Tuesday, April 22, 2025

AU CONTRAIRE

Source: Originally published by Z. Feel free to share widely.

Look closely, and it becomes hard to justify. It is increasingly clear that the Biden Administration made a series of policy decisions concerning Ukraine that gave the Kremlin little choice but to either defer to Washington at the expense of Russian security or resist. There is much to say about the background to this conflict, described in depth by such scholars as Richard Sakwa and John Mearsheimer, the latter in a widely cited 2014 article in Foreign Affairs. But the focus here is on former President Joe Biden’s stewardship of the Ukraine crisis leading up to Russia’s invasion in February 2022 and two pivotal moments that followed.

In his 2020 presidential run, Biden took a tough stance against Russia, and against President Vladimir Putin in particular—the two leaders have long had frosty relations. Seeking to distinguish himself from then-President Donald Trump, Biden criticized the Kremlin’s alleged interference in the 2016 U.S. election and expressed outrage at Trump’s inaction on reports of possible Russian bounties paid to Taliban militants for killing U.S. troops in Afghanistan. 

Once in power, the Biden administration quickly set the tone in U.S.-Russia relations. The State Department issued a press release on January 23 strongly condemning “the use of harsh tactics against protesters and journalists … in cities throughout Russia.” The protesters were reacting to the arrest of opposition leader Alexei Navalny, who had just returned to Moscow from Germany where he had received medical treatment for a near-fatal poisoning. A German military lab determined the poison to be Novichok, a Soviet-era nerve agent closely tied to Russian security services.

Later in January, Courtney Austrian, head of the U.S. mission to the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE), denounced “Russia’s obstinacy in fueling the fighting in eastern Ukraine and obstructing progress toward a lasting and peaceful resolution of the conflict.” 

On February 4, 2021, Biden gave his first foreign policy speech as president and began by extending an olive branch to the international community: “America is back. Diplomacy is back at the center of our foreign policy.” He announced a five-year extension of the New START Treaty, the only remaining nuclear weapons treaty between the United States and Russia. But the president’s tone changed when he came to Putin, the only foreign leader he mentioned by name. He said that he told the Russian president “that the days of the United States rolling over in the face of Russia’s aggressive actions—interfering with our elections, cyberattacks, poisoning its citizens—are over.”

Tensions become tangible

In February 2021 Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky made two moves that sounded the alarm in Moscow, starting with the ban of three television networks in the country that were considered too Russia-friendly. This ban was not without domestic controversy, particularly for residents living in the southern and eastern parts of Ukraine where the Russian language is widely spoken. Elsewhere, the European Union’s foreign policy chief Josep Borrell expressed concern about the curb on press freedom. In Washington, however, where free speech issues are sport … crickets.

Second, Zelensky signed a decree pledging to take measures to recapture the Crimean Peninsula, and he began to deploy forces to the south of the country. That same day—the seventh anniversary of Russia’s invasion of Crimea—Biden released a statement that made clear that the United States would never recognize the Russian annexation of Crimea and would continue to support Ukraine against Russian belligerence. Soon after, the U.S. Department of Defense announced a new $125 million military aid package that included both equipment and training to enhance Ukraine’s interoperability with NATO. 

Tensions continued to rise in March when NATO forces conducted a training exercise with the Ukrainian Navy. This exercise was part of Defender Europe, one of the largest U.S. Army-led military exercises in decades that ran from mid-March to June—with 28,000 troops from 27 countries taking part. March also saw a sharp increase in fighting in the Donetsk Region in eastern Ukraine, bringing an end to the ceasefire that had been negotiated in July 2020. 

None of this escaped Russia’s notice. Defense Minister Sergei Shoigu called the joint maneuvers threatening and confrontational, to say nothing of the longstanding buildup of NATO military forces near Russia’s border. In March and April the Kremlin responded by deploying tens of thousands of Russian troops to Crimea and along the Russia-Ukraine border.

