Not long after Trump took office, I observed that the status of the US as the “indispensable nation” could not be sustained. A year later, the US, considered strictly as a state actor, is already dispensable and has, in fact, been largely dispensed with, by Europe in particular. The standing ovation given to Rubio in Munich recently (made almost unavoidable when his retinue jumped to their feet in Stalinesque fashion) should not obscure the fact that almost no one interpreted it as anything more than a politer restatement of Vance’s tirade a year ago. At that time, Europe needed to keep Trump on-side to prevent a sudden collapse in support for Ukraine and to avoid an all-out trade war.

None of that is particularly relevant now. Europe (include Ukraine) has held Russia to a standstill for a year despite the complete cessation of US military aid. The US is still relevant as an arms exporter and as a patchy supporter of sanctions against Russia, but that’s about it. Trump has turned his attention to his desire to rule the Americas from Nunavut to Tierra del Fuego, as well as returning to the forever wars of the Middle East.
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Just north of the Alps, on the border between Germany and Switzerland, lies beautiful Lake Constance. And on the northwest shore of the lake is the lovely small city of Constance, Germany.

Constance is well worth a visit. A lot of German cities have rather bland or unattractive centers, thanks to the American and British air forces. But Constance escaped these attentions entirely, because the Allies didn’t want to risk any bombs landing in neutral Switzerland. So Constance has an unusually intact Old Town with lots of interesting old buildings, some going right back to medieval times.

Constance also has this:



A nine meter tall, 18 ton statue of a medieval sex worker.  She’s down at the harbor, on the lake.  She rotates once every four minutes.  Her name is Imperia.

You may reasonably ask, what?  And part of the answer is, she’s memorializing the Council of Constance, the great political-religious council that happened here 600-some years ago, from 1414 to 1417.  And you may ask again, what?

I’ll try to explain.  
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I’m not a Rawlsian, though I would admit to certain affinities, and, indeed, I’ve used the device associated with Rawls (though not invented by him) of the veil of ignorance in my own work. But when I disagree with Rawls, I hope I at least take the trouble to get him right. Sadly, one can’t say the same of the former Cambridge academic, political theorist and professional podcaster David Runciman. To be fair to him, Runciman’s podcasts are usually informative and entertaining and I’ve discovered things through them that I wouldn’t otherwise have come across. He also often has some really good guests. That’s usually enough to make up for the annoying tics that litter his output, most notably his habit of telling us that “X was rather like Y, but also the complete opposite of Y”, as a way of introducing some thinker or other.

My patience has been somewhat tested, though, by his latest series on What is Wrong with Political Philosophy?, a series of conversations with the King’s London political theorist and historian of political thought Paul Sagar on Aristotle, Adam Smith, Max Weber, Bernard Williams and Judith Shklar (I’ve not yet listened to the one dealing with the last two). Now I don’t have much complaint about the positive exposition of these figures by Runciman and Sagar, and that’s a useful public service. Nor do I much mind, even though I disagree, with their view that political philosophy ought to be about something like giving useful guidance to those engaged in politics. But this view, and its associated claim that politicians need to draw more on history and psychology to develop their practical wisdom is set up via an opposition to a caricature of normative political philosophy.
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Now this Seth… did leave children behind him who imitated his virtues…. They also were the inventors of that peculiar sort of wisdom which is concerned with the heavenly bodies, and their order.

And that their inventions might not be lost before they were sufficiently known, upon Adam’s prediction that the world was to be destroyed at one time by the force of fire, and at another time by the violence and quantity of water, they made two pillars; the one of brick, the other of stone: they inscribed their discoveries on them both, that in case the pillar of brick should be destroyed by the flood, the pillar of stone might remain, and exhibit those discoveries to mankind; and also inform them that there was another pillar of brick erected by them. Now this remains in the land of Siriad to this day.

— Antiquities of the Jews, Flavius Josephus, Book 1, Chapter 2, 68-71

So first, a brief digression on Flavius Josephus. 

The Turncoat

Ah, Flavius Josephus.  Born Joseph ben Matthias, a Jew in Judea, he was a general during the Jewish Revolt against the Romans.  But then he switched sides and joined the Romans.  He then caught the attention of the Roman general with a flattering prophecy that the general would one day become Emperor.  (Which eventually happened.  Emperor Vespasian, 69-79 AD.) 


