Daniel Coats

Annual Magazine

2011 edition

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Welcome
A year in review
As the years roll on by, it can be easy to lose track of the moments that defined that period of time. For the most part, memories serve us well. But occasionally (and increasingly as our lives move forward) our memory loses the depth of recollection that it once had. This year - a year that brought us devastating earthquakes and more headlines close to home than ever before - has made me to reconsider how I catalogue my experiences. I decided it was an opportune time, with several weeks of holiday before the new year, to put together a brief magazine recounting in my own words these important moments. This is the result, somewhat like a personal annual report that contains a glimpse into the highlights of the year gone by, as well as a collection of stories and poetry that Ive written over the same period. I hope you enjoy reading my account of 2011, Daniel Coats Table of Contents
Welcome 1 Stories Raheems Story 3 Genecide 9 Articles Evolving education 13 The Think Different ethos 16 One year on 19 Poetry Starting anew 21 Legacy born 23 Discarding the past 24 The Last Word 25

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The Author
My name is Daniel Coats and Im a 15 year old high school student from Christchurch, New Zealand. Im interested in a lot of things, but really passionate about writing and publishing. This magazine is part outlet for creative expression, record of my life and gift for friends and family. You can keep up with my other creative endeavours by following my blog: www.danielcoats.net

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Raheems Story
Short story

Past market stalls, between feet and through living rooms, Raheem ran. The poorer areas of Islamabad, less of a suburb and more of a maze, provided a thrill in chaos that Raheem craved. He may have been a young boy, merely a speck in this sprawling metropolis of tinroofed houses and open-air markets, but his confidence belied the bustling foot traffic upon every narrow road. He was also unperturbed by the subtle reminders of violence surrounding him. Burnt out vehicles and swathes of loose rope around suspect areas, a commonplace sight in the lives of these people. However close this violence was to everybody, few dared speak a word of it for fear of arousing suspicion. Even the well-known presence of American soldiers was a matter best discussed in whispers, far from prying eyes and ears.

But Raheem had long been desensitised to the sounds of gunfire that crackled through the night, and scenes of violence that arose by day. His mother had tried her all to raise him away from an outside world where few made it beyond childhood, let alone gained an education. Not that life as an adult was any less arduous. Yet amid this constant struggle, Raheem was exhilarated, and not a little bit frightened, as he weaved his way through the outskirts of town, and into the fields of crops, rolling over the horizon. He was a young boy, only 12, still small and innocent. His big blue eyes and ragged brown hair only played at his vulnerability. Where dust roads meet tar-seal, and the slums of Pakistans capital meet an imposing gate, Raheem came to a halt. Behind it, a life of relative luxury that, for his own good, Raheem knew nothing of. Here, between the two contrasting worlds, was a small, unassuming dairy. Which side it catered for, he wasnt quite sure. But he rarely came across a chocolate bar or can of Coke, and now he saw his chance to pocket both. Hunger pangs grew by the moment.

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With his hands in his pocket and eyes glazing over, he walked as casually as he could into the store. A good thief he was not, trying to hide behind shelves even when in plain sight of the owner. But with the blind determination of a kid craving candy, Raheem thrust his arm into the fridge, slipping a Cola deep into his satchel. Neither cameras nor a shop keeper in sight, he went for the final catch. As his arm reached for his favourite, a tug came from above. At first he pulled his hand away, barely tugging free his arm, and dashed for the door. It was only then that he realised his hands were dirty, and hed been caught. His final hope of escape was dashed by a second figure in the doorway, far less willing to let Raheem go. As he ducked for the door, it quickly became clear who had the upper hand. Let me go! Let me go! he screamed, feeling hopeless as his voice was muffled in his captors tunic. Keep quiet, the hooded man whispered into Raheems ear. The young boy was motionless, still uncertain whether to feel guilt, fear or another emotion altogether. Hed been a pain to many people in his lifetime, as others were often to him, but Raheem had never faced criminal punishment. Will I be arrested? Will they torture me themselves? In a single moment, every possibility ran through his head, while four men merely stood and stared, emotionless. Give im to Rasheek, one of the men said to another. To each other they nodded, before sitting a defenceless Raheem down on the shop step. Relieved

