The United Nations warned about the deteriorating situation in Afghanistan for years, and just three months ago published a report with tragically accurate warnings about the repercussions of a hasty withdrawal. It is a grim reminder that we should pay more attention to international institutions like the U.N., since they benefit from having a large pool of resources from different countries, and are given access that most governments are denied.
The U.N. report stated the Taliban was trying to demoralize the government, intimidate the populace, and put “major pressure” on near the capital, “massing forces around key provincial capitals and district centers, enabling them to remain poised to launch attacks”—which we saw play out in barely two weeks.
U.N. observers believed the Taliban were planning their operations around the withdrawal date announced by Trump and Biden when foreign troops would “no longer [be] able to effectively respond”. It cautioned that the Afghan military was “in decline” and that our departure “will challenge Afghan Forces by limiting aerial operation with fewer drones and radar and surveillance capabilities, less logistical support and artillery, as well as a disruption in training”—again, all this explained why the government melted away so soon.
The U.N. also predicted that the Taliban would target departing foreign troops to “score propaganda points” and believed the group is “closely aligned” with al-Qaeda, with “no indication of breaking ties” despite trying to mask their connections. To make matters worse, the U.N. believes Islamic State may position itself in Afghanistan, which recent news reports suggest is already happening.
While it remains to be seen whether some of the pending predictions come true, the U.N.’s overall conclusion was sadly spot on: “The Afghan Taliban poses a major threat to the survival of the Afghan government, which is likely to substantially grow with the full withdrawal of U.S. forces”.
[Literally one day after I shared the U.N. report on social media, Kabul’s airport was attacked by an Islamic State affiliate, killing over a dozen Americans and scores of Afghans desperately trying to flee. The report had warned of other extremist groups that are or will grow more powerful, often with tacit Taliban support, and that the Taliban would take full advantage of our withdrawal and target departing foreign troops to “score propaganda points”. Sadly, it was once again not too far off the mark.]
I am not sure how many more disasters and tragedies it will take for us to learn to listen to our international partners, many of whom have intelligence networks and resources we lack. One does not have to be a “globalist” to recognize that — the writing was almost literally on the wall.
Among the four paintings prominently displayed in the U.S. Capitol is the Surrender of Lord Cornwallis by John Trumbull (known as the “Painter of the Revolution” for his many iconic depictions of the war and period; you’ll recognize many of them if you look him up).
The painting shows the British surrender at Yorktown in 1781, which marks the decisive end of the American Revolution. Flanked on one side of the defeated general are Americans carrying the Stars and Stripes, and on the other French soldiers beneath the banner of France’s monarchy—the two forces portrayed as equal combatants. Trumbull’s decision to show French and Americans as identical victors reflected widespread acknowledgement that the U.S. owed its independence to the Kingdom of France. (Ironically, the world’s first modern republic was birthed with the help of one of its oldest and most absolute monarchies—more so than Great Britain’s!)
Almost as many French troops took part in the final battle as Americans; one of the two military columns that secured victory was entirely French. Meanwhile, the French Navy had kept British ships from coming to Cornwallis’ aid, prompting him to surrender—and the British to sue for peace. Even this already-critical contribution is just one example of decisive French aid.
Well before the Declaration of Independence, the Founders actively sought an alliance with France: While the French monarchy was everything the revolution stood against—heck, it was more authoritarian than even Britain’s—the Patriots were pragmatic enough to recognize that only the French had both the motive and means to take on the British, to whom they lost all their North American colonies just a decade before, in the Seven Years’ War (to say nothing of centuries of rivalry and mutual enmity).Indeed, France’s foreign minister urged the king to support the Americans, arguing that “[destiny] had marked out this moment for the humiliation of England.”
Hence why the Founders pursued a two-year diplomatic mission, led by noted Francophile Benjamin Franklin, to court the French for as much aid and support as possible.
The alliance was not merely opportunistic: Most of the Founders were avid consumers of French political philosophy, which promoted ideals of individual liberty and political representation. As far back as the 1760s, it was trendy for Americans to favor France over their English overlords; as one historian notes, “It became almost a patriotic duty for colonists to admire France as a counterpoise to an increasingly hostile England”. France’s powerful monarchy helped spur many French thinkers to explore better political alternatives—and in the process, inspire Americans across the Atlantic.
