2015 Books I Listened To

My annual list of books listened, mostly kept by me because I’m curious of the trends across time (see books label).

Awards

Hound of the Baskervilles: Can’t Help Myself (listened to yet again)

The Reckoning - Rennie Airth: Outperformed Expectations (random selection that totally paid off)

PANIC! The Story of Modern Financial Insanity: Underperformed Expectations (needed lengthy editing)

1. Summer of the Danes - Ellis Peters
2. Heretic's Apprentice - Ellis Peters
3. The Unexpected Mrs. Pollifax - Dorothy Gilman
4. American Gun: A History of the U.S. in Ten Firearms - Chris Kyle
5. A Serpent's Tooth - Craig Johnson
6. Mrs. Pollifax and the Whirling Dervish - Dorothy Gilman
7. The Reckoning - Rennie Airth
8. PANIC! The Story of Modern Financial Insanity - Edited Michael Lewis
9. Calico Joe - John Grisham
10. The Monuments Men - Robert Edsel
11. Hound of the Baskervilles - Conan Doyle
12. Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Conan Doyle
13. The ABC Murders - Agatha Christie

2015 Books I Read

My annual list of books read, mostly kept by me because I’m curious of the trends across time (see books label).

Awards

I am the Messanger: Fan Favorite

A Yellow Raft in Blue Water: Outperformed Expectations

Silas Marner: Classic all should read

not a clear one here, unfortunately: Most likely affected me

1. Silas Marner - George Eliot
2. The Jeeves Omnibus, Vol 3 - P.G. Wodehouse
3. Flashman - George MacDonald Fraser
4. Reaching Out - Henri Nouwen
5. This Immortal - Roger Zelazny
6. Boomerang - Michael Lewis
7. The Prince and the Pauper - Mark Twain
8. Last Bus to Woodstock - Colin Dexter
9. The Native Americans: Illustrated History - David Thomas
10. Red Earth, White Lies: Native Americans and the Myth of Scientific Fact - Vine Deloria
11. I am the Messanger - Markus Zusak
12. Track of the Cat - Nevada Barr
13. Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil - John Berendt
14. Rumpole of the Bailey - John Mortimer
15. The Eagle Catcher - Margaret Coel
16. A Yellow Raft in Blue Water - Michael Dorris
17. ABC Murders - Agatha Christie
18. Life Together - Dietrich Bonhoeffer
19. The Mating Season - P.G. Wodehouse
20. History of Africa - Kevin Shillington
21. Ring for Jeeves - P.G. Wodehouse
22. Surprising Lands Down Under - Mary Ann Harrell
23. James Madison - Garry Willis
24. Africa: The Struggle for Independence - Dennis Wepman
25. A Short History of Australia - Ernest Scott (written in 1916)

Greece, Photos from Mytilene

The Harbor
The boat to the right is a ferry that runs each night to Athens, 8 hour overnight.
Once refugees are ‘registered’…
not actually sure what that means, but I know if involves determining whether you are a refugee (with a protected status), or a migrant (with less protections/opportunities).
Anyway, once you are registered, you can buy a ticket on the ferry and go to the mainland.
This is not a lock-down situation. People are free to roam around, and many did. The camps that people stayed in while waiting to register were a few miles away, but people would walk or take a taxi into the city, and meander through the shops the same as I would, excepting that they carried on their persons the limits of their physical possessions.

Chapel

I tried buying a European made blazer. Very sharp looking. Was feeling the vibe, and wanted to put something slick over my Carhartts. But nothing I could find had sleeves long enough. I am not Greek-sized.

Hotel Loriet

The UNHCR (High Commissioner of Refugees) stayed at the Loriet. The actual hotel is behind this old house, which is facing the Aegean Sea. The house serves as the entry foyer, and ornate sitting rooms.
I was dropped off here 10 minutes after arriving, to meet my predecessor and other WASH actors. I was 90 minutes early for the meeting, so I walked in, asked where breakfast was being served, and made myself comfortable.
I pay my taxes. The U.S. funds most of the UN budget. I feel no guilt.
In the end, I had multiple meetings here with UNHCR to coordinate WASH work throughout the island, and plan for the 2016 response. I had no other free meals.