[this guy]

So Josephus became part of the Imperial staff.  He changed his name — “Flavius” was the family name of the new Emperor — and led efforts to get other Jews to switch sides.  (Mostly unsuccessful efforts.  Like, when he approached the walls of besieged Jerusalem, his attempts at persuasion were met with “howls of execration or derision, and sometimes showers of stones.”)  After the war was over, with several hundred thousand dead and Judea in ruins, Josephus ditched his Jewish wife and children, followed the new Emperor back to Rome, and wrote a best-selling history.   His Jewish War lays great emphasis on the wisdom, strategic brilliance, and noble character of the new Emperor; the invincible might, glory, and greatness of Rome; and Josephus’ own cleverness and correct choices(1).  While Judea was crushed under the Roman yoke, Josephus became wealthy and influential, picked up a trophy wife and a villa, and eventually retired to a life of ease.

(1) To be fair, he may have solved the first Josephus Problem.  It’s a  rare case where mathematical insight was actually life-saving!  Well, life-saving for Josephus anyway.

It might be possible to view Josephus as a pragmatic survivor who just joined the winning side.  But if you actually read his memoirs, Josephus’ character comes across pretty clearly, and he’s just so immensely pleased with himself. 

Anyway:

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Which jobs will be replaced by AI? Here is a modest proposal.* Replace higher management by AI. Not “management” in the sense of the teamleader who works alongside their colleagues with a bit more responsibility to make decisions and mediate conflicts, maybe not even the HR person who does performance evaluations, but the C suite.

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Healthy babies, to be specific.  Because worldwide, infant and child mortality has fallen greatly; and is still falling; and will almost certainly continue to fall.  

In premodern societies, meaning pretty much the entire world before 1820 or so, between a fifth and a quarter of all kids died before their first birthday.  Then, of the survivors, roughly about another fifth-to-a-quarter died before their fifth birthday.  Then, of those survivors, about 10% died before their 20th birthday.  If you do the math, that means that every baby had roughly a coin-flip chance of living to adulthood.  The exact numbers varied by place, time, and circumstances.  But worldwide, that was the general state of affairs.




Today, worldwide about 96% of babies survive their first birthday.  Of all babies born worldwide, about 90% live to reach age 20. 

That’s a worldwide average.  In developed countries, those numbers are “over 99%” and “around 99%”.  In the most dangerous, backwards and unhappy corners of the world the numbers are much lower, but they’re still high by historical standards.  A baby born in Afghanistan or Niger or the Democratic Republic of the Congo today, in 2026?  Has better odds than a baby born in the England of George III and Pitt the Elder.

Nigeria today has an infant mortality rate about what the US had in 1946, when the Baby Boom got started.  The Boom peaked around 1952.  The infant mortality then (a bit over 3%) is about what you find in current-day Bangladesh. Pretty much the entire human race today faces a lower rate of infant mortality than that faced by our parents and grandparents. 

This doesn’t get much discussed, perhaps because it’s a “what about all the planes that land safely” kind of story.   Also, when one discusses long-term positive trends, academic friends may become restive and start murmuring about teleological errors and Whig History. 

But I think it’s really interesting.  That’s partly because it really is very good news, but also — putting my nerd hat on — because this almost certainly represents a permanent and irreversible change in the human condition.

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… to reader and commenter Doctor Memory. We noticed recently that old posts weren’t displaying properly, apparently because we’d used a markup language (Textile) that our current setup doesn’t support. We put out an appeal on Bluesky, and Dr M was one of several people who volunteered to clean up the database for us. After backing everything up and doing the necessary editing, he’s just advise me the job is done.

There are still more problems to work on, including the display of curly quotes in comments. And, if you notice anything else, please mention it in comments.

But for the moment, we just want to thank Doctor Memory for helping to keep this blog (nearly 25 years old now) in working condition.

My dad genuinely had no interest in music. Well, almost none – he did enjoy novelty songs from time to time, but not really for the music. Our friend Bob, who is otherwise quite sensible, used to try to convince him that listening to music would enhance his life. I had more sense (I did, briefly, join Bob’s campaign to get my dad to use a smartphone but, again, it was pointless).

So I never shared The Bar Steward Sons of Val Doonican with Tim. I discovered them about 3 months before he died. I believed he didn’t have long to live, and was unusually glum at a cross country meet my son was running in, just walking around for exercise, when spotify played The Cockwombling Song for me, following on from something else. I was puzzled for about 15 seconds before feeling sudden joy. They love what they are doing, and even on record their enthusiasm is utterly infectious. That fall I listened to them a lot, especially when I was feeling down. Songs I’ve never cared for – like, The Lady in Red, and Walking in Memphis have, in the hands of the Doonicans (as The Lady in Greggs, and Walking in Manpiss), became staple listening.