to be in relative comfort, he didnt struggle at all. He was the guilty one after all. So tell us why we shouldnt call the in police in kid? Ill give it back, Ill do anything, Raheem pleaded with the men before him. He was on his knees now, reciting every verse of the Koran that he could recall. Youve got a father kid? a young, clean-shaven, man asked. A badge on his shirt read Store Manager. Raheem ended his plea, and rose on one foot. Yeah, I used to. He disappeared. You mean he left? Was he killed? another asked, all ears now firmly fixed on Raheems response. No, he replied, upset as he recalled lesser days, He was shot, taken away by the Yanks. My mother said he was going to hospital. And so entered an older man, aged by his scars and crippling stance. Ive seen those soldiers, they take prisoners not patients. Your father, he was on our side. Raheem first ignored the claim, trusting in his mothers alibi. But taking another look at the man, he listened to those words once more in his head. Now curious, he asked Why do you say? The man didnt answer. Do you believe in Allah, son? Raheem nodded. And you know the Koran? Yes. And you understand what it means to be faithful? To this, he wasnt sure. Faithful? If you truly believe in Allah, if youre faithful, youd do anything. Would you do anything for Allah? I suppose for Allah Id do anything. Just as the older man, whom they called Rasheek, was about to elaborate, the hooded man gave a shake of the head.

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Turning back to Raheem, they asked You want to do us a favour, kid? You kind of owe us. If you do well keep quiet. And you can keep the Coke. Raheem felt he had little choice, being the guilty one, and once again nodded. Meet us back here tomorrow, noon. Then youll get your drink back. They were done with him now, ignoring him as they went in their own directions. Raheem waited a moment longer, feeling oddly lucky to have escaped with such little punishment, having not yet considered what tomorrows reparation may yield. That night, Raheem tactfully avoided his mother, who couldnt get more than a word from him before he changed the subject altogether. She knew he had been away longer than usual, but was more concerned about getting work out of her young boy around the house. Raheem was less fortunate when he woke up the following morning. The single clock in their home an old wristwatch that Raheem claimed to have bought, but instead picked from a street-side market read 11:00. An hour was barely long enough to weave through several miles of foot traffic, let alone make it to the outskirts. Once again avoiding his mother, Raheem darted through the door and ran faster than he had ever before. As the clock struck noon an army of workers could be seen upon the rising hills before him. To the left, sitting inconspicuously on the corner, the dairy. Raheem heard a shout from inside, and as he got closer realised they werent talking to him at all. Upon the step sat another boy, whom he recognised from school (a privilege he had since foregone).

Get yourself out of here, we dont want another breath from you! Sobbing quietly, the boy scuttled away. Did he steal? Raheem asked the store manager man. Far from it, he replied, stopping well short of an explanation. Get yourself out back, Rasheeks got a job for you. Stumbling his tired legs through the shop, Raheem made his way once again past stacks of chocolate and a fridge of drink. Tempted, he now knew better, for the while at least. Stepping through a fly strip door, Raheem soon found himself in what looked like a post office. To his left, a pile of circuits and old mobiles were scattered across a bench, while a man sat repairing them. Your first delivery, son, Rasheek said, throwing a parcel in Raheems direction. Three blocks down the road, to your left. Apartment number 4. Raheem had more questions than he could count, but reasoned he should hold on to them for a while, at least until he returned. Stepping out onto the road, a cloud of dust shot up in the distance, near a convoy of military vehicles, pulsating gunfire in the distance most likely their destination. The delivery went without trouble. Returning to the corner store, Raheem headed out back, but paused at the sight of a breaking news banner on a TV news program showing in the corner. They werent headed for gun fire after all. Another one of them martyrs, the shopkeeper said, Just another day, another car bomb. Raheem felt a lump grow in his throat. Back here, son, Rasheek called from the back room. You kept your promise, Ill keep mine, he said, handing a Coke and chocolate bar to Raheem.