Patrick Henry’s famous exhortation, “Give me freedom or give me death!”, which convinced the colonists to prepare for war, echoed French philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau, who opened his influential 1762 work, The Social Contract, with the words “Man is born free and everywhere he is in chains”. Rousseau’s core argument—predating the American Revolution by over a decade—is familiar to us now: Sovereignty rested not in a monarch, but in the people, with laws needing to reflect the common good, not the whims of an aristocratic elite. These ideals were channeled by Thomas Jefferson—another avid reader and noted Francophile—in the language of the Declaration of Independence. The U.S. Constitution may have drawn from the even older work of Baron de Montesquieu, who forty years before published “The Spirit of the Laws”, which laid out many familiar principles: That the executive, legislative, and judicial functions of government should be separated, so that each branch can keep the other in check; that laws should ensure a fair trial, presumption of innocence and proportional punishments; and that people had the freedom of thought, speech and assembly (he also argued against slavery, though sadly that did not take root until much later).
In any event, the admiration was mutual: Many French, including those who directly aided and fought in the American Revolution, were reeling under the monarchy and sought change; many of the political philosophers beloved by the Founders, including Rousseau and Montesquieu, faced persecution and even exile for their writings. To many in France, the nascent American republic signified their ideals made real, an experiment they wanted to succeed so it could perhaps be a model to their own efforts. (It is no coincidence that the French Revolution—which was bolder but bloodier than our own—would occur less than two decades after America’s.)
But as important as the ideological support was the practical kind. Even the most noble efforts require money to succeed, and France—then one of the world’s wealthiest countries—provided open-ended credit to the tune of billions of dollars. American troops, who initially lacked even basic goods like boots and winter jackers, received those supplies and more: By some measures, 90% of American gunpowder was of French origin, as were a similar proportion of U.S. armaments at Yorktown.
The Comte de Rochambeau, who is pictured as Washington’s equal in the Surrender of Yorktown, led the French Expeditionary Force that helped secure American victory—and which remains the only foreign allied force ever to campaign on American soil. Other brilliant Frenchmen like the Marquis de Lafayette, Louis Duportail, and Pierre L’Enfant played leading roles in the war and were personal friends and aides to George Washington (L’Enfant even helped design the nation’s capital). Tens of thousands more French served as soldiers and sailors, with the latter making up the bulk of our naval force.
Beyond the military dimension, France’s diplomatic heft could not be understated: As the first country to recognize American independence, it provided considerable legitimacy to the Patriot’s cause; if one of the most powerful countries in the world saw something in these upstart Americans, why shouldn’t other nations? Sure enough, France managed to get other powers like Spain and the Dutch Republic to throw in their lot with the Americans—turning what could have been just another self-contained rebellion into a full-fledged world war that stretched British forces thin. France even helped broker the peace deal that finally secured British recognition of U.S. independence—the “Treaty of Paris”—after refusing Britain’s offer of a separate peace deal without the Americans (a pretty solid ally indeed).
Setting aside my own globalist sentiments, is worth noting that all the top COVID-19 vaccines are products of international collaboration, and a testament to the fruits of globalization.
The Oxford-AstraZeneca vaccine (marketed in some places as Covishield) is the most straightforward example, as it was developed in a partnership between Oxford University in the U.K. and the British-Swedish multinational pharmaceutical company AstraZeneca.
The Pfizer vaccine, which was the first to be confirmed 90% effective, was developed by a German company, BioNTech, founded and led by a Turkish-born married couple of leading immunologists. Pfizer, which was founded in the U.S. by German immigrants, helped provide vital resources for logistics, clinical trials, and manufacturing.
The Johnson & Johnson vaccine, like Pfizer’s, was also developed in Europe with the backing of American resources, by Janssen Vaccines in Leiden, Netherlands, and its Belgian parent company Janssen Pharmaceuticals, a subsidiary of J&J.
Heck, even Russia’s “Sputnik V” vaccine—which was technically the first to be developed—has turned out to be more efficacious than initially believed (much to my own surprised and that of many epidemiologists, apparently).
While the pandemic exposed the many perils of an interconnected world, it has also shown the even greater peril of trying to go it alone when it comes to major challenges and threats that disregard political boundaries and nationalities.
