previous.gif     next.gif    

March 2, 1966Bursa (Turkey)

It is not pleasant to contemplate the fact of the cultural (not to mention racial) homogenization. There is no question in my mind now that, barring catastrophe and a fragmentation of the world into well-isolated societies, the countries are reaching towards the same diet, the same dress, the same music, the same kinds of transportation, the same architecture, the same ideologies, and so forth. Deep difference -- if they exist, which I doubt -- are obscured by surface similarities.

On the other hand, the variety within the one world culture is very great. Resting upon a rich, continuously being uncovered, and upon a broad anthropological record, it has the materials for formulating many moods, fashions, needs, and ideas in all previous distinct cultures. "The savage in us" that reacts to a jazz beat is of course the eternal manifestation of a human possibility that can be excited and developed forever, so long as the plain stretches, which means so long as the one-world culture is permitted to differentiate within itself and search to reflect all the possibilities of man. Then the Hindu who may not call himself such may find the chords of his soul stroked by art forms and ideas and people whose descent do not touch the historical Hinduism. and Beethoven may sound for a woman in Brazzaville while the jazz of Benny Goodman calls to the attorney in Pittsburgh. And highly traditional pots of attic Greek design may be turned out on 57th Street in Chicago while pots of futuristic design are developed in Athens, or for that matter in Chicago on 57th Street. So with architecture, music, clothing, poetry, and the rest of the ways of human expression.

Cultural difference based upon geography are disappearing. There remains to be developed all the cultural differences based upon character and taste that is seen to be originating in the anarchic and kaleidoscopic changes of New York, Rome, Paris, and a few other centers. This is branch differentiation, not trunk differentiation, but it can not only equal but far surpass the latter, because it is founded on the full range of human potentials not upon the accidents of history happening in isolation. In place of geocultures, we have neocultures: a resource and a lesson, but not as a determinant (in theory, at least). Geocultures vs. Neocultures: The Theory of a Future Society that is Structurally Free of History and Adapted to a Creative Modern Unified World.

(Postscript at breakfast)

Three long tables in the dining room of the grand Cilis Otel hold soccer teams from Turkey and Bulgaria, who played each other yesterday. They dress alike (most in neat dark suits, a few in exercise suits) and it is difficult to distinguish Turks from Bulgarians. They eat the same food, of course, the Bulgarians are talking and jesting a little more, perhaps because they are in Turkish surroundings (they are more unkempt and less uniform, too. The fallibility of too brief and inadequate observation. I notice now the Russian-type alphabet on a "Turkish" sweatshirt and have to change my mind. Already at 30 feet of distance the number of cues has dropped off to the point of fallibility. I ask the waiter; he confirms that my first judgment was wrong. I note how easily I rationalized the behavior of the "Turks". Now it is as easy to rationalize the behavior of the Bulgarians. They are noisier also because they are in Turkish surroundings (to make up for their uncomfortableness, they draw together). Or perhaps they are simply more volatile. Or had more sleep. Or have just come from early morning practice and jest about it. Etc. A good story can be made up to explain everything that happens; a true story is another matter.

The U. S. misses many chances for international communication because we play little soccer and our great sports are football (almost unique) and baseball (spread to only a few countries).

The proposition that I am stating is radical, the antithesis of conservative: It is that the whole question of the richness and diversity of cultures and hence of creativity is to be decided on a structure that is free of history. free base. History, that is, stands as

March 4, 1966

Notes for lecture at Roberts College, Istanbul

New Ways of Political Science, delivered at Roberts College, Istanbul, March 7

A.I.Achievements: Practically The Old Ways. All major ideas, theories and laws, were stated prior to WW II, i. e. you could get a check list of everything to watch out for in a political situation whether you were simply observing and or whether you were both observing and voting upon it.