Greece, Photos from Athens

I had no idea when I took this photo how much this premise would be challenged in the coming weeks.
By and large, we are a nation of immigrants. My ancestors left somewhere to get here. Yours very likely did so as well.

United States	% of Pop’n
First Nations	1.6%
Kidnapped	13.2%
Immigrants	85.2%

Platia Monastirokiou (7th century) in the foreground.

Acropolis of Athens (5th century BC) in the background.

 

 

Hadrian’s Library (132 AD)

The steps up to Mars Hill, and Paul’s speech to the crowd from Acts chapter 17.

 

Sunset from Mars Hill

Acropolis at night

Greece, Day 21: When is the Time

I am on the flight from Athens to Paris,
after 5 hours sleep the previous two nights,
and I just wish for quiet.

She asks me if I was in Athens, my neighbor does.
and I want to deflect, to end, to head off….
I know that my honest answer will fail to do so.

"I was in Lesvos",
prompting an immediate and vague understanding of why I was in Greece.

And we talked, reluctantly talked…
of my time in Greece, her adult children in Paris,
"we were so scared... It could have been them."

Acknowledging that the world is seeing the best and the worst of humanity. Acknowledging that no one is quite sure of the answers,
of how to handle the events we face,
events beyond our choosing.

My mind wanders to the mass of young children who came across the waters these past few days.
Toddlers and 6 year-olds who cannot swim,
being led by parents who cannot swim,
what would bring me to this state, this point of risk with my family?
A risk I don’t begin to comprehend, one I have never faced.

I take my first steps of processing what I was a part of,
what I saw.

When in the midst of my work, I am a taskmaster.
A problem solving engineer focused on
providing the background music,
helping with the setting…
around the refugees,
but not often directly engaged with them.
Focusing on the immediate needs rather than the situation.

But now I am here,
seeing the refugees in my mind's eye more clearly than when I was in their midst.

I don't want to think about this.
I am not ready to be an ambassador when I return home.
I have no more answers than you.

Maybe my experience helps me understand better;
maybe it blinds me in return.

I made it through the conversation with the lovely Parisian,
resolved to talk and listen with empathy.

Now is the time for me to be home,
to bring this experience home with me,
to let it be a part of who I am becoming,
as we are all becoming who we will be.

Greece, Day 16: Janitorial Engineer

If you had asked me to predict the top 5 things I would be spending my time on…
no, the top 10 things…
heck, if you had asked me to list my job responsibilities until late into the evening, the point of the day where you get silly, get creative, think outside the box…
even in this moment I would never have predicted that the most critical,
most time-consuming,
most obnoxious part of my days would center on my unplanned role as a Janitorial Engineer.

Imagine you’re a Syrian for a moment.
you make your journey through Turkey,
pay your money to a fly-by-night boat sales company,
land in a strange land, full of an even stranger assortment of Westerners, half hippy, half evangelical, half professional disaster-chasers,
get pulled out of the water,
grab a change of clothes,
get a banana, water bottle, and HEB (high-energy-bar),
and finally sit down for a moment to relax,
to breath in the safe air,
an incomplete trip to be sure, but one that has crossed a critical juncture,
and you close your tired eyes, relax, and breath.

Until your bladder interrupts. Or even worse, your colon.

You get up, take your bag of belongings with you,
and find the loo.
What is that!?!
How does it work?
Do I climb up on it?
Surely they don’t expect me to put my arse on it!?!

I don’t actually have video evidence to corroborate what is occurring behind closed doors, but I believe it involves something along the lines of this:

Which is not as easy at it looks,
as found out through the various broken parts and pieces damaged on our watch (well, not ‘watch’).

I’m not even going to mention the introduction of toilet paper, which, let me tell you, isn’t as intuitive as you may assume.

And given that our toilets are trailer-park quality plastic (literally a single wide of toilets), it doesn’t take much to break them.

Imagine if you had a giant box of cereal with a give-away plastic toy inside, except that the toy was a CPT (cheap plastic toilet).
You love cereal, so you eat lots of it.
You keep collecting these CPTs until they fill a corner of your house, 12 of them,
and finally your mom nags you to get rid of them,
because, seriously, why would you need 12 CPTs in the first place? Three, maybe four at the most.

