Judy Macdonald Johnston speaks at TED University, where audience members from TED2013 get the chance to speak.

“What would be a good end of life?” Judy MacDonald Johnston asks in today’s talk, given at TED2013. Her answer — based on her own experience of helping two friends face death in a way that respected the incredible life they’d built — involves five practices, all of which can help maintain a high quality of life even as independence and bodily function decline.

Judy MacDonald Johnston: Prepare for a good end of lifeFirst, make a plan, which means “answering straightforward questions about the end you want.” Second, recruit advocates who have “the time and proximity to do this job well” and can thrive under the unique pressures of this task. Third, prepare important documents — like summaries of your medical history — for the hospital. Fourth, select caregivers who fit your needs and desires, which might take a few tries. And fifth, ponder and discuss last words: “What do you want to hear at the very end and from whom would you like to hear it?”

We talk about how to live the good life all the time. And yet, though we all face death, we’re less willing to talk about what would be a good conclusion to life. Here, some further reading, watching and listening on this hard but important topic.

1. Read: This Wild Darkness. In the mid-‘90s, Harold Brodkey wrote a series of essays, mostly for The New Yorker, about his experiences and emotions as he died of AIDS. In these essays — subsequently published in a single volume as This Wild Darkness: The Story of My Death — Brodkey reckons with the realities of both his impending death and, through that lens, his life. His style can be self-aggrandizing, but ultimately, the book acts as a case study of how self-reflection through writing can make nearing death a little bit less terrifying. “The obsession with literary power games, with recognition and reputation, gradually subsides and gives way to something like acceptance,” Michiko Kakutani wrote in The New York Times upon the book’s publication.
   .
2. Watch: A Will for the Woods. The new documentary A Will for the Woods, featured in our roundup 9 documentaries that you need to see in 2013, follows psychiatrist Clark Wang as he battles lymphoma and arranges his own burial. His resolve for a burial that helps, rather than harms, the environment spawns the first natural burial ground in the state of North Carolina. The film’s website notes that green burials were the norm “before the contemporary funeral industry propagated expensive and elaborate funerals as traditional,” and applauds the growing demand for them now.
   .
3. Bookmark: The Hospice Foundation. The Hospice Foundation of America offers several quite lovely pages (and for-sale booklets) about approaching your own, or a loved one’s, death. A page entitled “Signs of Approaching Death” explains what death looks like in a purely practical sense—something we don’t and can’t know the first time we confront it. The unknown tends to frighten us most, so having a bit more advanced warning of what’s to come might serve as a comfort. For example, the site explains that as you near death, fluid can build up in your lungs, casing a rattling as you breathe. “This breathing sound is often distressing to caregivers but it is not an indication of pain or suffering,” the site assures us. (There are also practical sections, as on advance care planning.)
   .
4. Bookmark: New Old Age. The New York Times’ “New Old Age” blog, which Johnston links to on her own website, explores what it’s like to care for adults over age 80.  Recent posts are on Vermont’s passage of the ‘Aid in Dying’ measure, a look at a recent study on dementia units, and what millennials need to ask their parents while they can.
   .
5. Listen: “When Prolonging Death Seems Worse Than Death.” Last year, Fresh Air’s Terry Gross interviewed Judith Schwarz, of the nonprofit Compassion & Choices, about end-of-life decisions for the terminally ill. In the interview, Schwarz argues that terminally ill patients should have the right to choose to die sooner. Beyond dealing with the realities of what terminal illness means, the interview offers a thoughtful, compassionate way of looking at the multiple and varied desires of the dying. That is: it’s a lesson in empathy and a reminder that though some ideas may frighten us, it behooves us to look at them in depth. In the story, Schwarz also prods us to consider what it really is like to live through a painful end-of-life, and suggests that in some cases, death is not the worst option on the table. And that’s okay.
   .
6. Bookmark: Seven Ponds. The website Seven Ponds aims to “promote a healthy attitude towards the process of death by encouraging a meaningful experience that is in harmony with the environment.” Their recommendations: cremation and natural burials (see #2, above!). “We see a world where everyone can experience death in their own personal way and feel it’s all okay,” writes Suzette Sherman, Seven Ponds’ founder. For her blog, go here.
   .
7. Watch: “Older, and Unafraid to Talk about It.” This New York Times interactive video gallery presents the stories of three seniors who have recently started therapy to work through the changes they’re facing as they near the ends of their lives. “I’m surrounded by people who are old, and I had to come to grips with that,” an 87-year-old woman says. And, from an 86-year-old man: “You can’t do the things you used to do. You can’t go where you wanted. People look at you differently. What psychiatry does is help you go through the problems and adjust your thinking.”

Meg Jay’s talk on 20-somethings from TED2013 has started some very intense conversations online. Here, excerpts. Photo: James Duncan Davidson

Monday’s TED Talk, “Meg Jay: Why 30 is not the new 20,” has been a runaway hit: five days later, it has nearly 600,000 views and almost 200 comments on TED.com alone. Commenters of all ages have offered personal anecdotes, helpful resources and a fair dose of criticism, many writing about the hope and/or confusion and/or fear that the talk brought up for them. Meg Jay: Why 30 is not the new 20People are watching — and people are reacting.

Clearly, clinical psychologist Meg Jay has struck a nerve. As writer Thu-Huong Ha pointed out on the TED Blog earlier this week, the talk’s focus on the millennial generation has plenty of company at the moment (hello, TIME Magazine) — but still the conversation is far from over. So what’s going on? What makes “spend your 20s thinking ahead” such a provocative and polarizing message?

