Duas coisas são infinitas: o universo e a estupidez humana. Mas, em relação ao universo, ainda não tenho a certeza absoluta.
(Einstein)
But the tune ends too soon for us all (Ian Anderson)
"We might not be smart enough to figure out our universe"
"The questions we may not yet know to ask because discoveries are yet to come"
"What kinds of questions lay beyound our reach?"
"I want to know the question that is beyound everyone's reach"
"The larger grows the area of knowledge, the bigger that area grows, so to grows our perimeter of ignorance, as much as we know we know, for all we know we could be stopped in the center of infinite ignorance, which then provides job security for scientists :)
Onosato’s promotion to ozeki was confirmed Wednesday morning as sumo’s newest superstar continues to reap the rewards of yet another incredible tournament.
With the 24-year-old’s meteoric rise progressing unabated, Onosato figures to dominate headlines inside and outside the ring for the foreseeable future.
But while the two-time Emperor’s Cup winner may be the main story in Japan’s national sport right now, he is far from the only one.
As Onosato increasingly hogs the spotlight, a number of significant former luminaries have called time on their careers over the past week or so.
Just 12 months ago, Takakeisho claimed his fourth top-division title — the second most for anyone ranked at ozeki in modern sumo history — but lingering injury issues forced the burly pusher-thruster to hang up his mawashi shortly after his 28th birthday.
Takakeisho’s top division career may have lasted just 6½ years, but the Hyogo Prefecture native was must-watch TV for virtually all of that span.
With explosive power out of the initial charge, but limited abilities in defense — particularly on the mawashi — few of Takakeisho’s bouts became long, drawn out stalemates. The ozeki had to win quickly or risk finding himself in a difficult position.
That led to fast starts and dramatic finishes, with Takakeisho’s matchups thrilling audiences no matter the outcome.
In addition to routinely producing exciting sumo, the fact that Takakeisho won as much as he did in so few basho — and with a body atypical of elite modern wrestlers — deserves special mention.
Newly minted ozeki Onosato holds up two fish during his promotion ceremony in Ami, Ibaraki Prefecture, on Wednesday. | Jiji
Kaio, with five Emperor’s Cups, is the only ozeki to have lifted more silverware than Takakeisho and that was over a career twice as long.
If not for injury at inopportune moments, Takakeisho may have gone even further.
The white rope of a yokozuna was within touching distance on more than one occasion.
Had Takakeisho not lost a title playoff to Abi in November 2022, it’s conceivable that he would have been promoted following his victory in the next meet.
Given how things transpired after that (with just one more championship and six withdrawals in 10 tournaments), it’s arguable Takakeisho’s legacy actually benefits from missing out.
While there is no denying being part of sumo’s most exclusive club is an unparalleled honor, Takakeisho retires as one of the best ozeki in history rather than a short-term yokozuna who underperformed at the rank.
Of course that’s taking the finding of silver linings to the nth degree and there is no question that, given a choice, Takakeisho would rather have reached the rank of yokozuna.
Though not nearly as successful as Takakeisho, Aoiyama’s retirement following the September meet is also significant as it brings an end, at least for now, to Bulgaria’s two-decade presence in professional sumo.
The massive European spent the vast majority of his 15 years in о̄zumo as a rank-and-filer in the top division, with just five of 71 makuuchi division tournaments at the ranks of komusubi or sekiwake.
For the early part of his career, Aoiyama was completely in the shadow of fellow Bulgarian Kotooshu, with the latter man’s good looks and fast rise to ozeki grabbing the attention of advertisers and television producers alike.
After the death of his first stablemaster, and the closing of Taganoura stable, Aoiyama moved to Kasugano stable, where future ozeki Tochinoshin and sanyaku regular Tochiozan were the main stars.
Though he had the occasional standout tournament, and even managed a couple of runner-up performances, Aoiyama was, for most of his time in professional sumo, a steady but unspectacular presence. Many observers felt that he gained too much weight and lost the mobility needed to counteract faster, smaller opponents.