So you donate your CPT collection to an Assembly Camp that has 1,000 plus different people each day run through the property,
people who have never seen a western toilet,
who have GOT TO GO, but don’t know how…

It is not difficult to predict how things turn out for the CPTs.
They are quickly reduced from the pride of one serious cereal-eating fool,
to a series of daily repairs,
daily phone calls from a dozen volunteers to the one person they know who loves toilets: their Uncle Alan.

So here I am, me and my WASH team, fixing what we can, ignoring what we can get away with, trying to keep the trailer park of CPT’s functioning, which turns out to be a full-time job for a Helluva Janitorial Engineer.

And as I write this, a newly-arrived refugee is opening a Western-world toilet stall door for the first time to find an elevated toilet. They will pause, decide if they really need to go, and be forced by the natural functions of their body to make do, climb aboard, and take aim.

Don’t worry, we’ll be there tomorrow morning to fix it.

Greece, Day 13: Bend Until I Break

Your willingness to adapt to your surroundings, and
be adaptable to the continual changes you face
is and always will be of value in life.

This is particularly true when you are placed in moments of
increased needs,
limited resources, and
an all-encompassing lack of time.

You plan,
you plan the day,
you plan the day the night before,
and again that morning,
and again when you receive the unplanned text,
and again when you answer the critical yet unwelcome phone call,
and again when you find yourself short,
short on cash,
or drivers,
or vehicles,
or the wisdom to intelligently act,
or patience.

You begin to wonder what the purpose of all of this planning,
of your failed attempts to comprehend the tasks before you,
knowing that the simple becomes ridiculously complex,
that which should take but a moment finds a way to take a day.
like tying your shoes with gloves on.

And for one who prides himself on efficiency and decisiveness,
regardless of my stubborn unwillingness to go down, get tired, be outworked or outmatched,
I can be bent until I break.

These few days have been unusually hard. I have faced one too many challenges, and somewhere along the way lost
my patience,
my flexibility,
my adaptability.

And in the fog, I countered this with
frustration,
pride,
self-importance, and
judgments toward others.

I get a lot of accolades for this work. People compliment and pat my back. It can puff me up and cause me to lose the reason I am here, the connection between who God made me to be and how that is borne out in my work.

But in a bit of brilliant irony, God humbles me from my heights, lets me fail in my person while succeeding in my actions, such that people may be served by God through me, while I am left beating my chest in supplication for requested forgiveness. Wicked smart.

A bruised reed he will not break,
and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out,
till he has brought justice through to victory.
In his name the nations will put their hope.

Greece, Day 8: The Big Picture

Hey folks,

An update, to give a bit of insight on the work, and to let you know I am safe and well.

I don’t really want to touch on what happened last week. I am more in the dark about it than you are. I’ve heard a small bit, made the mistake of opening Facebook for a moment, and then decided to live in my shell for the time being.

Big Picture:

People leave Turkey by boat. The boats are whitewater rafts style, with an outboard motor. They are one way trips, not reused.

               Stage 1:

Based upon currents, there are 3-4 main landing spots / beaches that they land.

At each of these locations, there’s about 1,000 random volunteers helping. Some of it is great help, some of it is a bit over the top. Folks with good intentions grabbing perfectly capable people out of a boat through the water and to shore. There’s an interesting dynamic here. It’s the most exciting picture-perfect moment to validate you coming, something to write home about, but sometimes causes more problems than solutions. Not being cynical; it’s just interesting to see.

These landing sites are not official UNHCR (High Council for Refugees, fancy name for the folks that are in charge) camps. They are staffed by whoever shows up any given day.

               Stage 2:

Then there are other volunteers picking the people up at the beaches and taking to Stage 2, the ‘transit sites’.

These are 1-6 hour stops to get a change of clothes, maybe a bit of food, a chance to collect your breath, a medical tent, etc.

Samaritan’s Purse (SP), along with some other aid partners, manages two of these sites, with probably 1,000 – 2,000 people per day coming through, although it varies widely. Today was very calm, and the camps were able to clean up a good bit. Who knows why, what is going on across the water, that causes the pace to vary so widely.

My role here is to make sure we have adequate and clean water and sanitation facilities. Toilets, sinks, etc. All of these have/are/will be built. The transit sites are in random/unplanned locations, so they didn’t have facilities to handle the refugees.

I have 2-3 Greek staff to help manage Contractors or to fix problems onsite.