B. 1 2 Explain 3 Give

C. 1.Narrowness
a. FunctionalVoting in national elections but not in colleges, corporations, etc.
b.PsychologicalRational but not irrational. Theory of Parties
c.GeographicalWestern Europe & USA (now every country)

2.Lack of Objectivity:
    Dem. is rule by the people
    Dem. is rule by the majority
    Dem. is freedom of the minority

How do you separate wish from facts. Nature of Applied Science

Mixture of Fact and preferenceWish is father to the thought but is too paternalistic and spoils the child.

    a.How to file all the papers to be elected. What Constitutions say re legislatures
    b.Voting behavior bibliography largely legalistic, law cases

    a.How many people are active in politics
    Fact Domainb.Few know what is being done.

5.Underdevelopeda.Primitive Sample Survey
    Methodologyb.Lack of Techniques of Bibliographies (3 x 5 card) and Classification (Dewey dic.)

    a.Scoffed at by politicians
    b.Incompleteness and Disuse of Services

7.Inconvertibility as
    a.Each man his own painstaking method of inquiry
    b.Every man his own librarian

    a.Large fields such as politics // not voting behavior
    b.Few Journals and services General

But II 1.Narrowness of scope
    a.Functional -- groups, etc.
    b.Psychological phenomena

2.Mixture of preference with facts: Not a cool and objective science

3.Too legalistic

4.Underdeveloped state of facts: e. g. # of people active in politics

5.Underdeveloped state of methodology (technique)

Broad methods, of course, were known

6.Inapplicability: Did not serve practitioners of human sciences in administration, etc.

7.Discipline: i. e. was not convertible and communicable. A few scholars of broad and general training.

And the New Ways:

Summing Up:
    A.The Future of The Science of Voting Behavior
    B.The Future of The Science of Reference Retrieval
    C.The Future of Political Science as a Whole

Future of Political Science as a Whole
    1.More objective
    2.Less legalistic and much broader
    3.More specialized (more sub-field perhaps 100 or more)
    4.Greater number of practitioners
    5.More engineers and matter-of-fact routines
    6.More quantitative
    7.More methodological and less descriptive
    8.More field work
    9.More interdisciplinary

March 7, 1966 Klagensfurt, Austria

If Christ did not, what man can know his own Judas?

Yesterday, descending at 5:00 in the afternoon the steep narrow road that leads from Loible (Lublijana) into Austria, we could barely slip by a stranded giant truck halfway to the tunnel at the peak of the Alp. I felt sorry for the Dane and his great tandem vehicle, creatures of the plain. How had he been made to think he could drive his truck on through. There was no place to turn back anymore. He could not back it around the hairpin turns. He was stuck in only the first of numerous similar narrow bends. The alpine stream rushed fiercely by hundreds of feet below. The pine trees grappled the cliffs on both sides. The road was of sand and clay, for it was under reconstruction. Poor Dane -- his young thin face so full of anxiety as he looked above and to the sides and yearningly back. And who was the pretty young Austrian girl standing on the rock? Had she rode with him? Had she offered to guide him through the pass? Was it she whose truth stopped all cautious questions?

March 13, 1966Licodia - Eubea Sicily

Thoughts on Awakening (6 A.M. - 6:30 A. M.)

xThe air is freezing. The mountain makes the difference. It may be hot by noon.

y.Composing in my mind the last chapter (new, 2 pp. long) of New York by Candle: Thomas will lose in resolve in seeking a cup of coffee, a newspaper which he doesn't find but discovers the corrupting equivalent of in yesterday's NYT, and wastes time so that when he enters the street again it is crowded and ordinary and he remembers that he thinks he had an appointment at the University office and therefore must give up his "penance" plan.

xThere are mules in L-C still. They clabber by on the street. The hearty voices of their masters who lead them to work in the hills.

xHave the boys slept well? Their mother's letter which I read before falling asleep was full of concern, obliquely, discreetly put and then relief on the receipt of my letter. I compose a passage of a letter to her telling her how they are changing by travel -- more tolerant of practical uncertainties, direct and unembarrassed at dealing with strangers in unknown tongues, ability to read maps, drive, eat anything and everything, how they argue forthrightly with me, how Paul drives through difficult mountain areas, how he expresses free comment on the characteristics of the country we pass through, etc.

