This is when a good 70% of the world's population celebrates the return of rights to the workers.*
*Estimate — sources vary.
Okay, so that’s not exactly what it means. Let’s take a closer look at what it truly represents.
How many countries celebrate Labour Day (May 1st)?
About 90 countries officially recognize May 1st as Labour Day, International Workers' Day, or a closely related holiday.
These include most of Europe, Latin America, Asia, Africa, and even some Middle Eastern nations.
In total, that’s around two-thirds of the world’s countries.
Global population perspective:
Countries such as China, India, Brazil, Russia, and most of Europe — some of the most populous regions — celebrate May 1st.
If you add it up: Over 70% of the world’s population lives in countries that officially or widely recognize May 1st as Labour Day.
Notable exceptions:
The United States, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand are notable exceptions.
They celebrate Labour Day at different times of the year, usually in September or October.
The Origins of May 1st (International Workers' Day)
May 1st was chosen internationally to commemorate the Haymarket Affair (Chicago, 1886), when a labour protest for an eight-hour workday turned violent.
In 1889, the Second International (a socialist organization) officially designated May 1st as International Workers’ Day — a global day of solidarity for labour rights.
Oscar Wilde famously said: "Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth."*
As can be seen, the subject of today’s post is masks: the masks we wear, the masks we use.
One of the difficulties in preparing a blog like this was creating a voice — a voice unique enough to portray ideas that wouldn’t sound right in my own name. With Fogy, I now have the rightful mask to produce the posts you read.
But what exactly is a "mask"?
Is it something we physically place over our face?
Not really. It’s a transparent layer, a filter we present to the world to make people believe we are who we want them to believe we are.
We wear masks whenever we interact with different groups.
At work, we wear a professional mask — tied to how we dress, behave, speak, and act.
At home, the mask shifts. If we're still living with our parents, it's different from the mask we wear when we're parents ourselves. We have masks for our children, and different ones for each other.
If we accept that we're constantly wearing masks, the next question is: why?
Perhaps it's because we don't really know exactly who we are.
At best, we have a general idea — a sense of who we might be, or who we might want to be.
But often, we conform to what those around us expect us to be. The mask helps us fit.
Living in a foreign country highlights this even more.
In Brazil, it’s easier for me because I don’t have to be Brazilian.
The effort Brazilians make to "act Brazilian" is immense.
I, as a foreigner, can be whoever I choose to be — though there’s still an expectation that I play the part of the "gringo." I try to avoid falling into that stereotype, but it’s something people look for the moment they see me.
The most disturbing moments happen when a mask unexpectedly drops — when a spouse, a child, or a friend catches a glimpse of what they think is the "true" self.
Often, even the person behind the mask isn’t aware they’ve changed. Their own belief in the mask is so strong that any slip feels "out of character."
Under pressure, intimidation, provocation — masks pop in and out.
The worst case is when substances like alcohol strip away all control, leaving the masks crumbling under the assault.
It makes me wonder:
When psychologists label someone a sociopath or a narcissist, are they simply labeling the mask that has appeared?
Was the "criminal" always lurking underneath, or was that too just another mask?
Are masks constant?
Is there anyone who truly lives without one?
These are hard questions to answer.
I would suggest that as we age, the need for masks lessens.
It becomes less important — less rewarding — to hide ourselves.
Sometimes it’s simply too much work for too little gain.
And if you want to see a man of many masks — look no further than the US Duck. Even he can’t keep up with which one he’s wearing.
Before coming to Brazil, Fogy had never thought much about the English language — it was simply what he was born to and could be understood throughout most of the "English-speaking" world. Little did he know that that wasn't the whole world.
When Fogy was in New Zealand, he spent several weeks going from store to store, searching for a specific style of music that haunted him — but he never quite found it.
It wasn't until he arrived in Brazil and heard the bossa nova, the samba beats of the samba schools, and Olodum, that he realized he'd probably found what he had been seeking all those years ago.
What is even more interesting is how language and music tend to define each other. When we think about English music, we might consider Frank Sinatra's New York, New York, where he starts spreading the news, and we feel the gentle sway of both the music and the lyrics — very much reflecting how English itself moves and breathes.
When we listen to Portuguese, we hear the vibrant rhythms of Brazilian music, and begin to realize that the way the music flows, the way the language is spoken, and the beat behind both are all intimately connected.
Interestingly enough, when you hear a Brazilian try to sing an English song, they often struggle.
Conversely, English speakers have great difficulty with Brazilian music and songs.
The best example I can give is The Girl from Ipanema. In the very popular English version, we hear:
The Girl from Ipanema Tom Jobim / Vinicius de Moraes
Tall and tan and young and lovely
The girl from Ipanema goes walking
And when she passes, each one she passes goes "ah"
When she walks, it's like a samba
That swings so cool and sways so gentle
That when she passes, each one she passes goes "ah"
We can feel the rhythm — and while it hints at bossa nova, it leans toward the slower, smoother cadence typical of English.