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On his way home, Raheem couldnt help but smile, as he savoured a cold drink and chocolate. He dismissed the near encounter with a car bomb, it wasnt out of the ordinary. To him, this was more of a paradise than hed ever experienced before. Soon enough, a new day dawned above Islamabad, as a rich orange sky provided the only beauty within miles of dirty, polluted housing. Even Raheem, usually a deep sleeper within a loud neighbourhood, had been awoken by a storm in the night. In a matter of minutes, hed gathered just what had woken him. An angry man, with a bag of explosive hatred strapped to the back-seat of a stolen car had driven straight into a wedding party. That man didnt come out the other side, nor did many of the party, leaving only a gaping hole and skeletal car to show for the crime. Raheem had seen it all before, and didnt wish to discuss it with anyone. But his mother was insistent. She sat her only son down, and for a moment stared deep into his eyes. She opened her mouth to talk, but soon covered it over with a hand, and took a few steps backwards. You could see over her shoulder, not even 80 yards down the road, a plume of thick black smoke still smouldering. A moment later she burst into tears, still looking into her sons eyes. Raheem was trying desperately to remember if hed done something wrong, and only assumed those shopkeepers had eventually dobbed him in. Aalia. His mother had managed a single word, the name of her niece, and Raheems younger cousin. She was a flower girl at the wedding. Thats when Raheem realised he hadnt been dobbed in at all, and wasnt in trouble, not in the way he

expected. It took a few moments more for him to truly comprehend that his cousin was dead. Searching for relief and distance between him and the ashes of his cousin, Raheem began a slow stroll out of the town. He expected them to ignore him, as he walked into the store unannounced. But as he peered through the shop door, Rasheek called from the back.

Raheem realised he hadnt been dobbed in at all.

I thought youd be back. Standing up straight and rubbing any tears from his eyes, Raheem asked Can I help again? Those four parcels, theyre addressed, take care of those first. Then well talk a bit more. Without hesitation, Raheem took them from the table, and dispensed with them as fast as he could. Returning with a sweat, he was just glad to get Aalia life at home off his mind. Youve got the job, son. Stunned, Raheem walked up to Rasheek, stuttering his words. Thank you, he said, on his knees once more. Ill do anything. Here, take 20 dollars, get us another circuit from the shop down the road. And get yourself a drink. Until the sun grew heavy in the sky, Raheem went back and forth between near-by shops, buying, selling and delivering parcels. A few contained mobile phones, the rest concealed in parcels. He assumed they were phone parts, but didnt feel the need to ask. Rasheek even let his newest employee take the change, and a drink between every few jobs. The other workers around him were mostly silent, as they soldered and repaired electronics, generally minding
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their own business. Rasheek explained what they did, and showed Raheem his own phone. Every one that we repair, we engrave our little insignia on. It was an engraving of the Islamic star and crescent, finely painted with black. The shop-front barely saw a customer, but business seemed relentless on the delivery front. For several days, Raheem was welcome whenever he came. Rasheek had no objection when the funeral arose on a workday, and encouraged Raheem to go along, as much as he wished to forget Aalias death. At least he had some purpose now, and a tidy wad of cash in his satchel. For the first time, Raheem even thought of buying his mother a gift. But it was only a week from the first day of work when Rasheek told him they were moving. Business is growing fast, he said, and by now Raheem believed every word he was told. As life at his job continued to improve, with a few more perks for loyalty, life at home only grew more uneasy. Another friend of his mother had fallen victim to the violence playing out on the streets, and they feared for their own safety more than ever before. After the attack, they visited the scene to pay their respects. Raheem saw a police officer and asked if they knew who had done it. We dont know. The drivers nothing more than a skeleton, and a mobile phone. Raheem only hoped it hadnt ever been repaired by any of Rasheeks men. As his mother drew him away from the horror, Raheem began thinking about escape, about leaving their town one day. Work remained Raheems safe haven, but he grew concerned at the sight of a gun in one of the workers pockets. Raheem immediately told his boss.

Ill have a talk to him, he assured Raheem. Yet after that, the presence of guns seemed to grow around him. Rasheek was adamant they were for nothing more than protection. These streets arent safe like they used to be. Raheem found himself less convinced with every explanation. But he was prepared to let these doubts slide for a moment, when Rasheek handed him an envelope. Inside was several hundred dollars, more money than hed ever seen in his life, and a bus ticket to Karachi. You want to leave. I can help you escape. So Rasheek seated him in the corner, and began to talk. You know that boy you saw on your first day of work, whod been fired, he used to do your job. He ran a few errands, did some work around here, but wasnt reliable for more than a day. You are, Raheem. And we want you to learn how we do our job. I thought this was your job, fixing electronics. Theres a bit more to it that I havent told you yet. The money is for your mother the money. Write her a letter. Youll tell her youve got a job, and that were going to get you an education to work for us. You wont be leaving for long, but youll come back with more money for the both of you. Raheem was barely 13 now, but he dreamt for a moment of working, of living in whatever was behind those gates. Rasheek took the envelope from his hands. But first, you need to prove to us that youre worthy. As instructed, Raheem arrived early the next morning, only to find the doors were locked. A hooded man, much like the one from the shop, emerged from the darkness.

