Things to think about #9 - A Millennial's Manifesto (audio), Greenland, Neoliberalism, and Low-calorie information

My “Millennial’s Manifesto” is up as an audio essay on Apple Podcast. Go have a listen! Also consider subscribing to the podcast channel. The cadence of these audio essays is slow, one essay every one or two months, so you won’t be overwhelmed by content. I know many people prefer to listen to their content rather than reading (more about that below), and my decision to start publishing audio essays is my attempt to cater for that. Thanks again for reading and listening.

Greenland, the prize that isn’t all that

With Donald Trump now sworn in as the 47th president of the United States, one specific, though still intangible, policy aim of Mr. Trump’s that my compatriots in Denmark are likely to focus on is his intentions and actions regarding Greenland. During his first term in office, Donald Trump openly mused about buying the island—a position that appears to have evolved into the notion that he might now simply seize it by force, either directly or through coercion, if Denmark doesn’t comply. Naturally, diplomatic feathers have been ruffled in Copenhagen and Brussels. In Nuuk, however, the official response remains unchanged: “Greenland isn’t for sale,” mirroring Denmark’s longstanding policy stance.

Allow me to de-escalate this narrative somewhat. There is nothing Donald Trump could conceivably wish to do in Greenland—whether militarily or through resource extraction—that he cannot already accomplish by placing a phone call to the Danish State Department. Militarily, the U.S. already has bases on the island, and in 2023, the U.S. and Denmark entered into a closer security partnership that effectively permits U.S. troops and materiel—excluding nuclear weaponry, at least officially—to be stationed on Danish soil. Granted, U.S. presence in Greenland is governed by a separate agreement, but it seems plausible that this agreement is ripe for renegotiation well before Trump attempts to purchase the island or dispatches a polar expeditionary force to confront the Sirius Patrol.

Moreover, there is the Arctic Council, a forum that includes all the key stakeholders in the region. This provides Trump with a platform to assert influence if he chooses. Admittedly, the new president’s style is to circumvent such multilateral “rainbow-and-unicorn” forums, but it is not as though the Council’s major members haven’t already laid their territorial claims in the Arctic. If the U.S. chooses to escalate its involvement in this geopolitical arena, there is little Denmark could—or would—do to counteract it.

Another argument suggests that Denmark is unable to defend Greenland and has neglected its military obligations in the region, thereby forfeiting its claim. While it is true that Denmark’s navy is under-resourced even for a small country, this does not negate its territorial rights under international law. Practical considerations aside, territorial claims are not contingent on military capability alone, or it shouldn’t be among allies. More importantly, it is worth noting that the U.S. would also struggle to defend Greenland or maintain a sustained military presence there once it fully comprehends the challenges—and, more importantly, the lack of tangible rewards. This is not to imply that the region lacks strategic importance in the context of a long-term rivalry with China and Russia. However, to return to my initial point, there is little that the U.S. needs or wishes to do to address this challenge that it cannot already achieve. In all likelihood, a stable equilibrium for the U.S., Denmark, and NATO in the region will involve Danish forces handling day-to-day patrolling and operational responsibilities, supported by enhanced surveillance and help by the U.S. and other NATO partners. The U.S. would likely only intervene directly if and when a significant conflict arises.

Neoliberalism, and its ills

I recently finished The Invisible Doctrine: The Secret History of Neoliberalism by George Monbiot, continuing my non-fiction exploration into critiques of modern capitalism. I began this journey with Yanis Varoufakis’s Techno Feudalism: What Killed Capitalism. Like the latter, The Invisible Doctrine was an Audible audiobook. It is, however, a peculiar book. On one level, its key themes and central message will resonate with many who are concerned about rising income and wealth inequality, environmental degradation, and climate change, as well as those who are increasingly distrustful of the motives and incentives of the ruling political class and the wealthy elite they associate with. On a more fundamental level, however, the book feels like an invitation to shake your fist at the sky, shouting at clouds as they drift by.

This sentiment arises partly from one of the book’s central arguments: that neoliberalism, forged in the mid-20th century with roots in the Mont Pelerin Society, is an intangible yet pervasive force underpinning national and international economic and political institutions. The greatest trick neoliberalism ever pulled, according to Monbiot, was convincing the world that it doesn’t exist. How does one fight such a foe?

Monbiot invites readers to embrace the notion that politicians, wealthy capitalists, and the institutions they control actively collude to perpetuate neoliberalism and its adverse consequences for the majority of people and the planet. If this sounds like a conspiracy theory, it’s because, in essence, it is. Monbiot, however, confidently omits the word “theory” from his narrative, presenting neoliberalism as a deliberate conspiracy orchestrated by a small but powerful group of individuals, institutions, and interests. While this might be true, isn’t it also plausible that many individuals in positions of power exacerbate the system without conscious intent or deliberate malice? Monbiot tacitly acknowledges this possibility in the book’s final section, where he notes that the greatest challenge for opponents of neoliberalism lies in their inability to articulate an alternative vision that is both compelling and actionable.