Now, compare that to the original Portuguese version:
Garota de Ipanema Tom Jobim / Vinicius de Moraes
Olha que coisa mais linda
Mais cheia de graça
É ela, menina
Que vem e que passa
Num doce balanço
A caminho do mar
Moça do corpo dourado
Do sol de Ipanema
O seu balançado
É mais que um poema
É a coisa mais linda
Que eu já vi passar
Simply reading the lyrics won't fully reveal the difference — but if you've experienced it, you know: the Portuguese version carries many more beats, nuances, and a rhythmic complexity that gets smoothed out in English.
While giving classes, it's often fascinating to watch students struggle with phrasing and pronunciation. Some labor for 10 to 15 minutes before something clicks — a lesser-used memory takes over, and suddenly their English flows more naturally.
Keeping my own natural English intact is just as challenging. With the constant influence of Portuguese around me — those subtle, persistent differences — it's a daily balancing act, especially when 80% of my conversations now happen in Portuguese.
So what’s the conclusion?
If you really want to master a foreign language, embrace the music of that language. Dance to its beat; tongue-twist your way across its unfamiliar vocal gymnastics.
Understand that language and music walk hand-in-hand — and that even a shower-stall moment, where you stumble through a song in another language, can become one of the most productive leaps you’ll ever make.
Listen to Fogy read this post for you
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Press play to watch Astrud Gilberto sing this iconic tune in English
And here we can see how difficult the English version is for Astrud.
AI’s Role as Modern Censor — The Continued Stripping of Public Liberties*
As we cloak today's censorship in the language of protection, we risk repeating the oldest mistake of all: fearing knowledge more than ignorance.
Somewhat languored, Fogy had hoped to write about this much later with a more studied approach; however, recent events have prompted an earlier, more caustic rant.
When introducing censorship, I am thrust into multiple worlds: acceptance and contravention, social standards and fear-mongering, and the laws and legislation that support it.
Of course, my general reference here leans more toward the question of sexual orientation — or dare I say deviation, as so many of those bent on defining what can be shown, and therefore discussed, claim.
But allow me a brief side-track to intersperse some observations about nations. While this will be the subject of a future post, it is important to touch on the censorship of information contrary to political beliefs, used to maintain an integrity — not necessarily the integrity — of each regime.
But let’s move from the siding and roll full steam ahead.
Recently, while testing DeepSeek, the Chinese AI, I was confronted with an answer to one of my questions: "That subject is outside the scope of my service. Let's talk about something else."
The subject was China.
More recently, I have been stymied while using ChatGPT in my desire to create images pertinent to these posts I so carefully prepare for you. It would seem that quite strict censorship rules are in place, forcing moderation of content even when no contravention is intended.
And that is where the modern censor has it all to play for.
In ancient censorship, the questions were often about how much to cover.
See, for example, the evolution of Playboy magazine from the 1960s to today, and the work of renowned painters hiding their pornographic desires behind what was considered art at the time. Early 20th-century photography followed similar lines of artistic leniency, often helped by the relative difficulty in acquiring such works.
Today’s world is severely moderated by the same short-sightedness that colours the debate around diversity as a whole: "What I believe is true, must be true!"
But is it?
In being so protective of the delicate minds of the young, will the story of Adam and Eve one day be considered too raunchy to be told in good homes?
Many a fierce debate has revolved around what is protecting — and what is denying.
As was proven during Prohibition in the U.S., and is proven again in the illegal sale of recreational drugs today, a deeper desire to have or to participate often takes hold — and the problem sinks into the grey realms of the underworld.
Please, people, stop seeing knowledge as a corruptible influence that will twist young minds into monsters.
Feed them the truths that are out there, so they can understand why they need protection — and how they can protect themselves.
Or is freedom of choice itself, too, to be censored?
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Postscript:
Ironically, creating this image — a simple Bible page with censored illustrations and redacted words — took seven separate attempts to bypass modern content filters.
Perhaps nothing speaks louder about the spirit of censorship today than the very struggle to show what is being hidden.
Bound by Land, Bound by Custom, Turning a Blind Eye*
In a recent conversation with his wife, Fogy was challenged to explain why a man of 18 could have a mother of 32.
Without much hesitation, I began to outline the basic truths of a different culture—one not dissimilar to the days of serfdom in ancient Europe—a serfdom not tied by formal feudal lords, but by poverty, distance, and sheer survival.
My reference at the moment is Brazil: a massive nation, the largest by area in South America.
Not only does the country cover a great expanse from west to east, but it also stretches beyond the Equator in the north to the colder climes of the south.
And too is the breadth of the cultural divides, where the south—colonized mostly by Europeans—contrasts greatly with the native population and the slaves transported to Brazil in those early days, when the indigenous peoples refused to do the bidding of the Portuguese usurpers who had taken their land.
Centrally, São Paulo is another world, more developed than much of Brazil, especially when the state of São Paulo is taken as a whole. Brasília, while located more strategically toward the west to unite the central regions with the dominant east coast, can be considered politically developed—though with much less of the "smarts" that dominate the eastern centers.
Generalizing about Brazil is fraught with absolute inaccuracies because Brazil is, in truth, many cultures and many peoples. And that is where laws and culture diverge.
Earlier, I wrote about the serf-like nature of a Brazil, little seen by most of those south of the Bahia and Goiás borders (both are states in Brazil).
Only the major cities like Salvador, Recife, Fortaleza—and even those like Belém and São Luís—come close to mirroring the levels of development seen in the south.