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Rasheek sent me. Take this backpack. 100 metres down the road, theres a bus stop. Put this backpack onto the seat, he whispered with a raspy voice, his face barely visible under the dark hood. Yet Raheem did as he was told without as much as a second thought. Soon enough, a man stepped off the bus and took the bag. To Raheem, it was another delivery done. What else? he asked the hooded man as he stood staunchly on the step. Extending an arm, the man handed him the envelope once more. When youre ready, open it. Now go home. With an entire day and no work left, Raheem strolled back through the streets where he once spent weekdays. He hadnt thought much for his friends since hed found the job, he assumed they were working in the crop fields now, or picking pockets. But Aalia he couldnt forget. They had run these same streets. He shivered when he thought any of his friends might have been at that same wedding. Angry and scared, he just wanted to work more, to leave here. With this hope heavy on his mind, he slept soundly that night. Or he did, until another storm broke out. In the early hours of the next day, he heard that wicked crack once more, far sharper than hed heard before. Running to his mothers side, they both peered outside. Down the road, barely 50 metres from their home, a car was burning. But not in the torrent of flames left behind by a martyr. Raheem was curious, but had seen more than enough death upon his doorstep. Just as he was ready to return to bed, for another early morning, his mother dashed from the door once more. Yalda, Yalda! she screamed as she ran down the road.

Raheem was close behind, and soon saw Yalda by the roadside. She had been lucky. Yaldas husband, shaken himself, was quick to explain. The driver, 20 metres further down the road, had been shot through the windscreen. No one dared touch the car, but several had gathered near-by, braving what could be an explosion at any moment. While Raheems mother comforted Yalda, he tip toed through the night, towards the car. Whether by coincidence or something more frightening, the car looked familiar. Peering through the window, from only a few metres back, blood was all that could be seen. Except for a backpack. As if hed forgotten what risks still lay somewhere within the vehicle, he reached for it. Its a bomb! a man shouted, pushing Raheem from the window. Now lying in the dirt, Raheem froze. In that moment he knew it was more than familiarity. I need to tell Rasheek he first thought to himself. Getting back to his feet, he stared at the car once more, scanning every panel, wishing he could find a single dent that distinguished it from the one hed delivered to only hours earlier. The driver let out a moan. He was still alive but only barely so. Raheem watched his every move through the passengers window. Just as the misery of the dying man grew too much for him, he saw one final movement. It was a cellphone. The same man whod pushed him from the car quickly thrust it from the drivers hand, and threw it to the ground. Raheem caught the projectile with his eyes, as it landed at his feet. There, like the terror of a storm in the night, an insignia he would never forget. February 2011
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Genecide
Short story
"He was born a month ago. We named him Robert," she said, with such tenderness that the earliest memory of her baby boy appeared in a thought projection before her tired eyes. An hour after birth, I told Matthew, my husband, I was ready. He lay beside us. The doctor projected it - the start of it - at the foot of our bed. He was a perfect weight; his heart beat flawlessly." She winced. "The doctor paused the projection....then he told us." "Cry all you like, it is natural to imagine what you so nearly had. I'll listen, it's my job, but don't forget you've still got the greatest gift. Robert needs you." Nigel felt as if his words hovered momentarily in front of him, before Robert's mother was ready to listen. Nigel twisted away from her in his chair.
"Read birth results, client 5267," he ordered his system. "Client 5267, Robert Whitelock, born 21st March, 2052. Cardiovascular capacity: standard. Mental aptitude: high. Immunity to disease: strong. Projected nutritional tolerance for common nutriments Synthacorn and In-vitro meat: poor, therefore will require additional rations of rare provisions." Nigel sighed, suspecting he'd come across another hopeless case. Since 2030, to meet an exponentially growing world demand, food had been genetically modified to such an extent, that gradually some nutrients essential to the healthy growth of a portion of the population, had been inadvertently wiped from the foods genetic makeup. Economic greed also drove many corporations to genetically engineer crops, to increase production. These essential missing nutrients could now only be reproduced at an extremely high cost and the number of people requiring them was growing. So far, the foods had been subsidised by the government, but this was becoming a significant strain on the already overburdened health budget.