x How shall I spend the next several days.

x Perhaps I should ask Stephanie to call my literary agent Perry Knowlton to discover any progress on placing my novel with a publisher.

x Why do I seem to need so little sleep? To bed after 17 hours of driving, at 12:30 AM , now awake as dawn breaks.

x Incident of the street in Naples. What more should I have told the man who nearly struck me with his car. He pulled over after I shouted (I was in a bad mood from the sullen waiters of the restaurant). I couldn't believe my good wicked luck when he halted and I walked briskly over prepared to beat him up. When I arrived, he said from the darkness of the interior "You were right, I admit." That stopped me completely. So I had nothing to say, nothing to do. To get out as quickly as possible (who wants to discuttere?) I said "I cannot speak Italian" and threw up my arms in amazement. I walked away and he drove off. He must have been puzzled. So was I. Why did he stop, if not to argue his point? I suppose he must think I was mad, not realizing how close we came to physical altercation.

x I must get some Italian liras. I have run out.

x I miss Jill far more than I do anyone else on my travels.

x I think of Vicki (in Florence). How irritable she was this time. She is generally, but more now, compared say with three weeks ago. Might she be having her period? I suggested she needed a man. She replied "I have men. You don't realize that." "I do, but I mean that you need a comforting male friend." "Fine," she says, "I shall bring home another Italian. Do you like that." What a malicious girl! "Heavens forbid! Absolutely not," I say, and she smiles, pleased. V. is so charming, so pretty, so sophisticated, so intelligent, so commanding by her presence -- her grousing can only be a diffuse anxiety about having no outlet for her fullness of talent and character.

Perhaps I thought of other things. I don't remember. Anyhow, the idea of jotting them down came afterwards and here they are.

March 13, 1966Licodia, Sicily

Snow is falling upon Sicily. In this little town at 600 metres, snow began to come down at 10 o'clock. It fell in a few ludicrously large lumps at first, and we marveled and passed it off. Then it began in earnest and two hours later, the streets are in slush, and the green mountains of spring are covered by white. The tiled roofs are white. The flowering plants on the tiny balconies outside my windows are laden with snow. The canary and parakeets are cheerful. They call and sing. An efficient liquid gas heater casts warmth at me from 3 feet away. I have a delicious Marsala and cigarettes. Snowbound in Sicily!

We had intended to drive to the excavations by the beach at Camarina today. Perhaps we would find sun, warm water, and might skin-dive and fish with spears. Not so.

Yesterday we bought and roasted in a forno da campagna a whole capretto. The kid cooked very well in the hot stone oven, once the embers of the faggots had been removed

We must wait until Tuesday to sail from Palermo, if to Tunis we are to go. I wonder how far South the storm stretches. We were considering going to Jerba. But it would be a meaningless trip if we could not spend a couple of days totally immersed in warm seas.

I used to smile at the ancient authors who wrote of harsh winter in the Mediterranean. having traveled about the area during two winters, and recalling the military campaigns in Italy in 1943-4, I would say that, short of freezing to death, there is a great deal of discomfort in the Southern winters. And the seas can be angry. We watched a mean surf working along the Calabrian coast while driving from Sapri to San Giovanni the other day. The south is naturally unprepared for the winter. The investment would be heavy for most people and businesses. The discomfort then, which is a ratio of the bad weather to preparedness, is larger than the actual conditions would indicate.

March 13, 1966Licodia

Economic development is a disaster when placed in the hands of economists. They ask all people to place themselves at the disposition of laws of economics or the economic orders of the whatsoever government. yet the economists rule, together with those who must work with their tools because they know no other nor can persuade others to use their own.

One cannot have economic revolution without revolution of women. As I travel and observe the small ways in which men exhibit their desires, capacities and skills, I think I see that they do not go far beyond their mothers, sisters and wives. Women guard the storehouse of traditions from which economic practices are largely issued, if they do not, as in many areas, take a direct hand in the economy. Still governments of men for men think they can promulgate orders as if women exist only as willing accomplices. Women, too, train the young; revolutionizing a society on the basis of the shaped characters of men is almost a contradiction in terms.

