Child Labor in Mexico Essay examples -- Argumentative Persuasive Essay

Child Labor in Mexico Veronica Hernandez began her working career in a factory sweatshop. She was only 8 years old. After more than 12 years of intense and monotonous work in a number of different factories, Hernandez still, â€Å"felt as poor as the day she first climbed onto the lower rungs of the global assembly line† (Ferriss, source#2). Veronica works about 45 hours a week for only a base salary of $55, an occupation where she assembles RCA televisions by the Thomson Corporation. While some people you know complain of not having cable or enough channels for their big screen television, Veronica is blessed that she even owns one. She lives in a one room hut that includes no more than an out-house and an old refrigerator. She has to haul water from a single faucet that services a group of other families as well as her own. Hoping that some development would come (either in working conditions or wage) since the beginning of her working career as a child, Hernandez knows that progress hasnâ €™t developed within the last couple of years. While she continues to slave in ‘maquiladoras’ (U.S. and other foreign-owned factories that assemble products for consumers), people around the globe are searching to find alternate ways to create work. The need for improvement in working conditions and withholding laws to keep young children out of factory work is urgent. Child labor is a serious issue that needs the world’s attention now more than ever. Child labor has become an ongoing global concern for many years. The practice sweatshops in places such as South America and Asia are responsible for much of the manufactured goods people own today. While hundreds of organized unions and corporations look for answers to this unheal... ... 29 Oct. 2003. Global march on Five Continents Target Child Labor. Labor Alerts-a Service of â€Å"Campaign for Labor Rights.† Washington, 2003. Greenhouse, Steven. â€Å"Nike Identified Plants Abroad Making goods for Universities† New York Times. 8 Oct. 1999. Homepage. www.Crea-inc.org/pr01.htm Homepage. www.gobalexhange.org/sweatshops/gap/background.html Homepage. http://www.ilo.org/public/english/standards/relm/ilc/index.htm Homepage. www.natlaw.com/pubs/torrient.htm Homepage. www.usinfo.state.gov/journals/ites/1002/igee/ftaa-derbex.htm Homepage. www.sweatshops.org. â€Å"How NAFTA Failed Mexico† The American Prospect. July-Aug. 2003. 14. Latapi, Agustin and Mercedes Gonzalez. Crisis, Restructuring and Urban Poverty in Mexico. Logan, Marty. Trade Americas: FTAA Environmental Outlook Break, experts say. 14 Oct. 2003.

Andy Goldsworthy Essay -- British Artist Art

Andy Goldsworthy Where does art-making begin and end? Andy Goldsworthy, a 40-year-old British artist who uses nature as a partner, raises this question with his works of amazing art; some of them are temporary, some meant to last. Goldsworthy creates works of extraordinary beauty using natural materials, stones, wood, water, which then disintegrate naturally or are deliberately dismantled. Andy Goldsworthy, a non-traditional sculptor, was born in Cheshire, England in 1956 and raised in Yorkshire. Currently, Goldsworthy resides at Penpont, Dumfriesshire, Scotland. While attending Harrogate High School, as a teenager, photographer and sculptor, he worked as a hired hand on farms outside Leeds, England. It was then that he began to explore the patterns of nature by arranging its building blocks in unexpected ways. These farm experiences provided him with direct encounters and knowledge related to working the land. After high school, Goldsworthy attended Bradford College of Art. Later, at Preston College in Lancaster, England, Goldsworthy took additional courses in fine art and began to develop his own style. Soon, the outdoors became his studio and he discovered he was happier living on a farm than in a college studio. His view of nature opposes altering the land. Goldsworthy says, "I have become aware of how nature is in a state of change and how that change is the key to understanding. I want my art to be sensitive and alert to changes in material, season and weather. Often I can only follow a train of thought while a particular weather condition persists. When a change comes, the idea must alter or it will, and often does, fail. I am sometimes left stranded by a change in the weather with half-understood feelings tha... ...itchie proclaims that "Goldsworthy, whose self-professed ambition is to utilize nature's inherent energy, succeeds in making its forces visible." There are many ways to understand the work of Andy Goldsworthy and contemporary ecological art. Synopsis of print, Goldsworthy's piece "Kaede" leaves around a hole, yellow to reds, afternoon, overcast, going dark, 14 November 1987. Is a very bright piece. There are many colored leaves around a hole. This piece reminds me of a sun burst. It has such bright colors. It is a wonderful piece. Bibliography http://www.museum.cornell.edu/HFJ/currex/goldworthy.html http://www.kidscastle.si.edu/channels/arts/facts/artsfact9.html http://www.sculpture.org.uk/biograph/goldswor.html http://www.santafe.edu/~shaliz/reviews/goldworthy~collaboration/ Bourdon, D (1993). Andy Goldsworthy at Lelong. Art in America, p. 121.

