QOTD: Aditya Mukerjee on the second-class languages of Unicode

At Model View Culture, an article hilariously/depressingly entitled “I Can Text You a Pile of Poo, But I Can’t Write My Name“:

The very first version of the Unicode standard did include Bengali. However, it left out a number of important characters. Until 2005, Unicode did not have one of the characters in the Bengali word for “suddenly”. Instead, people who wanted to write this everyday word had to combine three separate, unrelated characters. For English-speaking teenagers, combining characters in unexpected ways, like writing ‘w’ as ‘\/\/’, used to be a way of asserting technical literacy through “l33tspeak” – a shibboleth for nerds that derives its name from the word “elite”. But Bengalis were forced to make similar orthographic contortions just to write a simple email: ত + ্ + ‍ = ‍ৎ (the third character is the invisible “zero width joiner”).

Even today, I am forced to do this when writing my own name. My name is not only a common Indian name, but one of the top 1,000 names in the United States as well. But the final letter has still not been given its own Unicode character, so I have to use a substitute.

I’m a monolingual Anglo person whose worst name issue is “it was too long for a Twitter handle”, so the whole article was mind-blowing.

Having privilege means not really noticing you have it; you’re just living life on an easier difficulty setting than everyone else. When it comes to typing in my language on a computer, I don’t have to find workarounds just to write my name, because it’s already been designed with my needs in mind.

Unless, of course, I ever get a doctorate …

The problem with paleo

Jason Wilson has a fascinating post up at The Guardian discussing some of the problems with the paleo “lifestyle” which is currently very en vogue:

The assumptions underpinning paleo have a superficial plausibility. While technology and culture have changed, it’s argued, our bodies have pretty well stayed the same. We evolved to be hunter-gatherers, and contemporary life, with its carbs and computers, is a mismatch with our biological make-up.

It’s shame, then, that the entire enterprise is to my way of thinking intellectually bankrupt.

I don’t judge people on the food they choose to eat, whether it fits today’s definition of “healthy” or not – it’s an individual choice laden with so much social pressure and judgement that it’s safer to leave people to decide what’s best for them.

(Statement of the obvious: when people are endangering their children’s lives with toxic broth or lack of food, I’m judgey as anyone; and secondly this doesn’t mean ignoring issues around access, resources and inequality which mean a lot of people have far less “free choice” than I do.)

So I don’t have a problem with people choosing to eat paleo. What does concern me is when anyone starts making grandiose statements about what’s “natural” or “proper” behaviour for human beings, as though humans are as monolithic and unvaried as your average one-episode Star Trek species. As Jason Wilson notes, this kind of thinking raises some big red flags around reinforcing a very socially-conservative view on gender:

[Paleo author John] Durant constructs an image of the “natural” that is entirely ideological. The real appeal of hunter-gatherer life is what he imagines to be its strict partition of gender roles, where “Men were hunters, women were gatherers” and where “women rewarded great hunters” with sex. Paleo eating is here connected with an image of society which reproduces itself largely through masculine competition.

It’s also – like many of the food “movements” of the past few decades – a lifestyle which really requires you to already be pretty well off in terms of money, knowledge, time, and access to the “proper” kinds of food. There’s an innate paradox in preaching a return to our “natural” ways of living while enjoying many of the fruits of modern “civilisation” – and of course, no one promoting the paleo lifestyle is talking too loudly about the 33-54 year life expectancy our ancestors enjoyed.

All this is really just a set-up for my favourite paleo punchline, the anecdote which undercuts everything about paleo philosophy. At paleo site RobbWolf.com, Amy Kubal addresses a terrible dilemma of the meat-loving life: the increased risk of cancer from eating delicious char-grilled BBQ. Kubal’s second suggestion for mitigating your risk?

Nuke it!  Pre-cook your meat in the microwave for 1-2 minutes before putting it on the grill.  Microwaving releases some of the compounds that contribute to HCA formation.  Additionally, starting the cooking process reduces the grilling time.

That’s right. Microwave your meats … exactly the same way our ancestors did.

The constant threat

[Content note: sexual assault, victim-blaming, Julian Assange]

With the news that Julian Assange will now be questioned in the Ecuadorean embassy in London, where he’s taken refuge since 2012 after Swedish prosecutors tried to question him over allegations he sexually assaulted two women, we’re having the same debate we’ve always had. Whether it’s Assange, or Roman Polanski, or another Super Rugby team, it’s the same thing again and again. On the one side, women, feminists and their allies, talking about the attitudes and messages which ring loud in our society: that this woman is untrustworthy, this man is being persecuted, this assault wasn’t really a crime. On the other, typically, a lot of men and their allies saying we’re overreacting, those messages don’t really exist, you’re just playing the victim.