Takakeisho (left) and his stablemaster, Tokiwayama, after his retirement news conference in Tokyo on Saturday. | Jiji
Even so, the Bulgarian veteran, along with other wrestlers from Bulgaria, Hungary, the Czech Republic, Estonia and Georgia, gave Japan’s national sport a distinct European flavor in the first couple of decades of the 21st century, which contributed to sumo garnering a lot of attention in new markets abroad.
After sitting out the entirety of the September meet, veteran Myogiryu also decided to call time on his professional sumo career.
The highly touted former amateur almost certainly would have had a far more successful career had he not suffered a devastating knee injury in his jūryōdebut.
Though he recovered from that setback and eventually reached sumo’s third highest rank (sekiwake) while picking up several special prizes and gold stars, Myogiryu lost the otherworldly lower body flexibly he had displayed prior to the injury. With an unparalleled ability to bend when on the defensive, there is little doubt Myogiryu would have risen much faster much further had he not been injured.
Of course that’s a story not exclusive to the Nippon Sport Science University grad. Sumo is littered with tales of men whose dreams of reaching yokozuna or ozeki were shattered by knee injuries.
Recent retirees Takakeisho, Aoiyama and Myogiryu may have had very different career paths, but a sense of “what might have been” links all three.
More elevated career-high ranks, and a bigger collection of trophies, was certainly possible, but even so there shouldn’t be too many regrets as the trio all had successful careers in one of the world’s toughest sports.
Onosato and other young guns will dominate the news cycle moving forward, but it’s worth taking a moment to reflect on the careers of those who went before them and thank Takakeisho, Aoiyama and Myogiryu for their service to sumo.
Terceira vitória na Liga dos Campeões? Mas esta sobre o Vezprém que tem, acho, 5 titulares das selecções francesa e espanhola. Pelo que vi, Rémili, Fabregas e companhia estavam, à semelhança das grandes equipas, sobranceiro quanto ao desenrolar do jogo. Enganaram-se.
Quando li que o governo “recomendou”, ou vai “recomendar” a proibição dos telemóveis até ao 2.º ciclo, a minha reacção imediata foi averiguar o que é o 2.º ciclo. É o “preparatório” do meu tempo, informaram-me sem grande paciência. Depois perguntei a que propósito os cachopos andam com telemóveis na escola. Não me responderam. A medida deve ser das coisas mais bem intencionadas e mais inúteis que consigo imaginar.
PUB • CONTINUE A LER A SEGUIR
Houve um período, para aí há uma dúzia, dúzia e meia de anos, em que me interessava por estes assuntos. Na época, escrevi na Sábado e no DN o que, à distância, me parecem ser demasiadas crónicas sobre criancinhas e o futuro que esperava as criancinhas após se desenvolverem (força de expressão) num ambiente excessivamente protegido e tecnologicamente anestesiado. Não eram crónicas optimistas. Se bem me lembro, e dado que o caso não exigia especiais dons de vidência, foram certeiras. E certeiras a ponto de, sem que eu o decidisse ou sequer me apercebesse, a partir de determinada altura ter abandonado o tema para sempre. Ou quase, se contar com o presente artigo. É possível que o meu inconsciente, a existir, soubesse com antecipação o que o meu consciente, de existência intermitente, teimava em ignorar: já não valia a pena.
Impedir em 2024 os meninos e as meninas de aceder ao telemóvel no expediente escolar é o mesmo que vedar a um apreciador de carne o bife ao almoço. Não é por isso que ele deixará de ser carnívoro – e de resto pode jantar posta de vitela e cear faisão. Agora é tarde, e Inês, se não é morta, é pelo menos tão dependente do iPhone ou do Samsung que, privada da engenhoca, dificilmente desatará a adquirir com toda a pressa as “competências sociais” e a autonomia que jamais possuiu e conheceu. O provável é que a pobre Inês passe o recreio a contemplar a parede como umzombiesem apetite por cérebros. Ou sem cérebros nas proximidades.