It’s only a sensible piece of advice, but what it ultimately gets at is much deeper. As Jay wrote in a live discussion with the TED community on Wednesday, “Making the most of your life is a scary topic when you think about it.” No matter how old you are, there’s never anyone to tell you for certain whether you’re doing it right. When someone points to nagging worries, it generates both angst and appreciation.

Below, some of the comments from TED’s online community, staff and extended network, expressing their wise and varied insights on this talk:

“I don’t regret for a second that I followed Phish instead of corporate America in my 20s. I’m glad I spent my formative adult years being filled with bliss. I have colorful memories and life experiences that give me a richness beyond money. Value your 20s, don’t spend it getting corralled into being part of the herd!” – Elisa Allechant, commenting on Jay’s talk page

“I’m a former higher education administrator and I was appalled at the dependency of college kids. Parents babied their children to the point where they didn’t learn important life skills. … Quite frankly, I think 20-somethings need to take responsibility, be held accountable and not need Mommy and Daddy until they are in their 30s. It’s pathetic.” – Adrianne Hanusek, commenting on Facebook

“For me, Jay is really dealing with some of the most fundamental questions of philosophy: What is the good life? And how do I live it? … I think an essential part of the good life is finding satisfaction with your qualities as an individual notwithstanding relative achievements. Doing that requires perspective and doing that requires accruing experiences for their own sake.” – TEDxTalks Manager David Webber, responding to Jay’s talk via email

“They say old people are ‘set in their ways.’ I think the implication from her talk is that this process is hugely rooted in your 20s. That’s where a somewhat self-aware person can change habits, mannerisms, how they treat people, etc. I think that’s what a lot of people miss the boat on. I started working at the local store at age 16 [and saw that] employees all fell into only two categories: young kids needing to make a quick buck, and unhappy adults who seemed dreadfully stuck where they were. Most of these people had higher aspirations. When did most of them begin working at this store? You guessed it, in their 20s. They settled for something less, thinking it was just temporary. Maybe if they had done some of the things Meg Jay was talking about, they wouldn’t still be there today.” – Ryan Ganzenmuller, commenting on Facebook

“In this economic climate, all too often the efforts made in this decade are rendered all for naught because of some financially catastrophic event or another. The absence of job security has had many twentysomethings bounce from one short-term assignment to another. … For me and many others, 30 being the new 20 is a philosophy of survival and regrowth, not some excuse for putting off our responsibilities.” – Omar Spence, commenting on Jay’s talk page

“There always was, is and will be a pressure of the 20s and it is indeed the defining time, at least professionally. Twentysomethings can complain of that as long as they like, say it is not fair, blah blah — it is not going to change. Most worthy employers will not have sympathy if you have not achieved anything by age 30 … If you can’t have fun and build your career and relationships while doing that — well, too bad. Up to you what will be your priority.” – Alyona Trubitsina, commenting on Facebook

“This is really not a problem in China. From the moment you graduate, you are under the pressure to get an apartment, a car and finally a girlfriend and a wife. … Young people are pushed in way too early to their 30 age.” – 向彬 李, commenting on Jay’s talk page

“It seems like twentysomethings are always told how great their age is and that they shouldn’t worry about major goals; Meg instead chooses to proceed with a challenging message that I think only the few open-minded individuals can truly enjoy and reap the benefits of.” – Alex Katzen, commenting on Facebook

“As a 25-year-old woman, I find Meg Jay’s approach to relationships, love, and work to be vastly oversimplified. So much beauty and enrichment lie in the unexpected events that we cannot prepare for, if we can allow room for those events to unfold and influence the path we are taking — whether we are teenagers or senior citizens. In other words, if we plan and plot too heavily in our 20s, we may not experience as many serendipitous developments, connections and opportunities for growth.” – TED’s Projects Coordinator Cloe Shasha, responding to Jay’s talk over email

“I’m 24. I blew the last two years living with my parents pointlessly sending out resumes. No social life. I’ve finally got an unpaid internship doing what I want, but every day I think about my life passing me by. Advice from me to other college grads: Sending out resumes is pointless! Network, network, and network some more! That’s the only way to do it.” – Michael Baxter, commenting on Jay’s talk page

“I enjoyed your book! However, I felt the book was targeted to a very specific demographic — upper/middle class economic status, well-educated, looking for a heterosexual relationship. What are your thoughts on this?” – TED’s Customer Support Specialist Becky Chung, commenting  during Jay’s live chat with the TED community

Jay responded to this question, and gave honest and compassionate responses to many others as well, in a TED Conversation earlier this week.  She wrote in response to Chung’s challenge, “I actually disagree. Research shows that people in all income brackets get new jobs through weak ties; that’s good advice for everyone. Both gay and straight adults do want marriages/partners/families; in fact, that’s what marriage equality is all about. And the concept of identity capital can be liberating for those who can’t afford college or who don’t do well in school; one good piece of identity capital or one lead from a weak tie can trump someone with a 4.0 from an Ivy who doesn’t know how to get in the game.”

What’s certain is this: For twentysomethings and former-twentysomethings alike, the questions touched on in the talk are worth discussing. The surrounding conversation has been incredibly genuine and mature, and in Jay’s opinion, this is hardly by-the-by.

“People underestimate how interested twentysomethings are in the topic. Part of the cultural myth is that they don’t care,” says Jay, defending this generation that often gets a bad rep. “It isn’t just parents emailing me their thoughts, it’s twentysomethings themselves.”

