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16
Yleinen keskustelu / Re: Yleinen uutiskokoomaketju ja vastaavat
« on: April 07, 2015, 01:14:46 »
Tiede - Rajankäyntiä, 27.2.2015 : Kun kulttuuri sairastaa

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Kun kulttuuri sairastaa


Kuva: C. Goldsmith / Wikimedia Commons.


Kulttuurien terveyserojen kiistäminen on hyvinvoinnin ja tasa-arvon este.

Tieteiskuvitelman kauhuskenaariossa HI-viruksesta syntyy uusi mutaatio, HIM. Kantamuotoaan katalampi HIM toimii kuin HIV, mutta lisäksi se muovaa uhrinsa aivot pysyvästi hyperseksuaalisiksi. Suojaamaton irtoseksi muodostuu HIM-tartunnan saaneiden identiteetiksi, jonka kyseenalaistaminen koetaan äärimmäisenä loukkauksena. Tartunnan saaneet uskovat olevansa elämänsä kunnossa, eikä mikään vakuuta heitä edes jonkin viruksen kantajaksi. HIM-positiiviset vetoavat oikeuteensa harrastaa seksiä kaikkien halukkaiden aikuisten kanssa ja yhteisöityvät vaatimaan syrjintätuomioita kaikista heidän kansanryhmänsä vapauksia rajoittavista toimista.

HIV:in tahallisia levittäjiä on Suomessa rangaistu ankarimmilla lain sallimilla tuomioilla. Mutta mitä tapahtuu, jos viruksen levittämisestä tuleekin kantajiensa keskeisin kulttuuri-identiteetti, johon uhritkin tartunnan saatuaan samaistuvat?

Vihiä vastauksesta antaa psykologi Steven Pinkerin menestyskirja The Blank Slate, jossa hän lainaa antropologi Donald Symonsia (vapaasti suomennettuna) näin: "Kuvittele, että vain yksi ihminen maailmassa sieppaisi kauhuissaan vastaan kamppailevan, kirkuvan pikkutytön, silpoisi hänen sukuelimet saastaisella terällä ja parsisi haavan kiinni niin, että vain pieni aukko jäisi virtsalle ja kuukautisille. Tällöin kiisteltäisiin ainoastaan siitä, miten ankarasti tekijää rangaistaisiin ja olisiko kuolemanrangaistus riittävä. Mutta kun miljoonat ihmiset tekevät saman, teosta tulee yhtäkkiä arvostettua kulttuuria, jota jotkut länsimaalaiset moraaliajattelijat, jopa feministit, alkavat puolustaa." Esimerkiksi Germaine Greer on kirjassaan The Whole Woman kuvannut sukuelinten silpomiskieltoa "hyökkäykseksi kulttuuri-identiteettiä vastaan".

Voiko HIM:ille kuvitella hedelmällisempää leviämisalustaa kuin yhteiskunta, jonka kyseenalaistamattomana perusarvona on kulttuurirelativismi, kaiken kulttuurin samanarvoisuus?

Kulttuurirelativismi näkyy myös psykiatrian häiriömääritelmissä. Määritelmän mukaan mitkään sellaiset uskomukset eivät ole harhoja, jotka saman kulttuuriyhteisön muut jäsenet tavallisesti hyväksyvät todeksi. Psykiatrian mukaan vakavasta harhaluuloisuushäiriöstä kärsivä voi siis parantua vakuuttamalla riittävän monta ihmistä uskomaan samoihin harhoihin, jolloin yksilön sairaudesta tulee heidän muodostamansa yhteisön kulttuuria.

Erinomaisessa kirjassaan Moraalinen maisema Sam Harris esittää keskustelun, jonka hän kävi korkea-arvoisen, presidentti Obaman neuvonantajaksi nimitetyn tieteen eettisten kysymysten asiantuntijan kanssa:

Asiantuntija (AT): Mikä saa sinut kuvittelemaan, että tiede pystyisi ylipäätään sanomaan, että naisten burkhapakko on väärin?

Sam Harris (SH): Koska ajattelen, että oikeassa ja väärässä on kyse lisääntyvästä tai vähentyvästä hyvinvoinnista ja että on ilmeistä, ettei ole hyvä hyvinvoinnin maksimoinnin strategia pakottaa puolet väestöstä pukeutumaan burkhaan ja pieksää tai tappaa heidät, jos he kieltäytyvät.

AT: Mutta sehän on vain sinun mielipiteesi.

SH: Hyvä on… Yksinkertaistetaan asiaa. Jos löytäisimme kulttuurin, joka rituaalinomaisesti sokeuttaisi joka kolmannen lapsen siten, että hänen silmänsä kirjaimellisesti kaivettaisiin päästä syntymähetkellä, olisitko silloin samaa mieltä siitä, että tämä kulttuuri vähentäisi inhimillistä hyvinvointia tarpeettomasti?

AT: Se riippuisi siitä, miksi he tekisivät sen.

SH [vetäen hitaasti kulmakarvoja takaraivoltaan]: Sanokaamme, että heidän syynsä olisi uskonnollinen taikausko. Heidän pyhissä kirjoituksissaan Jumala sanoo: "Joka kolmannen on kuljettava pimeydessä".

AT: Silloin ei voitaisi mitenkään sanoa, että he olisivat väärässä.

Kulttuurirelativismi elää vallan korkeimpia portaita ja akateemisten norsunluutornien ylimpiä kerroksia myöten. Ja kenties elinvoimaisimmin juuri siellä: "On oltava erittäin oppinut ollakseen noin väärässä", kuten Nobel-palkittu fyysikko Steven Weinberg on asian ilmaissut.

Kukaan ei kiistä, että yksilöt eroavat terveydeltään. On yhtä ilmeistä, mutta vaiettua ja kiistettyä, että myös kulttuurit eroavat terveydeltään. Kun harhaluuloisuushäiriöstä kärsivä onnistuu keräämään itselleen joukon seuraajia, hän ei yhtäkkiä parane vaan sairaus leviää yhteisön epidemiaksi. Vaikka virallisen määritelmän mukaan harhoista kärsivätkin nyt vähemmistöön jääneet epäilijät, todellisuudessa se on kulttuuri joka sairastuu.

Kulttuurien terveyserojen myöntäminen ei suinkaan tarkoita, että oma kulttuurimme olisi tervein tai kehittynein, tai että vieraaseen kulttuuriin tulisi suhtautua ennakkoluuloisesti – puhumattakaan kenenkään vierasta kulttuuria edustavan ihmisen vihaamisesta. Ihmisestä voi pitää, jopa rakastaa, vaikka olisi hänen kanssaan täysin eri mieltä.

Kulttuuri-ilmiöiden terveys täytyy arvioida tapauskohtaisesti. Alkukantaisissakin kulttuureissa on joitain hyviä puolia, jotka voivat olla huonommin sivistyneimmissä kulttuureissa. Tämän tosiasian ei kuitenkaan pidä antaa sokeuttaa kokonaisuuden arviointia. Kulttuurirelativistien väitteistä huolimatta on selvää, että esimerkiksi omaa kulttuuriamme vaivaava, aikuisten omaehtoinen sukuelinten ja muun kehon turhamainen leikkely ei ole tuhoisuudessaan mitenkään samaa suuruusluokkaa kuin satojen miljoonien lasten tahdosta riippumaton leikkely.

Mitä sitten tarkoitetaan, kun julistetaan että "kaikki ovat samanarvoisia"? Mitkä kaikki? Juomavesi on arvokkaampaa kuin jätevesi, elollinen arvokkaampaa kuin eloton, demokratia arvokkaampaa kuin tyrannia, tieto arvokkaampaa kuin luulo ja tiede arvokkaampaa kuin huuhaa. Kaikki ajatukset eivät ole samanarvoisia. Kaikki kulttuuri ei ole samanarvoista. Sen sijaan tavoiteltava ihanne on se, että kohtelemme kaikkia ihmisiä samanarvoisina riippumatta siitä, miten arvokkaita heidän ajatuksensa ovat. Vasta jos ajatukset muuttuvat vaarallisiksi teoiksi, yksilön vapautta täytyy yleisen hyvinvoinnin turvaamiseksi rajoittaa oikeustoimin.

Olivatpa ajatukset ja muut kulttuuri-ilmiöt omia tai vieraita, niihin kannattaa suhtautua kuin elimistönsä bakteereihin: osa on hyödyllisiä, jopa elintärkeitä symbiontteja, osa harmittomia matkakumppaneita ja osa taas haitallisia ja suorastaan vaarallisia loisia.

Ensimmäinen askel sairaan kulttuurin parantamisessa on sama kuin sairaan ihmisen parantamisessa: ongelman avoin tunnustaminen.

17
Yleinen keskustelu / Re: Yleinen uutiskokoomaketju ja vastaavat
« on: April 07, 2015, 01:11:17 »
Suuren maailman muoti-ismeissä...

Tiedetään, Maivei, tiedetään. Älä yritäkään tota linjaa, se ei toimi. Osalla porukoista vain on torjunta päällä milloin minkäkin asian suhteen.

Dagens Nyheter, 22.3.2015: ”Den postmoderna sanningsrelativismen leder oss ner i en antiintellektuell avgrund

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Den postmoderna sanningsrelativismen leder oss ner i en antiintellektuell avgrund

Publicerad 2015-03-22 00:05     

Svik inte de unga. Vi behöver göra upp med den postmoderna sanningsrelativismen inom akademien och i den offentliga debatten. Annars blir det omöjligt för staten att upprätthålla grundläggande moraliska anspråk, skriver Martin Ingvar, Christer Sturmark och Åsa Wikforss.

