Festival of Ideas

Last week was a good week to be at the university, since they hosted the biennial 'Festival of Ideas', which is essentially like a week of TED talks. This year's theme was 'Truth and Lies: Trust Me' so it was right up my street. (Incidentally I would have posted this up earlier but have actually been working on the good old probe again this week, a task just mind-numbing enough to make me trawl failblog instead of doing real things with my evenings).

"Australia has seen the effects of climate change"

The first talk I went to was by Tim Flannery, author of 'The Weather Makers", chairman of the Copenhagen Climate Council, and Australian of the Year in 2007. The talk was titled something unassuming like "Climate change: current state of science and what we can do about it", which had me worried it may be a boring run-of-the-mill climate change talk. But he talked a lot about the controversies: the UEA leaked emails (talking a lot, of course, about how they were cleared of any wrongdoing) and the Copenhagen Summit (linking it naturally to the unique timing of the leaked emails). All of this, he concluded, made it seem as if the Copenhagen meeting was a failure. But he was keen to point out to us that even the simple Copenhagen Accord was a great step towards getting major CO2 emitting countries to commit to cutting their output. Still, he says, we are a long way from making those agreements accountable. Many countries will be over their Kyoto targets, but will they pay up for it? Unlikely.

More likely to succeed are single country-enforced things. When asked whether he thought cap-and-trade or a straight carbon tax would be better, he said it depended on the country, where its economy and development were at.

The final interesting point was that he talked a lot about how the Green Party in Australia is now part of their coalition government, and how this came about from a lot of grass-roots action. People wondered, as Canada and Australia seem to have similar cultures and personae, why has a similar thing not happened in Canada? Flannery reasoned that in Australia the effects of climate change are painfully evident: 10-year droughts, wildfires and the bleaching and destruction of the great barrier reef.

"Hi, my name's Julie and I'm a Catholic computer programmer"

This was the rather surprising introduction to a question on probably my favourite night of the Festival: an astrobiology debate titled "Are We Alone in the Universe?" The debate featured a University of Alberta professor and the head of the Vatican Observatory. For most of the evening they gave a presentation, explaining everything you need to know about the Drake Equation (plus an impressive display of our place in universe from the star theatre the debate was held in). I had always had a basic idea of the variables that made up the Drake Equation, but the presentation gave more detail into some of the possible numbers involved in each factor. For example, stars that are too massive don't burn for long enough to allow the evolution of complex life, and stars with too low mass would need planets to be very close in order to be in the habitable zone, and at that close range the gravity of the star would cause unimaginable tides and a slowing of the planet's rotation so that only one side faces the star. Not much chance then for life to evolve.

The way life began on our own planet is still somewhat a mystery, but one of my favourite likelihoods is that it actually got started many times and was wiped out many times in the beginning, during the time of heavy bombardment, when meteor strikes from the still-forming solar system were abundant. An interesting idea raised in the debate though that made the beginning of life seem astounding again. In order to get enough mobile materials for the 'primordial soup', a lot of erosion of the early Earth surface was required. This seems to have been achieved by the greater power of the oceans, as the newly-formed moon was closer and caused tides up to 1000x higher.

Regardless, the conclusion is that simple life is probably abundant in the universe, but complex, intelligent life needs more of a leap. Thus far then, the evening had been informative, but the debate started a little more in the question period. The first was discussing the theory of panspermia; extraterrestrial material brining life to Earth through space, which wasn't so interesting except the Vatican father explaining how they have a piece of Mars, and a photo of the Pope with the fragment was under the headline "Mars in the hand of the Pope" in the local press.

The next question though asked that if we do discover intelligent aliens, do they need 'salvation', in the way missionaries needed to save the savages? The answer from the father was interesting then. He clarified that if they were intelligent, then they would have the possibility to commit sin. But, he said, they may not necessarily have done. In which case they wouldn't need salvation. But they are still creatures of God. Which is where he ended his answer, which really still leaves the question, if they had never had God, but had 'committed sin', would they all need some missionaries to show them the way? Because that's always been for the best in the best...

The next interesting question involved life's tendency towards complexity, whereas the universe tends towards entropy. Does the hand of a deity push life in the complexity direction? The prof. defined life as the ability to use energy constructively: to metabolise, and that is the process that creates complexity. The father said he didn't believe God is an engineer, but rather a father to the universe, allowing it to grow as it will, and yet knowing how it would turn out. "God doesn't play dice, but he knows the dice are loaded."

