George Rebane
[This bi-weekly commentary aired tonight on KVMR FM89.5. Dr Hardin has been one of my lifelong teachers of social thought, the good fortune of which I had to run into him while still in my twenties. I highly recommend him to your attention; today his ideas are more important than ever. This piece is adapted from the SESF Numeracy Nuggets series.]
Garrett Hardin, the late professor emeritus at UC Santa Barbara, was an ecologist and world-class thinker. His long list of original ideas and writings pricked many sacred sentiments of the right and left. Hardin was concerned with population growth and the kinds of decisions required in a world with too many people – kind of like the decisions we are pondering here in Nevada County. ‘The Tragedy of the Commons’, first published in 1968, is his best-known legacy.
In one version, the concept is introduced in terms of ten farmers whose cows graze on a commons or public pasture. Each farmer has ten cows whose milk provides him with a major part of his income. The hundred cows fill the carrying capacity of the commons in that the grass is able to grow just fast enough to keep the 100 cows well fed. Then the spontaneous addition of one new cow by one farmer leads to a runaway addition of more cows as the other farmers also seek the added benefits of a larger herd. But soon all realize that they must keep adding cows just to maintain their shrinking income as their milk production plummets because the cows no longer have adequate food from the over-grazed commons.
Time to Soak the Cannons?
George Rebane
Today we break bread and hoist a glass with friends to celebrate the anniversaries of a number of auspicious events that happened on August 8th. Among these was America’s signing the UN charter in 1945, and Richard Nixon resigning the Presidency in 1974. Perhaps not so well known is the Estonian tribes’ victory over Sweden near the town of Lihula in 1220.
Lihula (translates to ‘butchers’ village’) was the Estonians’ last major victory against invaders (Swedes, Germans, Russians) from three sides who ultimately defeated the loosely knit tribes, and then took turns fighting each other as they ruled and ravaged the country for the next six centuries. During this interval Estonian peasants rose up against their foreign masters about every 70 to 80 years only to have their rebellions be ruthlessly put down.
With the advent of gun powder, Estonians secretly made their own cannons for besieging the local fortresses that housed their rulers. However, because steel was expensive and hard to fashion, Estonian cannons were made of thick oak staves banded with steel usually pilfered from the wheel rims of the ruling nobles. Until it was time to use them, these wooden cannons were hidden deep in the forests. There they dried until the cracks between the staves were too large to effectively fire a cannon ball. (The photo shows a 19th century Vietnamese wooden cannon of similar design.)
To reseal them in preparation for battle, the cannons were moved in the dead of night to a nearby stream or bog, and placed into the water to soak and expand, thereby making the wooden tubes tight again. To this day Estonians acknowledge the coming time of trouble and tribulations by asking each other, ‘Kas paneme kahurid likku?’, which translates to, ‘Should we start soaking the cannons?’
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