In spite of the discomfort and uncertainty that the talk raised for some viewers, it seems to be truly forcing self-examination – an important step towards living with intent. And one of the beautiful things about these reactions is how they’ll change over time. TEDx Post-event Coordinator Tahlia Hein says that her thoughts on the topic have changed in a span of four short years.

“If you had asked me at 23 what I thought, I’d have probably said that she had no real appreciation for being young. I would have said that those freeing experiences are an invaluable part of what it means to be young,” she says. “Now [at 27], I think I was half right: They are invaluable, but there is no such thing as the mythical ‘young.’ There’s just life.”

Hiding in New York No. 7 — Made in China, 2012. Photo: courtesy of Eli Klein Fine Art, © Liu Bolin

Liu Bolin’s images invite a game akin to Where’s Waldo?. In some of the Chinese artist’s incredible photos, it’s clear where he is standing; in others, like the one above, it’s much harder to spot the outline of his body at all. It’s for this that Bolin has been called “The Invisible Man.”

Liu Bolin: The invisible manIn today’s TED Talk, Bolin shares the meaning behind these images — that they are a way to examine the relationship between culture and its development, and to speak for those who are rendered invisible by the Chinese government, by consumer culture or simply by the circumstances of history.

“From the beginning, this series has a protesting, reflective and uncompromising spirit,” says Bolin.  “I think that in art, an artist’s attitude is the most important element. If an artwork is to touch someone, it must be the result of not only technique, but also the artist’s thinking and struggles in life.”

In this talk, Bolin shows us the very first image in the series, taken in November of 2005. He reveals many, many more images too, giving a peak into his process of being painted into the background — which can take anywhere from 3 to 4 hours to 3 to 4 days. The talk ends with a timelapse, showing how Bolin disappeared into the TED stage. Watch the talk now »

Meanwhile, in this gallery, Bolin shares many more of his fantastical and powerful images, courtesy of Eli Klein Fine Art.

Hiding in the City No. 92 — Temple of Heaven, 2010. Photo: courtesy of Eli Klein Fine Art, © Liu Bolin

Teatro alla Scala, 2010. Photo: courtesy of Eli Klein Fine Art, © Liu Bolin

Hiding in the City — Mobile Phone, 2012. Photo: courtesy of Eli Klein Fine Art, © Liu Bolin

Hiding in the City No. 91 — Great Wall, 2010. Photo: courtesy of Eli Klein Fine Art, © Liu Bolin

Hiding in the City — Family Photo, 2012. Photo: courtesy of Eli Klein Fine Art, © Liu Bolin

Hiding in the City No. 86 — Bird’s Nest, 2009. Photo: courtesy of Eli Klein Fine Art, © Liu Bolin

Hiding in the City No. 16 and No. 17 — People’s Policeman, 2006. Photo: courtesy of Eli Klein Fine Art, © Liu Bolin

Dragon Series — Panel 3 of 9, 2010. Photo: courtesy of Eli Klein Fine Art, © Liu Bolin

Hiding in the City No. 71 — Bulldozer, 2008. Photo: courtesy of Eli Klein Fine Art, © Liu Bolin

Hiding in the City No. 94 — In The Woods, 2010. Photo: courtesy of Eli Klein Fine Art, © Liu Bolin

Read a Q&A with Bolin from TED2013, in which he talks a bit more about his process »

For more information on Liu Bolin, and to see much more of his work, head to his site at Eli Klein Fine Art »

Maria Bezaitis: The surprising need for strangeness “When we’re at our best, we reach out to people who are not like us because when we do that, we learn,” says Bezaitis, in this talk given at TED@Intel. “In today’s digital world, strangers are quite frankly not the point. The point we should be worried about is how much strangeness are we getting?”

To hear what she means by this, watch the talk. And below, check out more talks on the great things that can happen when we talk to people we don’t already know.

Hannah Brencher: Love letters to strangersHannah Brencher: Love letters to strangers Hannah Brencher doesn’t just start casual chats with strangers – she writes them intimate, handwritten letters. In this talk from the TED@NewYork salon, Brencher explains how she lifted herself out of her post-college depression by leaving letters for strangers to find – and how this grew into a worldwide initiative intended to give anyone who needs it a boost.

Frank Warren: Half a million secretsFrank Warren: Half a million secrets PostSecret.com is a place that uses the anonymity of the internet to allow strangers to tell each other their deepest secrets — the things they would never dare to tell loved ones. In this talk from TED2012, Frank Warren shares how he developed this site, and reveals just a few of the half-million therapeutic secrets that have been sent to him.

Robin Chase: Excuse me, may I rent your car?Robin Chase: Excuse me, may I rent your car? Sure, you might give directions to a stranger if they ask you on the street. But would you loan them your car? In this talk from TEDGlobal 2012, Robin Chase of Zipcar outlines her latest idea – Buzzcar, a French startup that lets people rent their cars to others, including people they don’t know, in a protected, good-for-all-involved way.

Rachel Botsman: The case for collaborative consumptionRachel Botsman: The case for collaborative consumption Human beings are wired to share. And a new slate of online businesses are providing avenues to match “Person A’s haves with Person C’s wants,” says Rachel Botsman. In this talk from TEDxSydney, she shares the underpinnings of this new economy that depends on a wide network of strangers cooperating.