"One in three Americans is as fat as the other two"

The last event I went to at the Festival was an evening with David Sedaris. This one I was covering for The Gateway, it was a good way to get a free pass to the show and also expand my news writing beyond just sci and tech. Sedaris is a popular semi-autobiographical writer with a wicked sense of humour. I'd never read any of his stuff, but it was a good job I have quite a dark sense of humour! (It comes with being British, I think). His tales were full of shameless death and depravity, but he had the audience in stitches, as well as being very clever and satirical. Through the CFI I've met a guy called Ryan Bromsgrove who writes opinion pieces for The Gateway and he writes simply fabulous parody and satirical pieces. I feel I'm much better at the straight-up news currently, but I want to branch out into opinions and features for The Gateway next year.

Anyway, for now you can read my David Sedaris piece here.

Slow science

Probing a few volcanic ashes today, and finding one that was the spitting image of a pirate skull, I was reminded of the post I wrote a while ago about the probing process, and what I do. It struck me that I haven't written anything about my own science in a while.

This is usually the point in such an introduction where I would launch into the details of some recent experimentation or theorisation, but the fact is I haven't done any of that for a while. My supervisor decided last week that I probably came make the deadline for a special journal volume of papers from the Japan conference I went to back in May, so I've just been writing and refining. Yes, the boring parts of research; writing and editing until all the words merge together and you can no longer tell if you've created a masterpiece or a jumbled mess of scientific phrases strung together.

I have been doing a steady bunch of writing though:

The 50th Anniversary of the Uni's Circumpolar Institute (for which I got to interview my friend Jess, who worked at the exhibition)

Conclusions of the latest Arctic Report Card (it's grim!)

What triggered the rise in oxygen that allowed animals to evolve (I was happy it was picked up on the Canadian University Press newswire, but face-palmed when I read their lede talking about it as the origin of life rather than just animals)

Uni's synthetic biology team project (pretty impressive, considering it's only an undergrad competition)

100 year history of The Gateway (piece for the Alumni Assoc. about the 100th anniversary of the student newspaper)

Yes, and now it's time to start applying for journalism programs! I want to write the perfect letter of intent and pick my best articles for the applications, but my motivation and energy have plummeted again after a brief respite of enthusiasm. I've decided to blame the medication - they make me drowsy when I take them and give me the worst dizzying headaches when I don't. I will have to ask my Doc for a change when I next go. At least if I blame the pills I will get a placebo boost when I change them that hopefully gets me through the paper-writing.

I have been having more fun with the CFI crew though - this Saturday we went to a pro-gay rally (or I suppose pro- LGBTQ if we're being correct !). There's this particularly nasty group called the Westboro Baptist Church who have a gob-smacking campaign of hate called 'God Hates Fags' (reading just one of their rants will make your head spin). They have a picket schedule of events they plan to protest at, and on their calendar was The Laramie Project in Edmonton. It's a play about the hate killing in Laramie, Wyoming in 1998. So, naturally, folks organised a counter-protest: 'God Loves Fags', which the CFI went along to support.

More than that, though, in the end. The director of CFI Calgary happens to be Nate Phelps, estranged son of the head of the Westboro Baptist Church Fred Phelps. He left the Phelps family home when he turned 18 and never looked back. It's astounding to think of someone growing up in that atmosphere, I wonder how on Earth he even got the idea that what his father preached was wrong and that he had to leave. Some minds are so strong. I was lucky - my parents were never religious and never forced anything upon us, either way, so growing up to be an atheist and skeptic is not so hard to imagine for myself. But I met other people too at the rally like Nate Phelps - a guy who broke out from a fourth-generation Mormon family and a lesbian girl who's badge proudly proclaims her as the 'pink sheep of the family'.

Anyway, the Westboro Baptist Church didn't show up in the end (apparently they have a habit of missing their engagements, and have been turned away at the Canadian border before. As one person mused: "I wonder how many pro- rallys they have inspired?"), but we had a party anyway. Nate and several others gave speeches, including one local supply teacher who was fired from his job at a Catholic school for legally changing his gender. This is apparently against Catholic teachings and would confuse the students. We stood out in the cold enjoying each other's body warmth until our fingers longed for cups of warm liquid, and a few of us retired to a local coffee shop to chat about physics and economics until the night's end.