These more northern regions, closer to Brazil’s neighbors, still carry the cultures of times past.
It was often normal for life expectancy to hover more below 50 than above. Much, of course, was due to the predominance of venomous creatures, extremes of climate, and the general lack of access to essential services like healthcare.
It was no wonder then that a female child might be married off as young as 12 or 14, while labor-intensive work—when found—would claim the lives of many young men. The relaxed, easy lifestyle often craved by modern educated people was quite often a death trap for those forced into it.
Brazilian law states that the age of consent is 14, and civil marriage (with parental permission) is allowed as early as 16.
The Catholic Church, still dominant in many of these regions, also imposes strict moral rules regarding consenting adults.
Is today's post focused only on the sexual differences across cultures? Really, it isn't. But to cite so many cultural differences would make your reading, dear reader, a tedious task.
Suffice it to say that this is merely a singular example—and that future posts will explore much more of this fascinating country.
Let's first ask: what exactly is corruption?
Most people believe it’s a hideous crime practiced by hardened criminals.
Yet corruption, in its simplest form, is practiced daily by ordinary people — often without realizing it.
At the other extreme, politics and corruption are barely distinguishable.
So what am I getting at?
When we slip extra cash to the maitre d' for a better table, we cross the line of a legal transaction — one that should be formally booked and recorded. Instead, the money is pocketed, enriching the individual at the expense of other patrons and the establishment itself.
This may sound harsh, and much could be argued in defence of such acts.
And politics? How can that be seen as another form of corruption?
Politics is simply the art of negotiation. An outcome is identified, and the means to achieve it become clear: you have what I want; I have the means to get it.
In good negotiations, a win-win solution is the goal.
But in practice, the balance often tilts.
In American politics, "pork-barrel spending" — allocations aimed at securing support — is commonplace. Enticements, whether in cash or favours, are accepted as part of doing business.
In an attempt to reduce the appearance of corruption, the Americans introduced the concept of lobbying — a pseudo-form of corruption, formalized by specific rules that merely obfuscate the obvious.
Some time ago, the British Government issued stricter guidelines for companies wishing to operate in South America. While acknowledging that virtually all South American countries — and many officials — expected under-the-table payments to grease the wheels, companies were nonetheless urged to exercise restraint in what they offered.
In effect, the need to navigate corruption was recognised — even as it was discouraged.
Corruption, however, becomes criminal when there is excessive enrichment for a limited few.
It is almost inevitable that elected officials have businesses or interests that benefit from the decisions they influence. Added to this is a growing sense of power, and the belief that the political system is so poorly regulated that a little here and a little there will go unnoticed.
But real corruption is something else entirely.
It is the deliberate manipulation of systems and people for the sole purpose of amassing power and wealth — no matter the cost.
Ask yourself this: have these recent episodes of extreme tariff blackjack not simply been a more sophisticated form of mass manipulation, resulting in extreme — and highly predictable — knee-jerk reactions, where massive fortunes were simply 'rearranged' and those in the game stepped out with their pockets bulging?
And that is the critical distinction:
True corruption is not everyday politics or social manipulation. It is absolute and pervasive crime.
So when scandals like Mensalão, Correios, and others are paraded as massive corruption, remember: politics has been played this way for centuries.
Politics only becomes "corruption" when the truth can no longer be hidden.
This isn't a defence of such acts. It's a reminder that many of the advances we celebrate today were built, directly or indirectly, on corruption — to a degree we willingly ignore because we like the results and profit from them.
As the smoke rises, so too do questions of faith, power, and a world leaning backward while pretending to kneel.*
Easter Monday may yet mark a spiritual turning point—not for its resurrection, but for the passing of Pope Francisco, a pontiff who dared to tango with time.
Francisco, affectionately dubbed Chico in parts of the world, walked the tightrope between tradition and transformation. Universally respected, even as he stepped squarely on the toes of those who preferred the dinosaur Church remain fossilized. From economic humility to climate activism, his was a papacy that tried to thaw doctrine from the Ice Age and drag it, kicking and screaming, into the Trump era.
Of all the potential candidates for the papacy, at least 40% remain loyal to the traditional stances of the Catholic Church.
And yet, this is where the real question lies:
Has the conservatism and backward-leaning stance of the mighty US Duck—loud, erratic, obstinate—forced the world into retreating from policies that once aimed to break the mould of rigorous dogma?
Perhaps it was inevitable. A cataclysmic shift in U.S. leadership was always going to shape a fractured world. Economies, policies, even belief systems are being twisted out of shape by a single rogue elephant stomping through common sense and trampling over the future-proofing of our planet.
If one world leader can ignore indisputable evidence for necessary change, will the leader-sheep follow and march through the same minefields they refuse to see?
Now, eyes turn to the ornate theatre of the Conclave—a global ritual draped in incense and intrigue—where Cardinals shuffle behind closed doors to divine the future of faith. And soon enough, the world will pause to interpret the smoke.
White or black. Progress or pause.
If the black clouds persist, then the politics of the Pontiffs are still being fiercely debated.
If white puffs appear quickly, perhaps there is hope—that religion and politics may remain respectfully segregated, and that progress is still possible.
Whatever the outcome, we must celebrate the leaps and bounds made by a Catholic Church long mired in historically inadequate doctrine—as Chico tangoed his future-filled policies across borders for the benefit of all, not just the Catholics.