Jane McGonigal: Gaming can make a better worldJane McGonigal: Gaming can make a better world Strangers gather to play online games like World of Warcraft for a total of three billion hours a week. In this talk from TED2010, game designer Jane McGonigal shows how that collaborative power could be used to tackle real-world problems like poverty, climate change and obesity. (Here, read about 10 online games with a social purpose.)

Hyeonseo Lee: My escape from North KoreaHyeonseo Lee: My escape from North Korea In this powerful talk from TED2013, Hyeonseo Lee explains how a stranger helped her bail her family out of jail as she helped them escape from North Korea. She says, “The kind stranger symbolized new hope for me – and for the North Korean people when we needed it most.”

Bonus: In the TED Book, How Did You End Up Here?: The Surprising Ways Our Questions Connect Us, Davy Rothbart compiles 100 brilliant questions to help you break the ice with strangers. In this interview with the TED Blog about the book, the creator of Found magazine answers the question, “What do you think we gain from posing questions to people we don’t know?”

TED Talks are available in 100 languages, from Albanian to Vietnamese, thanks to the tireless work of our translators. So far, more than 9,400 volunteers have created the upwards of 40,000 translated talks. To celebrate this huge accomplishment, every week the TED Blog will be bringing you a Q&A with one of our most prolific translators. Today, meet Elena Montrasio.

Where do you live and what do you do by day?

I live in London, U.K. I am a professor of Italian as a foreign language but at the moment I work as a literary translator.

What drew you to TED?

The desire to participate in a volunteer program where I could contribute my skills. That and general interest in the topics that TED deals with.

What was the first talk you translated and how did you pick it?

Peter Gabriel fights injustice with videoMy first talk was Peter Gabriel’s. I chose it because I have been in love with Peter Gabriel since I was 14!

What have been your favorite talks to translate? Why?

My favorite talks are the ones about marine conservation issues. The decay of the oceans because of damage from human beings is a topic that is very dear to my heart.

Which talk was the most difficult for you to translate and why?

It was actually a TEDx talk, “Captain Paul Watson: On upholding the international laws of marine conservation.” Not because it was hard in itself, but because I really wanted to do my absolute very best to contribute in spreading his message. So it took me a long time to make sure I was accurate and choosing words that would portray the heart that the speaker put into the talk.

What’s a phrase in your language that you wish would catch on globally?

“Se chiure na porta e s’arape nu portone.” It’s literally, “When a door closes, a wider door will open.” I think in English they say: “When a door closes, a window opens.”

Lawrence Lessig talks about a fundamental corruption at the core of the U.S.’s political system. Photo: James Duncan Davidson

“Once upon a time, there was a place called Lesterland,” Lawrence Lessig begins today’s talk. “Of its 311 million people, it turns out 144,000 are called Lester,” Lessig says.

Lawrence Lessig: We the People, and the Republic we must reclaimIn Lesterland, this .05% of the population is granted extraordinary power. Each election cycle, there’s a general election, in which the people get to vote, and a Lester election, in which only the Lesters can vote. “In order to run in the general election, you must do extremely well in the Lester election,” Lessig explains. “So we have a democracy, no doubt, but it’s dependent upon the Lesters and dependent upon the people. It has a competing dependency—we could say a conflicting dependency—depending on who the Lesters are.”

The trick: the United States is Lesterland, only instead of the Lester election, we have the “money election.” As in Lesterland, to run in the general election, you’ve got to win with the funders first. The “relevant funders” comprise .05% of the population; in fact, Lessig says, just 132 Americans, or .000042% of the country, gave 60% of the latest Super PAC funds. So holding office has become about catering to the funders rather than the general public—and sometimes the funders’ interests run counter to everyone else’s.

Lesterland, then, provides a piercing allegory for what Lessig describes as our political system’s fundamental corruption. “The corruption I’m talking about is perfectly legal. It’s a corruption relative to the framers’ baseline for this republic,” Lessig says. “It’s a pathological, democracy-destroying corruption.”

To hear what we can do to correct this corruption, watch Lessig’s talk or read the companion TED Book, Lesterland.

Because we’re so moved by Lessig’s Lesterland analogy, below we’re rounded up more examples of allegories that have described — sometimes brilliantly, sometimes less so — political and societal problems.