Nyligen kunde vi läsa i Dagens Nyheter (26/2) om en elev som på en SFI-kurs i Helsingborgsskolan hade förnekat Förintelsen och påstått att den var ett påhitt och en judisk konspiration. Läraren reagerade och upplyste eleven om att resonemanget var nonsens.

Läraren fick en reprimand av utbildningssamordnaren; eleven hade känt sig kränkt av att få sin utsaga ifrågasatt. Samordnaren menade att eleven inte borde ha tillrättavisats: ”Du får också ha i bakhuvudet att det vi betraktar som historia är den historia som vi har tagit del av. När vi har andra elever som har tagit del av andra historieböcker är det ingen idé att vi diskuterar fakta mot fakta” (vår kursivering).

Handlade det här om en enskild tjänsteman som inte tänkte? Vi önskar att det hade varit så. ”Anything goes” är det som gäller. Det som är sant för dig behöver inte vara sant för mig. Frågan är vad som händer med statsmaktens legitimitet på sikt om ingenting är sant eller falskt. Den antiintellektuella avgrunden är nära när den postmoderna sanningsrelativismen infekterar det offentliga samtalet på alla nivåer, inklusive den akademiska världen.

I Sverige tycks den pedagogiska disciplinen vara värst smittad. En docent i pedagogik fick för några år sedan Skolverkets uppgift att skriva en rapport om fysikundervisningen i den svenska skolan, samt komma med förslag på hur den skulle attrahera fler flickor.

Ur rapporten:

”Föreställningen om det vetenskapliga tänkandets självklara överhöghet rimmar illa med jämställdhets- och demokratiidealen. […] Vissa sätt att tänka och resonera premieras mera än andra i naturvetenskapliga sammanhang. […] Om man inte uppmärksammar detta riskerar man att göra missvisande bedömningar. Till exempel genom att oreflekterat utgå från att ett vetenskapligt tänkande är mer rationellt och därför borde ersätta ett vardagstänkande.”

Vad står det egentligen här? Uppfattningen att vetenskapligt tänkande är bättre än ovetenskapligt tänkande är odemokratiskt och inte jämställt. Man tar sig för pannan. Föreställningen om att vetenskapligt tänkande är något annat än vardagstänkande är en myt. Till och med småbarn använder den vetenskapliga metoden (oftast utan att veta om det) när de upptäcker och undersöker världen. Att försöka förespegla människor att vetenskapligt tänkande är väsensskilt från annat tänkande är ett uttryck för ett vetenskapsförakt och en intellektuell lättja som allvarligt skadar allmänhetens förtroende för vetenskapen.

Pedagogen skriver vidare i rapporten: ”En genusmedveten och genuskänslig fysik förutsätter en relationell infallsvinkel på fysiken samt att en hel del av det traditionella vetenskapliga kunskapsinnehållet i fysiken plockas bort.”

Det vetenskapliga kunskapsinnehållet i fysiken ska alltså ”plockas bort” för att ”underlätta” för flickor. Inte nog med att detta är en förfärlig kunskapssyn, det är dessutom kränkande att betrakta flickor som oförmögna eller sämre på att ta till sig kunskap i fysik.

Författaren till rapporten heter Moira von Wright och är numera professor i pedagogik och rektor för Södertörns högskola. När nu en sådan kunskapsteoretisk grundsyn slagit rot i våra högre lärosäten har vi ett problem.

Utfärdande av examen, särskilt för legitimationsyrken, bygger på gemensam specifik kunskap. Men om kunskap och fakta bestäms av individen försvinner möjligheten att ställa krav inför examen.

Varför är detta så upprörande? Att många människor har en antiintellektuell och ovetenskaplig hållning till kunskap, och hellre halkar fram till sina slutsatser än grundar dem i fakta, är knappast något nytt. Problemet är inte i första hand att dessa attityder är falska, problemet är att de omsätts i allmän utövning av makt. Om ingenting är sant eller falskt på riktigt blir det omöjligt för staten att upprätthålla ens de mest grundläggande moraliska anspråken eller kontrollera individens rättigheter och skyldigheter.

Det postmoderna socialkonstruktivistiska tänkandet, bland annat inspirerat av den franske filosofen Michel Foucault (1926–1984), ser vetenskaplig strävan efter kunskap som ett verktyg för vita, heterosexuella, borgerliga, medelålders, ekonomiskt välmående män att marginalisera fattiga, homosexuella, etniska minoriteter, kvinnor och utomeuropeiska kulturer.

Bakom denna filosofi låg en insikt som i och för sig är värdefull: Vi får inte förväxla kunskap med makt. Historiskt har viktig kunskap kommit i skymundan eftersom den inte behagat makten. Men att gå därifrån till att förneka skillnaden mellan åsikter och fakta är att underminera själva utgångspunkten - att makt inte är kunskap.

Den socialkonstruktivistiska analysens perspektiv är förvisso värdefull och befogad i vissa fall. Vi omges faktiskt av sociala konstruktioner hela tiden; exempelvis när vi handlar med mynt i mataffären använder vi en sådan konstruktion. Myntet är ju bara en liten präglad metallbit; dess värde och funktion som verktyg i vardagliga transaktioner är helt och hållet socialt konstruerade. En kung eller en präst är också socialt konstruerade, och det är intressant att också ställa frågan i vilken utsträckning genus är en social konstruktion.

Men att applicera idén om sociala konstruktioner på alla kunskapsområden leder till intellektuellt haveri. Även inom naturvetenskapen arbetar vi med beskrivningar av verkligheten som förvisso är approximativa. Men de extrema versionerna av postmodernismen vill hävda att naturvetenskapen helt och hållet är en social konstruktion, en ”berättelse” likvärdig med varje annan berättelse.

I skolvärlden möter vi ibland pedagoger som hävdar att den vetenskapliga evolutionsteorin och den bibliska skapelseberättelsen bara är två olika paradigm, två alternativa berättelser om människans historia. Det går inte att påstå att den ena är mer ”sann” än den andra.

Sådan argumentation blir intellektuellt undermålig. Att påstå att det inte existerar sanna och falska utsagor om verkligheten är både ohederligt och omoraliskt. Det är att röra sig på mycket djupt och grumligt vatten. Den som applicerar postmodernt tänkande på gravitationen kan ju försöka gå ut från ett hus från femte våningen istället för bottenvåningen. Tillrättavisningen blir omedelbar.

Vi behöver göra upp med den postmoderna sanningsrelativismen inom akademien och i den offentliga debatten. Annars riskerar vi att svika våra framtidshopp; alla de unga som faktiskt längtar efter verklig bildning och kunskap.



Martin Ingvar, professor i integrativ medicin vid Inst. för klinisk neurovetenskap, Karolinska Institutet

Christer Sturmark, bokförläggare och författare, aktuell med boken Upplysning i det 21:a århundradet

Åsa Wikforss, professor i teoretisk filosofi vid Stockholms universitet

19
Yleinen keskustelu / Re: Yleinen uutiskokoomaketju ja vastaavat
« on: March 26, 2015, 08:37:47 »
Hiljaiselta tuntuu olo ja elo täällä todellisuudessa. Kevät tulee, eilen satoi lunta. Väkeä on vähän siellä ja täällä. En jaksa selata, mikä on tämän foorumin primus motor. Hommalla seilaa muutama tuhat aktiivia ja väijyssä aina joku vakiomäärä. Vaalit on tulossa, 10-100 hengen sisäänlämpiävä juttu ei johda mihinkään.

Ei se oo tarkotuskaan. Lieneekö koskaan ollutkaan, propagandaa tekevät muut ja muualla. Ainakaan enää ei ole. Hommalaiset seilatkoot missä seilaavat, on enämpi heidän oma asiansa. Kuhan tässä turistaan ja tallennetaan jotain joskus jos muistaa.

21
Off topic / Re: Yön pimeydessä ja kirkkaassa päivänvalossa
« on: March 17, 2015, 00:37:28 »

Led Zeppelin - Immigrant Song

John Paul Jones oli (ja lienee edelleen) aika napakka basisti. Häh, vai mitä?

Tok tok.

Emigrantvisa kolisee kanssa, nätti laulu. Agentit taisivat versioida tuota niin ikään, tässä kuitenkin varhaisempaa ruåttalaistulkintaa:

Jan Johansson - Emigrantvisa

22
Off topic / Re: Yön pimeydessä ja kirkkaassa päivänvalossa
« on: March 16, 2015, 21:04:51 »
Z-hän kuorsaa! Kiva kun ilmoitat ittestäs.

24
Maahanmuutto ja monikulttuurisuus / Re: Monikulttuurisuus
« on: March 08, 2015, 16:12:43 »
Kenan Malik/Foreign Affairs March/April 2015, Volume  2, Number 94: The Failure of Multiculturalism - Community Versus Society in Europe

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The Failure of Multiculturalism

Community Versus Society in Europe


By Kenan Malik



Thirty years ago, many Europeans saw multiculturalism - the embrace of an inclusive, diverse society - as an answer to Europe’s social problems. Today, a growing number consider it to be a cause of them. That perception has led some mainstream politicians, including British Prime Minister David Cameron and German Chancellor Angela Merkel, to publicly denounce multiculturalism and speak out against its dangers. It has fueled the success of far-right parties and populist politicians across Europe, from the Party for Freedom in the Netherlands to the National Front in France. And in the most extreme cases, it has inspired obscene acts of violence, such as Anders Behring Breivik’s homicidal rampage on the Norwegian island of Utoya in July 2011.