At a time when backchannel diplomacy might have eased tensions and paved the way for a drawdown of Russian forces, Washington and NATO turned up the heat:

  • On May 27, 2021, the Biden Administration notified Russia that it would not rejoin the Open Skies Treaty that allowed unarmed reconnaissance flights over participating countries to survey their military activities. 
  • At the Brussels Summit in mid-June, NATO continued to describe Russia’s actions as “a threat to Euro-Atlantic security” and emphasized the importance of partnerships with non-member countries. 
  • On June 23, 2021, the British destroyer H.M.S. Defender sailed provocatively close to the coast of Crimea, sparking an international incident. The Russian Navy reportedly fired warning shots at the destroyer with an estimated 20 Russian warplanes buzzing it as a warning to alter course. 
  • Several days later, the United States and 31 allied countries conducted the largest-ever “Sea Breeze” military exercises in the Black Sea. The Kremlin viewed the exercises as a thinly veiled ruse to transport military equipment into Ukraine.

U.S.-Ukraine agreements signed; Russian security proposal declined

In the fall of 2021 the Biden Administration established two partnership agreements with Ukraine. The first, a Joint Statement on the U.S.-Ukraine Strategic Partnership announced on September 1, included a $60 million security assistance package. Among the lines in the document: “We intend to continue our robust training and exercise program in keeping with Ukraine’s status as a NATO Enhanced Opportunities Partner.” 

November’s U.S.-Ukraine Charter on Strategic Partnership reinforced the September Joint Statement, calling for “Ukraine’s integration into Euro-Atlantic institutions” and renewing support for the country to join NATO. 

In addition to misgivings about these agreements, Russia had sources that reported unusual military maneuvers from within Ukraine as well as suspicious naval activity by U.S. warships in the Black Sea. Moscow’s answer: another major troop deployment along the Russia-Ukraine border beginning in October. At the Valdai Discussion Club that month, Putin said that whether or not Ukraine formally joined NATO, all signs increasingly pointed to a de facto membership of the alliance.

In December 2021, Russia called on NATO, and especially Washington, to respect its security concerns, guarantee an end to the alliance’s eastward expansion, and agree to Ukrainian neutrality. While U.S. State Department officials made clear in their response that they were open to discussing a number of issues with the Kremlin, Ukrainian neutrality was not one of them

In Putin’s annual news conference on December 21, 2021, he addressed this matter, and his frustration was palpable: “You [the West] promised us in the 1990s that [NATO] would not move an inch to the East. You cheated us shamelessly: there have been five waves of NATO expansion, and now the weapons systems I mentioned have been deployed in Romania and deployment has recently begun in Poland. This is what we are talking about, can you not see?”

With the Russian troop count continuing to rise, along with military supplies and equipment near the Ukrainian border, Kyiv and Western officials feared that an invasion may be imminent. When asked about the state of play in a January 2022 news conference, Biden said, “My guess is he [Putin] will move in, he has to do something.” With this in mind, the State Department gave the greenlight to the Baltic countries to send U.S.-made weapons to Ukraine.

Several days later, former Secretary of State Antony Blinken submitted a written response to the Russian Foreign Ministry that formally rejected their demands for Ukrainian neutrality. In his public comments, Blinken reiterated the “open door” principle, maintaining that Ukraine was a sovereign country that had the right to choose its own security arrangements and alliances.

Go hard or go home

February 2022 was not an easy month to take in. Biden, Blinken, and former National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan each continued to telegraph a possible Russian invasion, increasing the pressure on Putin to either take action or drawdown his forces. At the same time, the OSCE reported a sudden surge in military activity (see below) on Ukraine’s eastern border, most of it coming from the Ukrainian side of the ceasefire line. The United States had considerable leverage with the Ukrainian military, given that it was supplying them with weapons, training, and intelligence. Biden’s team could have called on them to tamp down the hostilities and avoid a more serious confrontation. They did nothing of the sort. As international affairs scholar Nina Krushcheva said in a recent interview: “Joe Biden was baiting him [Putin].”

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On February 21, amid unchecked violence, Putin recognized the independence of the two Kremlin-backed separatist regions of Donetsk and Luhansk, signaling that Russian troops would move in to restore peace. Biden condemned Putin’s decision as “a flagrant violation of international law” and imposed new sanctions on the two separatist regions. Three days later, the Kremlin launched a widespread assault on Ukraine, prompting NATO to increase military support to the country and impose additional sanctions on Russia. 