Also, I have a staff of 10 ppl who work shifts to keep the sites clean. Tough job.

               Stage 3:

After a few hours at Stage 2, the refugees are loaded onto ‘greyhound’ type buses and shipped to two overnight camps. One camp is for Syrian families, and the other camp is for everyone else (Syrian males, and all other nationalities). The refugees register with the UN there and become actual legal ‘refugees’, and are then take an 8-hour overnight ferry to Athens.

I don’t know what happens after then. And I don’t have the brain capacity to care at this point.

My Work:

Two nights ago I received an email from UNHCR WASH (water sanitation hygiene) leader asking us to expand from our two stage 2 transit sites to the two stage 3 overnight camps.

Yesterday I naively entered a weekly meeting lead by UNHCR, and they cornered us, asking us once again.

So, I drove the 90 minutes to the other side of the island, and ventured through 4,000 future-refugees looking at toilets, showers, and a complete lack of sinks. Pretty eye opening.

Ended the day with a 9pm meeting once again with UNHCR and a handshake agreement to do what needs to be done.

I’m heading back in the morning to ‘Chair’ the WASH meeting for the island, which somehow I was hoodwinked into leading. And then spend the afternoon at the camp making sketches, trying to find the water supply to determine capacity,

Blah blah blah…

All that being said, I am moving into Scopes / Bids / Contracts and Construction Management to repair and construct latrines, sinks, showers, etc.

The work we are about to do is a pretty big challenge, but a super opportunity.

Closing:

I don’t have much in the way of pictures. I don’t feel comfortable taking photos of the people. It seems a bit off for me. Maybe I will take a few, just to remember.

I am as safe as one could be on a small island in a village where everyone walks, eating large amounts of feta, tomatoes, and calamari. And fresh bread.

I appreciate everyone’s concerns and prayers and support. I love being here, but miss some of you (well, maybe only one of you).

Cheers,

Greece, Day 2: I’m no George Clooney

I’ve done more traveling than most.
Mind you, I’m no George Clooney, but I consistently travel one leg and 47 miles short of obtaining my annual upgrade status with the cattle-car airline based in my hometown.
I’m told that in previous generations, such travel was a luxury. You weren’t taller than the ceiling, didn’t spend the flight with my Lombard crammed into my seat while simultaneously wedging your knees up under the wonder of all inventions, the seat-back tray (specifically design to be just large enough to make ‘eating’ an acrobatic event).
We didn’t expect much of a father back then, so you could leave without guilt.
You weren’t electronically connected to everyone you ever met, so you could even have a chippie on the other end of the flight with almost no concern for being cut into little pieces by your significant other when you returned home.
But I digress.
Traveling today… not so much.
When traveling today, prepare your mind for the unknown.
Lie to yourself: this must be what Jason Bourne’s life is like,
encountering a new adventure hour by hour with perfect calm and ease.I guarantee that a significant part of Bourne’s Zen-state training took place while earning a Gold status.
Forget packing your favorite swim trunks for the hotel pool cleaned monthly by Jimmy the front desk attendee, you’d do better to pack an extra layer of deodorant and a barrel of patience.
At the moment of writing, I am sitting between these two:
I broke Flying Rule #9: never book a flight in person. The ticketed agent takes one look at me and says, “He’ll fit”.
You take the red-eye, addicted to your very-own TV (such control at your fingertips). Should I watch Fantastic Four or lose at Chess?
Forgetting that you’re supposed to work the next day,
Forgetting that due to a technical issue, you will miss your connection, spend 8 hours bumming around with a $20 voucher, hallucinating that the accented PA voice just changed your gate and departure time so that you must check yet again the departure screen.
Forgetting that the new flight time arrives too late to catch your third connection, so you get to weigh the comparative advantage of clearing customs at midnight to catch a taxi to a hotel and then get up at 4:30AM to be back to the airport at 6:00AM for your last flight,
Or, you can walk the entire airport hoping to find its weakness, to find where the airport Interior Designer slipped up and accidently ordered a chair or two that are comfortable. Upon failure of said mission, heading into your second sleepless night, you are forced to acknowledge that lying down on 1/8” thick industrial-grade carpet last cleaned during the Carter administration is your best option.
But hey, you get to post the most-enviable Facebook check-ins.