How did this transformation come about? According to multiculturalism’s critics, Europe has allowed excessive immigration without demanding enough integration—a mismatch that has eroded social cohesion, undermined national identities, and degraded public trust. Multiculturalism’s proponents, on the other hand, counter that the problem is not too much diversity but too much racism.


But the truth about multiculturalism is far more complex than either side will allow, and the debate about it has often devolved into sophistry. Multiculturalism has become a proxy for other social and political issues: immigration, identity, political disenchantment, working-class decline. Different countries, moreover, have followed distinct paths. The United Kingdom has sought to give various ethnic communities an equal stake in the political system. Germany has encouraged immigrants to pursue separate lives in lieu of granting them citizenship. And France has rejected multicultural policies in favor of assimilationist ones. The specific outcomes have also varied: in the United Kingdom, there has been communal violence; in Germany, Turkish communities have drifted further from mainstream society; and in France, the relationship between the authorities and North African communities has become highly charged. But everywhere, the overarching consequences have been the same: fragmented societies, alienated minorities, and resentful citizenries.


As a political tool, multiculturalism has functioned as not merely a response to diversity but also a means of constraining it. And that insight reveals a paradox. Multicultural policies accept as a given that societies are diverse, yet they implicitly assume that such diversity ends at the edges of minority communities. They seek to institutionalize diversity by putting people into ethnic and cultural boxes—into a singular, homogeneous Muslim community, for example—and defining their needs and rights accordingly. Such policies, in other words, have helped create the very divisions they were meant to manage.


THE DIVERSITY MYTH

Untangling the many strands of the multiculturalism debate requires understanding the concept itself. The term “multicultural” has come to define both a society that is particularly diverse, usually as a result of immigration, and the policies necessary to manage such a society. It thus embodies both a description of society and a prescription for dealing with it. Conflating the two—perceived problem with supposed solution—has tightened the knot at the heart of the debate. Unpicking that knot requires a careful evaluation of each.


Both proponents and critics of multiculturalism broadly accept the premise that mass immigration has transformed European societies by making them more diverse. To a certain extent, this seems self-evidently true. Today, Germany is the world’s second most popular immigrant destination, after the United States. In 2013, more than ten million people, or just over 12 percent of the population, were born abroad. In Austria, that figure was 16 percent; in Sweden, 15 percent; and in France and the United Kingdom, around 12 percent. From a historical perspective, however, the claim that these countries are more plural than ever is not as straightforward as it may seem. Nineteenth-century European societies may look homogeneous from the vantage point of today, but that is not how those societies saw themselves then.


Consider France. In the years of the French Revolution, for instance, only half the population spoke French and only around 12 percent spoke it correctly. As the historian Eugen Weber showed, modernizing and unifying France in the revolution’s aftermath required a traumatic and lengthy process of cultural, educational, political, and economic self-colonization. That effort created the modern French state and gave birth to notions of French (and European) superiority over non-European cultures. But it also reinforced a sense of how socially and culturally disparate most of the population still was. In an address to the Medico-Psychological Society of Paris in 1857, the Christian socialist Philippe Buchez wondered how it could happen that “within a population such as ours, races may form—not merely one, but several races—so miserable, inferior and bastardised that they may be classed as below the most inferior savage races, for their inferiority is sometimes beyond cure.” The “races” that caused Buchez such anxiety were not immigrants from Africa or Asia but the rural poor in France.


In the Victorian era, many Britons, too, viewed the urban working class and the rural poor as the other. A vignette of working-class life in East London’s Bethnal Green, appearing in an 1864 edition of The Saturday Review, a well-read liberal magazine of the era, was typical of Victorian middle-class attitudes. “The Bethnal Green poor,” the story explained, were “a caste apart, a race of whom we know nothing, whose lives are of quite different complexion from ours, persons with whom we have no point of contact.” Much the same was true, the article suggested, of “the great mass of the agricultural poor.” Although the distinctions between slaves and masters were considered more “glaring” than those separating the moneyed and the poor, they offered “a very fair parallel”; indeed, the differences were so profound that they prevented “anything like association or companionship.”


Today, Bethnal Green represents the heart of the Bangladeshi community in East London. Many white Britons see its inhabitants as the new Bethnal Green poor, culturally and racially distinct from themselves. Yet only those on the political fringes would compare the differences between white Britons and their Bangladeshi neighbors with those of masters and slaves. The social and cultural differences between a Victorian gentleman or factory owner, on the one hand, and a farm hand or a machinist, on the other, were in reality much greater than those between a white resident and a resident of Bangladeshi origin are today. However much they may view each other as different, a 16-year-old of Bangladeshi origin living in Bethnal Green and a white 16-year-old probably wear the same clothes, listen to the same music, and follow the same soccer club. The shopping mall, the sports field, and the Internet bind them together, creating a set of experiences and cultural practices more common than any others in the past.


A similar historical amnesia plagues discussions surrounding immigration. Many critics of multiculturalism suggest that immigration to Europe today is unlike that seen in previous times. In his book Reflections on the Revolution in Europe, the journalist Christopher Caldwell suggests that prior to World War II, immigrants to European countries came almost exclusively from the continent and therefore assimilated easily. “Using the word immigration to describe intra-European movements,” Caldwell argues, “makes only slightly more sense than describing a New Yorker as an ‘immigrant’ to California.” According to Caldwell, prewar immigration between European nations differed from postwar immigration from outside Europe because “immigration from neighboring countries does not provoke the most worrisome immigration questions, such as ‘How well will they fit in?’ ‘Is assimilation what they want?’ and, most of all, ‘Where are their true loyalties?’”


Yet these very questions greeted European immigrants in the prewar years. As the scholar Max Silverman has written, the notion that France assimilated immigrants from elsewhere in Europe with ease before World War II is a “retrospective illusion.” And much the same is true of the United Kingdom. In 1903, witnesses to the Royal Commission on Alien Immigration expressed fears that newcomers to the United Kingdom would be inclined to live “according to their traditions, usages and customs.” There were also concerns, as the newspaper editor J. L. Silver put it, that “the debilitated sickly and vicious products of Europe” could be “grafted onto the English stock.” The country’s first immigration law, the 1905 Aliens Act, was designed principally to stem the flow of European Jews. Without such a law, then Prime Minister Arthur Balfour argued at the time, British “nationality would not be the same and would not be the nationality we should desire to be our heirs through the ages yet to come.” The echoes of contemporary anxieties are unmistakable.


RACE TO THE TOP

Whether contemporary Europe really is more plural than it was in the nineteenth century remains subject to debate, but the fact that Europeans perceive it to be more diverse is unquestionable. This owes in large part to changes in how people define social differences. A century and a half ago, class was a far more important frame for understanding social interactions. However difficult it is to conceive of now, many at the time saw racial distinctions in terms of differences not in skin color but in class or social standing. Most nineteenth-century thinkers were concerned not with the strangers who crossed their countries’ borders but with those who inhabited the dark spaces within them.


Over the past few decades, however, class has diminished in importance in Europe, both as a political category and as a marker of social identity. At the same time, culture has become an increasingly central medium through which people perceive social differences. The shift reflects broader trends. The ideological divides that characterized politics for much of the past 200 years have receded, and the old distinctions between left and right have become less meaningful. As the working classes have lost economic and political power, labor organizations and collectivistic ideologies have declined. The market, meanwhile, has expanded into almost every nook and cranny of social life. And institutions that traditionally brought disparate individuals together, from trade unions to the church, have faded from public life.


As a result, Europeans have begun to see themselves and their social affiliations in a different way. Increasingly, they define social solidarity not in political terms but rather in terms of ethnicity, culture, or faith. And they are concerned less with determining the kind of society they want to create than with defining the community to which they belong. These two matters are, of course, intimately related, and any sense of social identity must take both into account. But as the ideological spectrum has narrowed and as the mechanisms for change have eroded, the politics of ideology have given way to the politics of identity. It is against this background that Europeans have come to view their homelands as particularly, even impossibly, diverse—and have formulated ways of responding.


UNDER MY UMBRELLA


In describing contemporary European societies as exceptionally diverse, multiculturalism is clearly flawed. What, then, of multiculturalism’s prescription for managing that supposed diversity? Over the past three decades, many European nations have adopted multicultural policies, but they have done so in distinct ways. Comparing just two of these histories, that of the United Kingdom and that of Germany, and understanding what they have in common, reveals much about multiculturalism itself.


One of the most prevalent myths in European politics is that governments adopted multicultural policies because minorities wanted to assert their differences. Although questions about cultural assimilation have certainly engrossed political elites, they have not, until relatively recently, preoccupied immigrants themselves. When large numbers of immigrants from the Caribbean, India, and Pakistan arrived in the United Kingdom during the late 1940s and 1950s to fill labor shortages, British officials feared that they might undermine the country’s sense of identity. As a government report warned in 1953, “A large coloured community as a noticeable feature of our social life would weaken . . . the concept of England or Britain to which people of British stock throughout the Commonwealth are attached.”


The immigrants brought with them traditions and mores from their homelands, of which they were often very proud. But they were rarely preoccupied with preserving their cultural differences, nor did they generally consider culture to be a political issue. What troubled them was not a desire to be treated differently but the fact that they were treated differently. Racism and inequality, not religion and ethnicity, constituted their key concerns. In the following decades, a new generation of black and Asian activists, forming groups such as the Asian Youth Movements and the Race Today Collective, acted on those grievances, organizing strikes and protests challenging workplace discrimination, deportations, and police brutality. These efforts came to explosive climax in a series of riots that tore through the United Kingdom’s inner cities in the late 1970s and early 1980s.