Negotiations soon begin

Within a couple of days, delegations from both countries entered into peace talks, initially in neighboring Belarus. The talks soon broke off, though, as Russia’s demands were not acceptable to the Ukrainian negotiators. After more inconclusive rounds of talks in Belarus, the parties moved to the resort town of Antalya, Türkiye, and in late March to Istanbul. Russian negotiators’ central demand was a neutral Ukraine, while the Ukrainians insisted on security guarantees in the event of another Russian attack.

By early April, the negotiators had reached a tentative peace deal, but a surprise visit to Kyiv from former British Prime Minister Boris Johnson nipped it in the bud. According to Davyd Arakhamia, Ukraine’s chief negotiator at the rounds in Istanbul and the leader of Zelensky’s party in the Ukrainian Parliament, “Boris Johnson came to Kyiv and said that we won’t sign anything at all with [the Russians]—and let’s just keep fighting.”

Former Israeli Prime Minister Naftali Bennett, who was invited to Istanbul as a mediator, said much the same thing in a February 2023 interview—that a peace deal was close but was blocked by Washington in consultation with other NATO members. Former German Chancellor Gerhard Schroeder, another mediator at the talks, reinforced these comments and summarized the essential terms of the draft agreement.

  1. Ukraine would not pursue NATO membership;
  2. The Ukrainian bans on the Russian language would be lifted;
  3. The Donbass would continue to be part of Ukraine but as an autonomous region (e.g., Italy’s South Tyrol);
  4. The United Nations Security Council plus Germany should offer to supervise the security agreements; and
  5. The Crimea problem would be set aside for another time.

If Schroeder’s summary captures what the negotiators nearly settled on—the draft agreement had reached the point of being initialed by them on the essential terms—then it becomes difficult to account for the three years since.

Approaching Armageddon

By the late summer of 2022, Ukraine’s counteroffensive had had remarkable success in the southern and eastern regions of the country, reversing many of Russia’s earlier gains. They recaptured Kherson, the regional capital, prompting the Russian military to send forces south. This Russian redeployment left the northeastern region undermanned, and the Ukrainian army took advantage of it with a decisive military operation near Kharkiv—almost certainly the high-water mark of the country’s defense.

But these setbacks for Russia only strengthened the Kremlin’s resolve, evidenced by its partial mobilization of 300,000 reservists and the annexation of four Ukrainian oblasts—a dire escalation of the war. In a nationally televised address, Putin was resolute: “If the territorial integrity of our country is threatened, we will certainly use all the means at our disposal to protect Russia and our people. This is not a bluff.” 

At an October 2022 campaign fundraiser in New York, Biden expressed his uneasiness over Putin’s comments. “We’ve got a guy I know fairly well,” Biden said. “He’s not joking when he talks about the potential use of tactical nuclear weapons or biological or chemical weapons… I don’t think there’s any such thing as the ability to easily [use] a tactical nuclear weapon and not end up with Armageddon.”

The president’s comments prompted the Congressional Progressive Caucus to send the White House a letter urging the administration to pursue negotiations with Russia and try to wind down the conflict. The CPC faced a furious backlash from fellow members of Congress, donors, and the media, and the letter was retracted in a matter of hours. 

If there was ever a time to take a principled stand on an issue—regardless of risk—that was it.

A week or so later, General Mark Milley, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, took another tack with a strategic argument, recommending that now was Ukraine’s chance to capitalize on its battlefield gains and hold talks with Moscow. Blinken and other Biden advisers remained unconvinced, though, and pressed to keep up the fight.

In Bob Woodward’s 2024 book, War, he writes that U.S. intelligence assessed that when Russia was on its back foot in Kherson and Kharkiv, there was about a 50 percent possibility that Putin would use a nuclear weapon to rescue the situation: “The assessment had gone from around a 5 percent chance to a 10 percent chance to now a coin flip.” 

The Biden Administration decided to ride out the uncertainty, risking irreversible consequences, not for the sake of an existential threat to the United States, not even a vital U.S. interest, but for a principle—the “open door” policy—and a questionable one at that.