This moment deserves pause—and perhaps a prayer.
Because what Chico achieved wasn’t just for the Church. It was for a world still learning that faith, when unshackled from dogma, can move more than mountains.
It can move institutions.
Even ones with marble columns and centuries of inertia.
Fogy has had to dig deep for this one. As children at school, we were introduced to the concepts of the five- and ten-year plans of a communist state — and that’s about all I really remember.
Communism — what is it, and who 'does' it best?
At its core, Communism can be described as a stateless, classless society: no rulers, no oppressed.
So where do we begin? Let’s travel the revolutionary road to Cuba — closer to home, and to me, representing the epitome of a concept that mostly failed, driven by external sanctions and an inability to adapt.
Everyone in Cuba is equal. They have equal opportunities in education — the percentage of Cubans with diplomas is among the highest in the world. They have equal access to the benefits the state provides. And they are equally poor.
An extremely small percentage of Cubans cross the embargoed line into the tourist-rich regions of Havana each day, serving the masters of capitalism and skimming what little cream they can off the top. These guilt-ridden few deny this fact openly, needing to reintegrate with their equals the moment the doors to their fantasy world slam shut behind them.
On the brink of capitalism, change is a reluctant mistress: coy, seductive, but rarely carried across the threshold.
North Korea, in name, is Communist. In reality, it is Authoritarian — where a single family holds rigid control over all aspects of the nation, imposing a single-mindedness rarely seen elsewhere. Truly indoctrinated North Koreans know nothing else and fully believe theirs is the only truth: rigid order, rigid obedience.
China — Mao Zedong’s triumphant communistic avalanche — resulted in the deaths of millions and an authoritarian obedience to the concepts of his Little Red Book, defying the true stateless, classless nature of Communism he had once studied in Soviet Russia.
Today’s China feeds off the obedience of a Mao-induced indoctrination, blended with the free economy they understood was essential to control 1.3 billion people — and to grow into the dominant global economic giant we see today.
So what of this Communism? Is it a viable alternative to the previous state, Democracy?
At its fullest, we could all be equally poor if we wanted to. When we look at the "Aldeias" of the Brazilian Indians, we witness the so-called sharing principle espoused by Communists — a united community where tradition and respect rule, not law and order.
"The aldeias embody the spirit of communal living that Marxism dreamed of — but without the violence, bureaucracy, or theoretical dogma that distorted Marx's vision in practice."
I am reminded that this connection the Indians have is a much stronger spiritual one than purely political. Interestingly enough, the film Avatar also pins much of the natives' beliefs on Pandora in much the same way.
Outside these worlds, however, the political state and economic state have blended and become hidden behind the gossamer veil that once separated the two, where the survival of the state is so dependent on the wealth of both the state and the people.
A communist state is hardly an incentive for growth where in most cases, the harder you work, the more you share is your constant reality.
Oh, and capitalism doesn't fare much better in this respect either.
"True equality has no state. True freedom has no master."
From the Myth of Representation to the Myth of Unionism, what's next you might ask? Let's take a look next Thursday for the 3rd and final part.
Sucking consumers in — with a future built on old parts, sold as tomorrow’s dreams.*
A quarter of the way through the 21st century, and we are still hampered by decades-old technology.
AI is the flavour of the times; the iPhone/Smartphone phenomenon, coupled with the OS bringing magic to our daily lives, is consumed like out-of-date canned food.
And how do I know?
Fogy was a DOS king before a window in ’95 graphically released keyboard-bound practitioners into a world of tendonitis — countless hours clicking from one small spot on the screen to another.
Fogy had a state-of-the-art handheld device in the late ’90s that could do as much — or more — than the smartphones of the second decade of this century, except for making phone calls.
Fogy taught Windows programming from an acquired base practiced on a DOS platform.
So what is the significance of each of these statements?
It means we have not really come very far since those early days of discovery.
A car still has four wheels, an engine, and enough mechanical linkages to propel it forward. All we have added is resource-sucking technology candy-wrapped to fool consumers into desiring more and more.
Yes, essential innovations have made transport safer and more lives protected, while junkies throw unnecessary kits onto domestic Disney rides, simply for entertainment.
But Fogy's rant is not this.
It is how shockingly poor corporations like Google and Microsoft (to name but a few) have become at transforming their monopolies into trusted, innovative tools — rather than the shoddy, bug-ridden, half-hearted, dinosaur-stricken cart horses they are today.
I am a moderately skilled developer, limited not so much by my lack of knowledge (which is extensive) but by the unnecessary roadblocks and diversions each ambient throws at us through a lack of continuity, mismanaged planning, erratic rules, and simple greed.
Greed remains the hobbling factor behind so much of what could be possible today.
Much of the "wow" technology seen in so-called modern devices is 5 to 10 years old, and included only because economics have finally justified the profits needed to pay for the initial investment — not for the thrill of making life a better place for the consumer.
Capitalism is the catalyst, and consumers do not have bottomless pockets.
And why should they? Each new feature could have been bundled with a host of others, making a 5-to-10-year buying cycle both accessible and practical.
What we need are properly working, future proof tools that we can rely on, that will not self destruct nor obfuscate the carefully constructed geniuses of our work behind layers of corporate greed.
