The CEO of the biggest company on earth had never posted on social media in his life. Until this week. He broke his silence to stop the US government from doing something, and it put him on the same side as China, against America's own top AI labs.
A farmer is rescuing gay sheep from slaughter after they refuse to mate with females
He offers them a test to see whether they prefer male or female sheep before offering them a place in his sanctuary
I'm sorry; I still have something to say on this matter. Please, bear with me.
Why do people expect virtue from the poor that the rich lack? Why do we expect restraint from the poor and illiterate that the rich and educated cannot afford?
We've seen rich and educated people throw chairs in the House, we've seen them beat each other up, we've seen them climb the fence and riot, we've seen them kidnap the Mace, we've seen the rich steal like mindless zombies...
All our INEC heads for decades have been professors. Were they incorruptible? Did we not see Honourable Judges suddenly become unable to understand "...and 25 percent in the FCT"?
If learned men with foreign university degrees, who don't have to worry about money or food, still get paid to rig elections, why are we witch-hunting the poor who are getting paid in food and measly stipends?
Don't blame the poor or the illiterate. Blame the system that weaponised disadvantage and greed to its pernicious gain.
Final questions:
If the poor didn't collect Semo and Indomie, do you guarantee that the elections would not be rigged?
Who do you think is more influential in the scheme of rigging: the educated and rich who get luxurious houses and billions, or the illiterate poor who get Semo and Indomie?
This evil system is scapegoating the poor, but they're not the accessories; they are the victims.
Withdraw your sympathies from the corrupt rich people first.
In Georgia I entered a Chick-fil-A drive-thru line of forty cars.
I turned off my engine. I prepared to wait the way my ancestors waited out a siege.
Six minutes later I was holding chicken.
I do not know what happened to the other thirty-nine cars. The line moved like water that had somewhere to be.
A young woman walked between the cars taking orders on a small tablet, on foot, in the sun, smiling like the sun was her idea.
I said thank you.
She said, "My pleasure."
I did not think about it then. I should have.
At the window I thanked the young man for the food.
"My pleasure."
I thanked him for the sauce.
"My pleasure."
I thanked him for thanking me—
"My pleasure."
I want to be clear about what was happening.
This was a duel.
In Japan I trained in courtesy for forty years. Bowing angles. Seasonal greetings. The correct depth of apology for seventeen distinct situations.
I was a white belt in that drive-thru.
I escalated. I used my most formal English. I thanked him on behalf of my entire family line.
He said, "My pleasure," and gave me extra sauce.
Extra sauce. Unprovoked. A counterattack.
I returned the next day to reclaim my honor.
It was Sunday. The restaurant was closed.
All of them were closed. In the entire country. They close every Sunday, and they have closed every Sunday since the beginning, because the founder made a promise, and the promise did not expire when he did.
I stood in the empty parking lot and understood I had lost twice.
Once to a teenager with sauce.
Once to a man I will never meet, who kept his word so long it became a building.
In my country we say a samurai's word is his life.
I had never seen a restaurant say it back.
I returned Monday. I ordered. And this time I said it first, before she could.
"My pleasure."
She smiled and said, "It sure is."
America, I surrender.
It was my pleasure.