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"How has he developed?" Nigel asked, listening intently. "For a few days, everything was perfect, so we forgot the genetic tests and ignored the sympathy of our friends and family. I was ready to leave the hospital and Robert was coming with us. Then he cried his first tears and was inconsolable. He wouldn't drink and once I got stressed I couldn't eat so well either. The doctors incubated him for 13 days, fed him through a tube. He was home a week ago, but he's pale and he wont stop crying," she said. "Our insurance premiums have sky-rocketed, day-care claim they haven't received any funding for Robert and the nurses that newborns are entitled to haven't shown once. Our beautiful baby is suffering and we're suffering." Nigel was puzzled. He needed to terminate this session, to think. Any birth takes a toll on a new mother but Robert needs you, more than you might think. Ill get back to you very soon. In the meantime, eat and drink well and get as much sleep as you can. Robert appeared doomed without eating a single solid meal. He should have been a healthy baby, his allergies not apparent for at least a few months. Hospital records had no answer to his early symptoms.

It could be said that in 2052, the real birth of a child came several hours after delivery, when a mother could see her babys test results. Parents could also choose to be shown them during pregnancy and had automatic rights to abortion. Born before compulsory genetic testing at birth, Nigel had formally complained to the Ministry about discrimination resulting from this program, but cases like Robert's continued to surface. Counselling a mother through the inevitable death of an ill-fated child was far from the civil service he had once envisaged. He wasnt sure how much longer he could ignore the increasingly frequent signs. He reasoned with himself for a moment about the idea of speaking out once more, then began drafting a letter. Complaints Officer, Ministry of Genetics... Several floors below Nigels small office, in the Governments underground Public Services complex, two men gathered in a dark-lit room. Lining every wall, floor to ceiling, were internal shots of each office unit above them. G12, one man ordered, the room immediately filling with a projection of Nigels office. Pacing across the floor and thinking through the day, Nigel was unaware of just how closely he was being watched. Psychological assessment on unit occupant, the other man requested. Nigel Ray, Unit G12, continually exhibits signs of dissidence towards the Ministry when consulting with concerned parents, a computer-generated voice said. Pause, whats he doing now? the first man said, stepping into the projection and bending over Nigels desk. He loved this new system. With light-bending technology, the projection was completely invisible so, as an observer, he could look down at the letter developing on the screen:
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Robert appeared doomed without eating a single solid meal.

Nigel knew better than anyone that no genetic records could, by law, leave the Ministry of Genetics database during a baby's early years. Yet it was plain to see Robert had obviously been discriminated against from the moment those tests had been taken.

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Complaints Officer, Ministry of Genetics. Dear Madam, As a genetic counsellor, I am familiar with societys acceptance of genetic testing of pre-borns, in order to determine the existence of severely disabling, genetically-transferred conditions, and the option for parents to terminate pregnancies where such conditions are identified. I frequently counsel parents who have, or who are considering, such a choice. Any letters of complaint I have made up until now have been when a condition on the margins of being considered genetic, which many physicians might consider familial, is added to the Ministrys list of Pregnancy Terminating Conditions. I am becoming concerned, however, with something new that I am observing - the mistreatment of newborn babies, who testers say exhibit inferior genetic makeup with the obvious implications of that. The babies may simply show an intolerance to synthetic carbohydrates or In-vitro meat products, something they may even grow out of. I urgently request an inquiry into this apparent discrimination. I refer you to Section 5 i (C) Genetic Rights Act, 2032, Pre-born and Newborn Rights, to back up my concerns. Yours ...... The soft voice of Nigels wife echoed in his ear-piece. Nigel, the boys want dinner and you could do with a break yourself. He saved the letter. He would send it in the morning. Right now, he just wanted the company of family.

I urgently request an inquiry into this apparent discrimination.