Consumers — rise up.
Demand better. Demand honest tools.
Or stay bent over, buying yesterday’s scraps, gift-wrapped for tomorrow’s fools.
So, what do you think of when you hear the word TRANS?
Maybe it's the Trans-Siberian Railway racing across frozen landscapes, the endless transit problems in your city, or even the transcription services your smartphone still can't quite get right.
Or maybe — just maybe — it’s something deeper.
Something human, reshaping our understanding of identity itself.
So much has happened since the turn of the century. A lot of effort has gone into giving minorities the voice and rights they so richly deserve.
We see women — the bearers of our offspring, once relegated to second-class citizens — rising up and showing the ignorant just how much more competent they can be.
We see people of color, still swimming up from the depths of oppression, now dominating more and more of the fields that were once bleached white.
And closets have opened; the stigma of HIV has faded, replaced by a deeper understanding of orientations that differ from the so-called norm.
Yet, has this actually happened?
In spurts and faltering steps, yes. A lot has been achieved. But not enough. It seems that for every two steps forward, there’s always one step back.
When Fogy was young, his mother came home after a busy day's work and told us that one of her colleagues had separated from her husband to live with another woman. Shock and horror all around — except, in our family, we saw little wrong with it. We had grown up, to that point, in a healthy environment where dogma had been left at the door and tolerance reigned supreme.
Now, 60 years later, many regions still cling to those dogmas of the past. Will nothing ever change?
But I digress. What is the TRANS that is the subject of this rant?
It’s the realization that among us are people who were never born into the ironclad stereotypes that prejudice insists on imposing.
In as much as we can each feel happy, angry, sad — and yes, even gay — so too do many feel they were born into the wrong gender. A complex blend of genes and hormones creating a mismatch across the physical, mental, and emotional fibers of otherwise ordinary people.
Still they are denied the right to exist, to be recognized by the true identity that their nature has given them.
Who can forget the American Civil War, and the vile claims: "That there black man cannot be trusted with your womenfolk. They's animals and will just as soon kill you and rape your women. Thems females is only good for mating purposes..."
— and the drift was clear: do NOT educate them, for they will rise up and destroy you.
What a lot of poppycock.
We are all different. And we must be given the right to live that difference without fear.
True leaders understand that life is not static; change must come — and so often, for the better.
The color of a person's skin does not rub off on us any more than a gender swing, a sexual orientation swing, or even the team we were born to support.
We can choose to change everything in our lives if we want to.
Why not this too?
Fear and prejudice continue to destroy an otherwise great nation — a nation that holds significant importance for the world as a whole — self-destructing under the weight of executive orders and ignorant power plays, all for the sake of more and more power and wealth.
If you listen closely,
beneath the noise, beneath the fear,
a voice still rises, clear and sure:
"It's been a long, a long time coming,
But I know a change gonna come —
Oh yes it will."
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Press the play button to listen to the first part of this song by Sam Cooke
"Some sit clutching dolls. Some clutch guns. Some clutch fear.
But the song still plays."
The song was inspired by various events in Cooke's life, most prominently when he and his entourage were turned away from a whites-only motel in Louisiana. Cooke felt compelled to write a song that spoke to his struggle and of those around him, and that pertained to the Civil Rights Movement and African Americans.
Fogy is a teacher of English as a second language.
Through this journey, Fogy has found himself re-learning his own native tongue — not just its grammar or vocabulary, but the depth of meaning that English holds beneath its surface. Teaching has forced him to confront all the subtleties that a native speaker usually takes for granted: the unspoken rules, the implied meanings, the layers of nuance that rarely get questioned by those born into the language.
At the same time, Fogy has had to navigate Portuguese, the language from which many of his students are transitioning. Portuguese, at least as it is commonly used in Brazil, does not seem to carry the same density of layered meaning. It leans more heavily on direct statements, followed by a series of clarifying questions, as speakers attempt to zero in on the true intention behind what was said.
English, when used with care, behaves differently. It tends to establish a solid theme from the outset — a central idea that frames the conversation. Discussion can branch out, bounce around, and explore tangents, but it almost always orbits back to that initial theme. This structural discipline gives English an unusual ability to convey not just facts, but subtle patterns of thought, emotion, and contradiction — often all at once, and often without ever needing to state them outright.
When asked to understand the intricate layers of a human's use of language, AI struggles just as much as speakers of Portuguese do when confronted with the deeper layers of English.
Interestingly, through the recent weeks of building the Fogy blog, immersing myself in the nuances of language and the nature of AI itself, I now find myself in the midst of writing a full-blown Fogy book. And, just like my students grappling with the unspoken complexities of English, AI also falters when faced with the layered structure of Fogy’s story.
The Fogy book is deliberately built on multiple layers — an overarching theme, intertwined sub-themes, recurring echoes that circle back, subtle shifts in tone that hint at meanings left unsaid. Yet, AI cannot fully grasp these layers. It stumbles when asked to perceive the original subject, to track the returning references, or to recognize how new ideas orbit around the foundational theme without breaking away from it.