1. Whether or not L. Frank Baum intended for The Wonderful Wizard of Oz to be read as an allegory, it’s been interpreted as one for decades. Henry M. Littlefield wrote in 1964, “Dorothy is Baum’s Miss Everyman. She is one of us, levelheaded and human, and she has a real problem. For all the attractions of Oz, Dorothy desires only to return to the gray plains and Aunt Em and Uncle Henry … Dorothy sets out on the Yellow Brick Road wearing the Witch of the East’s magic Silver Shoes. Silver shoes walking on a golden road; henceforth Dorothy becomes the innocent agent of Baum’s ironic view of the Silver issue.” Littlefield continues dissecting the Oz storyline for its parallels to late-1800s economics and Populism, writing, “Baum created a children’s story with a symbolic allegory implicit within its story line and characterizations … The relationship and analogies outlined above are admittedly theoretical, but they are far too consistent to be coincidental.”
   .
2. In James Cameron’s 2009 film Avatar, the Na’vi — an alien race — is threatened by invading Earthlings. It’s been analyzed as an allegory for a “surprising” range of situations, as Joshua Keating posted on Foreign Policy at the time, from the exploitation of Chinese citizens to the exploitation of an indigenous tribe in India to a justification of Obama’s Nobel Peace Prize.
   .
3. The new documentary Room 237 argues that Stanley Kubrik’s 1980 film The Shining wasn’t just a horror film, but an intricate and meaning-laden work filled with “important and, in some cases, truly dark meanings,” per Bill Wyman on the New Yorker’s blog. What meanings, exactly? Less clear: as Wyman has it, the supposed allegories involve “the Holocaust (stemming from Nicholson’s German typewriter), the Apollo Space project, fairy tales, and more and more and more.”
   .
4. Perhaps the paradigmatic political allegory is George Orwell’s Animal Farm, which uses, yes, a farm full of animals to depict and critique the situation in 1940s Russia. “Animal Farm was the first book in which I tried, with full consciousness of what I was doing, to fuse political purpose and artistic purpose into one whole,” Orwell later wrote.
   .
5. Fritz Lang’s 1927 film Metropolis depicts a city of “soaring towers of glass and steel” sustained by a working class “far below, in cellars and catacombs,” as David Edelstein put it in Slate in 2002. Although the film is sometimes seen as a Marxist appeal, Edelstein argues that it’s much more nuanced than that. “Part of what makes Metropolis such a complicated allegory is Lang’s fear of the fascism of the mob,” Edelstein writes. “Lang understood why the mob would want to tear the city down. But he also believed that the technology it embodied promised a better life for people of all classes, and that only the innocent would suffer in the course of a revolt.”

Lessig’s powerful talk brought the TED2013 audience to its feet. And he has so much more to say about how we can overturn this deeply entrenched system. In a TED first, on the same day his talk premieres, Lessig is releasing a new TED Book expanding on the ideas he presented on stage. In Lesterland: The Corruption of Congress and How To End It, Lessig takes on the deep flaws in our campaign finance system and lays out a plan for fixing it. As he says in the book’s pages: The American political system has been weakened by a corrupt campaign funding system, but we can change it. And the time to do it is now.

Here is how Lesterland begins:

Once upon a time, there was a place called “Lesterland.”

Lawrence Lessig: We the People, and the Republic we must reclaimLesterland was a lot like the United States. Like the United States, it had a population of about 311 million souls. Of that, like the United States, about 150,000 were named “Lester.”

Lesters in Lesterland had a very important power. There were two elections every election cycle in Lesterland — a general election, and a “Lester election.” In the general election, all citizens got to vote. In the Lester election, only the “Lesters” got to vote.

But here’s the catch: To run in the general election, you had to do extremely well in the Lester election. You didn’t necessarily have to win, but you had to do extremely well. Democracy in Lesterland was thus a two-step dance. The Lesters controlled the first step.

What can we say about “democracy” in Lesterland?

First, we could say, as the United States Supreme Court said in its remarkable ruling in Citizens United v. FEC, that “the people have the ultimate influence over elected officials” — for, after all, there is a general election. But the people have that influence only after the Lesters have had their way with the candidates who wish to run in that general election. The people’s influence is ultimate. But it is not exclusive. Instead, the field of possible candidates has been narrowed to the field of Lester-plausible candidates, just as the field of candidates that citizens in the Soviet Union could select among had been narrowed by the choices of the Communist Party.

Second, and obviously, this primary dependence upon the Lesters would produce a subtle, understated, and somewhat camouflaged bending to keep the Lesters happy. For all candidates, both prospective and already successful, would know that they couldn’t gain or retain power without Lester support. Such bending couldn’t be too obvious, for fear it would trigger the votes of voters who resented the Lesters’ influence. (No doubt, there were some.) But neither could it be too subtle, for fear the Lesters would miss who their real allies were. Thus the Goldilocks principle of Lesterland politics: Not too little, and not too much. The best politicians were the best precisely because they practiced this balance well.

Lesterland is thus a democracy. But it is a democracy with two dependences: The first is a dependence upon the Lesters. The second is a dependence upon the citizens. Competing dependences, possibly conflicting dependences, depending upon who the Lesters are.

That’s Lesterland.

There are three things to see now that you’ve seen the democracy called “Lesterland.”

 (1) The United States is Lesterland.

Like Lesterland, the United States also has 311 million souls. It also has about 150,000 people named “Lester.” And it also has two types of elections: One, the traditional “voting election,” where citizens cast ballots. The other, a distinctively modern “money election,” in which the relevant “funders” give money to afford candidates the chance to run effectively.

Voting elections are discrete — they happen on a particular day, in a regular cycle. They include the vote in the general election; for a small portion of us, they also include the vote in the primary. In both cases, every citizen eighteen and older has the right to participate. And as the constitution has been interpreted, he or she has the right to participate equally. If the vote I cast for my representative to Congress is weighted more than yours (because there are fewer voters in my district than in yours), the Constitution requires the state to redraw that congressional boundary.

By contrast, the money elections are not discrete. They are continuous. Every day, throughout the election cycle, every citizen is in effect asked to contribute to one candidate or to another. That contribution is in effect a “vote” for that one candidate or the other. But unlike “votes” in the discrete elections, to vote for one candidate in the money election does not mean you can’t vote for another as well. Citizens are free to hedge their money votes in the money election by voting for both candidates in a two-person race, or as many candidates in as many races as they wish. The only regulation is that no citizen is permitted to give more than $2,600 to any one federal candidate per election, or more than $123,200 to all federal candidates and federal PACs combined in an election cycle. And finally, and obviously, while the Constitution has been interpreted to require equality in the voting election, there is nothing close to equality in the money election. The per capita influence of the top 1 percent of American voters is more than 10 times the per capita influence of the bottom 99 percent.