Não admira. E não falo de nada aparentado à “erudição”, a “erudição” ligeira que antigamente talvez incluísse alguma familiaridade com os “clássicos” russos e a relevância de Steinmetz. Sei de adolescentes a roçar a idade adulta, filhos e filhas de pais licenciados de classe média, que não conseguem acertar na capital de França, ou identificar Paul McCartney, ou – felizardos – nomear o presidente em funções (digamos) da República portuguesa.Em contrapartida, são altamente versados e versadas em “dancinhas” do TikTok e youtubers “engraçados”. E em joguinhos com bonecos e sanfona. Além disso, encontram-se actualizadíssimos em matéria de filtros fotográficos para o Instagram. Na oralidade, substituíram o anacrónico “sim” por “iá”, sessenta por cento das restantes palavras por “tipo”, e quarenta por cento por brasileirismos em voga ou anglicismos que decoraram. Embora não garanta que o QI das recentes gerações baixou, “facto” que uns estudos afirmam e outros negam, afirmo a pés juntos que, por isto e por aquilo, as recentes gerações assustam.
Assustam, não surpreendem. Uma abundante literatura “reaccionária” previu o casamento entre a erosão da exigência educativa e o advento destas criaturinhas excessivamente mimadas, dependentes, vigiadas, susceptíveis e, admita-se, assaz ignorantes. Para citar exemplos, o Closing of the American Mind, de Allan Bloom, é de 1987. Em 1998, antes da democratização dos telemóveis e da alvorada da internet, Melanie Phillips publicou All Must Have Prizes. A Nation of Wimps, de Hara Marano, que aponta holofotes para a “parentalidade” sufocante, saiu em 2008 e ainda só descreve a influência dos telemóveis básicos, toscos porém suficientes para alimentar o controlo e a fragilidade dos petizes. E The Anxious Generation, de Jonathan Haidt, é de Março passado e não esgota as consequências nos meros problemas de aprendizagem e socialização: o autor atribui à veneração permanente dos telemóveis e da internet em geral a responsabilidade por abalos graves na saúde mental da criançada, que hoje abarca gente com 25 ou 30 anos.
A chatice é que semelhantes mudanças, e semelhantes mutantes, não caem do céu. Os telemóveis também não. Instada a comentar a “recomendação” do governo, a Confederação Nacional de Associações de Pais (CONFAP) acha que “o telemóvel é uma ferramenta de segurança e monitorização para os pais”. Pois é. E esse, quer a CONFAP perceba ou não, é que é o ponto. As crianças usam telemóvel na escola porque a vasta maioria dos pais deseja que o façam, de modo a manter o vínculo (“o umbilical eterno”, na expressão de uma psicóloga), “ficar descansados” e assegurar-se que os rebentos regressam inteiros a casa, onde continuam a fitar o ecrã que calhar pelo serão afora. Assim não incomodam os progenitores, igualmente colados às emoções do WhatsApp ou de uns retratos a que chamam “stories”.Tais pais, tais filhos: para todos a proficiência da miudagem na matemática ou no português nunca é a principal preocupação. E não será uma restrição facultativa e manca e limitada a uma fracção do percurso escolar a modificar o que se tornou uma espécie de vida, se um simulacro é viver.
Se quiserem forçar comparações e inventar um consolo, lembrem-se que Sócrates, o grego não o “engenheiro”, se afligia com o impacto da escrita na memória humana. E que os críticos de Gutenberg acusavam a imprensa de fomentar a preguiça. E que a escrita de Nietzsche se alterou no dia em que ele trocou a caneta pela máquina de escrever. Mas não há consolo nenhum, e as comparações não são razoáveis. O que está em curso é um curioso processo de regressão civilizacional, que a retirada dos telemóveis das escolas talvez atrase em cinco minutos. E eu nem sou dos que acham as maquinetas completamente desprovidas de utilidade, sobretudo se estiverem a ler esta crónica numa.