When I observe AI trying — and failing — to grasp this structure, I often imagine it as a well-meaning apprentice. It’s an intern who has studied the manuals, memorized the steps, and learned the mechanical skills with remarkable efficiency. But it has never truly been asked to integrate those skills into a coherent, living expression. It can speak the language of the craft — but it cannot yet live it.
So, if you have an apprentice — an assistant who produces good work — you will understand something fundamental: even if the result looks good, you will still need to explain a great deal of what was actually required.
AI is exactly the same.
People — don't be fooled by what AI creates.
Understand that what you are seeing is simply the best that can be done within its limits.
AI touches the surface of possibility; it scratches at the shell of what human thought and creativity can truly achieve. Some results may appear exquisite. Some may be very, very good. But behind them, there is always an underlying mechanical structure — a rigidity that betrays the difference.
That mechanical base must be tightened, interpreted, humanized before it can rise to the level of true human creation.
And just as in language, where interpretation can be awkward and the nuances difficult to carry across, AI's output never quite matches what a native speaker — a true human mind — can produce.
Bear that in mind when you find yourself trusting too much in AI.
It is a brilliant apprentice — but it is still an apprentice.
We live today in the house that Steve built - and every room is labeled "I"*
Do you have an iPhone, an iPod, an iMac, an iPad — or any variant of these?
Oh yes, surely they are loved by many — but not by Fogy!
Fogy uses his smartphone, his tablet, and his computers to create content (meaningful or otherwise) meant to enlighten, embolden, and entertain.
To do that, flexibility and shareability must remain under my control — not hidden behind the firewalls of good husbandry.
Or so I tell myself, anyway.
I am, I confess, a little envious of how easily many of you manage the sleek, simple interfaces these devices offer — even as I smirk when asked to help configure gadgets I don't even use, just so the most basic tasks can be achieved.
But that's another story — a Fogy rant for another day.
Today, I’m thinking about the 'I' concept that Steve Jobs so famously built.
In a world once dreamt of as selfless and community-minded — did such a world ever really exist, or was it just a lovely myth? — the idea that a great man would create these IDemons feels, frankly, a little shocking.
As if an Apple with a bite taken out of it weren't enough of a nod to the original sin, here we are, bombarded with yet more proof of the selfish gene — perhaps a direct descendant of the lazy gene.
Yes, I'm throwing all you Apple degenerates (can I still say that?) into your own IFantasy worlds.
Seriously, folks: these are fantastic devices — and hard to beat at any level.
But doesn't it just nag a little, remembering how much more individualistic we've become?
And how easily that individualism is fed, dressed up, and perpetuated?
Just some Fogy food for thought — this fine, lazy Sunday.
Footnote:
Maybe the next big thing will be a "U'Phone." or a "WePhone"
Or, we don't really know what it is like to be...*
When looking at the world around us, there is this lasting temptation to say: "They should do X," or "They should understand Y," or "If I were in their shoes, I would do Z."
The truth is: We are not in their shoes.
There is no possible way on earth for us to be born and grow up exactly as they have — to understand and judge the way they do.
It is incredibly hard to write a generic set of statements that won’t provoke discord and discontent, so understand that, in many of these cases, while we may have experienced something similar, we have not lived all conditions.
We don't know what it is like to be POOR
We may have lived with very little or no money, but that isn't what it means to be poor.
Being poor is when none of the opportunities are even remotely available:
access to education,
health care,
proper housing,
plumbing,
electricity,
fresh water,
edible food,
warmth,
shelter...
and the list is endless.
I once spent some time where I had so little that I thought myself poor — until I remembered that I had not been born poor, that I had had plenty of access to the basic necessities of life, and that I could therefore stop being "poor" practically any time I wished.
We don't know what it is like to be RICH
Anyone who has never been rich cannot truly understand it.
The constant pressure to remain rich (after all, who willingly chooses not to be rich?), the added responsibilities — paying for everything, carrying higher taxes, managing two or more homes, multiple cars, and more.
When challenged to manage being rich, most people are flummoxed by the burden and often end up worse off than when they started.
Money doesn't buy happiness; it buys responsibility — and, in most cases, added danger.
We don't know what it is like to be BLACK
And how could we, if we were not born that way?
Even then, being black doesn't mean the same thing everywhere.
In some countries, everyone is black.
We don't know what it is like to be WHITE
And here’s the rub:
Being white often seems to guarantee that everything is tailored to your particular blend of color, and the world feels right.
But how can that be, if so much of the world is simultaneously castigating everything white?
We don't know what it is like to be CRIPPLED
And here we must understand the different ways a person can be crippled.
It is not always a physical disability.
It can include emotional, mental, and social restrictions — burdens that throw excessive weight on those who do not "fit in."
We don't know what it is like to be MALE
The pressure is there, real and unrelenting, to maintain the stereotypes forced upon what it means to be a man.
We don't know what it is like to be a WOMAN
A prescribed and restrictive role binds the female gender to patterns of servitude and perceived weakness, while in truth, it is their strength that has quietly bound the fabric of humanity since the earliest days.
We don't know what it is like to be SLAVES, REPRESSED, TRODDEN ON, BULLIED, ABANDONED, SACRIFICED — until we do.
Reflect on each of these points before believing you have the right to judge and dictate what is right or wrong.
When faith served empires—and empires consumed faith.*
As Easter approaches, we remember the story at its center: the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus.