Revolution comes when the women are ready, not before. When women begin to join the rioting, the revolution has begun. For then they will back it and raise the cadres that no man can develop.

In searching for the causes why a certain group can modernize or change its economic-social culture, and another cannot, one should inquire deeply into the different habits and perspectives of their women. Peaceful as well as violent change may be thus better explained. Ask the votes of women: do not shun a listing of barmaids, prostitutes, innkeepers, and economically independent women in counting the traders, teachers, and petty officials who are women. Are women the teachers, rather than men? Then, how do the women put the better life to their children? Do they teach envy, unplanned generosity, campanilismo, postponement of different types of gratification?

When the women are not ready, revolutionaries sometimes sense that they can change them by destroying largely female institutions, such as the established church, though the rationale for the attack must be high-flown: corruption, theology, absolutism, subversion.

March 20, 1966Palermo, 8 AM

The Verdun complex in social policy: the Welfare State leaders believe that the way out of the stalemate in which previous welfare policies stand is to pour ever more men and material resources into the same channel. The Economic Opportunity Act of 1964 was a good example of this psychology. Taking up the antiquated "New Deal" strategy for solving the unemployment and social disorganization problem it pushed on through with it, despite the fact that the original impetus of that attack had long been spent and that new conditions demanded a new approach. To "blame" in this case were:

1.Politics: Canny, narrow and cheap maneuvers of President L. B. Johnson

2.Bureaucracy: As with the French and German military leaders locked in fatal embrace at Verdun, the bureaucracy can only move one way and can only push more massively.

3.The social welfare expects [whether] leaders have learned very little and proposed almost nothing new in a generation.

March 22, 1966Palermo

History is rewritten not out of malice so much as from a yearning for everything to have been for the best. Thus the Romans are characterized as superior to the Carthaginians. Or the Roman Empire is regarded as a necessary development if the territories of the republic were to be stabilized and well-governed. And the Empire was "decadent" while the barbarians were "fresh" and we should be happy for five centuries of punishment for having gay parties in the imperial courts. Or, for that matter - better that the American Indian should be eliminated (he was going nowhere), and the Mexicans rifled of their lands, and the South trounced (but better before that the slaves were transported here than left to their poor lives in the African vastnesses). Were we to feel that history were as often wrong as right, we should cease to love it and study it. (Incidentally, a strong motif in American folk psychology is the hatred of history and its dismissal as "bunk".) If we believed history usually the triumph of evil over good, we should study it only at the risk of being sick to our stomachs. Fortunately, history as a whole may be viewed through rose glasses, allowing the individual scientist to cultivate his small portion with systematic devotion to the verities.

March 26, 1966 Constantine

It is 6 A.M. The turbaned Arabs are on the streets. The de-turbaned Arabs are the late risers. I must be in some way Arab, rising with the dawn by some preternatural suggestion, a racial voice. The city looks out on the hills -- look one way over a valley and into mountains; cross a few yards and do the same. I remember scarcely a thing from twenty-three years ago when I passed through Constantine. It was war time then, but I cannot say that physically and economically the place is in better shape now. Nor could I say that of Tunisia. The people must get a large satisfaction from being ruled by their own kind. And to my own mind, that does outweigh the economic slowness of the area. People are not starving, that is clear. Of bread there is enough.

Before leaving Tunis, we visited the Algerian consul for visas. Three young Americans who worked for the Peace Corps came in. Two taught English in the high school (I wonder how this furthers economic or social development -- A smattering of work and then what?) The Peace Corps should be judged as an excellent educational fellowship for many thousands of young Americans. The system is better than one of conventional scholarships, because if they came over as students, our young people would drift about, become beatniks, strive after the exotic, and learn damn little. This way, by teaching, they learn. They learn a great deal. They are serious. They are disciplined. And, of course, in a quite unspecific way, they help others.