Why did we accept that?


Cory Sinclair is a freelance writer and nonprofit consultant for S. Sutton & Associates. He has done pro-bono work for several nonprofits in the Los Angeles area, and previously worked as a writer for the Los Angeles Philharmonic, UCLA Performing Arts, and Habitat for Humanity. His area of research concerns the cultural and nonprofit sectors, public-private partnerships, and related government policy. He holds a Ph.D. in music and nonprofit management from Claremont Graduate University.

How to Kidnap an Audience

Source: Writing Home

One morning last spring, I was on a Zoom call with my friend Deepa. I could see packing boxes in her living room, so I asked her what was up, and she said, “I’m giving away all my books.”

Now, my eyes widened at this. What can I say? I’m a writer, books are… not something I’d willingly give away. I asked her, “Why?”

She said, “Didn’t you know, Dougald? I’m dying.”

And just for a moment, I wasn’t sure what kind of conversation we were about to have. Then I saw the edge of a smile on her lips, and she started to explain about this programme she’d joined called A Year to Live, where a group of you go through a whole twelve months, living as though this were the last year of your life.1

On the 12th of January this year, I spoke to Deepa. She had four days left. It was one of those conversations where time slows down. We said the things we’d say if we were speaking for the last time. I don’t think I was ready for how real it would be. We haven’t spoken since, and somewhere deep in my heart and my guts, it’s like I know that she is gone.

So the next time I give her a call, I guess it will feel pretty weird.

The theatre-maker Mark Ravenhill gave a speech at the Edinburgh Fringe a few years ago. He said something I keep coming back to. “To be a good artist,” he said, “you have to be … the most truthful person in [the] room.” When you walk out on stage, that’s your duty. It’s what earns you the right to ask everyone else to listen while you speak, or sing, or dance.

I was talking about this recently with another brilliant British theatre-maker, Luca Rutherford, and we found ourselves agreeing that there’s a world of difference between being “the most truthful person in the room” and being the person who walks into a room convinced that they are in possession of “the truth” and everyone ought to listen to them. There’s nothing artful about that way of entering a room.

What Ravenhill is getting at, I think, is that art has no room for calculation. If you’re a politician or a campaigner or a marketing strategist, then you can try to calibrate your message; there can be a gap between what you know in your heart and what you decide to say. But as an artist, that gap will kill you. It will drain the life out of your work. Because, when you walk out on stage, your truthfulness is all you have.

And it occurs to me now that this state of truthfulness has a lot in common with what I felt in that last call with Deepa. We could take Ravenhill’s words as an invitation to walk out on stage, or to have a conversation, or to give a talk, the way you would if you knew that this would be the last time.

So much for the person who’s on the stage – how about everyone else in the room?

In the autumn of 2014, soon after I took the call from Måns Lagerlöf asking me to come and join the artistic team at Riksteatern, I was teaching at the Kaospilot school in Aarhus. One of the students said, on your way back, you have to go to this show that’s on in Copenhagen.

It was a show by a theatre company from Barcelona, Teatro de los Sentidos, “the theatre of the senses”. Their work is usually full of shimmering beauty, but this time they had been challenged by the artistic director of the theatre that brought them to Denmark. “We don’t live in a time of shimmering beauty,” he said. “Can you use your art to make something that explores darkness?”

So they had taken Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness and turned it inside out, creating an immersive performance in which the audience is led into a destroyed landscape, drawn deeper into the dark, and the climax is an industrial ritual in which we are all complicit in the horror at the centre of the story. It was, for me, one of those artistic experiences that tears you open, that leaves you raw and tender.

And afterwards, I found myself alone in the theatre foyer. The friends who were going to take me for dinner were late. So I started talking to other members of the audience, asking them, you know, “How was that for you?”

And people were saying, “Yeah, that was cool!” “That was fun!”

And I wondered, is this just because we’re strangers in a theatre foyer and we don’t know how to talk about what just happened, or had their experience of that evening been wildly different to mine?