It’s only when you read the old stories again, to a child maybe, that you become aware of the extent to which the characters still live inside your mind, bobbing about just below the level of consciousness. I still find myself puzzling over the stories collected by the Brothers Grimm, decades after I first read them. How could Little Red Riding Hood have avoided being eaten? (We read the original, merciless version.) What should Hansel and Gretel have done?
Any good book leaves its mark, but the characters from the books you loved as a child embed themselves. They inform the way you think as an adult, which is why it’s so sad and so significant that children all over the West have stopped reading.
On the next three pages of this week’s Spectator, our writers reveal which characters from their childhood books still haunt them. Rod Liddle’s head is full of imaginary rabbits; Rory Sutherland admires Dr Seuss’s anarchic Cat in the Hat. Lionel Shriver identifies with Pippi Longstocking: ‘I always identified with characters in storybooks who don’t do as they’re told.’ This is true of most of our writers – Richmal Compton’s William Brown pops up so regularly in our poll that I now think of him as the guiding spirit of The Spectator, and I’m proud that he is.
Meanwhile, this summer’s ‘What Kids Are Reading’ report, a study of more than 1.2 million pupils across Britain, shows a 4.4 per cent decrease in the number of books children are reading compared with last year. A survey of UK teachers reveals that they would describe a third of their pupils as ‘weak readers’ who struggle to keep up with the curriculum. (And the curriculum really isn’t hard to keep up with.) The most recent Annual Literacy Survey from the National Literacy Trust (NLT), published in September lastyear, found an alarming 26 per cent decrease since 2005 in the number of children reading daily for fun. Less than half of our children now say they enjoy reading. A professor Keith Topping, from Dundee University, who analysed the NLT data, was quoted as saying: ‘The key takeaway is that more reading practice at an appropriate level of difficulty improves pupils’ performance.’ I’m not sure what that means, except that if people in the literacy business are using phrases like ‘key takeaway’, we have a problem.
As the art of reading fades, so, ironically, the scientific evidence demonstrating how valuable and beneficial it is to a young mind only grows. It’s not just about vocab or acquiring information; there’s now a provable link between reading and empathy. Brain scans of children absorbed in fiction show extra connections wriggling through their cerebellums as they inhabit each character. If a child is properly engrossed, then when she reads about, say, a swimmer, the same bits of her brain will start firing as if she was herself swimming. ‘Fiction is a kind of simulation, one that runs not on computers but on minds,’ says Keith Oatley, a professor who studies the psychology of fiction.
I recently read to my son a favourite book from my own childhood: Where the Red Fern Grows by the American Wilson Rawls. And as I did, I rediscovered the mental pictures I’d made as an eight-year-old, left snagged along the storyline. What was interesting to me was that the images I’d conjured were from the perspective of the hero, as if I was that boy with his dogs in the Oklahoma Ozarks. The film of the book, which we later watched, was a distant drone’s-eye view.
The NLT is excited by these brain-scan results. In its latest pro-reading campaign it urges people to read so as to boost their empathetic scores. Empathy as self-enhancement! That’s a sign of the times all right.
The NLT might also take a line from the late American philosopher Allan Bloom, who insisted that great fiction gives us an understanding not only of other people, but of ourselves. I still remember the awful realisation that I, like bad Edmund from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, might have chosen to betray my siblings for some of the White Witch’s tasty Turkish Delight. In fact I still sometimes think about how very delicious it must have been. It’s a useful thing to know about yourself and oddly reassuring to find in print. That’s real representation.
