“We learn from history that we do not learn from history.” -Georg Hegel
Back in March, I was reading everything I could find about COVID-19 and about pandemics. Eventually that tapered off. But this week I decided that it was time to go back and learn a lot more about the 1918 Spanish Flu.
I've just ordered John M. Barry's 2004 book called The Great Influenza. Bill Gates wrote about it over the summer -- after he reread it -- and said that it will teach you almost everything you need to know about the influenza. He also said that it's never been more relevant.
Despite happening over 100 years ago, there are no doubt lessons that we can learn from this great influenza. The most important being that leadership and honesty, of course, matter a great deal during a time of crisis.
Barry also argues that the 1918 influenza was responsible for altering the flow of history. He makes the claim (convincingly according to Bill) that it was a contributing factor in the rise of Hitler and the start of World War II.
So I'm looking forward to receiving my copy later this week. If you'd like to purchase your own, you can do that over here. And if you've already read it, please let me know what you thought in the comment section below.
https://twitter.com/donnelly_b/status/1316229179369828357?s=20
A good friend of mine in Philadelphia just recommended a new book to me by Diana Lind called, Brave New Home: Our Future in Smarter, Simpler, Happier Housing. I haven't read it yet, so I can't in good conscience recommend it to you all or comment with any sort of precision.
But the New York Times seems to think that Diana has convincingly argued that the single-family home is at least partially to blame for a whole host of our societal challenges -- everything from economic inequality to loneliness.
This is, of course, not an entirely new narrative. But it is perhaps a timely read given that we are living through a period of time where loneliness seems to be on the rise and people are allegedly fleeing our urban centers in search of space and distance.
“We learn from history that we do not learn from history.” -Georg Hegel
Back in March, I was reading everything I could find about COVID-19 and about pandemics. Eventually that tapered off. But this week I decided that it was time to go back and learn a lot more about the 1918 Spanish Flu.
I've just ordered John M. Barry's 2004 book called The Great Influenza. Bill Gates wrote about it over the summer -- after he reread it -- and said that it will teach you almost everything you need to know about the influenza. He also said that it's never been more relevant.
Despite happening over 100 years ago, there are no doubt lessons that we can learn from this great influenza. The most important being that leadership and honesty, of course, matter a great deal during a time of crisis.
Barry also argues that the 1918 influenza was responsible for altering the flow of history. He makes the claim (convincingly according to Bill) that it was a contributing factor in the rise of Hitler and the start of World War II.
So I'm looking forward to receiving my copy later this week. If you'd like to purchase your own, you can do that over here. And if you've already read it, please let me know what you thought in the comment section below.
https://twitter.com/donnelly_b/status/1316229179369828357?s=20
A good friend of mine in Philadelphia just recommended a new book to me by Diana Lind called, Brave New Home: Our Future in Smarter, Simpler, Happier Housing. I haven't read it yet, so I can't in good conscience recommend it to you all or comment with any sort of precision.
But the New York Times seems to think that Diana has convincingly argued that the single-family home is at least partially to blame for a whole host of our societal challenges -- everything from economic inequality to loneliness.
This is, of course, not an entirely new narrative. But it is perhaps a timely read given that we are living through a period of time where loneliness seems to be on the rise and people are allegedly fleeing our urban centers in search of space and distance.
I am reading Malcolm Gladwell's latest book right now, called Talking to Strangers: What We Should Know about the People We Don't Know, and I am intrigued by the chapter on Sylvia Plath's unfortunate suicide and the concept of "coupling." The idea behind coupling, which stands in contrast to displacement, is that when someone makes the very sad decision to commit suicide, it can often be coupled to a particular place or context.
Malcolm starts by giving the example of "town gas." Prior to it being phased out in the 1960s and 1970s, most homes in Britain relied on a form of gas that contained carbon monoxide. And sadly, it became the most popular way for people to kill themselves. When Sylvia Plath took her own life in 1962, the death-by-carbon-monoxide-poisoning stat was 44.2% of all suicides in England and Wales.
The concept of displacement, on the other hand, surmises that if somebody wants to kill themselves, they will eventually find another way. But Malcolm convincingly argues that that is not necessarily or very often the case. As town gas was phased out of British homes, the number of suicides also declined in lockstep. Turns out that many of the previous suicides had been coupled to that particular tool.
Why this is potentially valuable to this blog audience is that this same coupling phenomenon can happen within our cities and to particular places. Malcolm gives the example of the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, which has been the site of many suicides since it was first erected in 1937. The same, of course, can be the said about many subway systems around the world.
But again, there's evidence to suggest that if you can save somebody on the Golden Gate Bridge (a suicide barrier was erected in 2018) or on a subway system by installing safety doors, there's a good chance that many of those people will never actually find another way to commit suicide. In other words, you can save a bunch of lives by having the right provisions in place and not assuming that something is a foregone conclusion.
Photo by Chris Leipelt on Unsplash
I am reading Malcolm Gladwell's latest book right now, called Talking to Strangers: What We Should Know about the People We Don't Know, and I am intrigued by the chapter on Sylvia Plath's unfortunate suicide and the concept of "coupling." The idea behind coupling, which stands in contrast to displacement, is that when someone makes the very sad decision to commit suicide, it can often be coupled to a particular place or context.
Malcolm starts by giving the example of "town gas." Prior to it being phased out in the 1960s and 1970s, most homes in Britain relied on a form of gas that contained carbon monoxide. And sadly, it became the most popular way for people to kill themselves. When Sylvia Plath took her own life in 1962, the death-by-carbon-monoxide-poisoning stat was 44.2% of all suicides in England and Wales.
The concept of displacement, on the other hand, surmises that if somebody wants to kill themselves, they will eventually find another way. But Malcolm convincingly argues that that is not necessarily or very often the case. As town gas was phased out of British homes, the number of suicides also declined in lockstep. Turns out that many of the previous suicides had been coupled to that particular tool.
Why this is potentially valuable to this blog audience is that this same coupling phenomenon can happen within our cities and to particular places. Malcolm gives the example of the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, which has been the site of many suicides since it was first erected in 1937. The same, of course, can be the said about many subway systems around the world.
But again, there's evidence to suggest that if you can save somebody on the Golden Gate Bridge (a suicide barrier was erected in 2018) or on a subway system by installing safety doors, there's a good chance that many of those people will never actually find another way to commit suicide. In other words, you can save a bunch of lives by having the right provisions in place and not assuming that something is a foregone conclusion.
Photo by Chris Leipelt on Unsplash
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