At that point, British authorities recognized that unless minority communities were given a political stake in the system, tensions would continue to threaten urban stability. It was in this context that multicultural policies emerged. The state, at both the national and the local level, pioneered a new strategy of drawing black and Asian communities into the mainstream political process by designating specific organizations or community leaders to represent their interests. At its heart, the approach redefined the concepts of racism and equality. Racism now meant not simply the denial of equal rights but also the denial of the right to be different. And equality no longer entailed possessing rights that transcended race, ethnicity, culture, and faith; it meant asserting different rights because of them.


Consider the case of Birmingham, the United Kingdom’s second most populous city. In 1985, the city’s Handsworth area was engulfed by riots sparked by 
a simmering resentment of poverty, joblessness, and, in particular, police harassment. Two people died and dozens were injured in the violence. In the aftermath of the unrest, the city council attempted to engage minorities by creating nine so-called umbrella groups—organizations that were supposed to advocate for their members on matters of city policy. These committees decided on the needs of each community, how and to whom resources should be disbursed, and how political power should be distributed. They effectively became surrogate voices for ethnically defined fiefdoms.


The city council had hoped to draw minorities into the democratic process, but the groups struggled to define their individual and collective mandates. Some of them, such as the African and Caribbean People’s Movement, represented an ethnic group, whereas others, such as the Council of Black-Led Churches, were also religious. Diversity among the groups was matched by diversity within them; not all the people supposedly represented by the Bangladeshi Islamic Projects Consultative Committee, for example, were equally devout. Yet the city council’s plan effectively assigned every member of a minority to a discrete community, defined each group’s needs as a whole, and set the various organizations in competition with one another for city resources. And anyone who fell outside these defined communities was effectively excluded from the multicultural process altogether.


The problem with Birmingham’s policies, observed Joy Warmington, director of what was then the Birmingham Race Action Partnership (now BRAP), a charitable organization working to reduce inequality, in 2005, is that they “have tended to emphasize ethnicity as a key to entitlement. It’s become accepted as good practice to allocate resources on ethnic or faith lines. So rather than thinking of meeting people’s needs or about distributing resources equitably, organizations are forced to think about the distribution of ethnicity.” The consequences were catastrophic. In October 2005, two decades after the original Handsworth riots, violence broke out in the neighboring area of Lozells. In 1985, Asian, black, and white demonstrators had taken to the streets together to protest poverty, unemployment, and police harassment. In 2005, the fighting was between blacks and Asians. The spark had been a rumor, never substantiated, that a group of Asian men had raped a Jamaican girl. The fighting lasted a full weekend.


Why did two communities that had fought side by side in 1985 fight against each other in 2005? The answer lies largely in Birmingham’s multicultural policies. As one academic study of Birmingham’s policies observed, “The model of engagement through Umbrella Groups tended to result in competition between BME [black and minority ethnic] communities for resources. Rather than prioritizing needs and cross-community working, the different Umbrella Groups generally attempted to maximize their own interests.”


The council’s policies, in other words, not only bound people more closely to particular identities but also led them to fear and resent other groups as competitors for power and influence. An individual’s identity had to be affirmed as distinctive from the identities of those from other groups: being Bangladeshi in Birmingham also meant being not Irish, not Sikh, and not African Caribbean. The consequence was the creation of what the economist Amartya Sen has termed “plural monoculturalism”—a policy driven by the myth that society is made up of distinct, uniform cultures that dance around one another. The result in Birmingham was to entrench divisions between black and Asian communities to such an extent that those divisions broke out into communal violence.


SEPARATE AND UNEQUAL

Germany’s road to multiculturalism was different from the United Kingdom’s, although the starting point was the same. Like many countries in western Europe, Germany faced an immense labor shortage in the years following World War II and actively recruited foreign workers. Unlike in the United Kingdom, the new workers came not from former colonies but from the countries around the Mediterranean: first from Greece, Italy, and Spain, and then from Turkey. They also came not as immigrants, still less as potential citizens, but as so-called Gastarbeiter (guest workers), who were expected to return to their countries of origin when the German economy no longer required their services.


Over time, however, these guests, the vast majority of them Turks, went from being a temporary necessity to a permanent presence. This was partly because Germany continued to rely on their labor and partly because the immigrants, and more so their children, came to see Germany as their home. But the German state continued to treat them as outsiders and refuse them citizenship.


German citizenship was, until recently, based on the principle of jus sanguinis, by which one can acquire citizenship only if one’s parents were citizens. The principle excluded from citizenship not just first-generation immigrants but also their German-born children. In 1999, a new nationality law made it easier for immigrants to acquire citizenship. Yet most Turks remain outsiders. Out of the three million people of Turkish origin in Germany today, only some 800,000 have managed to acquire citizenship.


Instead of welcoming immigrants as equals, German politicians dealt with the so-called Turkish problem through a policy of multiculturalism. Beginning in the 1980s, the government encouraged Turkish immigrants to preserve their own culture, language, and lifestyle. The policy did not represent a respect for diversity so much as a convenient means of avoiding the issue of how to create a common, inclusive culture. And its main consequence was the emergence of parallel communities.


First-generation immigrants were broadly secular, and those who were religious were rarely hard-line in their beliefs and practices. Today, almost one-third of adult Turks in Germany regularly attend mosque, a higher rate than among other Turkish communities in western Europe and even in many parts of Turkey. Similarly, first-generation Turkish women almost never wore headscarves; now many 
of their daughters do. Without any incentive to participate in the national community, many Turks don’t bother learning German.


At the same time that Germany’s multicultural policies have encouraged Turks to approach German society with indifference, they have led Germans to view Turkish culture with increasing antagonism. Popular notions of what it means to be German have come to be defined partly in opposition to the perceived values and beliefs of the excluded immigrant community. A 2011 survey conducted by the French polling firm Ifop showed that 40 percent of Germans considered the presence of Islamic communities “a threat” to their national identity. Another poll, conducted by Germany’s Bielefeld University in 2005, suggested that three out of four Germans believed that Muslim culture did not fit into the Western world. Anti-Muslim groups, such as Patriotic Europeans Against the Islamization of the West, or PEGIDA, are on the rise, and anti-immigration protests held in cities across the country this past January were some of the largest in recent memory. Many German politicians, including Merkel, have taken a strong stance against the anti-Muslim movement. But the damage has already been done.


SUBCONTRACTING POLICY

In both the United Kingdom and Germany, governments failed to recognize the complexity, elasticity, and sheer contrariness of identity. Personal identities emerge out of relationships—not merely personal ties but social ones, too—and constantly mutate.


Take Muslim identity. Today there is much talk in European countries of a so-called Muslim community—of its views, its needs, its aspirations. But the concept is entirely new. Until the late 1980s, few Muslim immigrants to Europe thought of themselves as belonging to any such thing. That wasn’t because they were few in number. In France, Germany, and the United Kingdom, for example, there were already large and well-established South Asian, North African, and Turkish immigrant communities by the 1980s.


The first generation of North African immigrants to France was broadly secular, as was the first generation of Turkish immigrants to Germany. By contrast, the first wave of South Asian immigrants to arrive in the United Kingdom after World War II was more religious. Yet even they thought of themselves not as Muslims first but 
as Punjabis or Bengalis or Sylhetis. Although pious, they wore their faith lightly. Many men drank alcohol. Few women wore a hijab, let alone a burqa 
or a niqab (a full-faced veil). Most attended mosque only occasionally. Islam was not, in their eyes, an all-encompassing philosophy. Their faith defined their relationship with God, not a sacrosanct public identity.


Members of the second generation of Britons with Muslim backgrounds were even less likely to identify with their religion. The same went for those whose parents were Hindu or Sikh. Religious organizations were barely visible within minority communities. The organizations that bound immigrants together were primarily secular and often political; in the United Kingdom, for example, such groups included the Asian Youth Movements, which fought racism, and the Indian Workers’ Association, which focused on labor rights.


Only in the late 1980s did the question of cultural differences become important. A generation that, ironically, is far more integrated and westernized than the first turned out to be the more insistent on maintaining its alleged distinctiveness. The reasons for this shift are complex. Partly they lie in a tangled web of larger social, political, and economic changes over the past half century, such as the collapse of the left and the rise of identity politics. Partly they lie in international developments, such as the Iranian Revolution of 1979 and the Bosnian war of the early 1990s, both of which played an important role in fostering a more heightened sense of Muslim identity in Europe. And partly they lie in European multicultural policies.


Group identities are not natural categories; they arise out of social interaction. But as cultural categories received official sanction, certain identities came to seem fixed. In channeling financial resources and political power through ethnically based organizations, governments provided a form of authenticity to certain ethnic identities and denied it to others.


Multicultural policies seek to build a bridge between the state and minority communities by looking to particular community organizations and leaders to act as intermediaries. Rather than appeal to Muslims and other minorities as citizens, politicians tend to assume minorities’ true loyalty is to their faith or ethnic community. In effect, governments subcontract their political responsibilities out to minority leaders.


Such leaders are, however, rarely representative of their communities. That shouldn’t be a surprise: no single group or set of leaders could represent a single white community. Some white Europeans are conservative, many are liberal, and still others are communist or neofascist. And most whites would not see their interests as specifically “white.” A white Christian probably has more in common with a black Christian than with a white atheist; a white socialist would likely think more like a Bangladeshi socialist than like a white conservative; and so on. Muslims and Sikhs and African Caribbeans are no different; herein rests the fundamental flaw of multiculturalism.


ASSIMILATE NOW

France’s policy of assimilationism is generally regarded as the polar opposite of multiculturalism, which French politicians have proudly rejected. Unlike the rest of Europe, they insist, France treats every individual as a citizen rather than as a member of a particular racial, ethnic, or cultural group. In reality, however, France is as socially divided as Germany or the United Kingdom, and in a strikingly similar way.