I’m hardly the first or only person to notice this: As long ago as 1851, when the Industrial Era helped rapidly globalize trade, travel, and war—and with them, more rapidly and widely spread diseases—the first of several “International Sanitary Conferences” was convened by the Ottoman Empire to coordinate containment strategies for infectious diseases—even among rivals and former enemies. It was the first time that a formal process of international collaboration was devised for public health; but as we’re learning, it remains even more relevant nearly two centuries later.
Of course, one doesn’t have to be a “globalist” to appreciate the logic of multilateralism (in public health and generally). One study in the medical journal BMJ examining the international response to COVID-19 argues:
The reasons for collaboration remain clear, logical, and have endured essentially unchanged from their original conceptualisation in the 1800s. Three of the most central are as follows. Firstly, the many ties between nations create collective health risks that are difficult to manage independently. The rapid spread of SARS-CoV-2 shows the close connections between countries, and the poorly managed economic and social costs are further evidence of their shared fate. Secondly, sharing knowledge and experience accelerates learning and facilitates more rapid progress. Information and knowledge on pathogens, their transmission, the diseases they provoke, and possible interventions are all areas in which researchers and public health professionals can benefit from the experience of others. Thirdly, agreeing on rules and standards supports comparability of information, helps establish good practices, and underpins shared understanding and mutual trust. All three reasons drive nations to collaborate and are reflected in their creation of WHO, a central authority, and its World Health Assembly (WHA), which serves as a forum for countries to share information, debate issues, and take collective decisions.
Little wonder why, despite the rise of nationalism and insularity (which predate the pandemic but was exacerbated by it), some global survey data suggest that a majority of people believe that more global collaboration would help reduce the impact of COVID-19. Far from idealistic, it is simply pragmatic to throw everything we have at his problem, regardless of which national jurisdiction the resources or knowhow happen to be located.
I’ll leave the final word to the above-mentioned study in BMJ, which I think makes a sober, evidence-based case for multilateralism, which is all too often treated as Utopian or naïve rather than realistic and practical:
The covid-19 pandemic painfully shows the reasons why nations are better off when they cooperate and collaborate in health, and also reveals the hazards of their incomplete commitment to doing so. Member states have prioritised themselves by restricting WHO from meaningful oversight of national information and endangered global health security by competing for vaccines rather than allocating them equitably. The inability to verify national data or advance its own estimates is just one of the many crucial dimensions in which WHO is prevented from maintaining the primacy of technical competence over the self-interested obfuscations of some member states. WHO’s independence is compromised also through the manipulation of its budget. The patchwork of institutions active in health reflects the limited, ad hoc agreement among powerful countries. Although generally global institutions have performed well in their missions, their often limited mandates leave the world’s people inadequately protected from new threats. In a pandemic, the cost is expressed in lives and livelihoods. More than 10, 000 people were dying daily at end of 2020, and the world economy was forecast to lose $5tn or more in 2020 alone. The imperative of finding collaborative and collective solutions—solidarity—has never been more obvious, or more urgent, for covid-19, climate change, non-communicable diseases, and the many other pressing and grave challenges that hinge on collective action.
Meaningful international collaboration is a critical part of the road ahead and calls for immediate action in three areas. Firstly, member states must end the systematic weakening of WHO—end ad hoc institutional fragmentation in global health and end budgetary manipulation. Secondly, they must support the independence of WHO—increase its core budget and build its authority over trade and travel related issues, including compulsory licensure for pharmaceuticals. Thirdly, states must uphold fairness, participation, and accountability by granting WHO powers to hold members accountable, including for overcoming deficiencies in national data, and by decolonising its governance to address the undue influence of a small number of powerful member states.
Half the ISS—which involves five space agencies and fifteen countries—is Russian-built and operated, and to this day Russia does most of the legwork in launching both crew and cargo. It was a rare and enduring example of cooperation between two erstwhile rivals, an interesting if fragile antidote to the petty politics on the ground. (Scientists and astronauts from both countries get along pretty well and have consistently collaborated even through the worst flareups of tensions and hostility.)
China was never part of the ISS—a notable absence given its hefty financial resources and technical knowledge—due to a controversial NASA policy implemented by Congress in 2011 that excludes any form of cooperation with any Chinese institution or organization. So I imagine its ambitious attempt at a national space station, like so many of its actions abroad, clearly has a triumphalist “We’ll show you!” aspect to it.