It’s bloody exhausting on the feminists’ side, to be honest. On the one hand there’s trying to explain, simply and above all unemotionally, things which are staring us all right in the face. How else do we explain a country where Tony Veitch still gets work? Where sportsmen accused of rape get sympathetic front covers on “women’s” magazines? Where supporters of Graham Capill sincerely argued that his sexual attacks on girls under the age of 12 weren’t that bad because they didn’t meet the “biblical definition” of rape? Where a survivor is painted as a political opportunist because she criticises the government’s mishandling of her case and happens to vote Green?

Those could just be a hell of a lot of coincidences, I guess; a number of perfectly random cases where the narrative about him versus her versus whose fault was it and who should we believe stacks up identically, every time.

But time and again we see an avalanche of excuses and weasel-words and outright attacks against complainants. In the case of Assange, the complainants can’t be trusted because they’re CIA plants. Assange is only being accused because of political persecution. The ideas that help people to redefine “rape” into meaninglessness – that you can’t really withdraw consent post-penetration, or that consenting to sex one night means you must still want it the next, or that you can’t really be a victim of sexual assault if you don’t report it to the police within five minutes and act appropriately traumatized – are all getting a lot of play.

I’m tired of having this same argument over and over. But more than that, I’m tired of trying to make people see that they’re part of the problem.

On the one hand we have the horrific levels of sexual and family violence in our society. It’s estimated that one in four women in NZ will experience sexual violence or abuse in their lifetimes.

Knowing that is enough to make me, as a woman, worry for my safety. It’s not paranoia when they are out to get you, and it’s not hysteria to be aware of the stark reality of sexual violence.

But beyond the simple statistics there’s the threat.

Susan Brownmiller shocked – and continues to shock – people with her definition of rape, in Against Our Will, as “nothing more or less than a conscious process of intimidation by which all men keep all women in a state of fear.”

The word “conscious” I quibble with. But “process of intimidation” keeping women “in a state of fear”? There’s something in that.

What else can we call it when every article or post or discussion about sexual violence is met with a rush of the exact same responses from a dozen quarters: that’s not really rape, that was a set-up, it’s her fault, we can’t believe her, he can’t be a rapist?

How is a woman not meant to feel intimidated, threatened, and downright unsafe, when her society makes it very, very clear that the only “just” way to deal with accusations of rape is to distrust and interrogate the victim?

There’s a concept called “microaggressions“. Microaggressions aren’t out-and-out cases of discrimination and oppression. They’re the tiny, needling things that happen every day which emphasise that you’re an outsider, a less-important human being, whether that’s because of your gender or ethnicity etc. They don’t “hurt” in the way that being physically attacked hurts, or “harm” in the way being denied housing or a vote or a job harms. But they are an ever-present reminder of the fact that if real harm were to befall you, your society wouldn’t really care, and would find ways to erase that harm from the record.

These conversations we have, about Assange or Polanski or whoever, these instances where people come together to reiterate all those lies about sexual violence, they’re an ever-present reminder that you could be raped – and it could be by someone you know, in your own home, while you were wearing your muckiest tracksuit, on video – and you would be doubted.

I say I get tired of trying to make people see how they’re part of the problem. When it gets pretty bleak, I find myself wondering if they do see it – they just don’t care. Because they don’t have to. They don’t live under the constant threat, not of real violence, but of the total disregard for your welfare or safety. And they don’t care that their behaviour drives women out of the spaces they inhabit. Some of them see it as a bonus.

I applaud the people who have been fighting in this latest round of the Assange discussion. I haven’t got the spoons to bang my head against that brick wall this time, hoping a few more flakes will shake loose.

QOTD: Moata Tamaira on PC gone mad

A Christchurch city councillor has thoroughly embarrassed himself defending a terrible, whitewashed publicity campaign on the grounds that anyone who complains just hates freedom and is probably a reverse racist, or something.

The entire response by Moata Tamaira at Stuff is quotable, but this bit in particular made me snigger in the lunchroom:

Also, there is no “PC brigade”. Because if there were one I would join it. But there’s not. Which is a shame because this seems like it would be the perfect opportunity to wear a beret.

Me too!