What is a scientist?

I've started reading Unscientific America, a very recent book on the state of science in America. I'm only a couple of chapters in but it seems quite interesting. It's position seems to be not that the public are stupid and disinterested, or that the scientists are self-isolating, but really a less extreme mix of both! I predict it will be the sort of essay that will end up saying that scientists should be trained more in communication and outreach, and while I agree to an extent I can never help thinking this argument asks quite a lot of scientists. As well as doing their own job of research, as well as teaching and advising, as well as applying for grants, they have to be media buffs as well?

Anyway, maybe they'll propose a more stringent strategy I can agree with later on, but for now the part that interested me the most was a poll that asked people to name scientific role models. 44% couldn't answer. The rest named the top three as Bill Gates, Al Gore and Einstein. I mean really? Not even Stephen Hawking? Another poll threw up a statistic that only 18% of Americans know a scientist personally.

I voiced this to my other half, and we started a debate on what makes a scientist. He asked me if he was a scientist? We thought about it. He's a geologist now, he works in the field, he writes reports sometimes. But does he make hypotheses, and test them to forward new theories? No. He thought perhaps his bosses might advance theories as they drew up reports on exploration areas. Do they need to publish them in peer-reviewed journals to be scientists? Probably not, otherwise there would be no amateur scientists tinkering away in sheds. But I suppose they don't count under the question "Do you know a scientist personally?"

Officially then, a scientist is someone who hypothesises, experiments, refines and theorises and publishes with the approval of their peers (by which I mean by their methods not their point of view), all for a living. But anyone can be a scientific hobbyist!

In other news, I'm afraid I couldn't keep myself away from the Skeptical movement. In fact, I've done quite the opposite and joined the executive committee to help set up a Centre for Inquiry in Edmonton. We had the first meeting thursday and it was fun the just be a part of the brainstorming stage. I went away with a assistant secretary role and a responsibility for picking topics for round-table discussions, where a subject is chosen for discussion within our group and anyone else who wants to attend - local atheist or skeptic societies or even people from the opposite side of the debate (well, hopefully these too, there's no fun in just agreeing with each other is there?). For the first one I think I'm going to choose a very interesting article a friend sent me: Text of talk by Vatican Observatory director on ‘Science Does Not Need God. Or Does It? A Catholic Scientist Looks at Evolution’ It's a refreshingly well reasoned and thought-out treatment of science answering mysteries, and condemns those who fills the gaps with God. Have to come up with a few 'talking points', and will probably find a couple of other potentials too before our next exec meeting.

I've never sat on any execs or councils of any sort before, but to be honest this is the first thing I've cared enough about, rather than it just being 'It would look good on my CV'. The CFI is a particularly interesting kind of society though since it sort of has three heads: Secular, Skeptical, and to a lesser extent, Atheist. However, we decided in time of controversy we decided we'd just quote the central CFI's mission: "The mission of the Center for Inquiry is to foster a secular society based on science, reason, freedom of inquiry, and humanist values."

Finally, I thought I'd share my second essay for my non-fiction writing class. I was much more pleased with this one, it came so naturally. After we've gone through a couple of rounds of workshopping, our groups have to choose one essay to be read out by the author in the next class. I volunteered to read mine since at the moment I feel it's the most inspiration I'll have for one of these things!

___________

Proud Capital

I have sat here for a thousand years, on the rocky apex of the Atlantic, grounded on black lava. The jagged Reykjanes Peninsula shields me to the South, protecting me from the brunt of the long ocean. To the North Mt Esja watches over me, trapping the clouds and providing shelter. That’s not to say the Weather Gods don’t make it hectic here. Snow and hail blow in fierce gales and thrash against my buildings. Those walls are young, but my people are an old and hardy race and their language is ancient.

I am the proud capital of this beautiful country, but I am not so vain to presume you all know who I am. So I’ll be fair to you. My name is Reykjavik or “Smoky Bay” in your young tongue. Iceland is my domain, and two thirds of its brilliant people live under my blanket. Forgive me, I cannot help but enthuse about the virtues of my citizens: they work hard, they are high achievers and they are always curious. But still they are so few, and I welcome the multitudes of foreign friends that descend upon me to help them out.