Questions surrounding French social policy, and the country’s social divisions, came sharply into focus in Paris this past January, when Islamist gunmen shot 12 people dead at the offices of the satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo and four Jews in a kosher supermarket. French politicians had long held multicultural policies responsible for nurturing homegrown jihadists in the United Kingdom. Now they had to answer for why such terrorists had been nurtured in assimilationist France, too.


It is often claimed that there are some five million Muslims in France—supposedly the largest Muslim community in western Europe. In fact, those of North African origin in France, who have been lumped into this group, have never constituted a single community, still less a religious one. Immigrants from North Africa have been broadly secular and indeed often hostile to religion. A 2006 report by the Pew Research Center showed that 42 percent of Muslims in France identified themselves as French citizens first—more than in Germany, Spain, or the United Kingdom. A growing number have, in recent years, become attracted to Islam. But even today, according to a 2011 study by Ifop, 
only 40 percent identify themselves 
as observant Muslims, and only 
25 percent attend Friday prayers.


Those of North African origin in France are also often described as immigrants. In fact, the majority are second-generation French citizens, born in France and as French as any voter for the National Front. The use of the terms “Muslim” and “immigrant” as labels for French citizens of North African origin is not, however, accidental. It is part of the process whereby the state casts such citizens as the other—as not really part of the French nation.


As in the United Kingdom, in France, the first generation of post–World War II immigrants faced considerable racism, and the second generation was far less willing to accept social discrimination, unemployment, and police brutality. They organized, largely through secular organizations, and took to the streets, often in violent protest. The riots that swept through French cities in the fall of 2005 exposed the fractures in French society as clearly as had those that engulfed British cities two decades earlier.


During the 1970s and early 1980s, the French authorities took a relatively laid-back stance on multiculturalism, generally tolerating cultural and religious differences at a time when few within minority communities expressed their identities in cultural or religious terms. French President François Mitterrand even coined the slogan le droit à la différence (the right to difference). As tensions within North African communities became more open and as the National Front emerged as a political force, Paris abandoned that approach for a more hard-line position. The riots in 2005, and the disaffection they expressed, were presented less as a response to racism than as an expression of Islam’s growing threat to France. In principle, the French authorities rejected the multicultural approach of the United Kingdom. In practice, however, they treated North African immigrants and their descendents in a “multicultural” way—as a single community, primarily a Muslim one. Concerns about Islam came to reflect larger anxieties about the crisis of values and identity that now beset France.


A much-discussed 2013 poll conducted by the French research group Ipsos and the Centre de Recherches Politiques, or CEVIPOF, at the Institut d’Études Politiques de Paris (known as Sciences Po) found that 50 percent of the French population believed that the economic and cultural “decline” of their country was “inevitable.” Fewer than one-third thought that French democracy worked well, and 62 percent considered “most” politicians to 
be “corrupt.” The pollsters’ report described a fractured France, divided along tribal lines, alienated from mainstream politics, distrustful of national leaders, and resentful of Muslims. The main sentiment driving French society, the report concluded, was “fear.”


In the United Kingdom, multicultural policies were at once an acknowledgment of a more fractured society and the source of one. In France, assimilationist policies have, paradoxically, had the same result. Faced with a distrustful and disengaged public, politicians have attempted to reassert a common French identity. But unable to define clearly the ideas and values that characterize the country, they have done so primarily by sowing hostility toward symbols of alienness—by banning the burqa, for example, in 2010.


Instead of accepting North Africans as full citizens, French policy has tended to ignore the racism and discrimination they have faced. Many in France view its citizens of North African origin not as French but as Arab or Muslim. But second-generation North Africans are often as estranged from their parents’ culture and mores—and from mainstream Islam—as they are from wider French society. They are caught not between two cultures, as it is often claimed, but without one. As a consequence, some of them have turned to Islamism, and a few have expressed their inchoate rage through jihadist violence.


At the same time, French assimilationist policies have exacerbated the sense of disengagement felt by traditional working-class communities. The social geographer Christophe Guilluy has coined the phrase “the peripheral France” to describe those people “pushed out by the deindustrialization and gentrification of the urban centers,” who “live away from the economic and decision-making centers, in a state of social non-integration,” and have thus come to “feel excluded.” The peripheral France has emerged mainly as a result of economic and political developments. But like many parts of the country’s North African communities, it has come to see its marginalization through the lens of cultural and ethnic identity. According to the 2013 Ipsos-CEVIPOF poll, seven out of ten people thought there were “too many foreigners in France,” and 74 percent considered Islam to be incompatible with French society. Presenting Islam as a threat 
to French values has not only strengthened culture’s political role but also sharpened popular disenchantment with mainstream politics.


In the past, disaffection, whether within North African or white working-class communities, would have led to direct political action. Today, however, both groups are expressing their grievances through identity politics. In their own ways, racist populism and radical Islamism are each expressions of a similar kind of social disengagement in an era of identity politics.


ANOTHER WAY


Multiculturalism and assimilationism are different policy responses to the same problem: the fracturing of society. And yet both have had the effect of making things worse. It’s time, then, to move beyond the increasingly sterile debate between the two approaches. And that requires making three kinds 
of distinctions.


First, Europe should separate diversity as a lived experience from multiculturalism as a political process. The experience of living in a society made diverse by mass immigration should be welcomed. Attempts to institutionalize such diversity through the formal recognition of cultural differences should be resisted.


Second, Europe should distinguish colorblindness from blindness to racism. The assimilationist resolve to treat everyone equally as citizens, rather than as bearers of specific racial or cultural histories, is valuable. But that does not mean that the state should ignore discrimination against particular groups. Citizenship has no meaning if different classes of citizens are treated differently, whether because of multicultural policies or because of racism.


Finally, Europe should differentiate between peoples and values. Multiculturalists argue that societal diversity erodes the possibility of common values. Similarly, assimilationists suggest that such values are possible only within a more culturally—and, for some, ethnically—homogeneous society. Both regard minority communities as homogeneous wholes, attached to a particular set of cultural traits, faiths, beliefs, and values, rather than as constituent parts of a modern democracy.


The real debate should be not between multiculturalism and assimilationism but between two forms of the former and two forms of the latter. An ideal policy would marry multiculturalism’s embrace of actual diversity, rather than its tendency to institutionalize differences, and assimilationism’s resolve to treat everyone as citizens, rather than its tendency to construct a national identity by characterizing certain groups as alien to the nation. In practice, European countries have done the opposite. They have enacted either multicultural policies that place communities in constricting boxes or assimilationist ones that distance minorities from the mainstream.


Moving forward, Europe must rediscover a progressive sense of universal values, something that the continent’s liberals have largely abandoned, albeit in different ways. On the one hand, there is a section of the left that has combined relativism and multiculturalism, arguing that the very notion of universal values is in some sense racist. On the other, there are those, exemplified by such French assimilationists as the philosopher Bernard-Henri Lévy, who insist on upholding traditional Enlightenment values but who do so in a tribal fashion that presumes a clash of civilizations.


There has also been a guiding assumption throughout Europe that immigration and integration must be managed through state policies and institutions. Yet real integration, whether of immigrants or of indigenous groups, is rarely brought about by the actions of the state; it is shaped primarily by civil society, by the individual bonds that people form with one another, and by the organizations they establish to further their shared political and social interests. It is the erosion of such bonds and institutions that has proved so problematic—that links assimilationist policy failures to multicultural ones and that explains why social disengagement is a feature not simply of immigrant communities but of the wider society, too. To repair the damage that disengagement has done, and to revive a progressive universalism, Europe needs not so much new state policies as a renewal of civil society.






25
Yleinen keskustelu / Re: Yleinen uutiskokoomaketju ja vastaavat
« on: March 04, 2015, 21:25:19 »
Suomen kuvalehti, 4.3.2015

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Tähän meni Suomelta kahdeksan vuotta – mikä kesti?




YK:n vammaissopimuksen ratifiointi on nyt valmis – tai ainakin melkein.


Elina Järvinen
4.3.2015 15:00
 
Viime päivinä on kummasteltu tätä:

Suomi lähettää Pertti Kurikan Nimipäivät euroviisuihin ja ottaa tyytyväisenä vastaan positiivista mediahuomiota: miten suvaitsevainen maa.

Samalla Suomi kuitenkin kuuluu niiden harvojen YK-maiden joukkoon, jotka eivät ole ratifioineet vammaisten henkilöiden oikeuksista tehtyä yleissopimusta. Samaan ryhmään kuuluvat muun muassa Bahama, Bhutan ja Mikronesia. Mutta myös sellaiset maat kuin Hollanti, Irlanti ja Yhdysvallat.

YK hyväksyi sopimuksen vammaisten oikeuksista joulukuussa 2006. Sen tarkoitus on taata vammaisille ”täysimääräisesti ja yhdenvertaisesti kaikki ihmisoikeudet” ja edistää heidän ihmisarvonsa kunnioittamista.

Suomi allekirjoitti sopimuksen maaliskuussa 2007, mutta ratifiointipäätös tuli vasta nyt, 3. maaliskuuta 2015, kun eduskunta hyväksyi sen.

 

Mihin kului kahdeksan vuotta, lainsäädäntösihteeri Satu Sistonen ulkoministeriöstä?

”Asiat ovat menneet koko ajan eteenpäin. Suomessa pyritään aina siihen, että lainsäädäntö on kunnossa ennen kuin sopimuksiin sitoudutaan. Että pystytään aidosti toteuttamaan ne oikeudet.”

Miten asiat ovat menneet eteenpäin?