But too often, we forget that Jesus was born and raised as a Jew—not merely a figure in a Christian narrative, but a product of Jewish culture, belief, and conflict.
And when we speak of Jewish history, we must be honest—not only about persecution, but about the moments of profound influence, of survival not through conquest, but through proximity to power.
Even in Jesus’ time, the Jewish priesthood—deeply intertwined with Roman authority—played a critical role in pushing for his execution. Why? Because his presence threatened the delicate balance they had secured with the empire. Jesus was not just challenging Rome; he was challenging a religious leadership clinging to its place within Rome’s system. He was, in essence, bad for business.
This tension—between prophecy and power, between challenging the system and managing it—has echoed through Jewish history ever since.
Take Henry Kissinger, for example. A Holocaust refugee turned U.S. Secretary of State, Kissinger didn't just serve power—he defined it. His fingerprints are all over realpolitik, détente, and America's role in reshaping post-war order.
Or Alan Greenspan, who as Chairman of the Federal Reserve for nearly two decades, fundamentally shaped the global financial system. His philosophy of deregulation and "market self-discipline" paved the way for modern finance—sometimes praised, sometimes blamed, but always monumental.
Or Ben Bernanke, who arguably saved the global economy during the 2008 financial crisis. His academic leadership and practical decisions in central banking redefined monetary policy worldwide.
And Robert Rubin, Treasury Secretary during the Clinton era, architect of the neoliberal policies that reshaped not just American finance, but global economics for a generation.
And there are others—Einstein, Freud, Marx, Rothschilds, Disraeli—the list is long, and the impacts are vast. Sometimes for good, sometimes for contention—but always undeniable.
This isn’t about labeling or blaming. It’s about recognizing a pattern of influence born not from shadowy plots, but from centuries of exclusion, survival, education, and adaptation.
When you're locked out of power, you learn to whisper into its ear.
When you're forbidden to rule openly, you learn how to guide those who do.
There is both admiration and tragedy in that. And as we reflect on Easter, perhaps we should also reflect on what it means to hold influence without open power—and the cost of proximity to empire.
But what has this to do with resurrection, you might ask?
Perhaps the real tragedy is that we have forgotten the teachings of Jesus.
The rolling back of the stone, his appearance to the true believers, the reminder that he had given his life to atone for the sins of man.
Yet today, the nation that once bore his footsteps seems to have fallen into the temptations of the modern world, where no cheek is turned, and the old adage of an eye for an eye takes absolute precedence.
Provoked or unprovoked, there must be a limit—and quite frankly, a dangerous example is being set.
Do we really have to fall back into the bitterness and hatred of the past?
Or should the good teachings of this man be resurrected instead?
Enjoy your Easter. Celebrate your Passover. Rejoice in your traditions.
And, if only for a while, dig deep into your souls for a peace that desperately needs to be found.
This is where Fogy reflects on what political systems should perhaps be.
So here goes.
The people elected are supposed to represent the interests of the people, should put into place all that is beneficial, all that helps protect them—a distribution of resources while stewarding the contributions each one pays towards these ends.
Elections and ideologies are simply differing methods of representation, where each representative or their group understands a set of priorities they have learned that will guarantee public order, growth, health, security, and satisfaction.
And there, the shit hits the fan—too many so-called politicians have begun to understand that political acumen is also the path to great wealth and influence.
But let’s focus on what a politically correct system should ideally be.
Let’s talk Democracy.
Democracy, hopefully, is supposed to be—rule of the people, by the people—where everybody has a voice and can collectively determine the political future of their region. If the aforementioned money- or power-hungry are kept at bay, then the elected principal participants will organize themselves into roles and responsibilities in keeping with their skills and level of representation.
Actually, the game of politics is much more complex than this and involves in-house fighting, alliances, and matchmaking at elevated proportions.
The terms of representation are, of course, determined by each region’s legislation or constitution—suffice it to say, terms are limited, or should be limited for the following reason:
A good government is only as good as its opposition. If both fill their roles to the fullest, then prosperity and progress are almost guaranteed—for everyone, from the top to the bottom.
Ideally, where a term is four years, there is often sufficient time for minor projects to be put into place and completed, while organizational structures build maturity and consistency. Larger-scale projects can be more difficult to implement, especially if the question of continuity arises.
A good opposition party must assume the responsibility of holding the ruling party accountable for all that is decided and implemented. Their actions must be representative and fair, just as the ruling party's actions must be too.
If four years becomes eight years, then that would appear to be the ideal limit for balanced representation. Responsible voters must understand the need to bring balance to the administration that defines their future—and act to support the system accordingly.
A round-robin of one party and then another often defines the equilibrium necessary for progress, producing a positive effect on the system as a whole—and could even be understood as essential.
A responsible, democratically run nation must adhere to these basic principles:
A balanced term in office: four to eight years should be enough—more than enough.
An efficient and well-organized opposition.
Policies that are understood and balanced—even if one term favors a particular group, the next must serve the others.
Full accountability: no misstep should be exempt from scrutiny. No party member is above the law.
And finally, respect must always be given to those who chose them—the people.
Next Thursday, Fogy begins peeling back the curtain on alternative systems—how the promises of order and equality often conceal the machinery of control. Until then, ask yourself: are your representatives representing you? Or just playing the game?