One such visitor moved into one of my homes, near my centre by the concrete spire of Hallgrimskirkja Cathedral, at the end of a summer. She was a young girl from my southern neighbour England, and though it was still August she noticed a chill in the sea air that was different from the coastal breezes of her hometown. That wind had gathered cold and scent from the length of the Atlantic. My days were still long though, and she enjoyed the ever-light that gives energy and joy to all my young party-folk.

The season soon changed and with it came school for the girl; it seemed she would be staying the whole year to learn from my people. My autumns are short and pass swiftly into winter. I have heard that in other countries great trees turn yellow and naked, but there are not so many leaves to fall from my scant trees. Nevertheless, I cooled with the season as she warmed to my charms. I don’t believe I am being too egotistical when I say she fell in love with me; she adored my uncrowded streets and wide open harbour. Yes, I am a capital city, with all the culture, business and pomp that goes along with that, but I am not so populous. Unlike those noisy capitals like London or Paris I am not flashy, but that means crime is low and my people live in comfort. The girl seemed to like seeing my children bubbling with energy around every corner; they are free to play here. Yes, she loved me alright, even down to my nagging greylag geese and the relentless drone of the propeller planes that graze the roof of her home.

Winter arrived suddenly that year. A great swarm of snow fell all in one night, covering me to a depth that made it quite difficult for my folk to walk around. I was pleased to see that the girl was delighted; this sort of snow seemed rare to her but it was the coming of a familiar friend to me. The bright snow highlighted the days, but it also made my people realize how short those days had become. Sometimes I am sad when winter arrives and they retreat into their homes, their feet less often stepping my streets. I console myself with the thought that trapped inside their buildings my people are creating great works of art, literature and song. Still, they try to make my outside pleasant, and decorations for the winter festivals are strung from my lampposts and shop fronts.

I believed the girl was enjoying my beautiful winter when I saw her turn to leave. Suitcase in hand, she trundled towards the bus station on the way to the international airport in my sister city Keflavik. Where was she going? Was my wind too cold now; was that smile on her face simply stuck there from the autumn? I asked the Gods to throw a little sharp snow at her. She carried on. Upset and angry, I called on them to blow all the wind and snow from the ocean at her. It raged across the runway and no planes flew. The Weather Gods tried their best for me, to keep her from leaving so soon. She hadn’t yet seen my spring! But my pilots are too talented, and she did escape me in the end. My winter continued in further darkness.

She came back, and I felt like a fool for thinking she wouldn’t. I’d forgotten that people have families and friends they like to spend the dark winters with. But I remembered it when I saw my own people sitting down together, sons and dottirs around a table enjoying the traditions of this land. I was sure that while the girl was away she was enjoying the winter traditions of her own land.

Abashed, I asked the Gods to prepare a bright, cool day for her return. There was that smile again, not pasted on but real and rejuvenated. She seemed happy to see me too. My winter lights stayed up until February, and it was a cheerful time for us both. I believe she even captured the heart of a foreign boy, and they strolled along my shore together, breathing in the coastal sunsets. He taught her how to take pictures of me and I must say I looked good in their photographs.

I am not as cold as many people think and my snow soon turned to slush and filled the streets with wet shoes and cold feet. Spring would soon be coming. Yes my friends, my winters are not so long and arduous. A lone tree grew outside the girl’s window, inhabited by a small black bird. As the snow melted below the tree, buds burst beneath the feet of the little bird, and as suddenly as winter had arrived, it was gone. My folk thrust open their doors and embraced my streets again. The girl too sprang out of her house and re-immersed herself in my experiences. She took a boat to watch the whales, took my best singer’s cavernous voice into her ears and heart, and took her last looks at the monuments of mine she loved the most.

She was leaving again, but this time we both knew she wouldn’t be back for a long time. I saw how she lingered and tried to cement the memories of all my wonders deep inside her heart. An extra long soak in the hot tub, with an indulgent swim in the geothermal swimming pool. An evening spent just sitting by the Viking ship by my harbour and watching the calm water leading to Esja. A careful stroll down my main street, visiting every shop for one last souvenir, as if those objects could keep me alive when she was gone.

I knew she loved me now, and I her, so I let her go. A bright day at the beginning of summer, with a calm coolness only I can deliver, carried her to Keflavik and onto a plane. She looked out on the wide landscape of my great country with solemnity.

Come again girl, and I’ll be waiting. At Keflavik I’ll post a sign for you: Velkomin heim. Welcome home.