As in Lesterland, the money election and the voting election have a special relationship in U.S.A.-land too: To be able to run in the voting election, one must do extremely well in the money election. One doesn’t necessarily have to win — though 84 percent of the House candidates and 67 percent of the Senate candidates with more money than their opponents did in fact win in 2012 — but you must do extremely well. The average amount raised by winning Senate candidates was $10.4 million; losing candidates raised $7.7 million. The average amount raised by winning House candidates was $1.6 million; losing candidates raised $0.774 million. Money certainly isn’t the only thing that matters. But anything other than money is way, way down the list of “things that matter.”

And here is the key to the link between Lesterland and the United States: There are just as few relevant “Funders” in U.S.A.-land as there are “Lesters” in Lesterland.

“Really,” you say?

Yes, really.

Read more of this fascinating and, ultimately, inspiring book. Lesterland is available for Kindle and Nook, as well as through the iBookstore. Or download the TED Books app for your iPad or iPhone.

Through visual art, composition and performance, deaf artist Christine Sun Kim explores ways of transmuting sound and silence to come to terms with her relationship with it. In the process, she challenges the ways in which the hearing take sound for granted. Here, she talks about her work and career path.

Did you always know you wanted to become an artist?

No, I just had a lot of small experiences. I remember my mother always took me to the laundromat with her. To keep me busy, she’d draw pumpkins on napkins. It was around Halloween time, and I would draw in all the different faces. Little things like that. I always liked church because at Sunday school, the Bible was taught using pictures. All these different experiences and exposures slowly added up to my life as an artist.

So I knew it was in me, but I was uncertain for a long time. When I first went to grad school — I went to the School of Visual Arts — I had a hard time expressing myself and I never really enjoyed painting, so I had to find a balance. And that was a struggle. Finding your path as an artist is difficult. So I feel really lucky that I’ve now found my way.

You talked about sound etiquette in your TED2013 Fellows talk. You were told as a child to not make noise. How can you have known how not to make noise if you couldn’t hear it? That must have been very confusing.

It’s based on my intuition. I could sense people’s reactions. For example, in school, if I dragged my feet on the ground, people would say, “Shhhh.” My family’s Korean, so they’re somewhat somber and still. I tend to be loud with my expressions, and my family would tell me to tone it down. I knew I was very animated, but that was my language. People always say, “It’s like you’re performing,” and I respond, “That’s my language.” It’s funny. But yeah, I just had to follow social cues.

All the customs and social norms, all the rules were in my face every day. I’d go into a theater and I knew that I’d have to sit, be quiet and walk slowly. It was learned behavior from people’s reactions around me: it depended on how and if people looked at me. If everyone’s eyes were on me, I knew I was being loud or doing something “wrong.”

Even now, I always like to stay in control of my sound. I have my phone off. I often don’t have it on vibrate. My TV has the sound off. This allows me to have control, so I know it’s not making noise. I was dating a hearing guy. He would come stay at my house a lot and would turn everything on. I kept telling him I wanted it off. He would reply, “Well I’m hearing.” But that was strange because it was my relationship with sound. I wanted to be in control, so I wanted everything off. I didn’t like the extra noise floating around me because I wouldn’t know what it was.

“as forte as possible”, black ink on paper. Photo: Christine Sun Kim

So you are very aware of this thing called “sound,” even though you’ve never experienced it…

Right.

…because it’s mirrored back by the people around you.

As a society, the majority of people hear. And I mirror them. I have to follow what they’re doing. It was not like society gave me a clear, safe place to do whatever I wanted. I had to learn how to integrate to their ways. And the more aware I become of the noises and the norms, the more I play around with that in my artwork. The more experience I had trying to become accustomed to the norms, the more I tried to use that as material for my artwork. And oddly, that made my voice clearer.

You translate sound into other forms as an investigation and performance. Is this investigation primarily for yourself, or is it for others? To what degree do you keep your audience in mind when you’re playing?

It’s mostly about myself and my journey as an artist. Its about my relationship to and my perspective of sound as it keeps changing. It’s everlasting, it’s nonstop.

In my past work, I was doing a one-to-one translation like sound to vibration, working with sound to create painterly imprints. I don’t know if that really translates. It’s very limited and deals with low frequencies only, and that’s just one aspect of sound. That’s why I let go of the idea of translating it. Now I’m trying to develop my own information system and new theories of what sound should or could be, using new forms.

Most people who write music have this idea of silence, but they can hear and they use that to define or shape silence, or vice versa. So how can I learn the idea of sound and silence from their perspective? I can’t relate to that. So I’m starting over from scratch with everything. I’m redefining things. It’s not scientific evidence. People always ask me if I use sound waves in my art, but I’m not really interested in that.

Can you tell me about the various ways that you experience sound without hearing it? I’m curious how this ties into your artwork and the various ways you explore. For example, I’d love to hear a bit more about Feedback Aftermath.

I played with feedback for hours one night and then went home. At home I didn’t feel good and felt anxious. I couldn’t sleep well that night and I didn’t want to go back to the studio for one week. That was disconcerting. And then when I watched the video of myself — because I videotape myself sometimes — I felt sort of stressed out and uneasy. Later I realized that it had an impact on me, an extreme impact, like post-traumatic stress. Most hearing people don’t experience that. You have warning signals. If your ears hurt, you leave the room, you stop, you step away. I don’t have those signals, so I went past all warnings and experienced feedback to the full degree.