And here’s the thought that was planted in my mind that night in Copenhagen. What if those of us who go to the theatre, to the openings and exhibitions, to the rooms where art happens – what if we’re so well trained as consumers of culture that even the most powerful work going on in those rooms will struggle to break through, to get past our training, to go from an object of consumption to an experience that might tear us open, shake us, move us, leave us changed?

In the months that followed, I couldn’t let this question go. To tell you why it had a hold on me, I need to rewind a bit.

Most of the work I’ve done comes back, in one way or another, to the role of culture in a time of crisis. When and I wrote the Dark Mountain manifesto, it was because we had a sense, as writers, that the literature of the early 21st century was failing to face what we already knew about the depth of the mess the world was in. People would look back on the books that were celebrated in the Culture section of the newspapers and ask, how could you write this stuff when the world was on fire?

And you know, Greta Thunberg has said a lot of this more eloquently than we ever did. But when you see the placards that say “Unite Behind the Science”, I’m not sure that covers it. Because having worked with climate scientists, I’m convinced that there are parts of the story that science can’t help us tell and questions that science doesn’t know how to ask. This is where the work of culture comes in.

When art gets asked to respond to the climate crisis, most often this is an invitation help “deliver the message”. And we want to help, we’re as scared as anyone, but there’s a problem, because art isn’t really about delivering messages. That’s not what we know how to do. We’re not a cheap alternative to an advertising agency, or a sophisticated extension of the communications department.

So then you get projects that put a lot of hope in the imagination: we’re going to get people together and help them imagine a better future, a sustainable transition. And again, something about this never rang true for me, but the person who put her finger on it is Vanessa Andreotti of the Gesturing Towards Decolonial Futures collective. The futures worth trying to bring about, she says, are “presently unimaginable futures”.

For these futures to become imaginable, we would have to become other than who we are: we would have to lose our entitlements, our desires, the things we take for granted, our stories of who we are and where history is headed. And that’s a journey we can go on, a journey we can take people on. But it doesn’t look like assembling a group of us who are going to be, almost by definition, among the beneficiaries of the way the world works today, where we’re asked – in the words of Grist magazine’s climate fiction contest – “to make the story of a better world so irresistible, you want it right now.” Something more costly than that is called for.

It’s like the storyteller says: “I don’t believe we will get a story worth hearing until we witness a culture broken open by its own consequence.”

And that’s what brings me around to the power of those cultural encounters that can break you open, that shake you and take you off balance. If everything was fine, then maybe it would be enough to make work that’s “cool” and “fun”. But everything isn’t fine.

So it’s 2015 and I go to work at Riksteatern, still carrying this question: how do we make work that breaks through these habits, this way of consuming culture that leaves us untouched, where we don’t become vulnerable, don’t risk being changed by the experience?

And not long after I start, we have a conversation about – maybe we need to physically take people away? To create an event that goes further in time and space, beyond the comfort zone of a couple of hours in a darkened theatre space?

So I get excited and I write a proposal where what we’re going to do is we’re going to kidnap an audience. When you buy a ticket, you’re told to show up at such-and-such-a-station at this time on a Friday afternoon, and you know it’s going to last two days. We’ve chartered a train and you get on board and the announcements give you the impression of a long journey ahead. But then the train comes to a halt on a siding in the middle of nowhere, and everyone’s ordered off and into trucks.

I’m not going to tell you the rest of it, you probably get the picture. And it’s an absurd idea, the kind you get excited about for five minutes and afterwards you feel embarrassed every time you remember that you actually shared it with anyone. Or, you know, talked about it in front of an audience!

But part of what’s going on there is that, this was me aged 37, having done all my work up to that point with these tiny organisations that I’d been part of creating, where you could get everyone involved around a table and share a meal, and we’d created projects that caught people’s imaginations and got international attention, doing all this on a shoestring. So suddenly, for the first time, I’m inside a large cultural institution, and you go, “Wow! If we could do so much with so little resources, imagine what’s possible here?” And of course, it’s not that simple.

In fact, my advice would be, if you really wanted to kidnap an audience, the only way to pull off a project that wild would be to work with a small crew of collaborators who trust each other and don’t have the responsibilities of an established institution.