On his way home, Nigel felt the sense of dignity that comes from speaking up against discrimination. He slowed his bike and manoeuvred it through the only organic market left in the city. Such markets were frowned upon by health officials, fearful of another Ecoli outbreak, like those in Europe between 2011 and 2020. But Nigel and his family were grateful to eat produce without a metallic after-taste. Setting his eyes on a stall of hydroponic vegetables, Nigel swiped the Geno-scanner on his wrist over the asparagus, and a moment later a projection appeared. International DNA bar-code: ASP458372. Asparagus. Warning: Organic - potential risk of bacterial infection. However, as the stall owner was a family friend, he had little hesitation in purchasing. He rode home, concerned about the letter, but content in knowing he had done what was right. The following day, still uneasy, Nigel awoke early. Despite frequent warnings of the potential risks, Nigel always cycled to work. He rode long-forgotten footpaths, while looking above at the endless glumfaced workers in the EV-buses suspended overhead. He arrived at his office with a sweat up. The receptionist - a projected service-bot - acknowledged him in a courteous but cold manner. Im sorry sir, you are not scheduled for appointments today. Bewildered, he continued walking down the hall. Another service-bot at a desk to his left, challenged him. Can I help you sir? Nigel ignored her, walking right on past, into his office. He slumped in his chair.

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Systems on, he ordered. Yet not a single computer responded. Another power outage, he wondered, but down the hallway others were abuzz. Then, as if he was in a cruel nightmare, his chair began eroding beneath him. Leaping to his feet, before he plummeted to the floor, Nigels eyes were drawn to, and transfixed by, the deep-red letters upon his screen. The blood-red words, read like a knife in Nigels back. He felt sick, very sick. He took the photo of his wife and son from the corner of his desk. Leaving his office for the final time, his eyes returned to the words. A feeling of helplessness, of despair for the future of the populations newborns overtook him. NIGEL RAY: EMPLOYMENT TERMINATED September 2011

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Evolving education
Article
Theres been a lot of fuss, particularly in the Twitter-sphere and Tumblrverse regarding the education system and the way in which it has remained rather stagnant for so many years. Technology and its ability to effect change in this area is at the forefront of such discussions. However, against what some have suggested, I dont believe more computers or iPads for every student is the answer. It is about taking todays way of teaching, extending it to a range of media and making it another part of the networked lives of students, in a similar domain as social networks.
It seems as though education is ripe for change right now, for the precise reason that it hasnt changed for so many years. Originating in the industrial age, a shift in education is far overdue. With the financial situation not permitting an increase in education budgets (which would only bring about marginal change anyway) and increased competition in the job market, where degrees and doctorates are no longer a ticket to employment, its understandable why people are questioning the education establishment. Growing disparity between rich and poor in New Zealand, with the 7th highest wealth gap in the OECD, is also a catalyst for conversation in this area. People are beginning to point to an old education system for the answers, and increasingly theyre demanding a better solution. More than catch up As a democracy, we may not be obligated to share our wealth and belongings with the less fortunate, but at
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the least we have a responsibility to offer equal opportunity. In todays competitive world, opportunity starts with education. There are many components that make an education system democratic, the most important aspect being free schooling for all students. Second to that is offering a consistently high and indiscriminate standard which today means technology that is ahead of, and not behind, the current trends. It also means ensuring that a schools decile rating and socio-economic situation dont factor into the offering that students receive. A new direction Where education is concerned, bureaucracy is always a challenge. We have an established hierarchy of teachers, administrators and then government bodies who may or may not have a clue as to what constitutes an effective technology strategy. This leads to a design by committee approach which can cause the more bold and endearing options to be lost. With technology, it becomes a battle to balance costs and buy new equipment. We often encounter the argument in which one side says that weve already got enough computers in our schools, and the other that we need more. The way I see it, the solution is neither. We need to instead look at new ways to make this technology useful, integrated and universally accessible not simply more abundant. The tools First, we can start at the top, with a nationwide computer strategy. Now, Im not sure how the current system works, but as far as I know each school is given a budget with which to buy technology in line with the schools requirements. The trouble here is that the onus falls on each school to find and finance their own computers. If we want a common standard, we could start by offering common tools, financed on a nation-wide

level. This would help us cut costs and also pave the way toward a more cohesive e-learning system that was common across all schools. Branching out I feel that the view of many schools is that an effective technology strategy means more computers, and maybe other hardware like cameras too, as if a school can be considered more in line with the times if it invests in the latest machines. But it isnt the hardware that students value at all. It is the systems and the software behind these computers that either helps, or in some cases hinders, learning. It is irrelevant how many computers a school owns. It is how theyre used actively, by students, and not just in theory that is important. I can imagine a system, as others have more comprehensively envisaged, in which every class lesson is the branch to a plethora of other leaves extensions and reinforcements upon the core topics covered in that class. Think about science as a tree, if you will. Every student can access this tree through a personal account on a web browser, in school or at home. The growth of this tree is tracked and logged, the progress visible to student and teacher.