But China’s Tiangong, or “Heavenly Palace”, which is set for completion in just a year, will have only one-sixth the mass of the ISS, and roughly a quarter of its habitable space. This isn’t to say it won’t be an impressive feat—especially for a developing country that remains a byword for cheap consumer goods—but its full potential is likely limited given the sheer costs and complexity of building (and regularly maintaining) a human habitat in space.
Meanwhile, Russia’s plans are less clear: Though it holds many records in space stations—including launching the first one, having the most in total, and having the most experience with space walks and the like—it no longer has the financial resources to back this knowhow. (That’s what made the ISS so successful: What Russia lacked in America’s vast resources it made up for with its proven expertise, and visa versa.)
Even the otherwise prideful U.S.—albeit namely its pragmatic scientists at NASA—has now seemingly realized that space is too big, costly, and complex an endeavor for even superpowers to handle.
Aside from being a key founder of the ISS, which was created to replace a planned U.S. station that would have been too costly, NASA plans to return to humans to the moon for the first time in fifty years through the Artemis Program—a decidedly international effort.
While it will be led primarily by NASA and its mostly American commercial contractors, it will include personnel, tech, and resources from Europe, Japan, Canada, Italy, Australia, the United Kingdom, United Arab Emirates, Ukraine, and Brazil. (Believe it or not, those last three do carry a lot of technological heft in space; the UAE has a probe orbiting Mars as we speak, and India is notable for accomplishing many difficult space ventures at fairly low cost.) More countries have been invited and are are expected to join.
The Artemis Program not only aims to put humans (including the first woman) on the Moon by 2024, but has the long-term goal of establishing a lunar base that will be a launchpad for crewed missions to Mars.
Surprisingly, all this was promulgated during the tenure of a Trump-appointed, former Oklahoma congressman as NASA Administrator, who explicitly modeled the “Artemis Accords”, which broaden international participation in the program, on the United Nations Outer Space Treaty of 1967 (on which most space law is grounded).
To be sure, neither the Artemis Program, nor the Accords that essentially “internationalize” it, are without their criticisms. Many international legal scholars see them as a way for America to apply its own self-interested interpretation of space law that permits commercial exploitation of celestial bodies; as The Vergereports:
[The] Outer Space Treaty is pretty vague — purposefully so — which means there is a lot of room for interpretation on various clauses. The goal of the Artemis Accords is to provide a little more clarity on how the US wants to explore the Moon without going through the slow treaty-making process. “We are doing this in keeping with the Outer Space Treaty,” said Bridenstine, adding that NASA is trying to “create a dynamic where the Outer Space Treaty can actually be enforced.”
One big thing NASA wanted to make clear in the accords is that countries can own and use resources that are derived from the Moon. As part of the Artemis program, NASA hopes to extract lunar materials, such as the Moon’s dirt or water ice that’s thought to be lurking in the shadows of lunar craters. The Outer Space Treaty forbids nations from staking claim to another planetary body, but the policy of the US is that countries and companies can own the materials they extract from other worlds. “Article II of the Outer Space Treaty says that you cannot appropriate the Moon for national sovereignty,” Bridenstine said. “We fully agree with that and embrace it. We also believe that, just like in the ocean, you can extract resources from the ocean. But that doesn’t mean you own the ocean. You should be able to extract resources from the Moon. Own the resources but not own the Moon.”
It’s an interpretation of the Outer Space Treaty that not everyone may agree on. A pair of researchers writing in the journal Science last week have called on countries to speak up about their objections to this interpretation, and that the United States should go through the United Nations treaty process in order to negotiate on space mining. “NASA’s actions must be seen for what they are—a concerted, strategic effort to redirect international space cooperation in favor of short-term U.S. commercial interests, with little regard for the risks involved,” the researchers wrote in Science.
Still, the overall substance and spirit of the Accords — which at just seven pages, makes for an easy read) — seems like the sensible way forward. I know, I know count on the internationalist to reach that conclusion! But really, if we want to maximize humanity’s potential in space, we must do so as, well, humans: unified in our resources, knowhow, innovation, and vision. Given how much has been accomplished by just a handful of nations on their ow — and the number of countries joining the space club grows annually — imagine what a united front can offer?
Given that China and Russia have lunar aspirations of their own—including a joint lunar base that sort of speaks to my point—it will be interesting to see which vision will play out successfully: The Star Trek-style pan-humanist approach, or the more familiar competitiveness and nationalism that characterized the Cold War or even the colonial era.