But if you want to kidnap an audience, my main advice would be, “Don’t!” Because what came home to me as I went on digging at that question was that there’s no value left in shock, it’s a bankrupt currency.

I mean, think about the kind of performance work that people were making in the 1960s and 70s, The Living Theatre or the Viennese Actionists. It’s not just that it’s hard to push things any further than the artists of that generation did. It’s that they were doing these things in an era when a British publisher had to go to court to challenge the obscenity laws in order to publish a novel that had the word “fuck” in it. The power of breaking taboos depends on the power of the taboos, and when you can get all the obscenity you can dream of on the phone you carry in your pocket, there’s not much power left in shock.

So what is powerful now? What has the capacity to shift us out of the comfort zone of cultural consumption?

There’s not going to be just one answer, but my breakthrough with this came in a conversation with the artist Rachel Horne.

I was working on another idea involving trains. This one had more mileage in it than the kidnapping. It’s an idea for a rail-based touring network across Europe. It started from the question: how does culture travel across borders, when we can’t go on jumping on and off planes like there’s no tomorrow? We were talking about having these local nodes where people host an event once a month, and each month a different artist travels this circuit and is the guest artist at that month’s event.

So I’m telling Rachel about this, and she says, “Oh Dougald, we did this event last month, and it was like organising a wedding!”

And I knew exactly what she meant. Months of build-up towards a big day. And afterwards you’re all exhausted.

And I thought, weddings are great, but how many of them do you want to have in your lifetime? You can probably count the answer on the fingers of one hand.

And it hit me, as artists we’re good at “weddings”. It often seems like that’s the default form of a cultural event. But what is a wedding, really? Well, traditionally, at least, it was a special kind of service that happens in a church. And then I came across a passage from the theatre-maker Andy Smith, where he describes an event that happens in the village where he grew up:

Every week my mum and dad and some other people get together in a big room in the middle of the village … They say hello to each other and catch up on how they are doing informally. Then some other things happen. A designated person talks about some stuff. They sing a few songs together. There is also a section called “the notices” where they hear information about stuff that is happening. Then they sometimes have a cup of tea and carry on the chat.

And what he’s describing is the weekly church service, but what’s hit him is how close this is to the kind of space he is trying to create with theatre.

So the conversation I started having more and more with the artists – and the non-artists – that I work with is: what if the default model of cultural event wasn’t a wedding, a big production with a long build-up to it, but the weekly service? A gathering that happens regularly, where people keep coming back, where a lot of the work that goes into it can be done by the community of people to whom it matters, without anyone burning out, but it also matters enough that people are willing to support the work of those who need to be paid.

And once you start looking through this lens, you realise there are whole layers of culture that do work like this. I think of the folk clubs I grew up singing in when I was teenager, the small stand-up comedy club where I used to help out in my twenties. You’ll have your own examples.

Here in Sweden, I see it in the work of artists like Ruben Wätte and Per Hasselberg who are drawing on the traditions of folkbildning and the folkrörelse.

And it’s at the heart of what we’re doing with a school called HOME. Not least, over the past two years, in the strange space of Zoom, working with groups that gather week by week or month by month, and through that process of repetition there’s a deepening that happens, a deepening into trust.

Something I’ve heard a lot over the years, from the work we did with Dark Mountain to what we’re doing now with HOME, is people tell us, “I feel less alone because I found this.” When someone tells you that, you know that we’ve left the territory of consuming culture, we’re somewhere more vulnerable. Maybe somewhere there’s a chance of being changed by what happens to us.

In the summer of 2020, I heard this question from the Inuit poet Taqralik Partridge: “What if the pandemic is just a warning shot?” Not the big event that changes everything, but the first in a chain of crises. Some days I can picture them, lined up like storms on a satellite picture of the Atlantic in hurricane season, rolling in, one after the other, to make landfall along the coastline of the future.

In a time of crisis, we can get focused on our own survival. People sometimes talk as though culture is this fragile thing, a soft surface layer over the harder social, economic and material realities, a high achievement that can only flourish when all the more basic human needs are met. But that’s not true: culture doesn’t come last, it’s there from the beginning.