The most obvious and undeniable cause of the great reading drought is screens. How could it not be? I’ve lost count of the number of adults who’ve confessed to me that the presence of their smartphones has put paid to reading fiction completely. It’s impossible to submerge yourself in another world when the iPhone next to you tugs at you like Gollum’s ring. And if adults can’t resist, how can we expect children to?
‘Why can’t you read a book?’ I say irritably to my son while prodding away at my phone. ‘Mum,’ he says, ‘honestly!’ So I impulse-buy some fiction on Amazon to keep alive the image of myself as a reader and pile up the unread books in the hall.
Generations Z and Alpha, who’ve seen the steepest decline in reading for pleasure, report that they’re too anxious to read, which sounds daft but makes sense. The rhythms of social media are dementing. All the endless video clips are cut short before they resolve, cliffhanger style, to ensure that the kids keep scrolling. You can’t immerse yourself in another world when you’re in a permanent state of fight or flight.
Even so, I’m hopeful that, for the middle classes at least, the smartphone message is getting through. Jean Twenge and Jonathan Haidt have convincingly warned us about the dangers of social media and I predict that quite soon it will be the north London virtue-signal of choice to send your teen to school with a Nokia.
But the reading decline is not just about the screens. There’s a more pernicious and troubling cause. Last spring an American author and editor called Katherine Marsh wrote a piece in the Atlantic magazine entitled, ‘Why Kids Aren’t Falling in Love with Reading’. Marsh’s theory was that it’s the way schools are teaching literature across the West that is actually putting children off: the endless focus on analysis and the lack of enthusiasm for story.
Marsh gives the example of the way Amelia Bedelia – a popular American series for the under-tens by Peggy Parish – is taught. Amelia Bedelia is funny. She’s a hapless housekeeper who takes instructions too literally. When she’s told to draw the curtains, for instance, she gets out a pencil. But pupils don’t get a chance to enjoy Amelia’s antics. They’re told in class not to worry about the actual story or even to read the book to the end, but just to look at a single paragraph and identify the nonliteral and figurative language it contains.
‘For anyone who knows children, this is the opposite of engaging,’ writes Marsh. ‘The best way to present an abstract idea to kids is by hooking them on the story. “Nonliteral language” becomes a whole lot more interesting and comprehensible, especially to an eight-year-old, when they’ve gotten to laugh at Amelia’s antics first… Jumping into a paragraph in the middle of a book is about as appealing for most kids as cleaning their room.’
Marsh’s article rang a dismal bell. My son is lucky enough to have a headmistress who values proper reading and good books above all else, but for decades I’ve heard my friends with older children complain about this test-based method – and then also complain, without connecting the thoughts, that their kids don’t read for fun. For Marsh, the terrible result of the dour, assessment-based approach to literature is that children divide fiction into boring books and ‘fun’ books. The great works of literature are boring. The Goosebumps series and The Diary of a Wimpy Kid are ‘fun’ (and if that moaning maggot is what’s embedded in our children’s minds, no wonder they’re all depressed). Marsh didn’t mention Allan Bloom in her piece, though his 1987 book The Closing of the American Mind anticipated and described the same problem to an astonishing degree. ‘When I first noticed the decline in reading during the late 1960s,’ he writes, ‘I began asking my students what books really count for them. Most of them are silent, puzzled by the question. The notion of books as company is foreign to them.’
If children don’t think of books as good company in the 21st century, it’s probably because books harangue them. So many are so tediously politicised, like the noxious (but bestselling) series Little People Big Dreams – about the lives of people such as Rosa Parks, Maya Angelou, Emmeline Pankhurst and Greta Thunberg – which aren’t stories but just mini-lectures parroting the approved line: stick it to the system, kids. Is this what children want to read, or just what their parents want to buy them? They’re not at any rate igniting a lifelong love of reading.