The author concludes by outlining his proposed alternative: a system rooted in grassroots democracy and local politics, with an emphasis on environmental sustainability. However, this vision lacks the resonance and clarity needed to leave a lasting impression of transformative change. Monbiot’s analysis and critique of modern capitalism, rooted in the framework of neoliberalism, evoke the paradox of change. Change can be destructive—revolutionary upheaval for its own sake—or it can be incremental and gradual. Historically, revolutions and significant upheavals epitomize the former, often prioritizing the dismantling of the status quo above all else. In contrast, incremental change, while transformative in its own right, tends to respect existing systems and paradigms to a significant degree. Though this spectrum of change exists, the tension at its extremes is undeniable.

Taking Monbiot’s arguments at face value suggests that incremental reform of neoliberalism may be nearly impossible, leaving radical revolution as the only viable path forward. This, of course, aligns with the conclusions of political movements at the far left of the spectrum. The intriguing question raised by Monbiot’s book, assuming one accepts his diagnosis—a significant assumption—is how long centrists, who traditionally favor gradual reform, can sustain their position before acknowledging the necessity of more radical change.

The dangers of (information) comfort foods

Many people have written many words about the mental and even physical harm that comes from too much doomscrolling and online procrastination. I have an essay on this rattling around in my head, but before we get to that, The Prism and Socratic State of Mind, two Substack newsletters, have some interesting perspectives on this topic. The Prism links the consumption of too much useless information on the internet the obesity crisis. The author says:

The vast majority of the online content you consume today won't improve your understanding of the world. In fact, it may just do the opposite; recent research suggests that people browsing social media tend to experience “normative dissociation” in which they become less aware and less able to process information, to such an extent that they often can’t recall what they just read.

But despite being “empty calories,” junk info still tastes delicious. Since your dopamine pathways can't distinguish between useful and useless info, consuming junk info gives you the satisfaction of feeling like you're learning—it offers you the sensation of mental nourishment—even though all you're really doing is shoving virtual popcorn into your skull.

Eventually, the addiction to useless info leads to what I call “intellectual obesity.” Just as gorging on junk food bloats your body, so gorging on junk info bloats your mind, filling it with a cacophony of half-remembered gibberish that sidetracks your attention and confuses your senses. Unable to distinguish between relevant and irrelevant, you become concerned by trivialities and outraged by falsehoods. These concerns and outrages push you to consume even more, and all the time that you're consuming, you're prevented from doing anything else: learning, focusing, even thinking. The result is that your stream of consciousness becomes clogged; you develop atherosclerosis of the mind.

The comparison between fattening junk foods and “junk-info” monopolising our attention span is an interesting one, and a good one too.

Andrew Perlot, by contrast, offers a suggestion on how to “open a void” after dinner, which is a method for ceasing the doomscrolling, that you have probably been doing all day anyway, after dinner, in the evening. The challenge he describes, I suspect, is a familiar one;

My working hours are usually spoken for. Evenings are all I have. After years of this practice, my surrender of them — by thoughtlessly casting myself to the algorithmic pleasure gods and hoping for good things — seems like a personal failing I can’t abide.

I can identify with this problem, and the personal disappointment in surrendering my evenings to the screen, mainly because it ruins your sleep, which if taken to its extreme, ruins your life. I am happy to report that I have become a lot better at consciously putting the phone and attention-grabbing apps away in the evenings. Andrew suggests:

At least five days a week, I like to create a “void,” beginning at 6 p.m.: No T.V., computers, or most other electronic devices. Phones are off or in airplane mode. No podcasts. No screens except monochrome E-ink reading devices without internet connections.

What do we do in this void? Aristotle had a great term which was translated into Latin as horror vacui —nature abhors a vacuum. Humans do too. With hours till bed, time seems to stretch. The yawning chasm will scream at us. Our brains rebel.

(…)

In short, do the normal things people did before our world was submerged in a pleasure trap, a dopamine prison keeping us perpetually entertained and never satisfied. Do things that ground you.

If you’re exhausted from your day and can’t bring yourself to do anything but doom scroll, sit and do nothing. Maybe close your eyes. If you let the void be for a time, your mind will offer up alternatives to fill it. Maybe pen the first sentence of that short story. Call — but do not text — your sister (an exception to the device rule — don’t abuse it!), take a walk, or write an old-fashioned letter.

If you’re a dopamine slave it will take time to normalize lower-stimulus activities and find deep satisfaction in them like our ancestors did — like we did before 2012 or so. The lack of interruption from devices helps sink us into flow states, and over time we find pleasure amid the focused stillness.

Until then the mind screams and weedles and justifies a return to the intense stimuli we’ve given it on drip feed. Through slower, less intense pursuits we find calm, self-worth, and satisfaction. It’s a pleasure with more depth, if less intensity.

And when we do plug in the TV and watch a movie, it’s way more intense and pleasurable because we’ve abstained for so long. Many pleasures are muted because we overindulge.

Good advice? I am not sure, but good diagnosis.