Greece, Day 1: Moving Closer to Pigeon Forge

I am 17 years old, a senior in high school, venturing with a group of church friends to a youth conference in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee for a proper dose of Bible teaching, slushy skiing, and flirting. Which of these most sincerely motivated our attendance, I am not sure we know ourselves.
It is the last night there, the night where the musicians play "Just as I am" until every kid within 3 counties is pouring their hearts out to God and country and their nearest friend, I am there, praying, listening, and being called by God for His service.

Embedded in my cautious appraisal of this situation is a sincere heart and clear memory of God asking me to do for Him what he asked. What exactly that was, I couldn't say. A vision, hazy yet certain.

One year later, I declare “Civil Engineering”.
Four years later, I venture beyond our borders to discover the world I will one day save.
Two years later, I am a father, a future daddy of four, and completely out of control of my own destiny. I seek, pray, and search for opportunities to go with God somewhere, anywhere, to do something, anything.
And He is quiet. He certainly seems quiet.
Often I think of that night in Pigeon Forge, battling between one of the most real moments of my life, and the tumult of not doing what I am made to do, be what I want to be.
I love my wife.
I love my kids.
I struggle to prove that my longing for the breath of God in the grittier portions of His creation does not represent my feelings for her and the kids,
that I am not running away from them or the crazy-love life we have.
Many years later, the door begins to open.
A chance decision to escape for a weekend, see a friend, sit in the back of a conference and mind my own business, and I am asked to come to a desperate place with insurmountable challenges and use the most unlikely skills to help design a residential subdivision through the middle of a property so desperately unsuitable that the entire overpopulated community had avoided it for two hundred years of city sprawl.
4 months later, and I am there again, gaining clarity, sitting on the roof of an unfinished hospital on Ash Wednesday, the soot of Jesus' sacrifice marking my forehead, staring over a sea of desolation,
praying
and journaling
and listening.
And He continues His conversation.
He picks up where He left off 16 years before.
The beginnings of clarity.
One month later I am accidentally honest with a near stranger and find myself on a ledge, facing a decision, fear in my gullet.
Do I follow His voice? How do I know? How can I be sure?
And she walks to me, my faithful wife, while I am weeding and planting and generally wasting time in the garden. She walks up to me: "be the person I married."
And I do.
We do; she and I and God and a little bit of clarity, in a decision that brings me closer to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee.
Four years later, the journey to Pigeon Forge takes me the island of Lesvos, Aegean Sea.

sok's attempt to burn his hands

Finished my first generation of hot sauces...

I haven't named them yet. I'm looking to include a reference to my Mexican grandma, a personified jalapeno, maybe a burning ass... but I haven't quite decided on my motif. 
Inspiration for said venture must be given his due, in my almost always willing to try anything son Garrett. He generally tilts his head down, looks to see if I'm about to steer him wrong, and then dives right in, part food-adventurer, part machismo in a world of NYC-salsa sisters.

One sensory-overwhelming trip to the Dekalb Farmers Market later, a few glances at online recipes, a bit of this and that, and we've created the first generation of hot sauces. Three versions, using Cayenne (recipe A), Poblano (B), and Anaheim Green chiles (C). 

Each of the kids, in turn, responded that the results looked more like salsa than hot sauce. They were not pureed fine enough for their FDA-labeling standards. Told them to 'shut-it', and enjoy the taste. 

The Poblano is the best-tasting. With this one, I roasted the skins ahead of time. I don't know if the roasting or the chile put it ahead, but it is rather enjoyable. It will be a staple at the table for while it lasts.

Time will tell if we enjoy or ignore this adventure. It was a fun afternoon with Garrett, and I was able to experience burning fingers for the next 36 hours; that's got to be worth something.

PS - do not confuse the Anaheim Green with the New Mexico Hatch Green. Or, if you do confuse it, don't confess such to me. I don't want to be party to the heresy.