So how does the feedback enter your body, if not through sound?

There’s different ways sound has an impact on the body. Sound doesn’t enter only through the ears. It can go through the full body and also your psyche. More and more, people are starting to develop sonic warfare to use as a tool, as a weapon.

I have a story about this: To get into my apartment you have to go through one building, then walk through a courtyard and then enter a second building. Once a friend of mine, who is a real estate agent, came over and once inside my apartment said, “Oh, it’s so quiet in here. It shouldn’t be wasted on you” — because New York is so noisy, so loud. But I realized I need that too. I used to live in a really crowded area, and I never felt fully rested. But in my home now, I can pass out and sleep for hours; I feel really rested. Noise truly does have an impact on my body.

Untitled Speaker Drawings, Haverford College, PA, 2012. Photo: Lisa Boughter

You talk a lot in your work about the idea of sound as a currency. What do you mean by this?

For hearing people, information is captured via the ear, through sound. But you can look elsewhere and you are still getting information. With sign language, you have to be focused on what you’re seeing. Many things are dependent on sound, like Siri on the phone, voice commands. Sometimes I struggle with that, getting people to look at me or write back and forth, but they’re constantly looking away. Eye contact is lost, as is communication.

And the music world is huge. Music and sound are culturally dominant. Everyone lives in the music world and I’m constantly amazed with the way they remember lyrics. For example: if they hear a few words, then they instantly know the song — that’s a very strong cultural aspect of the hearing world. And even artists depend on that. Online videos are cultural connections, but most of them aren’t captioned. Visual sentences and visual language occupy a limited space in comparison to sound. So that’s why I’m trying to play around with this idea of voice. In fact, I just did my first vinyl record with a collaborator.

What’s on it?

It incorporates a lot of different concepts I play around with. My voice is on the record, experimenting with sound. (I don’t use my voice often.) There are two records, one for the left side and one for the right side, and it comes with a list of instructions on how to listen to both of them. You are to follow these rules. You put the records on two turntables, the left on your left, the right on your right, and play them simultaneously. The right record has been designed to play loops at normal volume, the left plays continuously at low volume.

This is a reflection of growing up with hearing aids. I’m completely deaf, but I can hear a tiny bit on the right, with the help of aids. (I can’t actually recognize or identify what the sound is; it’s just noise.) The right record reflects this imbalance: it is a little bit louder, a little bit clearer. The left side plays seamlessly, while on the right side the different loops actually stop, it gets stuck. To continue playing the record, you have to go over and physically move the needle. It’ll play for a little longer and then you’ll have to move it again. So it becomes laborious — it becomes more work for the right side. This tangible interaction echoes my experience of hearing aids.

“Seeing Voice, The Seven-Tone Color Spectrum” in collaboration with Center for Experimental Lectures and Recess Activities, NYC, 2013. Photo: Eugene Gladun

What is deaf culture? Is there such a thing?

Oh, yeah. Disability has its own culture too. But deaf culture revolves around language (technically, we’re a linguistic minority), and it’s a collective culture. People are very supportive of each other. It has its ways like any other culture. For example, one behavior that’s culturally deaf is that, if you grew up with a strong deaf identity, then when you’re sitting at a table and you’re signing, if somebody joins the conversation, people don’t look up. They know you’re there, they continue talking, but they automatically move over to allow somebody else in. There’s no interruption in the conversation. They have very simple rules and ways like that, and it adds up to cultural norms.

So it’s kind of got an etiquette of its own.

For sure. It’s very physical and visual. Deaf people are also extremely straightforward. I love that. When I went to Germany, talking to deaf Germans was very easy. It was a different sign language, but the second you meet each other you are instantly friends. Different languages have different sign languages, but the expressions, ideas and concepts are similar. I think it’s easier for deaf people to communicate amongst their different languages than hearing people.

You’ve been talking about the difference between American Sign Language and English as though they’re different — for example, with the translation of this interview (which was conducted live, with a translator). So how are they different, and how do you navigate the difference when you’re writing versus signing? Do you think differently?

It’s sort of like writing from Chinese to Spanish or Spanish to French.

That different?

Yeah. Really. Very different. That’s why I think ASL is an unique language. ASL is derived from French Sign Language mixed with home sign language. It’s influenced by those, but has its own formalized grammar. The tone is conveyed through body movement and facial expressions.

I like using the piano as a metaphor. Playing the piano is similar to ASL. When you put your pinky finger down that’s one note. Each finger has its separate notes, and all together you have 10 notes. So if you put them down at the same time, they become a chord. That’s like ASL. It’s not the same as English. It’s spatial, not linear. If you think of a facial expression as one note, then body movement as another note, then speed as another note, hand shape, placement, and so on — all these parts add up to convey the message. When you do it all simultaneously, it becomes a chord.

What about bypassing language altogether? What did you think of Mary Lou Jepsen’s talk about the brain-to-digital interface?

The idea is really creepy, but amazing. It’s a way of communicating without needing language. I do, however, question the politics of it. The people who are developing the program — are they the ones deciding what it would look like? I’m a little fuzzy on the details of it, on what it would look like if executed. Did you see Neil Harbisson’s talk about synesthesia?

Yes. He was amazing.