”Jo vuonna 2011 tulivat voimaan ensimmäiset lainsäädäntömuutokset, jotka arvioitiin tarpeellisiksi. Ne koskivat kotikuntalakia ja sosiaalihuoltolakia, ja niillä parannettiin vammaisten henkilöiden mahdollisuuksia valita kotikuntansa.”

”Vuonna 2011 ulkoministeriössä perustettiin myös työryhmä, joka kävi sopimuksen läpi ja tarkisti, mitä vielä pitää tehdä, jotta se voidaan ratifioida. Työryhmä jätti mietintönsä vuoden 2014 alussa, ja se lähti laajalle lausuntokierrokselle.”

Eduskunta hyväksyi nyt sopimuksen. Onko ratifiointi tällä selvä?

”Tässä on nyanssi, joka on poikkeuksellinen. Eduskunnan päätökseen liittyy lausuma, joka edellyttää vielä yhtä lainsäädäntömuutosta: itsemääräämisoikeutta koskevaa lainsäädäntöä tulee muuttaa. Tähän lainsäädäntöön liittyy vammaisten henkilöiden itsemääräämisoikeuden rajoittaminen tietyissä erityistilanteissa, kuten vaikka ovien sulkeminen.”

”Ratifiointi voidaan tehdä heti kun lainsäädäntömuutos on tehty. Eli käytännössä odotamme tätä.”

Miten ratifiointi käytännössä tapahtuu?

”Itse ratifioimisesta päättää viime vaiheessa tasavallan presidentti. Asiasta laaditaan ratifioimiskirja. Se on paperi, jossa lukee, että Suomi sitoutuu tähän sopimukseen. Ja se viedään ihan fyysisesti YK:n pääsihteerille New Yorkiin.”

26
Yleinen keskustelu / Re: Yleinen uutiskokoomaketju ja vastaavat
« on: March 04, 2015, 21:17:54 »
3.3.2015: Eduskunta hyväksyi vammaisten henkilöiden oikeuksia koskevan yleissopimuksen

Quote

Eduskunta hyväksyi vammaisten henkilöiden oikeuksia koskevan yleissopimuksen


Eduskunta on hyväksynyt vammaisten henkilöiden oikeuksia koskevan YK:n yleissopimuksen. Yleissopimuksen tarkoituksena on taata vammaisille henkilöille täysimääräisesti ja yhdenvertaisesti kaikki ihmisoikeudet ja perusvapaudet, edistää ja suojella näitä oikeuksia ja vapauksia sekä edistää vammaisten henkilöiden ihmisarvon kunnioittamista. Syrjintäkielto sekä esteettömyys ja saavutettavuus ovat yleissopimuksen johtavia periaatteita.

Yleissopimuksen täytäntöönpanoa varten nimetään kansallinen yhteystaho ja perustetaan kansallinen koordinaatiojärjestelmä. Lisäksi nimetään itsenäinen ja riippumaton rakenne, jonka avulla edistetään, suojellaan ja seurataan yleissopimuksen kansallista täytäntöönpanoa.

Yleissopimuksen täytäntöönpanoa valvotaan kansainvälisesti sopimuspuolten vammaisten henkilöiden oikeuksien komitealle määräajoin toimittamin raportein. Tätä valvontaa täydentää valinnainen pöytäkirja, jolla mahdollistetaan yksittäisille henkilöille samoin kuin henkilöryhmille oikeus tehdä vammaisten henkilöiden oikeuksien komitealle valituksia väitetyistä yleissopimuksella tunnustettujen oikeuksien loukkauksista. Valinnaisessa pöytäkirjassa määrätään myös komitean aloitteesta tapahtuvasta vakavien ja järjestelmällisten loukkausten tutkintamenettelystä.

Yleissopimus ja valinnainen pöytäkirja ovat tulleet kansainvälisesti voimaan toukokuussa 2008. Suomen osalta ne tulevat voimaan 30. päivänä ratifioimiskirjan tallettamisesta. Voimaansaattamisen edellyttämät lait on tarkoitettu tuleviksi voimaan samanaikaisesti, kun yleissopimus ja sen valinnainen pöytäkirja tulevat Suomen osalta voimaan.

27
Yleinen keskustelu / Re: Yleinen uutiskokoomaketju ja vastaavat
« on: March 04, 2015, 19:04:26 »
No jopas nyt on Kanttuvei pöyristynyt. Kamalaa. Jospa tuosta kuitenkin tokenisi hän.

28
4.3.2015: EVAn Arvo- ja asennetutkimus 2015: Ken on maassa jämäkin?

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EVAn Arvo- ja asennetutkimus 2015: Ken on maassa jämäkin?


Keskiviikkona, 4.3.2015  Uutiset

Kansa hyväksyy seuraavaksi pääministeriksi mieluiten Juha Sipilän. Tulevan hallituksen tehtävistä suomalaiset pitävät ylivoimaisesti tärkeimpänä työllisyyden parantamista ja valtion velkaantumisen pysäyttämistä. Tasavalta huutaa muutosta. EVAn vuoden 215 Arvo- ja asennetutkimus kertoo suomalaisten käsityksen kaivatun muutoksen suunnasta. Se paljastaa, mitä kansa odottaa seuraavalta pääministeriltä ja hallitukselta.

”Tutkimuksen mukaan suomalaiset haluavat kansainvälisen ja edustavan pääministerin, joka on kansaa eheyttävä talouden osaaja. Halutaan myös, että hän ymmärtää arkea ja puolustaa heikkoja. Yhdessä paketissa näitä ominaisuuksia ei näyttäisi olevan tarjolla”, toteaa EVAn tutkimuspäällikkö Ilkka Haavisto.

Alexander Stubb saa kansalta erinomaisen arvosanan ulko- ja turvallisuuspolitiikan osaamisesta ja edustavuudesta. Antti Rinteen vahvuutena suomalaiset näkevät kyvyn ymmärtää arkea ja vähäosaisia. Timo Soini jakaa selkeimmin käsitykset. Hänet kuitenkin arvioidaan joukon parhaaksi muun muassa isänmaallisuudessa, riippumattomuudessa ja heikkojen puolustamisessa.

Tutkimuksesta selviää, että yhdeksän kymmenestä (92 %) suomalaisesta nostaisi työllisyyden parantamisen painoarvoa seuraavan hallituksen toiminnassa verrattuna nykyiseen. Suomalaiset ovat myös aiempaa valmiimpia lisäämään tehdyn työn määrää kovinkin keinoin. Neljännes (24 %) suomalaisista pitää viikoittaisen työajan pidentämistä hyvänä keinona työllisyyden lisäämiseksi. Vuonna 2011 tähän oli valmis vain 13 prosenttia kansasta.

Tutkimus kertoo, että suomalaisten kriisitietoisuus vaikeasta taloustilanteesta on edelleen kasvanut ja omistakin eduista ollaan valmiita tinkimään. Valtion velan pysäyttämiselle vaatii suurempaa huomiota 80 prosenttia kansasta ja 47 prosenttia haluaa valtionvelan kuriin, vaikka se tarkoittaisi etujen ja hyvinvoinnin leikkaamista.

EVAn tämän vuoden Arvo- ja asennetutkimus selvitti suomalaisten mielipiteitä politiikan ja työelämän lisäksi myös veroista sekä ulko- ja turvallisuuspolitiikasta.

Tulokset osoittavat, että suomalaisia vaivaa veroväsymys. Verotuksen jatkuvan kiristämisen sijaan 79 prosenttia kansasta vaatii julkisen talouden toiminnan tehostamista.

Ulkopolitiikan saralla suomalaiset ovat huolestuneita Venäjän kehityksestä sekä terrorismista.

Ken on maassa pääministerikin?

29
Iltasanomat, 4.3.2015: EVAn raportti: Venäjä on Suomelle sotilaallinen uhka

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EVAn raportti: Venäjä on Suomelle sotilaallinen uhka


Julkaistu: 4.3.2015 9:58

Venäjän sotilaallista uhkaa korostavat rkp:n ja perussuomalaisten kannattajat. Venäjän uhka muokannut suomalaisten Nato-asenteita selvästi myönteisempään suuntaan.
Suomalaiset ovat erittäin huolestuneita Venäjän kehityksestä. EVAn tänään julkistaman arvo- ja asenneraportin mukaan peräti 83 prosenttia vastaajista pitää itänaapuria epävakaana ja arvaamattomana.

Sotilaallisena uhkana Venäjää pitää joka toinen kyselyyn vastanneista. Uhkaluku on kasvanut liki 20 prosenttiyksikköä vuodesta 2005, raportissa todetaan.

Venäjän uhka jakaa jossain määrin mielipiteitä puoluekannan mukaan. Venäjän sotilaallista uhkaa korostavat eniten rkp:n (66 %) ja perussuomalaisten kannattajat (64 %). Vähiten Venäjä huolettaa vasemmistoliiton (29 %) ja vihreiden (37 %) äänestäjiä.

Suomalaisten usko Venäjään on muutenkin kovalla koetuksella. Nopeasti kehittyvänä ja vaurastuvana maana Venäjää pitää enää 14 prosenttia vastanneista ja kehittyvänä demokratiana vielä pienempi osa, 6 prosenttia vastaajista.

Naapurimaan huonosta kehityksestä ei kuitenkaan haluta syyllistää Venäjän kansaa. Päinvastoin aiempaa useampi (54 %) pitää venäläisiä ihmisinä miellyttävinä.


Nato-jäsenyyden suosio kasvanut selvästi
Kyselyn mukaan suomalaiset ovat perinteisesti asennoituneet sotilaalliseen liittoutumattomuuteen torjuvasti. Asenteissa on kuitenkin viimeisen vuoden aikana tapahtunut näkyvä, kahdeksan prosenttiyksikön siirtymä kohti Nato-jäsenyydelle myönteisempiä kantoja.