WASH Practices and Skills

eMi Communities of Practice

Yammer response from Kevin Hale, eMi WASH disaster response volunteer:

Skills for WASH work that come to mind:

1. Calculate:
1. The dosage of chlorine to add to a well or other supply to disinfect it.
2. The amount of chlorine required to provide a safe but effective level or residual chlorine for drinking water.
3. How much water is required for drinking for a given population
4. The amount of available chlorine in whatever source is available
5. The TDH required to pump a given flow of water from a well of specific depth.
6. The required kWh of portable generators to run such pumps efficiently.
7. The amount of appropriate fuel required to run the generators.
8. The probable amount of wastewater flows for a given population
2. Use & Do:
1. Use and understand the results of, and the differences between, water test kits.
2. On-site percolation tests to determine the size of leaching basins/leaching fields required to serve a given population
3. Understand:
1. Cultural norms with respect to latrine use in the area being served
2. Level of disinfection required for water uses, that is drinking/bathing/washing and the ability to communicate this to the population being served.
4. Different water filter technologies and the physical sizes of viruses, bacteria and helminths with respect to the filer sizes.
4. Principles:
1. High tech solutions are rarely appropriate in the undeveloped world and certainly not in disaster response work.
2. Whatever solutions WASH teams recommend must be easy to understand and easy to maintain, and that local population must be instructed in how to maintain them with locally available skills and where any necessary resources for maintaining them will come from,
3. As in any consulting situation, teams must understand that the 'client' had not had years of engineering education and experience and likely will not fully comprehend what is recommended without teaching them the basics.

Giving Up

It is not a command.

We have incredibly-few of these, and it does not make mention.

Directly, it is not of scripture, and is not a necessity of the Christian life.

Indirectly, however, it is a reflection and consideration of the principles of the life, essence, and reality of Jesus the Christ. 

And inasmuch, as we mimic Him, follow after Him, we do well.

In the past, I have given away 

Sweet Tea

then Iced Tea

then all liquids sans Water...

Internet

Reading.

Last year, as one who spends 2-4 hours a day driving, the most challenging of all, it was all sounds in the car.

Approaching Lent, I am thoroughly uninspired to give up the things of this world. Maggie, a voice of God, encouraged me to consider 'giving up' in a different light. 

Jesus,

in my vainglory attempt to honor you, 

to connect with you,

to hope to connect with you,

I spend Lent 2015

giving away

the parts of my life

that overcrowd my life.

This is almost completely CH2M-centric.

I take on

I am given

I am dumped on.

My shoulders are fully laden, my back is stooped. 

And I still go on. 

I pray for strength and wisdom and I still go on. 

In this Lent,

rather than put away some physical addiction,

stressing my body and then mind with the hopes that the spirit is expanded,

In this Lent,

I give away my superhero life, 

let go of succeeding, hyper-exerting, fixing, bailing out, being the man.

I will be challenged, as I leave holes in my life,

I hope to trust God to fill them, to be God,

to correct,

complete,

flourish

while I shrink away.  

Person of the Day: Eric Holder

Attorney General Holder limits civil seizure process that splits billions of dollars with local and state police. 

Today we are a better country, a less hypocritical country, a less dangerous country.
Today we reaffirm the foundational American tenet of innocent until proven guilty.

No one can be trusted with unchecked power, the power to coerce, the temptation of easy money. Not me, not you. Without checks, we walk the streets as thugs, using power and fear and the system to dehumanize citizens, to affirm that while all are created equal, not all will be treated as equals.

Today's move reaffirms our corp principles, corrects corrupt practices of the power-state against the individual, and helps ameliorate damaging perceptions (by those individuals against the power-state).

If police departments cannot fulfill their duties without stealing from citizens, then we either need to realign their duties or raise the necessary taxes to support them.

I am sure this will be twisted, will be spun; claiming that we are a weaker and a more dangerous country when police lose the legal right to steal. But protecting citizen rights is a form of courage, not a weakness. Danger is the inherent reality of a people who accept security over freedom, who give up their rights to those paternalistically wishing to keep us from harm. In contrast, we are collectively more secure when we embrace freedom over safety, when we remove the cynicism birthed in unjust search and seizures. We are secure when we no longer provide the motivation of revenge, bitterness, and fear to those who may do us harm. In destroying those our enforcement agencies believe may do us harm, we validate a dozen other's reasons to do so.

For my entire adult life, our governments (federal, state, local) have marched steadfast towards a controlled state, and we have traded perceived security for our personal freedoms. We live in a world our forefathers would barely recognize, not because of the gains of technology or other shiny objects, but by the loss of our personal freedoms and the individual responsibilities born by them.

This small but real step encourages me like very little I've seen in the public sphere of late.

tGbtg