I was amazed, but it also became political because he picked the colors. There is line that is crossed. What if I wanted to decide for myself? The same parallel exists with the Cochlear implant. It’s limited to only a few channels of sound. The human ear has tons of channels, where the Cochlear implant has a very limited number. So the doctors or manufacturers are the ones deciding what hearing-impaired people will benefit from the most. I have a problem with the politics. That’s my question about this technology. I think it’s a great idea to remove language and to have a different way of communicating, but I’m curious how much control I would have.

What has the TED Fellowship experience been like for you so far?

Mindblowing, maddening, and exhilarating on every level. Initially, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but during the conference, I felt I could completely be myself and there was almost no attitude or ego; everyone was genuinely curious about everyone else. Being exposed to ideas outside of the arts was definitely an eye opener, as I often feel a bit too contained in the art and deaf communities. The TED staff and attendees were extremely supportive of the Fellows program, which made me refreshingly hopeful of my career as an artist. I’m definitely looking forward to potential collaborations with a number of TED folks.

Above: watch “Face Opera,” in which performers took turns conducting and shared-conducting four separate scores on an iPad developed from the different parameters of the language. Roughly 30-40% of American Sign Language is the manual production of the language, while the rest is expressed on the face and through body movement. This is a commentary on how society places value on vocal and spoken languages, leaving little room for visual languages.

Hyeonseo Lee talks about life growing up in North Korea at TED2013. Photo: James Duncan Davidson

North Korea is one of the most isolated countries in the world. So it’s exceptionally rare to hear a first-hand account of life there — in English, no less.

Hyeonseo Lee: My escape from North KoreaIn today’s brave talk, given at TED2013, Hyenseo Lee gives a riveting account of what it was like to grow up in North Korea. “I thought my country was the best on the planet,” she says. “I was very proud … I often wondered about the outside world, but I thought I would spend my life in North Korea — until everything changed.”

Lee tells of seeing her first public execution at age 7, and witnessing the death and desperation around her during the terrible famine of the 1990s. She doesn’t actually remember much about her escape — only that, at age 14, she was sent to stay with distant relatives in China. She ended up living there on her own and wouldn’t see her parents again for another 14 years.

It’s easy to think that, once the border is crossed, the worst is behind a North Korean refugee. But Lee tells her story to stress the point that the struggle continues long after. In China, Lee lived under the constant threat of discovery — which would end with her being deported to face execution, torture or imprisonment. Even after seeking asylum in South Korea in 2008, Lee says life was still hard as she faced a deep depression adjusting to a new life all over again. And then she discovered that her family was being targeted after money she sent home was intercepted.

To hear this powerful story, watch the talk. And here, see more stories of escapes from incredible circumstances.

Theresa Flores: Find a voice with soap
As a teenage girl in the Michigan suburbs, Theresa Flores found herself manipulated into a human trafficking ring. Now, she tries to help girls in this situation. At TEDxColumbus she shares an idea — how wrappers on bars of soap in motels could give women the resources they need to find help.

Photo: James Duncan Davidson

When Daniel Ogilvie was a child, he often imagined what would it be like to be dead. (“I think that’s why I was so popular.”) He’d imagine himself in a coffin, cold and lonely. So he asked his Sunday school teacher what heaven was like. What he heard: Heaven is like a picnic that goes on forever with friends and loved ones. That didn’t appeal: How long, wondered Ogilvie, before they got on each other’s nerves? “I think four or five hours into eternity, and I would have had it.”

Ogilvie grew up and became a professor of psychology at Rutgers University. But he was reminded of those childish thoughts when his 4-year-old daughter came to him crying one night and said, “I don’t want to be a thing that dies.” He didn’t know how to respond; his wife simply said, “Don’t worry, dear, you have a long life ahead of you.”

Now, Ogilvie thought, for many families, that would be the time to talk about heaven. “It’s one of many platforms for later discussions about God, the soul and the afterlife.” And he is worried that how we do this. Afterlife beliefs are not taught to kids as “This is what we believe,” but rather as “These are facts.” These ideas are then internalized, and protected by feelings. Views that accord with it are accepted, views that don’t are attacked.

He designed a course to explore that: “Causes and Consequences of Soul Beliefs.” And in that class, they uncovered some interesting ideas. For example, why is it so easy for children to understand the idea that there’s a soul and there’s an afterlife? It is, he thinks, because “They already suspect that something is going to survive their death.” For example, as a child in his imaginary coffin, he thought he was cold and lonely: He was imagining himself dead, but his psychology continued.

One of the remarkable things about humans, says Ogilvie, is that we are able to be in one place and imagine ourselves somewhere else. “We’re always thinking and preparing for the next step.” That’s what happened to his daughter. She “was lying in bed thinking about mental time travel. She went too far and came back with very bad news.” We can imagine all kinds of things, but the thought of death is unacceptable.

And Ogilvie wants to make clear, “Religions have been good for us for most of history.” They helped with group bonding. With more organization though, there is ”the emergence of priesthood, the emergence of rulers, chiefs who said you not only need to behave yourself in this particular way but that this is how the gods want you to do it.” They exert social control. “I’ve noticed people with different beliefs don’t like each other,” he drily notes. “Lots of wars are fought over it. That’s a big concern for me.”

So, he asks us to do what he asks his students to do. “Talk about what you were told to believe. Have that conversation with other people.” That gives us a broader perspective. He finishes by returning to what his wife was able to do with his daughter, “My wife directed a conversation to the joys, the sorrows, the beauty, the awesome opportunities of this life. Engage in this conversation. Do it for me, for yourself, for the wellbeing of our planet.”