– Tärkeintä selitystä Nato-kantojen muutokselle ei tarvinne arvuutella. Se löytyy epäilemättä Venäjän viimeaikaisista toimista ja siitä, että joka toinen pitää Venäjää nykyisin merkittävänä sotilaallisena uhka, raportin turvallisuusosion kirjoittaja Ilkka Haavisto sanoo.

Tällä hetkellä suomalaisista 26 prosenttia suhtautuu myönteisesti mahdolliseen Nato-jäsenyyteen, neljä kymmenestä kielteisesti. Vastustajilla on siten selvä enemmistö, ja raportissa todetaankin, ettei suomalaisia voi tämän jälkeenkään luonnehtia erityisen Nato-henkisiksi.

Pidemmällä aikavälillä suomalaisten voimakas Nato-vastaisuus on kuitenkin vähentynyt selvästi. Vuodesta 2012 lähtien Nato-jäsenyyteen kielteisesti suhtautuvien osuus on vähentynyt yhteensä 22 prosenttiyksikköä.

– Kaiken kaikkiaan tämänkertainen tulos on Nato-myönteisin sitten vuoden 1998, Haavisto tiivistää.

Nato-kannastaan epävarmojen osuus on suuri, 32 prosenttia.

Myönteisimmin Nato-jäsenyyten suhtautuvat kokoomuksen (68 %), rkp:n (47 %) ja perussuomalaisten (31 %) kannattajat. Sen sijaan Sdp:n kannattajista vain 13 prosenttia ja keskustan kannattajista 18 prosenttia suhtautuu myönteisesti mahdolliseen Nato-jäsenyyteen.

Venäjän ohella suomalaisia huolettaa terrorismi. Kaksi kolmesta katsoo, että terrorismin uhka on kasvanut Suomessakin,

Mika Koskinen

30
Maahanmuutto ja monikulttuurisuus / Re: Norjan terrori-iskut
« on: March 03, 2015, 07:49:13 »
The Times, 3.3.2015:

Anders Breivik: Did Norway’s unrepentant mass murderer have an unhealthy relationship with his mother?

Quote

Anders Breivik: Did Norway’s unrepentant mass murderer have an unhealthy relationship with his mother?


Anders Breivik with a woman believed to be his sister Elisabeth and his mother Wenche Behring

Stefanie Marsh 

Published at 12:01AM, March 3 2015


Ila prison is a desolate 1930s structure that squats just outside Oslo, untypical in its careworn appearance of the affluent country in which it was built. Somewhere in Ila’s solitary wing, a not quite middle-aged blond man with a receding hairline, a high, reedy voice and a nose that, as a teenager, he had for reasons of vanity, reconstructed by a surgeon’s knife, is planning his great future. He thinks of himself as one of the world’s most brilliant intellectuals.

He has a manner that unsettles the screws here — as a result, their turnover rate is high. “Pleasant,” is how anyone who actually remembers having met the strikingly unmemorable Anders Breivik describes him: the guards find themselves telling him trivial, yet intimate things about themselves. “How was your holiday?” he will inquire politely if they’ve been away for a few days. Then, more unsettlingly, “And your children?” It is often at this point that a guard will start thinking about applying for a transfer.

Four years ago, aged 32, Breivik murdered 77 people – most of them children, many shot in the face at close range, trapped on the small island of Utoya. He shot them dead in the water when they tried to swim to safety and winkled them out of their hiding places behind rocks or pieces of furniture. Dressed as a police officer, he promised to help them — then out would come his semi-automatic Glock 17. He had wanted to fill his bullets with liquid nicotine ordered from China, which would have made death more painful but reluctantly abandoned this special touch because he was worried about contravening the Geneva Convention.

One might hope that, serving his 21- year sentence in solitary, Breivik has nightmares about what he has done, but this is not so. He prides himself on the murderous events of July 22, a pre-emptive dismantling, as he sees it, of the next generation of left-wing enemies of Norway: feminists, “cultural Marxists”, multiculturists and so on. The idea had come to him a year earlier, in the squalid little spare room — the “fart room”, he called it — of the apartment he shared with his mother.

The car bomb he detonated beneath government buildings in Oslo and the shooting dead later that day, on Utoya, of 69 mostly teenage members of the youth league of the Norwegian Labour party were, in his opinion, “the most sophisticated and spectacular attack in Europe since the Second World War”. It had been, he told the police, when they arrested him, “the worst day of my life. Unfortunately it was necessary.” He was pretentious and staggeringly grandiose. As if recalling a great historic event from the vantage point of the distant future, he said: “It’s a nightmare that I don’t think you can understand until you’ve carried it out. And I hope you won’t have to experience it, because it was sheer hell. Taking another person’s life.”

Even this small portrait of the still youthful mass killer poses the question of whether or not Breivik is mad. Two sets of forensic psychiatrists interviewed him before his trial. The first pair decided he was a paranoid schizophrenic, therefore, legally, not responsible for his acts. There was an outcry. The replacement psychiatrists came up with a vaguer diagnosis — something about narcissistic personality disorder — but nothing that would see him escape prison for an asylum. Breivik, more than anyone, was relieved that he’d not been written off as a mad man as all his accomplishments would have been for nothing.

The question as to whether this strange, pretentious, robotic man is mad or sane; how he came to be one or the other, or possibly both has finally been pieced together in a very fine book, One of Us: The Story of Anders Breivik and the Massacre in Norway. You may know Åsne Seierstad for her book The Bookseller of Kabul — her work as a journalist usually takes her to the Middle East. Even the cruellest acts make sense, given their context. This book challenges the notion that the events of July 22 came out of nowhere. Even the worst combination of bad genes and bad luck are usually diverted, in the course of a lifetime, from finding expression in an event such as Utoya. Why, in Breivik’s case, were they not?

A rival book by Breivik’s father, Jens Breivik, was published a couple of weeks ago. Its title translates as, “My Guilt”. Does Breivik’s father still love his son, someone asked him in an interview. The question, you realise when reading Seierstad’s account, should have been: did he ever?

Seierstad discovered in Jens a cold man who had difficulty relating to other people, whether they were colleagues in the Norwegian diplomatic service, where he worked, or members of his own family. Anders was 15 years old the last time he saw his father. Sooner or later Jens would lose or terminate contact with all four of his children.

Seierstad also spoke to Anders’ mother, Wenche Behring. The interview took place only three days before Behring’s death from cancer in March 2013, and Behring spoke more openly than ever before, perhaps unintentionally revealing things about her relationship with her son that seem to provide a key to his pathology. Behring had become her son’s prime care-giver after she and Jens divorced, when Anders was just over a year old. Behring was in a psychiatric hospital suffering from a breakdown soon after her son was arrested — she did not appear at his trial. Within weeks of his conviction, in August 2012, she was in a hospital bed with cancer.

In the final years of her life, Behring didn’t have a bad word to say about her son. She described him to friends as a wonderful person best suited to join the Red Cross, helping starving children in Zambia. Yet her attitude towards her son was far more ambivalent when he was a boy. “Some time, after Anders grew up,” says Seierstad, “the power dynamic between the two of them switched.”

When he was still in the womb, Behring half regretted that she had left it too late to abort him. When he was born, she found him defective. As a toddler, she wanted him medicated for tantrums that only she seemed to witness. Mother and son came to the attention of social services. Seierstad quotes extensively from their reports: one or two of them come close to being clairvoyant. They describe Behring as an unstable mother, thought to be suffering from borderline personality disorder, as exemplified by the abrupt vacillations of her feelings towards her son between overt love and disgust. “I wish you were dead,” they heard her say to him. “Anders’s care situation is so precarious,” a child psychiatrist warned about the boy, then three, “that he is at risk of developing more serious psychopathology.”

When, on July 22, 2011, police confronted Behring about what her son had been doing on Utoya, the first thing she said was: “How could he do this to me?” The second was: “It’s almost worse than being lesbian or homosexual. It’s the very worst thing that could happen to a person. What will people say about me?” Seventeen years earlier, a friend of Anders’ had finally spelt out to him what everyone in their circle took to be self-evident: “Anders,” he said gently to his friend, “come out of the closet.” Breivik was already in the process of carving out a narrative about himself that bore little resemblance to reality. He talked eagerly about prostitutes; complained that feminism had ruined women and emasculated men such as himself; listed as his mother’s carer, he had been exempted from military service. He seemed uninterested in women, then suddenly ordered a mail-order bride from Ukraine whom he fell out with and never married. Shortly before the Utoya massacre, Breivik took photographs of himself for the media to use when the story broke. From his diary, we know he had been on a sunbed. The photographs show a tanned, photo-shopped Breivik wearing home-made paramilitary uniforms or in a scuba suit, bearing a rifle. He looks as if he’s on his way to a fancy dress party, a parody of masculinity.

Jens seems to have regarded his son as a letdown too. By the time he cut him off — after Anders was arrested for the second time for vandalism (he’d styled himself a graffiti artist), he had decided he was a lazy, apathetic creature. The last time father and son spoke was on the phone. Anders had made the call. The conversation went nowhere. Anders was 26. The next year his mother persuaded him to move in with her.

I meet Seierstad in Oslo. She lives in a magnificent house on a wide, proud residential street, which happens to flow directly into the street Breivik used to live in as a child: not such a surprising coincidence — barely half a million people live in tiny Oslo. Seierstad gives me the grand tour of Breivik’s three Oslo residences in less than half an hour.