The old stories, the kind that we loved and that fed a desire to read more and more, were often written by authors who didn’t imagine that they were even writing for children, let alone indoctrinating them politically. ‘You have to write the book that wants to be written,’ said Madeleine L’Engle (A Wrinkle in Time). ‘And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups then you write it for children.’ By the by, for a wonderful overview of childhood reading, I very much recommend The Haunted Wood, just out, by The Spectator’s literary editor, Sam Leith.
It’s these living books, the ones that wanted to be written, which are often approached by people in the education business with the most nervous revulsion. I have a friend whose son has been warned off both Roald Dahl and Enid Blyton on the grounds that they’re outdated. In Scotland last summer I found a Biggles book with a warning from the publisher on page one: ‘This book has been reprinted for historical interest only. It is not recommended for children.’
My son’s favourite Blyton series stars a child investigator whose nickname is Fatty because his initials are F.A.T, and because he’s fat. ‘He’s not fat!’ explained my son earnestly and proved his point by reading out loud from the publisher’s note in his new edition: ‘All references to his size have been removed from the text dated 2016 so that Fatty’s nickname refers to his initials only.’
Children pick up cues quickly. They read these little notes and they get the message: do not engage with these authors and their dangerous stories. Resist the temptation to be immersed. Just read what you have to in order to pass the test, then hurry back to screentime.
We are now governed by people who were left-wing students in the 1980s and early 90s. This is one of those facts that you try to forget, like getting older in general, but which – occasionally, suddenly – hits you in the mush. It’s fine in the normal run of things but every so often I remember that these left-wing students are in power and I get a rush of panic and horror, and emit an (internal) scream.
I was a student then as well you see. Gold Label at 50p a bottle in the Union bar. Pamphlets, pamphlets, photocopied pamphlets, everywhere. And what a soundtrack. That Petrol Emotion and their 1987 semi-smash ‘Big Decision’ – ‘Economies gets weaker, Reactionaries stronger, You gotta agitate, educate, organise!’
Or the toe-tapper ‘Breadline Britain’ by the Communards; ‘Where the sick don’t stand a chance, Where fascism leads a new dance, Where they’d privatise your mother if given half a chance’ – all this in an incredibly wealthy country with a high (and rising) standard of living.
‘Old England’ by the Waterboys complained that ‘Old England is dying’, which was fair enough – it was – but ‘where criminals are televised, politicians fraternised, journalists are dignified and everyone is civilised and children stare with heroin eyes!’ Which even then struck me as a somewhat skewed picture. No wonder this generation of students feel, ludicrously, that they have been ‘betrayed ’by their number one musical hero, Morrissey.
This milieu was unavoidable, in and out of the lecture hall. My confreres performed ‘die-ins’ on the city streets, lying down and drawing chalk lines around each other, to protest the first Gulf War in 1990, before rushing back home to watch Neighbours.
Their rooms in the halls of residence were plastered with the correct literature and iconography. And then there were the demos. Endless demos. On a ‘stop section 28’ march I heard, ‘Can you hear the people cry “Gay rights, gay rights?” to the tune of Camptown Races. Bubbling in the background was an arcane factional dispute between the Socialist Workers party and Militant, which at least kept both sides busy.
Our current establishment was stewed in this stuff, and I think it makes some sense of their behaviour. As others have noted, there has been a lack of outrage – comparatively speaking – about some of the new government’s doings from the news media and online. The wheeze to send prisoners to Estonia, the winter fuel cut – hardly a peep. Because it isn’t the Tories doing it. And the Tories, as every eighties student knows, are the quintessence of wickedness. Anyone else doing pretty much exactly the same kinds of things as the Tories? Well they must have their reasons. Give them a chance. They’re on our team.
This strange quietude makes sense if you factor in the infantile student background of those in Labour. I don’t think the ideology is the same as it was back when I had hair and shoulder pads were quite the thing, but the general tribalism remains baked in. We can hear this in the strange, often repeated claim from Labour people that ‘this party is my family and I love it’ (something Tories have very unwisely started to say too). This is intended to sound homey and grounded, but which in actual fact, to use a recently popularised phrase, is very weird indeed. Don’t you have an actual family? What happened to them? Why would Harriet Harman replace them?