Part Three Chapter IV

IV ‘Very sad,' said Howard Mollison, rocking a little on his toes in front of his mantelpiece. ‘Very sad indeed.' Maureen had just finished telling them all about Catherine Weedon's death; she had heard everything from her friend Karen the receptionist that evening, including the complaint from Cath Weedon's granddaughter. A look of delighted disapproval was crumpling her face; Samantha, who was in a very bad mood, thought she resembled a monkey nut. Miles was making conventional sounds of surprise and pity, but Shirley was staring up at the ceiling with a bland expression on her face; she hated it when Maureen held centre stage with news that she ought to have heard first. ‘My mother knew the family of old,' Howard told Samantha, who already knew it. ‘Neighbours in Hope Street. Cath was decent enough in her way, you know. The house was always spotless, and she worked until she was into her sixties. Oh, yes, she was one of the world's grafters, Cath Weedon, whatever the rest of the family became.' Howard was enjoying giving credit where credit was due. ‘The husband lost his job when they closed the steelworks. Hard drinker. No, she didn't always have it easy, Cath.' Samantha was barely managing to look interested, but fortunately Maureen interrupted. ‘And the Gazette's on to Dr Jawanda!' she croaked. ‘Imagine how she must be feeling, now the paper's got it! Family's kicking up a stink – well, you can't blame them, alone in that house for three days. D'you know her, Howard? Which one is Danielle Fowler?' Shirley got up and stalked out of the room in her apron. Samantha slugged a little more wine, smiling. ‘Let's think, let's think,' said Howard. He prided himself on knowing almost everyone in Pagford, but the later generations of Weedons belonged more to Yarvil. ‘Can't be a daughter, she had four boys, Cath. Granddaughter, I expect.' ‘And she wants an inquiry,' said Maureen. ‘Well, it was always going to come to this. It's been on the cards. If anything, I'm surprised it's taken this long. Dr Jawanda wouldn't give the Hubbards' son antibiotics and he ended up hospitalized for his asthma. Do you know, did she train in India, or – ?' Shirley, who was listening from the kitchen while she stirred the gravy, felt irritated, as she always did, by Maureen's monopolization of the conversation; that, at least, was how Shirley put it to herself. Determined not to return to the room until Maureen had finished, Shirley turned into the study and checked to see whether anyone had sent in apologies for the next Parish Council meeting; as secretary, she was already putting together the agenda. ‘Howard – Miles – come and look at this!' Shirley's voice had lost its usual soft, flutey quality; it rang out shrilly. Howard waddled out of the sitting room followed by Miles, who was still in the suit he had worn all day at work. Maureen's droopy, bloodshot, heavily mascara-ed eyes were fixed on the empty doorway like a bloodhound's; her hunger to know what Shirley had found or seen was almost palpable. Maureen's fingers, a clutch of bulging knuckles covered in translucent leopard-spotted skin, slid the crucifix and wedding ring up and down the chain around her neck. The deep creases running from the corners of Maureen's mouth to her chin always reminded Samantha of a ventriloquist's dummy. Why are you always here? Samantha asked the older woman loudly, inside her own head. You couldn't make me lonely enough to live in Howard and Shirley's pocket. Disgust rose in Samantha like vomit. She wanted to seize the over-warm cluttered room and mash it between her hands, until the royal china, and the gas fire, and the gilt-framed pictures of Miles broke into jagged pieces; then, with wizened and painted Maureen trapped and squalling inside the wreckage, she wanted to heave it, like a celestial shot-putter, away into the sunset. The crushed lounge and the doomed crone inside it, soared in her imagination through the heavens, plunging into the limitless ocean, leaving Samantha alone in the endless stillness of the universe. She had had a terrible afternoon. There had been another frightening conversation with her accountant; she could not remember much of her drive home from Yarvil. She would have liked to offload on Miles, but after dumping his briefcase and pulling off his tie in the hall he had said, ‘You haven't started dinner yet, have you?' He sniffed