Today the pavements are slippery with ice and snow, but unsullied by the usual slime and detritus of urban street life. “What’s wrong with Norway?” the foreign press demanded to know when the Breivik story broke. Nothing, is the answer; there being nothing typically Norwegian about what Breivik did. To make his one tonne bomb, he took inspiration from Timothy McVeigh. He studied the bomb-making recipes of the Baader-Meinhof gang; its members had discovered that the best way to pulverise fertiliser pellets was by sticking them in a food blender. Breivik bought 12.

“A mother without boundaries,” is how Seierstad describes Behring. We’ve arrived outside a purpose-made residential block on Hoffsveien, a noisy arterial road in Oslo’s Skoyen district. Seierstad points out a corner apartment on the first floor: it’s where Breivik and his mother lived in the five years leading up to Utoya. We stand staring at the building for clues about its former inhabitants. Whoever lives there now has left a pair of crutches on what used to be Behring’s veranda. It’s the kind of apartment complex that appeals to Norwegians of retirement age. Anders would have been one of the only young people around, though rarely seen, so busy was he on his computer, in the fart room, writing his “great book”, so his mother would half boast to her friends. One of the things her son was actually writing was this, in his diary: “My mother was infected with genital herpes by her boyfriend when she was 48. She now shows the intellectual capacity of a ten-year-old.”

The layout of the apartment implies something not quite right about relations between mother and son. There is only one bathroom and, to get to it, Anders would have had to pass through his mother’s bedroom. When he was little, things at home seem to have been more intimate still. In public, Behring, we know from the social workers’ notes, would aggressively discuss her sexual fears and fantasies in inappropriate settings, such as her son’s kindergarten. Seierstad tells me about neighbours of Behring’s during Anders’s childhood who had felt uncomfortable about the number of men coming in and out of her apartment at night. Were they paying her? A woman remembers meeting Behring when she was six. Behring had told her that the geometric patterns on her bedroom curtains “look like people f***ing’’.

There are other troubling stories in Anders’s childhood: Behring complaining to a social worker that her five-year-old son pressed up against her at night and would “force himself on her’’; Behring talking about the undressing game she played with Anders — who can get their clothes off first? There were times when Behring became depressed to the point of near incapacity. Social services arranged for a married couple to look after Anders on weekends but they were disconcerted when Behring asked Anders’s weekend-father to allow Anders to touch his penis as she felt it was important for a boy’s sexuality. On her death bed, Behring hinted strongly to Seierstad that she had been molested by her brothers. Separately she’d said: “Obviously, what happened to Anders has to do with my childhood too.” Shortly after her adult son moved into her apartment, Behring split up with a long term partner and Anders gave her a vibrator.

Breivik’s retreat behind a grandiose false mask, and the paranoia and bitterness that would fuel his attacks in Utoya, began in his teens — he was always the annoying guy who never “got it”. At 18, he joined the far-right Progress party; thwarted in a political career, he played the stock market, then set up a half-baked operation selling fake diplomas online. He felt unfulfilled but his life wasn’t a failure. He made money. Yet when he moved back with his mother he began to degenerate. He stopped working out, his interest in computer games became all-consuming. On New Year’s Eve 2008 he spent all night logged on to World of Warcraft. From computer games, he turned his attention to militant anti-Islamic websites, but failed to build up the following he craved. He became more reclusive, emerging from his bedroom covering his face with his hands or a mask. His mother did his cooking and cleaning. Much later, she would tell police that she thought something was wrong from 2010 but Anders scared her. His half-sister seems to have known something was wrong a long time before that, all the way in California. She wrote to a warning letter to her mother saying that Anders was wasting away his life on his computer. Behring wrote back: “You’re just jealous.”

It’s not true that Behring had the intelligence of a ten-year-old. But a generous person might argue that she had the naivety of one. Among the questions she never asked her son were: Why is there a semi-automatic Sturm Ruger rifle in your room? What’s in the parcels you keep getting in the post? Why are there rucksacks of rubble outside your bedroom door? What are you storing in the communal attic?

In 2009 Breivik registered Breivik Geofarm, allegedly a farming company specialising in melons, roots and tubers. By October 2010 he had started ordering bomb-making equipment off the internet. Seierstad reels off the full list: ethanol, acetone, caustic soda, flasks, glasses, bottles, funnels, thermometers, a facemask, powdered aluminium (to intensify the force of the blast: he told the Polish supplier he wanted to mix it with boat varnish), sodium nitrate, a several-metre-long fuse (“new years’ celebrations”). Most of these items arrived at his mother’s house via the post. Breivik went around pharmacies in Oslo sourcing enough aspirin — kilos of it — from which to extract acetylsalicyclic acid. Via Ebay he bought powdered sulphur from America. It arrived bearing the label “Yellow artist paint dust”. In May 2011 he ordered smoke grenades, tyre-shredding spike strips, flashing blue lights, a GPS, silencers and firearms magazines. Still, his mother didn’t twig. In late June he rented a farm, 140km north of Oslo, and moved there the same month, not to grow melons, but to construct a bomb.

Everyone in Oslo looks healthy and carefree and is tramping around in seal skin boots and woolly hats. It is a charming place, its blue skies unclouded by the threat of poverty that hangs over next-door Sweden, where unemployment among young people is almost 20 per cent. In oil-rich Norway, Anders’s materially comfortable upbringing was normal. What’s wrong with Norway? Nothing except perhaps that firearms are legal. Breivik attended shooting classes at the Oslo Pistol Club to get his licence. His only girlfriend told Seierstad that Anders enjoyed discussing guns. Then again, so did lots of people.

Only twice did the young Anders show a tendency to violence. There’s a story that, as a boy, he once smeared a cat’s anus with mustard. Then, in his self-consciously rebellious teens, he once punched his headmaster in the chest. But generally, he was a nondescript social irritant who was odd in a way never quite strange enough to merit concern. He called himself “a metrosexual”, wore foundation, bronzing powder in summer. For his receding hairline, he ordered Regaine from America. For his puny body, he lifted weights and experimented with steroids. He adopted the rolling walk of a rap artist, the street patois of his Muslim friends. He went through a breakdancing phase. He had a nose job. People found him annoying, vacant, pleasant or empty.

At his trial, Seierstad tells me, Breivik had spoken with grave disappointment about his failed plan to decapitate Gro Harlem Bruntland, Norway’s first woman prime minister. “I spoke to Gro and she had a theory about why he might have wanted to target her. She was prime minister from when he was two until he was 17. Her critics said she turned Norway into a ‘vagina state’. Weak men often hate powerful women. You find that often in jihadists too.”

Certainly Breivik feared women. When the new order was in place, he wrote in his manifesto, divorced fathers would always be given custody of their children; in factories set up in low-cost countries surrogate mothers would produce ten racially appropriate Norwegian children, until artificial uteruses took over the job. Whenever his mother brought up the subject of children, Anders told her he intended to have seven.

His mother and father met in the laundry of a building they were both living in at the time. Jens was divorced, with three children he never saw. Behring had a daughter by a man whom she had deleted from her life. Now she became pregnant again. The couple married. Soon afterwards, Jens was posted to London. His wife joined him at Christmas, her daughter, and six-month old Anders in tow, but she hated it, returned to Norway and filed for divorce. “You feel sorry for Anders when he is a child,” says Seierstad. “Wenche is a bad mother. Maybe it’s not her fault but she doesn’t give him the care that a child needs.”

Two years later the child psychiatric reports on Anders are made: “The whole family is affected by mother’s poor psychological functioning,” reads one. “Anders is the victim of his mother’s projections of paranoid, aggressive and sexual fear of men generally.” There exists a, “profoundly pathological relationship between Anders and his mother’’. His mother lived in her head and couldn’t relate to other people. Her relationships were characterised by anxiety. Her thoughts became illogical under pressure. The boy seemed to be suffering — he didn’t cry when he was hurt, he lacked spontaneity and seemed to take no joy in life. Social services wanted him fostered. Anders’s father, Jens, now living in Paris, stepped in but when his ex-wife threatened legal action, changed his mind about bringing Anders to live with him in France. A nursery teacher wrote a glowing report on the improvement in Anders’ behaviour. The teacher was a friend of Behring’s. Anders remained with his mother.

You would have to have a very hard heart not to feel sorry for the young Anders , says Seierstad. And a very soft one to feel any pity for the adult version. All his life, this empty boy-man was in search of a crusade. In the end he just made one up: the Knights Templar would lead the civil war and construction of new society. Breivik held the highest rank in the organisation and had been asked to write its manifesto, in 2002, at its inaugural meeting, in London. It was all a fantasy.

Fear and hatred of women and Muslims converged. Muslims, he wrote further, would be forced to convert to Christianity, be baptised with new Christian names, forbidden from having more than two children or using their mother tongue. All mosques would be demolished. A ban would be imposed on all correspondence with Muslims outside Europe. Breivik, wrote that “phase one” of his plan would last until 2030. Phase two and three would see successful coups against governments in Europe and the execution of traitors. There would be peace by 2083.

At Breivik’s trial, a professor of psychiatry, Ulrik Fredrik Malt, briefed the court on his impressions of the defendant. “I did not see a monster. I saw a deeply lonely man.” It was Malt’s view that Breivik’s “personality and extreme right-wing ideology are combined in an effort to get out of his own prison’’.

It was a humble reading of Breivik’s motivations, one that seems to fit what we now know about his inner life. A fifth psychiatrist characterised Breivik as “a failure.” Of course, Breivik hated it. “I have never,” he told the court, “been rejected by anyone in my whole life.”

One of Us: The Story of Anders Breivik and the Massacre in Norway by Åsne Seierstad is published by Virago


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