Look through the archives of archaeology and anthropology, and nowhere will you find humans who don’t have some form of dancing, singing, storytelling, making images, symbols and meaningful objects, woven through their ways of living. The work of culture is not a luxury, it’s where we find and create meaning, and meaning is what makes the difference between going on and giving up when times are hardest.

And if you look at the work of culture through the lens that anthropology gives us, you see that human communities in all times and places have created experiences of initiation that involve a staged encounter with the reality of one’s own death, an encounter that leaves those who pass through it changed. When I think about the spaces of culture that seem worth making now, ’s line comes back to me: “I don’t believe we will get a story worth hearing until we witness a culture broken open by its own consequence.”

People get broken all the time, there’s no art in that, but there is an art in making spaces where we can be broken open with a chance of healing. Encounters that leave us changed, with a chance of becoming the people we’d need to be to bring about those “presently unimaginable futures”. That feels like work worth doing, in a time when the world is on fire.

Author’s note:

Today’s offering started out as a talk in front of an audience of Swedish culture-makers. It was February 2022, a couple of days before I started work on the first draft of At Work in the Ruins, so this is a glimpse of where I was at as I started to write that book. I hope you enjoy it.

I was taken back to this talk because, three years on, we had a visit this week from Deepa Patel whose journey through A Year to Live was one of its inspirations. I’m glad to report that she’s alive and well and our conversations were as generative as always.


FOOD IS MEDICINE

Walnut consumption curbs inflammation and colon cancer risk



UConn clinical trial confirms the health benefits of eating walnuts to improve colonic health and for cancer prevention



University of Connecticut





There are new findings out about the benefits of eating walnuts. Results from a UConn School of Medicine clinical trial on the cover of the April edition of the journal Cancer Prevention Research show walnuts improve systemic inflammation while also reducing colon cancer risk.

Why walnuts?
Ellagitannins, plant-derived polyphenol compounds found in walnuts, are shown to be metabolized exclusively by the gut microbiome into a wide range of anti-inflammatory molecules called urolithins. These urolithins are associated with very potent anti-inflammatory properties and may even inhibit cancer.

“Ellagitannins in the walnut are importantly providing the anti-inflammatory and anti-cancer properties that we’re seeing in patients in our clinical trial research, particularly the gut’s conversion of ellagitannins to a potent anti-inflammatory agent, urolithin A,” reports Daniel W. Rosenberg, Ph.D. and his multidisciplinary team of researchers at the UConn School of Medicine.

Rosenberg serves as the HealthNet Chair in Cancer Biology and is an Investigator in the Center for Molecular Oncology. He has studied walnut properties for more than a decade and has researched the connection between walnut consumption and its anti-inflammatory properties.

The UConn research team’s clinical trial findings show that high levels of urolithin A formation by the gut microbiome from walnut consumption has a positive impact on reducing inflammatory markers across blood, urine, and fecal samples, and may even positively affect the immune cells within colon polyps.

For the clinical trial, patients between the ages of 40 to 65 years and at an elevated risk for colon cancer, were referred for the study from the Division of Gastroenterology at UConn Health, the University of Connecticut’s academic medical center. Each of the 39 enrolled study participants were screened by the clinical research team at UConn John Dempsey Hospital and asked to complete an NIH Food Frequency Questionnaire for analysis by Ock Chun Ph.D., a nutritional epidemiologist in the College of Agriculture, Health and Natural Resources at UConn Storrs. Patients were asked to avoid all ellagitannin-containing foods and beverages for a week to set their urolithin levels at or close to zero before they began consuming ellagitannin-rich walnuts as part of their closely monitored diet. At the end of the three-week study, all participants received a high-definition colonoscopy performed by Drs. John Birk and Haleh Vaziri.

Among the key findings, the researchers found that elevated urolithin A levels in the urine of patients correlated with the serum levels of peptide YY, an interesting protein that has been associated with inhibition of colorectal cancer. Reduced levels of several inflammation markers present in the blood were also found, especially in obese patients that had the greatest capacity to form urolithins by their gut microbiome.