the air ostentatiously, then answered himself. ‘No, you haven't. Well, good, because Mum and Dad have invited us over.' And before she could protest, he had added sharply, ‘It's nothing to do with the council. It's to discuss arrangements for Dad's sixty-fifth.' Anger was almost a relief; it eclipsed her anxiety, her fear. She had followed Miles out to the car, cradling her sense of ill-usage. When he asked, at last, on the corner of Evertree Crescent, ‘How was your day?' she answered, ‘Absolutely bloody fantastic.' ‘Wonder what's up?' said Maureen, breaking the silence in the sitting room. Samantha shrugged. It was typical of Shirley to have summoned her menfolk and left the women in limbo; Samantha was not going to give her mother-in-law the satisfaction of showing interest. Howard's elephantine footsteps made the floorboards under the hall carpet creak. Maureen's mouth was slack with anticipation. ‘Well, well, well,' boomed Howard, lumbering back into the room. ‘I was checking the council website for apologies,' said Shirley, a little breathless in his wake. ‘For the next meeting – ‘ ‘Someone's posted accusations about Simon Price,' Miles told Samantha, pressing past his parents, seizing the role of announcer. ‘What kind of accusations?' asked Samantha. ‘Receiving stolen goods,' said Howard, firmly reclaiming the spotlight, ‘and diddling his bosses at the printworks.' Samantha was pleased to find herself unmoved. She had only the haziest idea who Simon Price was. ‘They've posted under a pseudonym,' Howard continued, ‘and it's not a particularly tasteful pseudonym, either.' ‘Rude, you mean?' Samantha asked. ‘Big-Fat-Cock or something?' Howard's laughter boomed through the room, Maureen gave an affected shriek of horror, but Miles scowled and Shirley looked furious. ‘Not quite that, Sammy, no,' said Howard. ‘No, they've called themselves â€Å"The Ghost of Barry Fairbrother†.' ‘Oh,' said Samantha, her grin evaporating. She did not like that. After all, she had been in the ambulance while they had forced needles and tubes into Barry's collapsed body; she had watched him dying beneath the plastic mask; seen Mary clinging to his hand, heard her groans and sobs. ‘Oh, no, that's not nice,' said Maureen, relish in her bullfrog's voice. ‘No, that's nasty. Putting words into the mouths of the dead. Taking names in vain. That's not right.' ‘No,' agreed Howard. Almost absent-mindedly, he strolled across the room, picked up the wine bottle and returned to Samantha, topping up her empty glass. ‘But someone out there doesn't care about good taste it seems, if they can put Simon Price out of the running.' ‘If you're thinking what I think you're thinking, Dad,' said Miles, ‘wouldn't they have gone for me rather than Price?' ‘How do you know they haven't, Miles?' ‘Meaning?' asked Miles swiftly. ‘Meaning,' said Howard, the happy cynosure of all eyes, ‘that I got sent an anonymous letter about you a couple of weeks ago. Nothing specific. Just said you were unfit to fill Fairbrother's shoes. I'd be very surprised if the letter didn't come from the same source as the online post. The Fairbrother theme in both, you see?' Samantha tilted her glass a little too enthusiastically, so that wine trickled down the sides of her chin, exactly where her own ventriloquist's doll grooves would no doubt appear in time. She mopped her face with her sleeve. ‘Where is this letter?' asked Miles, striving not to look rattled. ‘I shredded it. It was anonymous; it didn't count.' ‘We didn't want to upset you, dear,' said Shirley, and she patted Miles' arm. ‘Anyway, they can't have anything on you,' Howard reassured his son, ‘or they'd have dished the dirt, the same as they have on Price.' ‘Simon Price's wife is a lovely girl,' said Shirley with gentle regret. ‘I can't believe Ruth knows anything about it, if her husband's been on the fiddle. She's a friend from the hospital,' Shirley elaborated to Maureen. ‘An agency nurse.' ‘She wouldn't be the first wife who hasn't spotted what's going on under her nose,' retorted Maureen, trumping insider knowledge with worldly wisdom. ‘Absolutely brazen, using Barry Fairbrother's name,' said Shirley, pretending not to have heard Maureen. ‘Not a thought for his widow, his family. All that matters is their agenda; they'll sacrifice anything to it.' ‘Shows you what we're up against,' said Howard. He scratched the overfold of his belly, thinking. ‘Strategically, it's