In my excitement I texted my friend Juliette who I knew would just love them: her response was to the effect of “Yeah, Harry, I know all about them, I’ve seen them live twice, they’re even better that way”. To which my thought was “well if you knew all about them, why didn’t you tell me?” [1]

So, I had to see them live. It was a very small venue (maybe 150 people, how the hell do the economics of that work?) and, indeed, they are even better that way. The couple behind me knew about them, but the couple next to me, and I’d guess up to half the audience, only knew them because they follow the venue and looked them up when they saw the listing. And then there are the real enthusiasts, wearing garishly coloured tank-tops (vests), and shouting “Al-an, Al-an” every time Scott mentioned that Alan had written a song. I was entranced.

After the show I had a nice chat with Scott, who said, I think falsely, that he has never written a political song, but that what is going on in the US has made him think perhaps he should.[2] I didn’t express an opinion, but actually I think it might be a good idea, only because I know he has the subtlety to glance a blow rather than fire a shot. The tearful moment of my initial hearing of The Cockwombling Song is the casual mention of the execrable Katy Hopkins, not as a cockwomble, but as an arsehole. It is simply… joyful, and I felt, actually, not so much gratitude as relief about being in a world in which people like the Doonicans do what they do.

And, in that moment, I thought about my dad, and knew it was pointless sharing it with him, but wished he appreciated music. Because if he did I knew it would have reduced him to tears of laughter.

2026 is their 20th birthday. See them live, if you can. If you don’t live in the UK: well, one of my favourite people has crossed an ocean to see Taylor Swift, and, marvelous as she (Swift, though my favourite person too, for that matter) is, I don’t see why you wouldn’t do the same to see the Doonicans.

[1] In fact, I’m glad she didn’t. That fall was bloody hard, and discovering the Doonicans just then made them even more special than they’d otherwise have been.

[2] They tell you not to meet your heroes. Still nonsense, in my experience.

Ever since it became evident that Trump was likely to be re-elected, I’ve been among the most pessimistic of commentators on the likely course of US politics (most recently here for example). I’ve also been nowhere near pessimistic enough. I assumed that Trump would follow the course of dictators like Putin and Orban, gradually eroding freedom and making his own power permanent. Instead, he’s gone most of the way inside a year.

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So the Trump administration has just pulled the US out of the World Health Organization, WHO.

WHO is the biggest and most important international health organization. It’s an arm of the United Nations.  It’s been around since 1948. Almost every country in the world is a member.

Most people have only the vaguest idea of what WHO is or what it does. Teal deer, they do a lot of different stuff, most of it pretty good. They were crucial to eliminating smallpox a while back. They come up with cool ideas like a list of essential medicines and health care products that are cheap and easy to produce, along with easy how-to guides on producing them. They do all sorts of research, especially on public health. They were deeply involved in controlling Ebola. (You haven’t heard much about Ebola lately, right? Thank USAID and WHO.)

To be fair, WHO also has some significant negatives. It’s part of the UN system, so it skews slow and inefficient. WHO leadership did not handle COVID well… I mean, they really did not handle COVID well. They made bad, dumb choices based on not offending (some) member countries, and then they doubled down. It wasn’t great.

But anyway! I have one personal story about WHO, from my time in development, below the cut.

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This was triggered by a post over at our long-term friendly-rival blog, LGM. That post, in turn, was triggered by something stupid that Robert F. Kennedy Jr. said recently.

What Kennedy said: he thinks his distinctive hoarse, raspy voice is “spasmodic dysphonia”, which he suspects may have been caused by taking flu vaccines for years.  Because dysphonia is a KNOWN side effect of these dangerous vaccines!  So he stopped getting flu shots back in 2005.

Blogger Shakezula quite correctly deconstructs this nonsense (only one flu shot lists dysphonia as a possible side effect, and that one wasn’t available until after 2005; if dysphonia is a side effect, it’s ridiculously rare, and nobody seems to have ever encountered it).  But then they make a wrong turn:  they suggest that maybe RFK’s weird voice is genetic, because his sister also has a kinda weird voice.

No.  No no no.  
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