Rosenberg also used high-dimensional spatial imaging technology that allowed UConn researchers to develop a detailed view of the direct cellular interactions present inside colon polyps that were removed during colonoscopy at the end of the walnut study. This cutting-edge advanced imaging technology revealed that patients with high levels of urolithin A formation following walnut consumption was directly associated with reduced levels of several important proteins that are often present in polyps, showing for the first time how walnut ingestion may directly enhance colon health.

The research team also discovered that the protein vimentin, often associated with more advanced forms of colon cancer, was greatly reduced inside polyp tissues obtained from patients who had also formed the highest levels of urolithin A by their gut microbiome.

These important new research findings build upon the earlier work of Dr. Masako Nakanishi, an assistant professor in the Rosenberg Lab, who showed in several earlier publications that walnuts had beneficial and anti-cancer effects in the colons of cancer-prone mice, key findings that prompted the current clinical trial.

“Urolithin A has a very positive influence on inflammation and maybe even cancer prevention,” says Rosenberg. “Our study proves that dietary supplementation with walnuts can boost the general population’s urolithin levels in those people with the right microbiome, while significantly reducing several inflammatory markers, especially in obese patients.”

Rosenberg concludes, “Our study provides strong rationale for dietary inclusion of walnut ellagitannins for cancer prevention. Nutrients from walnuts can contribute to reduced cancer risk. There are many potential benefits one can get from eating walnuts, with so little downside risk, that just grabbing a handful every day is really something that you can easily do for your long-term health benefit.”

This research is supported by generous awards from the American Institute for Cancer Research, the California Walnut Commission, and the National Cancer Institute.

 

Distressing levels of workplace violence in Ontario schools



New research from the University of Ottawa has found Ontario’s education sector workers live with increasing rates of violence inside their schools as austerity cuts continue to compound a worrying trend.




University of Ottawa




New research from the University of Ottawa has found Ontario’s education sector workers live with increasing rates of violence inside their schools as austerity cuts continue to compound a worrying trend.

The report ‘Running on Fumes: Violence, Austerity, and Institutional Neglect in Ontario Schools’ surveyed nearly 6,000 Ontario education sector workers (both teachers and support staff) about the 2022-23 academic year, uncovering a distressing picture of life inside the province’s schools.

“Workplace violence in Ontario schools remains the best-kept secret,” says Dr. Chris Bruckert, Chair of the Department of Criminology who launched the Violence and Harassment Against Educators Project in 2018 with report co-author Dr. Darcy Santor, a Professor of Psychology at uOttawa’s Faculty of Social Sciences.

“Schools are not the same as they were a decade ago. Students may well be witnessing violence against (particularly women) workers daily, evacuating their classrooms, experiencing general distress and fear and struggling to learn in large and complex classes where support is lacking, and violence is normalized.”

Bruckert says decades worth of deep austerity-driven cuts and systemic privatization have left publicly funded education in Ontario in a dire state. The survey’s findings tell a story, including:

  1. Rates of violence are outrageously high and increasing exponentially and are increasingly framed as “part of the job.”
  2. Women, 2SLGBTQIA+ and disabled workers experienced higher levels of student harassment.
  3. Racially minoritized workers were more likely to have their experiences minimized, be blamed, or experience a reprisal.
  4. Nearly half of respondents experienced parent-initiated harassment.
  5. Workplace violence is profoundly impacting student learning and well-being.
  6. Worker retention is threatened by the pervasiveness of workplace violence.
  7. Austerity-driven cuts and institutional neglect have created the conditions for escalating workplace violence.

The disturbing normalization of workplace violence within Ontario’s schools is a trend found in Bruckert and Santor’s work, with a previous study confirming things have worsened in the years since.

“Funding for Ontario’s publicly funded education system is declining at the same time as needs are increasing. This report highlights some of the ways this lack of investment has translated into overcrowded classrooms, fewer educational assistants, limited material and physical resources, dwindling professional health and social services, and delayed and unequal access to assessments for students. These are exactly the conditions that exacerbate workplace violence,” says Bruckert, who has been researching, teaching, and mobilizing against gendered violence for over 25 years.

Darby Mallory, a doctoral student and one of the authors on the study, adds “The public must be made aware of the consequences of the systematic underfunding of our education system, particularly as it is our children who are paying the price.”