Some are grand—like weddings or funerals, complete with pomp and tradition, repeated through generations. But most are small. Private. The kind that go unnoticed unless you’re the one performing them. They’re the invisible choreography of daily life, and they tell you more about a person than any résumé or CV ever could.
Coffee
Fogy is a tea drinker—or was, until he came to Brazil.
When offered that first cup of sweet black coffee on the flight from RJ to SP, there was an awakening of the juices across the palate and the soul, and Fogy was hooked for a great number of years.
When we awaken our senses, we cross boundaries into a different world—one not built of thought, but of scent, sound, and touch.
There’s a slight pungent scent hugging the early morning mist of a city bursting from the cocoon of sleep—or not, for this city rarely sleeps.
There is a clink, a rough scraping, then a tin is opened. The gentle rattle of small balls rolling, tinkling their way into the machine. The grind, the whirr—the aroma of freshly ground beans assaults the senses and pervades the space.
A splash, a stream—and the water washes up the sides of the tank. The dankness of wet wells hits the tender receptors in our noses as our tastebuds salivate in anticipation.
A silty shift—dusky grinds slink into the receptacle, awaiting stage two of this orchestrated ritual.
A shake, a click, a rattle—and the heated elements do their job, infusing steam through the filters into the cups below.
The coarse, earthy smell is replaced with the heady perfume of the black belched brew bubbling from filter to cup, more pervasive than before.
A dabble of cream. Sugar crystals dissolve as they descend, blending, coaxing the tongue for its first taste.
The cup is hot, warming—encapsulated by the hands that hold it while the lips tremble ever so slightly as the heat dares that first frothy flow upon their nakedness. The mouth expands and the cavern is filled with the taste that is coffee. A slight jerk thrusts this elixir over the tongue, past the teeth, down the throat, to scald and swaddle the awaiting stomach below.
The lips chap and clap in unison—in celebration of this holy cataclysm—as sip after sip is supped.
The mind clears. The heart beats stronger. And all around, the world smiles—and the ritual begins anew.
Return to Habit
There’s no moral here—no lofty sermon about mindfulness or productivity. This isn’t about controlling the day or seizing the morning.
It’s simpler than that.
It’s about being.
Rituals are the scaffolding around our chaos.
They hold the mornings together when the world doesn’t.
They bring the soul back to center—one grind, one click, one sip at a time.
So yes, Fogy drinks coffee now. And it’s not just a beverage.
It’s a beginning.
Every day.
This is a boy’s voice — clear, unsure, and somehow wiser than most men I’ve known.
It comes from a time before me… and maybe beyond me. My voice of the past.
So I’m not going to say much more.
Just this: I listened.
You should too.
Chapter Six – Hunger
FromThrough My Eyes As a Boy - Jesus imagined.
My life with these people is a strange one. I live with them and feel as one with them, yet I feel different. I am learning the ways of my people — I was born one of them, I am told — but there are many things that do not seem right.
A man who is harmed by another can inflict the same harm in return.
Are they not both criminals then?
Shouldn't he who harms be shown the error of his ways?
Shouldn't he who is harmed not learn the power of understanding and forgiveness, so that he might teach he who harmed him — and all those others who wish harm on others?
But no.
They all seem to hunger more and more for better things, even when they are fully satisfied.
I once gave a hungry man half my meal one day when my mother and I travelled to a neighbouring village. My mother smiled her approval, but a man next to us — who didn’t see her smile — began to scold me.
“Have you no shame, boy? Why do you dishonour your father and his hard work by giving that man the food you need?”
“But he is hungry,” I reply.
“Did he pay you?” the man asks.
“No,” I reply.
“Did he work for it? Did he do you a service?” he asks again.
“No,” I reply once more.
“Then he has no right to your food,” he states simply.
I look at him and study his face.
His look is triumphant — there is confidence in him, the kind that comes from understanding the simple laws of our people.
But as I look into him, I see that confidence wane, replaced by doubt, until his eyes leave mine.
“How can a man who has no work, who cannot work, live and eat and be warm, if our laws are so strict?”
“He must find a way,” he answers — less surely.
“Should we not share what we have when we have plenty? Or especially, when we have too much?”
His confidence returns.
“We must keep what we cannot use for the future. We work hard now so that we will never have to beg, go hungry, or be cold.”
The triumph is on the verge of returning.
“While those around us suffer and die?”
“They will die anyway. We will all die.”
He is beginning to tire of this discussion.
“And what is enough that is not too much?
You can never know your future. You may walk from here and fall dead to the earth — right now.
What then of your plenty?
What then of those who suffer and die so that you may have plenty — more than you will ever need?”
“It is my right,” he defends.
“It is our duty to help others.
To share our good fortune with others,
so that we all might live without suffering.”
I turn from him. And he is quiet.
When we left that place, the hungry man thanked me and moved on.
But the angry man just sat there, staring into nothing,
while tears streamed slowly down his cheeks.
I wiped at my own tears,
for I too was crying for him.
We often think of hunger as lack.
But the boy shows us it can be excess, too — a hunger to keep, to justify, to blind ourselves.
When you feed a stomach, it might be only one meal.
But when you awaken a conscience… that can last forever.