I know I’m quite a bit late to the party (though I definitely indulged in all the glorious memes), but I think any time is a good time to learn about the otherwise overlooked bit of our global infrastructure that suddenly became a global phenomenon.
The ninth annual World Happiness Report, published by the United Nations, has just been released, and it’s the first to follow an unprecedented global calamity that impacted billions and personally affected tens of millions more. So, needless to say, its results should be interesting, if not grim.
But as the Washington Post reported, the world was largely resilient through the pandemic, maintaining a relatively positive outlook for the future:
In a conclusion that even surprised its editors, the 2021 World Happiness Report found that, amid global hardship, self-reported life satisfaction across 95 countries on average remained steady in 2020 from the previous year. The United States saw the same trend — despite societal tumult that yielded a national drop in positive emotions and a rise in negative ones. The country fell one spot, to 19th, in the annual rankings of the report, which was released Saturday.
The report is good news regarding global resilience, experts say.
“I don’t want to leave an impression that all was well, because it’s not,” said one of the report’s editors, Jeffrey Sachs, an economics professor at Columbia University. But while the use of national averages masks individual well-being disparities, Sachs said, the data suggests that “people have not thrown up their hands about their lives.”
You can read more about the methodology here, but basically, it draws its data from the Gallup World Poll, which asks people worldwide to rate their current life satisfaction from zero to ten, with ten representing “the best possible life” and zero the “worst possible life”. Respondents are also asked to report their positive and negative emotions and experiences felt the day before the survey.
Taking together both short-term and long-term self-evaluations of life satisfaction, the WHR found these to be the twenty happiest countries through 2020:
The next twenty runners up are a pretty eclectic mix as well, spanning an ever broader variety of cultures, political systems, and levels of economic development:
Overall, while there was a “significantly higher frequency of negative emotions” in just over a third of the 149 countries measured—again, do mostly to the pandemic— things got better for 22 countries, particularly in Asia; even China moved up ten places to 84th. As one of the report’s author’s noted, there was not an overall decline in well-being as expressed by the respondents.
For the U.S., which has been one of the harder-hit countries during the pandemic, to say nothing of its tumultuous social and political circumstances?
In late March to early April of 2020, at the beginning of pandemic restrictions, 58.2 percent of U.S. respondents rated their current life satisfaction as a 7 or above, Gallup found.
While the number of Americans reporting anxiety and depressive symptoms rose sharply over the course of 2020, that satisfaction number stayed fairly even through December, according to the report, even after further covid-19 restrictions, pandemic surges, protests over racial injustices and politics, and a divisive presidential election.
All the while, Americans’ expected future happiness remained high: In five surveys since the pandemic began, between 65.8 and 69.2 percent of respondents said they expected their life satisfaction to be an 8 or above five years into the future, higher than before the pandemic. That suggests an optimism for the future that Sonja Lyubomirsky, a psychology professor at the University of California at Riverside, says is “really, really adaptive.”
Counterintuitively, it may have been the awful hardship of the past year that actually gave a boost to a lot of folks’ happiness:
It’s not so much that people are doing precisely as well as they were before, experts explain, as that many have adapted to their new situations in ways that might have roughly evened out their well-being. “One of the quotes we use is ‘You aren’t traveling the world, but you’re more likely to have met your neighbors this year,’ ” said John Helliwell, another editor of the report and a professor emeritus of economics at the University of British Columbia.
Stressors such as those we’ve experienced this year can encourage people to craft a different, big-picture concept of happiness. And this, psychologists say, can improve resilience. You’ve already likely taken the opportunity to examine your own big picture this past year, but, if you’ve been having difficulty, and because we’re not done with this pandemic, here are some strategies to help.
Of course, this isn’t to make light of all the horrors that have unfolded across the world this past year alone. Just because something doesn’t kill you, doesn’t mean it makes you stronger, and enough people around you being killed or maimed by war, disease, or the wanton cruelties of life will take its toll.
Still, this would explain why countries like Costa Rica, Bahrain, Guatemala, Mexico, and Saudi Arabia—which together struggle with chronic poverty, inequality, violence, and/or political oppression—can be among the happiest places in the world, at the same level as, if not ahead of, much better-off places.
