an "Amen!"

The protest started reasonably quietly, but grew progressively louder. Towards the end, the leader was shouting.

The group decried corporate greed, the exploitation of individuals in developing nations, and exhorted individuals to go across the street and have some "real, fair trade coffee".

Many people did, in fact, leave, though few seemed motivated by the group's goals of shifting business to fair trade organizations.

The protest also seems to have irritated some of the Starbucks baristas. I overheard a conversation in which one friend was talking to another friend about getting a job at Starbucks. The first friend started discussing the "corporate" nature of Starbucks (as a negative). The barrista interrupted, and mentioned in a somewhat irritated tone that Starbucks helps her get through college, have medical coverage and save in a 401(k).

I know they pissed a lot of people off, but I do have to applaud the clever nature of their protest. The elevation of chairs was needlessly threatening and pretty dumb, but the sea of lifted coffee bags, Naked juice containers, and mugs was very post-modern chic, and yet reminiscent of Saul Alinsky. Me like.

One can only speculate about the goals of the group - and this one will. I full well acknowledge ahead of time that I am in no way "better" than anyone discussed in these thoughts - people who know me know that I can be a self-righteous prig, a greedy bastard, a cold pragmatist, and an emotional whiny baby. So I've been (or hope to be) in every position in this story, and claim moral inferiority.


Q: What were the motivations of the protesters?

Protests, and those who participate in them, are influenced by a number of reasons. And while I can't claim to be particularly informed about any group's motivations, I think I can infer a few.

1. Concern for fair wages to those who are involved with growing the coffee
2. Concern for environmental issues associated with coffee-growing
3. Inform public about their positions (opposition to corporations, "free trade", American consumer culture. (The last was revealed through comments like, "They're selling you dirt from the ground.")

In addition to these, it is possible that the leadership of the group pushed for the following goals:
1. Reinforcing the group's solidarity, via contrast vis a vis a corporation
2. A desire to take an action that would be
(a) relatively simple
(b) have a clear and immediate impact
(c) could be defined in a way that guaranteed success
(d) make a public commitment to avoid private guilt

(a) Relatively simple:

A protest requires fewer resources than a letter-writing campaign, and far fewer than a shareholder proxy fight to change corporate policy. It requires a handful of people, no money, and a minimum of time.

A large, sophisticated protest, of course, requires a lot of organization and resources. Speakers/leaders have to take a lot of time to craft a persuasive message and materials for potential new converts to a cause. Assuming protesters don't want to be arrested, it takes time and thought to solicit and ensure cooperation with local law enforcement. These are less important for a small group.

(b) Have a clear and immediate impact:

The protest is beautiful because it guarantees immediate gratification on the part of the activist. It is immediate action - it disrupts the business and provides immediate emotional catharsis and satisfaction for the members of the protest.

(c) Could be defined in a way that guarantees success

All forms of influence, whether activism, business strategy, or simple requests of a friend, carry the risk of failure or negative consequences. A campaign to petition Congress and bring about change faces issues as to how to measure success, and whether flagging public interest would constitute a failure and a waste of political capital.

But a protest always succeeds in the eyes of its participants. It is pretty much guaranteed to disrupt business in the cafe, at least for a time. It airs the grievances of the group, and informs the (often unreceptive) local public. If people are converted, that's great. If people are unreceptive or hostile, well, then that reveals the need for the group to exist, to educate and fight those who embrace corporatism all too easily.

(d) Public commitment to escape private guilt

Whether it gets Starbucks to adopt "fair trade" is irrelevant. The most important thing it does is to allow individuals to stand up and be counted, and to absolve themselves of responsibility for the actions they oppose.

When I protested the Iraq War on my college campus, I felt like I was doing my part to make my voice heard. At the very least, it served to wash my hands of the war and its consequences - after all, if I voted with my voice against the war, I can't be held responsible for the subsequent mess, right?

By opposing Starbucks publicly, the protesters absolve themselves from the responsibilities of our responsibility for the negative consequences of trade. Whether responsibility stops with that depends upon the individual; cases can be made for complete decoupling from a system one opposes, combatting it whenever feasible and success appears possible, or for working within the system and use reform, not revolution, to slowly change the normative boundaries of society.

*I was going to ask more questions, but got tired, and realized that a real social psychologist could do a better job.*

Conclusion

I recognize protest as an important and integral part of a free, democratic society. And yet I also recognize its selfishness - selfish in the sense that local group identity, and not global justice, is often the underlying motivator and the only lasting product of the protest. It doesn't disqualify it as a valid form of action in America. But it suggests that if our tactics say something about the scope of our ambitions, we should take care to make sure they are aligned.