smart. I saw from the get-go that Price was going to split the pro-Fields vote. No flies on Bends-Your-Ear; she's realized it too and she wants him out.' ‘But,' said Samantha, ‘it mightn't have anything to do with Parminder and that lot at all. It could be from someone we don't know, someone who's got a grudge against Simon Price.' ‘Oh, Sam,' said Shirley, with a tinkling laugh, shaking her head. ‘It's easy to see you're new to politics.' Oh, fuck off, Shirley. ‘So why have they used Barry Fairbrother's name, then?' asked Miles, rounding on his wife. ‘Well, it's on the website, isn't it? It's his vacant seat.' ‘And who's going to trawl through the council website for that kind of information? No,' he said gravely, ‘this is an insider.' An insider †¦ Libby had once told Samantha that there could be thousands of microscopic species inside one drop of pond water. They were all perfectly ridiculous, Samantha thought, sitting here in front of Shirley's commemorative plates as if they were in the Cabinet Room in Downing Street, as though one bit of tittle-tattle on a Parish Council website constituted an organized campaign, as though any of it mattered. Consciously and defiantly, Samantha withdrew her attention from the lot of them. She fixed her eyes on the window and the clear evening sky beyond, and she thought about Jake, the muscular boy in Libby's favourite band. At lunchtime today, Samantha had gone out for sandwiches, and brought back a music magazine in which Jake and his bandmates were interviewed. There were lots of pictures. ‘It's for Libby,' Samantha had told the girl who helped her in the shop. ‘Wow, look at that. I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating toast,' replied Carly, pointing at Jake, naked from the waist up, his head thrown back to reveal that thick strong neck. ‘Oh, but he's only twenty-one, look. I'm not a cradle-snatcher.' Carly was twenty-six. Samantha did not care to subtract Jake's age from her own. She had eaten her sandwich and read the interview, and studied all the pictures. Jake with his hands on a bar above his head, biceps swelling under a black T-shirt; Jake with his white shirt open, abdominal muscles chiselled above the loose waistband of his jeans. Samantha drank Howard's wine and stared out at the sky above the black privet hedge, which was a delicate shade of rose pink; the precise shade her nipples had been before they had been darkened and distended by pregnancy and breast-feeding. She imagined herself nineteen to Jake's twenty-one, slender-waisted again, taut curves in the right places, and a strong flat stomach of her own, fitting comfortably into her white, size ten shorts. She vividly recalled how it felt to sit on a young man's lap in those shorts, with the heat and roughness of sun-warmed denim under her bare thighs, and big hands around her lithe waist. She imagined Jake's breath on her neck; she imagined turning to look into the blue eyes, close to the high cheekbones and that firm, carved mouth †¦ ‘†¦ at the church hall, and we're getting it catered by Bucknoles,' said Howard. ‘We've invited everyone: Aubrey and Julia – everyone. With luck it will be a double celebration, you on the council, me, another year young †¦' Samantha felt tipsy and randy. When were they going to eat? She realized that Shirley had left the room, hopefully to put food on the table. The telephone rang at Samantha's elbow, and she jumped. Before any of them could move, Shirley had bustled back in. She had one hand in a flowery oven glove, and picked up the receiver with the other. ‘Double-two-five-nine?' sang Shirley on a rising inflection. ‘Oh †¦ hello, Ruth, dear!' Howard, Miles and Maureen became rigidly attentive. Shirley turned to look at her husband with intensity, as if she were transmitting Ruth's voice through her eyes into her husband's mind. ‘Yes,' fluted Shirley. ‘Yes †¦' Samantha, sitting closest to the receiver, could hear the other woman's voice but not make out the words. ‘Oh, really †¦?' Maureen's mouth was hanging open again; she was like an ancient baby bird, or perhaps a pterodactyl, hungering for regurgitated news. ‘Yes, dear, I see †¦ oh, that shouldn't be a problem †¦ no, no, I'll explain to Howard. No, no trouble at all.' Shirley's small hazel eyes had not wavered from Howard's big, popping blue ones. ‘Ruth, dear,' said Shirley, ‘Ruth, I don't want to worry you, but have