But that brings us to Finland, which has topped the ranking for the fourth time in a row. In fact, all but one of the top ten (New Zealand) are northern European countries—the same places that perform well in rankings of livability, life expectancy, democratic governance, low corruption, and the like. Clearly, happiness still has a lot to do with material and environmental conditions—money can only buy so much of it, as we all hear, but there is some point where baseline needs like shelter, health, economic security, and the like must be met to better ensure lifelong satisfaction.
Indeed, Finland seems to reflect this delicate balance perfectly. On the one hand, as Afar explains, there’s the cultural component:
Finns embrace a unique spirit of fortitude for thriving in tough times, which for them, often manifests via the weather. This national ideology even has a name: It’s called sisu, and it’s at the core of Finns’ well-being, suggests Katja Pantzar, a Helsinki-based journalist and author of The Finnish Way, which delves into the concept. As Pantzar explains, sisu is focused on persevering when the odds are against you and to view challenges as opportunities. “Instead of waiting for a warm sunny day,” she offers, “many Finns practice daily sisu by heading out in any kind of weather for a brisk walk or cycle, or to spend time in nature.” These simple and sensible activities are at the heart of what keeps Finns happy, Pantzar concludes, adding “I keep returning to this Finnish saying, ‘Happiness does not come from searching for it, but by living.’” And living with sisu, for Pantzar, like many Finns, means bundling up in the snow to bike to work or swimming in the sea year-round— even when it’s covered in ice.
But there is also a concerted effort to put in place economic, political, and social structures that promote individual and community stability, human flourishing, and ultimately life satisfaction, as detailed in Forbes:
Finland has long been praised by a multitude of international bodies for its extensive welfare benefits, low levels of corruption, well-functioning democracy, and its instilled sense of freedom and autonomy. Its progressive taxation and wealth distribution has allowed for a flourishing universal healthcare system, and, staggeringly, more than 80% of Finns trust their police force, which is far more than many other countries can claim.
Finland has long been punching above its weight within the global economy, too, giving the world global brands such as Nokia, Rovio (developer of Angry Birds), Supercell (creators of Clash of Clans) and elevator manufacturer KONE.
The country is famous for being one of the first countries to push the flat working model, which exemplifies the Finnish approach to how businesses should be run, as well as how employees should be treated in the workplace. The flat working model is one in which there are few – or sometimes even zero – hierarchal levels between management and staff. Typically there is less supervision of employees and the structure aims to promote increased involvement with organizational decision-making, enabling open communication between all departments and teams within a business.
The key takeaway from Forbes is that Finland and its high-ranking peers all share a holistic approach to human rights and happiness, one that recognizes that individual freedom comes from having the right resources and environment to unlock your potential and self-actualize:
The happiness of the Finnish people stems not only from its large number of welfare policies, its intrinsic affinity for mutual trust and equality but also from freedom. The mindset that one can only be free and independent if everyone is equally free and independent drives the country’s policy-making and underpins what it means to be Finnish.
For many, it’s about living in a country where all conceivable basic needs are met, whether that’s healthcare, education, or having a job that makes you feel fulfilled. The overarching theme is that Finland remains ahead of the curve in so many facets of life. For now, Finland is ranking top, but the hope is that the example Finland is setting helps other countries to better care for their people. The fact that the country continues to pioneer social and economic welfare, education and working best-practice is something of which other countries should take note when looking at improving the happiness of their people.
Not bad for a country that just seventy years ago was one of the poorest and most devastated in the world. It goes to show that maybe happiness and well-being need not be so abstract and philosophical: Yes, the deeply poor and traumatized can be happy, while the very rich and privileged can be miserable, but the overall picture from around the world is that culture, mindset, and baseline material wealth all build on each other. With mutual trust comes resilience and security, and with security and resilience comes more mutual trust (i.e., you know your fellow citizens and institutions will look out for you); it’s a virtuous cycle that can persist even though the worst circumstances.
But those are just my own rushed thoughts — what do you think?
Yesterday was World Water Day, launched by the UN in 1993 to raise awareness about the importance of water both environmentally and for humanity as a whole.
I think our strictly terrestrial species is ill-equipped to truly grasp the significance of water, from its role in generating most of our oxygen, to the fact that most living things that have ever lived have been aquatic or amphibious.