I have a headache this morning from night driving. Caught in a quadrangular trap of an almost empty gasoline tank, four border posts to cross between Tunis and Algeria and no money exchanges for many miles around in these countries of controlled currency and little road traffic, and an unmarked douane in Algeria to which we had to retrace twenty miles of road for clearance, and we inexorably ended by being stranded for an hour and more on a mountain near La Calla. So, as the sociologist would put it, I had an intensive set of interactions with informal exchange arrangers, gas provisioners, taxi-drivers, little boys, police, uniformed foresters, and coffee-house loiterers. In the end, we had to drive along a visually deceptive road in the dark, part ways through rain and mostly through mountain, for three hours to reach Constantine. Even though we had changed a few dollars into Algerian francs, our gas had run down to the very last drops when we finally pulled in at the Hotel Chica. Along the way, the villages were shut up to the outer world. Several times though, I espied a cluster of people under some tree or in some doorway and received advice on the road from them. We did, in fact, manage to cut off many miles from the more indirect but obvious route that passes through B (now called Annala officially but still referred to by its French name by the people). We were hungry for we hadn't eaten all day but for several tiny pizzas and cream pastries that we had bought with our dwindling Tunisian currency early in the day. So while I hitched a ride on a jalopy (which we all had to push to start) in my search for gasoline, the boys cut into a can of ravioli and a can of peaches that we had stored away in Palermo. And at nine o'clock at night, we stopped again and tore open another can of ravioli which we gobbled with our fingers alongside the car in the middle of an utterly mysterious landscape whose only identification will be a jaggedly cut emptied can of Italian ravioli incongruously shining from a scrub bush dune.

26 March 1955

En route to Algiers. Beautiful country. Undeveloped to an astonishing degree. The French gave up an enormous prize that could have given them really the Empire and glory that De Gaulle aspires to. Yet they would have to be Arabized to some degree -- 1 out of every 4 Frenchmen would be of Muslim Algerian background. That is the price of assimilation and of lasting imperialism. I think in their hearts it was this prospect that motivated the decisive 'yes' vote to detach Algeria.

March 27, 1966

Last night in Algiers. The city has lost its glamorous urbanity. It is largely an Arab city now, the streets full of men with much time on their hands. Gone the pretty well-dressed women of the free Western style. [Celiane] has obviously declined transportation services seem a little crowded but the bars are one quarter occupied, that on a Saturday night! There is not quite the [setting] and self-conscious resolve to turn them into /Arab. coffee hours with all the men playing dominoes and wearing turbans. The Algerian city folk are caught between two rejected worlds. Gone the French, but the city Algerian cannot emulate his life and is thrown back upon the Casbah.

En route to wherever we get. Late revelers awakened me at 2 AM from the narrow resounding street below the Hotel de l'Oasis. Six men saying goodnight. Then the cats make love and fight (no restrictions on public encounters between the sexes there). At three I arose. At three-thirty I awoke Paul and John. I did not disabuse them of the idea that it might be two hours later than the fact. At four-fifteen we pulled out and have driven steadily along fast roads for several hours.

March 28, 1966 Melilla, Spanish Morocco

While waiting to pass through the frontier at Ouida, two o'clock in the afternoon I spoke with a Moroccan lady -- she seemed to speak a mixture of Spanish and French -- who mentioned that the easiest way to go to Spain to the take the overnight boat from Melilla to Malaga. So we finished our driving -- over five hundred miles since we set out from Algiers -- in this quaint city of Spanish Morocco. It is filled with soldiers of several distinct services. They stroll about the town on this Sunday evening, behaving properly, pleasant to look at in their tans and light greens with clashes of red here and there. They are young, with little money, fresh-faced, more uniform of countenance and physique, of course, than Americans. Yet I am transported to Paducah and El Paso and Wilmington of twenty-four years ago when I would wander too among the streets of a warm evening in the dress of a soldier among hundreds of my kind, just as they did, too, this evening, at a witching hour when they clambered aboard the buses that were heading back to their camps, we would collapse our liberty like a small tent and docilely return to our barracks, leaving a few drunken Indians and other rebellious souls to be rounded up and subdued by the Military Police.

previous.gif     next.gif