you been on the council website today? †¦ Well †¦ it's not very nice, but I think you ought to know †¦ somebody's posted something nasty about Simon †¦ well, I think you'd better read it for yourself, I wouldn't want to †¦ all right, dear. All right. See you Wednesday, I hope. Yes. Bye bye.' Shirley replaced the receiver. ‘She didn't know,' Miles stated. Shirley shook her head. ‘Why was she calling?' ‘Her son,' Shirley told Howard. ‘Your new potboy. He's got a peanut allergy.' ‘Very handy, in a delicatessen,' said Howard. ‘She wanted to ask whether you could store a needleful of adrenalin in the fridge for him, just in case,' said Shirley. Maureen sniffed. ‘They've all got allergies these days, children.' Shirley's ungloved hand was still clutching the receiver. She was subconsciously hoping to feel tremors down the line from Hilltop House.

Violence in media

Poor relationships), education (Insignificant schooling), socioeconomic status and community (egg. Neighborhood violence) M; West, M; Marrow, D; Hamburger, M; Boxer, P, 2008, p. 929). Although exposure to media violence is not the primary motive for aggressive behavior, it is however, the single most curable contributing reason. Violence is noticeably becoming a key factor within today's society; medias interpretation and representation of violence on all forms of interaction must play a role on our behavior to date.Theorists have established from recent research that violent media for instance, video games and movies, â€Å"temporarily Increase aggressive thoughts. Aggressive affect and physiological arousal† (Carnage, Anderson, & Bartholomew, 2007, p. 179), thus creating violent behaviors. In addition, Anderson cited that, â€Å"the industry markets violent video games to underage kids† (Anderson, 2004, p. 1 1 which evokes violent thoughts, imitation and aggressive ac tions. Through this proposed study a major issue raised within the area of media violence would be addressed.This Issue that needs to be noninsured Is the long-term effects that may occur to the youth. In this context, â€Å"physiological desensitizing displays reduced or no emotional feelings or empathy for others, due to media influencing thoughts, feelings and motives; primarily this has become a concern as media increased the likelihood of violent behavior† (Houseman, L & Taylor, L, 2006; & Carnage, N, Anderson, C & Bartholomew, B, 2007). The aim of this study is to investigate the potential gaps to help understand the relationship between violence in the media, and aggressive behavior between he youth of today.Firstly, notwithstanding the substantial Information already gathered on the short-term effects of media violence, little study has been able to link media and young adults to seriously violent behavioral tendencies (Hobart, M; West, M; Marrow, D; Hamburger, M; Box er, P, 2008, p. 930). Secondly, the studies undertaken to date on the effects of media violence influencing hostile behavior, seem to be more noticeable for the earlier years with once again only touching the boundaries In regards to adolescents.This study will analyses behavior and affects as not been fully investigated & recorded in the past due to concentration of research on media violence on adolescents. I wish to undertake this research to see if a link can be established between media violence and the seemingly known aggression for this age group. If proven this would assist our legislators draft comprehensive legislation, based on sound research, to address issues & provide protection for our youth going forward. Analyses of this study will focus particularly on the pervasiveness and the characteristics of young adults exposed to violence through movies and video games.Aims and Objectives The specific aim of this study is to critically assess the association between violence in the media and the expression of seriously violent behavior among the youth, ages 18-24, in a quota sample. The objectives of this project are to: 1 . Critically examine existing knowledge and gaps on this particular topic. 2. Classify and examine the different effects for different media. 3. Develop further theory to examine if media violence is considered a problem. 