It is irrelevant how many computers a school owns. It is how theyre used that is important.
Every time a new concept is introduced to the students at school, a new branch sprouts out. This branch, when accessed, contains an overview of the topic in question. And from this branch are leaves, each leaf a sub-topic off the core branch.

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For those who are behind or who wish to move ahead, they can do so with confidence, knowing that what they are learning is in line with the standards of the curriculum. The content of each leaf is a mixture of media, with the most relevant diagrams, text and video accompanying each idea. At a glance This concept is not new, by any means. The Khan Academy has already begun offering a similar model that I believe has a lot of potential. But what we really need is a tailored solution, one designed for the New Zealand curriculum. Resources would be comprehensive and media-rich, offering videos, diagrams and quizzes for students that are even more reliable and up-to-date than the text books and lesson plans of today. There are certainly more reasons, as there are obstacles which I havent addressed here. What I really want you to realise is that education can be exciting and straight-forward, democratic and individual. As the way we communicate has changed time and time again in the last few decades, and the capabilities of technology has outgrown the humble PC, its about time we consider how education can adapt to reflect our evolving way of life. November 2011

What we really need is a tailored solution, one designed for the New Zealand curriculum.
If we are prepared to embrace these tools and ideas, I think well quickly realise that this technology is not very radical after all, but a natural evolution of education that keeps pace with the changes in our lives outside of school. Heres how, at a glance, I see such a system benefiting New Zealand education: Students can easily see where they are in their learning and in which areas theyre succeeding or require more work. Teachers have a similar view of progress and can direct their students accordingly when in class to reinforce certain areas or offer extension. Gone are many textbooks and photocopied handouts, instead this material exists as leaves on each students learning network.
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The Think Different ethos

Article

In the wake of Steve Jobs death, there was an extraordinary out-pouring of grief and subsequent tributes, praising the Apple founder as a genius, visionary and inventor, among many other descriptions. I was most interested in the impetus behind Jobs products and the key to continuing his legacy of innovation in these fast-changing times.

If youd conducted market research a decade ago into the future of mobile phones, you wouldve probably predicted that in 10 years time they would be minuscule ear pieces or wrist watches, no longer residing in the human hand or back pocket. Focus groups would have likely yielded a similar response: we want them smaller, faster, lighter. The trouble is, consumers only know what they think they want. In terms of predicting innovation, they serve only to slow down a products development. Which brings me to the phrase that has defined Apple for 3 decades: Think Different. This is more than a marketing slogan, I can assure you. This is an ethos. It ensures that Apples employees are never caught behind the competition and it assures consumers that Apple will do the thinking for them.
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To Think Different is to give consumers what they wanted all along, but didnt realise yet. Now take a look at your mobile phone. Theres a good chance that its no smaller or lighter than your last one. Yet mobile phones have come further than any market research, however in-depth, could have conduced. The phone is now so much more than a single-use device. Indeed, it serves many of the same functions of personal computers, in a smaller, more svelte body. Apple realised that consumers didnt really want a smaller phone at all. They wanted a smarter phone. They wanted a device that, unlike a laptop, could fulfil all of their communication and computing needs at once. At the same time, they responded to a youthful desire for a product that is as aesthetically pleasing as it is natural to use. They called it the iPhone. Since Steve Jobs showed off the device in 2007, competitors have been scrambling for even the thinnest slice of the smartphone market. The very companies that were putting all of their efforts into producing devices that they claimed the public wanted were immediately exposed as slow and unreceptive. No exorbitant amount of R&D dollars will produce innovation like Apple has. Today, I type this post on the iPad. Its incredible how easy Apple makes this technology business look. Its easy to lose track of the number of products theyve redefined, markets theyve created and cynical predictions theyve proven wrong. Theres no market for tablets. Whose going to pay $1000 for a phone? No family needs a computer in their household. You would think that by now the competition would realise. Its only natural that as the founding father of