As a middle class person in a developed part of the world, it is also east to take for granted just how elusive access to clean water is; for most of human history, most humans died or were sickened (sometimes permanently) by diseases related to dirty water.
While we’ve made tremendous progress over the past century alone, well over a million humans still die annually from water-borne diseases (many of them children), and nearly one out of four people lack the access to clean water that most us take as a given. The effects of climate change and overexploitation risks depleting an already strained water supply—making World Water Day’s mission of awareness all the more invaluable.
Below is a big data dump concerning all things water, including the progress we’ve made in expanding clean water access, and the challenges that remain in continuing this development while doing so sustainably.
Engellau, Volvo’s president and an engineer himself, helped push for a more effective seatbelt, after a relative died in a traffic accident due partly to the flaws of the two-point belt design—which was not even standard feature in cars at the time. This personal tragedy drove Engellau to find a better solution, hiring Bohlin to find a solution quickly.
There were two major problems with the historic two-point belt design, which crosses the lap only. First, because the human pelvis is hinged, a single strap fails to restrain the torso, leaving passengers vulnerable to severe head, chest and spinal injuries; positioned poorly, the belt can even crush internal organs on impact. Second, they were notoriously uncomfortable, so many people chose not to wear them. Bohlin’s innovation was to find a design that resolved both problems at once.
After millions of dollars and thousands of tests through the 1950s and 1960s, Volvo became the first carmaker in the world to standardize the three-point safety belt we now take for granted. More than that, Volvo pushed hard for the seatbelt to be adopted in its native Sweden, which like most places was initially resistant to having to wear seatbelts.
But Volvo didn’t stop there. While it patented the designs to protect their investment from copy-cats, the company did not charge significant license fees to rivals or keep the design to itself to give their cars an edge. Knowing that lives were at stake worldwide, Engellau made Bohlin’s patent immediately available to all. Having sponsored the costly R&D, they gifted their designs to competitors to encourage mass adoption. It is estimated that Volvo may have lost out on $400 million in additional profits, if not more.
Instead, literally millions of people have been spared injury and death by this now-ubiquitous seatbelt we take for granted. All because a couple of Swedes decided to put people over profits (which isn’t to say they didn’t reap any financial incentive, but proved you can do both).
It is odd that Americans are so reluctant, if not hostile, to looking abroad for ideas about how to do things, such as education, voting methods, healthcare, etc. The principles and ideas that underpinned this nation’s founding did not emerge from nowhere: They were inspired by, or even directly drawn from, Enlightenment thinkers from across Europe; certain elements of British law and government (ironically), such as the Magna Carta and English Bill of Rights; and of course the Greeks and Romans, from whom we borrowed specific methods, institutions, terminology, and even architecture. (The U.S. Senate is explicitly inspired by the original Roman Senate, with senatus being Latin for council of elders.)
Americans make up less than five percent of humanity. The U.S. is one of nearly 200 countries. Its history as a nation, let alone as a superpower, is a relative blink in time; as a point of reference, the Roman-Persian wars lasted over 600 years, nearly three times America’s lifespan. Conversely, many countries are much younger, including most of the world’s democracies, providing fresher or bolder perspectives on certain issues not addressed or contemplated by our more conservative system.
Given all that, it stands to reason that someone, somewhere out there, has done something that we have not thought of or figured out, something worth studying or implementing. It is statistically unlikely that we are the only people or nation to know everything, giving our narrow slice of time, humans, and experience. The fact that so many innovators, inventors, and other contributes this country have come from all over the world proves the U.S. has always tacitly accepted the idea that the rest of the world has something to offer.
In fact, this would be in accordance with the vision of most of the nation’s founders, who were far from nationalistic. Their debates, speeches, and correspondences reveal them to have been fairly worldly folks who were open to foreign ideas and perspectives and sought to integrate the country into the international system. From Jefferson’s cherished copy of the Muslim Koran, to Franklin’s open Francophilia and Madison’s insistence that we respect global public opinion and norms, the supposed dichotomy between patriotism and internationalism is a false one at odds with one’s service to the nation.
It is all the more ironic because one of the few schools of philosophy to originate in the United States was pragmatism, which emerged in the 1870s and postulated, among other things, that people promote ideas based on their practical effect and benefit (i.e., regardless of their national or foreign origin). It should not matter where our solutions to certain problems come from it matters that they are solutions, and thus beneficial to our community, in the first place.