A new world order
By Rakesh Mani
IT is clear that we face unprecedented times. Unprecedented because there is no direct precedent, no past for what we see. The world is totally oriented towards the future. And whoever still dwells in the past doesn’t understand the future because the past is of full of prejudices, of commitments. It arrests us.
Today, the extent and pace of fundamental change is extraordinary. We wake up every morning to a new world. I like to think that the conflicts and crises we see raging are a sign that the world, as we know it, is pregnant and going through a painful labour. What we see and hear are the labour pains. Who knows how long this tortuous labour will last, but we can be sure that what emerges from this delivery will be a tomorrow that is profoundly different from today.
And it is for this tomorrow that we must endeavour, and devote our intellectual energies to dealing with the prospect of a very different future.
Modern society hinges not on the experience of the past but on risk-taking for the future. But all the expertise of the world hinges on what has happened, not what may happen. So perhaps it is more important to imagine than to remember. What are memories anyway? We barely remember that which was not right or not easy, but remember clearly all that was agreeable. Remembering is, in a way, conveniently forgetting.
Peace is indeed in our destiny. The question is how long it will take and how many victims it will claim. The history of land is besmirched with red; people have been fighting for centuries to either defend their lands or to extend them. But the minute the world’s focus shifted from land to science, what was there to fight about any more?
Armies cannot conquer wisdom. Customs cannot inspect a scientist’s thoughts. All that is vital for tomorrow is uncontrolled and free, making land and borders increasingly irrelevant. In countries today, it is of greater consequence to have more engineers per square kilometre than to have an extra square kilometre.
And our problems today, are they between nations — Arabs and Jews, India and Pakistan? Or instead a battle of generations, between an old age and a new age? The terrorists protest the influence of the new age, which they believe endangers their tradition. They consider modernity their enemy but, sooner or later, they will have to bend.
Yet opposing modernity and change is still protest, not terror. The problem begins when one tries to kill the future. As the opponents of modernity will soon discover, nobody can stop the future. One cannot continue to live by archaic traditions. Take attitudes toward women: if women lack equal rights, a nation will only be half a nation. Not only do you lose the women, you lose the children too because an uneducated woman cannot educate her children. This is a clash between generations, not nations. And I’m hopeful for the future, because today’s young are largely free from the shackles of the prejudice that encumbers the old.
Terror does not have a future, because terror has neither message nor vision. What hope or promise can it provide to the people? Terrorists fear the further development of the new age, but how long can they cling to the past and their outdated traditions? Progress will not cease and people will soon tire of them, that much is inevitable.
Grievances and protests have to be managed through dialogue. Traditional battles over land are inertia from the past and prolonging them is senseless. But war unifies nations, while peace divides them and gives rise to arguments about the price.
Yes, negotiations are difficult and peace is expensive but nothing is wiser than making a moral choice. The future is always in a minority, so to be accepted and popular go praise the past. If you want to serve the future, however, don’t be afraid of belonging to a minority.
Governments and administrations are becoming old, staid bureaucracies. They represent, all over, a fading age. The world of tomorrow will centre on global corporations that are devoid of armies. They will be based on creativity and goodwill and around countries that will form into geographic clusters.
Perhaps we can envision South Asia as one economic bloc. A common people sharing a common market, currency and heritage, with divisions having broken down in the face of economic cooperation.
I see tomorrow’s people living on two foundations: the heritage of our culture and values, and our skill with modernity. It’s an educational challenge, but the balance between authority and freedom is overwhelmingly in favour of freedom.
Today everything is global: the war on terror, global warming, the environment, financial markets, media. Governments and borders too will go global. This is the delivery we shall witness in our lifetimes. This is the future.
Rakesh Mani is a New York-based writer.
rakesh.mani@gmail.com


Nobel problems with US literature
By Mark Lawson
CULTURAL commentators searching online bookstores last week for English-language translations of books by Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio, literature’s latest Nobel laureate, were surprised to find that the most heavily flagged item offered was a DVD of Young Einstein.
The tantalising possibility that a 68-year-old French writer praised in the official citation for “new departures, poetic adventures” might, during populist interludes, have worked on Peewee Wilson movies was soon removed. Computers had been confused by an actress called Odile Le Clezio and the fact that her novelistic namesake’s impact, on UK publishing at any rate, seems to have peaked with a couple of long-deleted Hamish Hamilton hardbacks from the 1960s. Inevitably, the choice of this Google-thin writer after three years of laureates who had a strong presence in English literature and cultural life — Doris Lessing, Orhan Pamuk and Harold Pinter — will revive accusations of obscurantism and pretension. And such reflexes in the Anglophone book world will be increased this year by the suspicion that the prize committee is deliberately resisting the claim of American literature, generally accepted by critics on both sides of the Atlantic as the current prose superpower. Just as Barrack Obama would be guaranteed the presidency if the decision rested with the electorates of Europe, so any Nobel literature poll taken would have given the cheque to Philip Roth at least a decade ago and probably John Updike as well. Fuelling our incredulity, one of the usually secretive judges unwisely sounded off in an interview last week that American writing is too parochial and inward-looking.
Certainly, it seems an eccentric reading of contemporary literature that only Saul Bellow and Toni Morrison from the American canon have been honoured in the past 32 years, and that all have been overlooked since 1993. And it’s impossible to deny that the decisions often have political undertones.
While the poems of Seamus Heaney and the plays of Harold Pinter are unarguably deserving of preferment, the former’s Irish passport and the latter’s anti-American writings usefully insulated them from the strength of anti-US feeling in European cultural circles. Le Clezio, being French, is similarly protected. Conversely, Updike’s defences of the Vietnam war and Roth’s refusal to politicise his novels may have harmed their chances.
But the fact that Le Clezio and Elfriede Jelinek of Austria have the prize is not entirely down to geopolitical score-settling. The key lines in the citation were that reference to “departures” and “adventures” in the French writer’s work. Winners have, especially in recent years, been those who represent some kind of formal innovation: either of subject-matter — Morrison’s rendition of African-American history; or structure — the mixing of the naturalistic with the abstract in Pinter’s fractured dialogue or Lessing’s games with memoir and science-fiction. All, at some level, are experimental writer — as, from what an English reader can discern, is Le Clezio.
In contrast, the greatest contemporary Americans operate, though at remarkable levels of poeticism and psychology, in traditional forms. By the definitions of the Nobel committee, which likes its novels to be really novel, the prize that Roth or Updike might win has already been claimed, in 1976, by Saul Bellow.
With the possible exception of Mailer, who pioneeringly blurred the lines between fiction and journalism, recent American giants — including Arthur Miller and Edward Albee — have tended to bring an innovative style to familiar structures of fiction and drama. The Nobel judges are certainly not indifferent to flags but what really gets them going is formats. No matter how remarkable the flavour of the tea, they like a new design of pot.
— The Guardian, London