Apple, Steve Jobs, passes, that we look to the up and coming technology giants. Yet, after watching on in both awe and panic for a decade, no one is yet to step up to that mark. I would say Amazon have come the closest, but even their latest device is merely a watered down iPad for a fraction of the price. It sounds enticing, but havent Apple proven already that price is no substitute for innovation? The prolific success of Apple is both reassuring and worrying at the same time. It shows that innovation and insight count for everything. Think back to innovators of the past. They began by redefining expectations and producing something unseen and unforeseen. These ideas always last for decades beyond their conception. But I worry that Apple is the last real innovator well see in this space for another 10, possibly 20 years. Granted, others will build upon their contributions, but will they ever match the incredible foresight and confidence in their products that Apple has shown? Its not necessarily inventors that we need to achieve this. The ideas will come naturally. It could be said that every person has a few good ideas up their sleeve during a lifetime. Steve Jobs certainly wasnt an inventor. But he was the man who saw a single idea, among a sea of crap, and stubbornly pursued it, iterating at every turn. Theres no doubt he would have overseen many more iterations in his lifetime had he not been caught out by cancer. Complacency is the greatest obstacle to success. In recent years, America as a country has embodied this idea. As education and innovation falls, so national debt rises. Obviously there are unforeseen factors at play, but without an educated, forward-thinking population,

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getting back on two feet is far, far harder. Apple showed us this too, in 1997 when they were counted out. There time was up, theyd had there one breakthrough and relied on it for a decade too long. Then they came right back and responded with the iPod. We cant all be quite as agile or ultimately successful as Apple, but we can do our best to eliminate complacency, through good and through bad. In both situations, we need to summon the courage to throw out the crap, regardless of how brilliant it once was, and confidently pursue the untested. Tomorrows innovators shouldnt strive merely to be different. They must apply the very same thought for the future and for consumers as every innovator before them. This is what it means to Think Different. October 2011

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One year on
Article

Disruption has taken on a new meaning for many Christchurch residents. No longer does it mean a brief interruption or a subtle-but-confounding change in routine. An earthquake and many more subsequently have had a compounding effect on the state of my city over the previous year, weakening it while its down. Cruel, but in one sense of the word, natural. What once seemed like a strange and unreal event has gradually become tiresome and disheartening. The early earthquakes shook the city and rocked the east. But what followed in February tore holes in every direction, the heart of the city struck beyond recognition in many parts. Yet people dont disparage residents hold firm where they are with what theyve got. Maybe theyre ignorant, but sometimes you have to be.
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It has been a year now, 12 months since we were woken in the early morning of September the 4th. I was supposed to run in the National Road Running Championships that morning. In fact, I was nervously pacing all morning, even as the aftershocks continued and news arose, because I was half-expecting to race that day. Little did I know that the course was destroyed (you can see it below). I realised then, and was reminded many times thereafter, that sometimes the ordinary events of life that seem important at the time must be pushed to one side. You could call it our survival instinct. But I would just call it priorities.

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Starting anew
Poem

If the sun ceased to shine, and the pleasant breeze to blow, If your mind tired to wander, and your most promising thoughts to escape, If your relations could no longer relate, and your friends no longer sympathise, If you and the world around you fell apart, would you cry for the end of days? Or would you wait to start anew?

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Legacy born
Poem

Where there is life, So too there is death, But where there is love, We need never forget. The memories we hold, Those still young, And those now old, Shall continue to be sung. For in your passing, A legacy was born, A love so forever strong, That we need never mourn.

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Discarding the past

Poem

What if I were to run for a day and for a night for a month and for a year down a road less travelled to anywhere but here. My so-called belongings would stay where they were drawer upon drawer needed no more. The darkest of thoughts expelled day by day to leave almost nothing but room for somedays something. If my reckless abandon wavered for a moment I would know Id found the end and another new beginning.

What if I were to run to follow freedom and the sun to leave my life behind and find new life in what I find.

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The last word

Thank you for reading

This opportunity is as good as any for me to acknowledge how grateful I am to the friends, family, teachers and others who have taught me so many valuable lessons that have served me well over the past 12 months.

I might, I could & I hope are all as weak as one another. I can. Great work often happens between long bouts of hard work. Life can look miserable through tired eyes. Sleep. Silence is precious. It allows time for thought which often results in far better conversation.
I hope you have a wonderful new year, Daniel Coats

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