Eighties student Tory haters have matured into Labour politicians and Labour’s useful idiots. ‘I just feel safe when Labour are in power’ I recently heard someone in their late 50s say. The tribalism is pathetic and funny, yes, but it’s also dangerous. These people have, after all, turned a blind eye to all manner of real evils – from the grooming gangs to puberty blockers – because they wanted to style themselves as open-minded and ‘nice’.
We have a new elite – and this stretches across both mainstream parties – formed in the crucible of the 80s polytechnic campus. I wouldn’t mind if it was an elite that functioned. Paternalism? Fine by me, if paternalists actually did the job of running the country. But how can they? For them it is forever October 1986, when they were young, they were good, and everybody else was nasty.
I am not sure the policy is a good idea, but it is worth trying to think through its logic, as I attempt inmy latest Bloomberg column. After outlining the case against the change, here is the argument for it:
If you look at Sweden’s policy closely, it adheres pretty well to some basic economic principles: namely, the notion of Pareto improvements, which benefit all parties involved.
Start with the fact that Swedish parents currently receive extensive paid leave upon the birth of a child, and so it can be said they are already paid to look after their children. Whether or not you agree with that policy, it is longstanding and well-established. Take it as a given.
Now imagine that you are an ambitious Swedish doctor or lawyer, climbing the career ladder, and are self-aware enough to realize you do not always have entirely the right degree of natural patience necessary for parenting. In that case, you might prefer to go back to work following the birth of your child. Under the status quo ex ante, you could not work and draw your normal salary and still get the full child-care benefit, even though some child benefits are paid automatically.
There is thus a potential inefficiency in the system. You may stay at home just to get the money, even when an alternate arrangement might be better for everyone.
Now add grandparents to this equation. If the grandparents can be paid to take care of your child, all of a sudden the extended family as a whole doesn’t lose the money by having the parent go back to work. Instead, that money is transferred to the grandparents, so the work disincentive is diminished.
And economists will tell you that the parents and grandparents can do their own settling up. If the grandparents are well-to-do, for instance, and eager to spend time with their grandkids, they might funnel some of that money back to the parents or the child, either directly or indirectly. In some cases, on net, the grandparents may not end up getting paid anything at all.
In essence, you can think of this policy as a model designed to maximize gains from trade.
One side effect is that, to the extent the parent who returns to work is a high earner, government tax revenue will increase. That will help pay for the policy, partially if not entirely.
The logic for this policy may hold all the more for single parents.
Worth a ponder. When it comes to issues of transferability of benefits, there are few a priori answers.
Troy Kotsur from 'CODA': meet the surprise star of awards season | BAFTAs 2022
A host of actors and celebrities have since come out to pay their respects to the late actor.
Now, Washington has offered his own condolences in a statement (via Variety). He said: “He’s my hero. My college theatre career started because of The Emperor Jones and Othello with James Earl Jones.”
He added: “I wasn’t going to be as big as him. I wanted to sound like him. He was everything to me as a budding actor. He was who I wanted to be.”
James Earl Jones. CREDIT: Jesse Dittmar for The Washington Post via Getty Images
Washington has spent the best part of four decades on the big screen and his next role is in Ridley Scott’s forthcoming epic Gladiator II, a sequel to the original 2000 film that also stars Paul Mescal and Pedro Pascal.
But he never worked with Jones on screen, despite portraying the same role of Troy Maxson in Fences in 2016, that Jones previously took on in a Broadway play in 1987.
“There are very few films left for me to make that I’m interested in, and I have to be inspired by the filmmaker, and I was tremendously inspired by Ridley,” Washington said of his experience working on Gladiator II. “We had a great go-round the first go-round [on 2007’s American Gangster], and here we are.”
.jpg)