4. Evaluate people's perceptions of the impact media violence has on themselves and other young individual's in the youth. . Make recommendations to address issues and provide protection for the youth going forward. Literature review A significant and growing body of researchers state that the â€Å"youth exposure to media violence leads to increased aggressiveness† (Slater. M, Henry, K, Swami, R & Anderson, L, 2003, p. 713). This can be seen as a serious problem within the society; due to the fact media violence primes the viewers for aggressive behavior by stimulating violent-related thoughts, evokes imitat ion and increases arousal (Meyer, 1010, P. 243).Nonetheless, many individuals believe that media violence will not affect hem negatively or directly. However, the outcomes for media violence present instant effects or long-term effects within individuals, especially throughout the numerous types of media. From a social-neuroscience viewpoint, video games are portrayed as a different type of media than television and movies, mainly because â€Å"video games are more interactive and immerse, engaging neural systems which activate and effect aggressive behaviors† (Carnage, Anderson, & Bartholomew, 2007, p. 79); in this context, video games primarily engage the players, allowing these players o identify themselves as the attacker, to receive direct awards and promote In addition, physiological desensitizing needs to be considered for the youth as this theory leads to reduced or no emotions towards others as suggested by Carnage, Anderson & Bartholomew, where they state Moline in movies and on television has changed many individuals reactions so much that they laugh at human suffering, thus suggesting that this immediate effect is linked to an increase in aggression and reduced sympathy' (2007, p 180).Therefore this may demonstrate Eng term and repeated exposure to violence in all aspects of the media can influence and increase aggression throughout their lifespan. Various studies previously undertaken regarding video game violence and its possible promotion of antisocial behavior, shows the individual identifying and role-playing the violent characters. This is evident in a study conducted by Douglas Gentile (2004) about young individuals who frequently played violent video games, and were more likely to have increased aggression and fights then those who participated in non-hostile media games.Similarly, Potter suggests that â€Å"when violence permeates the media year after year in all kinds of programming and when the message of that violence is antisoc ial, the mean of society is likely to move gradually in an antisocial direction† (Potter, 2003, p. 50), therefore, creating the key idea that individuals will try harder to gain social acceptance through aggressive actions due to the cause of violent media. SECTION B: Methodology and Research design Methodology The proposed research conducted would be best lead through an interpretative paradigm as the theoretical framework for this study.Interpretative seeks to comprehend and describe human social reality, an understanding that is diverse for every individual person (Walter, 2010). This research will endeavourer to understand the impact media violence has on the youth within society and how behavior can be influenced and imitated through observational viewing. To comprehend the aim of this study, a mixed methodology of quantitative and qualitative research will be used for the investigation. As part of the quantitative research, quota sampling will be utilized to segregate th e population as the research focuses only on the youth populace, ages 18-24.Additionally, a convenience random sample survey on survey monkey will be utilized to gain the data of a small sample group consisting of 20 individuals. The questions asked will help gain personal perspectives of individuals and assist in understanding, if, why and how types of media cause aggression and behavioral changes in the youth. Furthermore, other factors such as socioeconomic status, environmental, and education aspects are considered within the sample survey as they can determine whether individual's behaviors can be Just affected by these factors or also linked in with media violence.Research portrayed suggested that lower socioeconomic status societies on average watch more television, thus presents higher dosage of media violence (Cantor, J, 2000). This project will gather information from key individuals based on their own The qualitative approach will be applied to analyses numerous types of literature and data to support the research proposal. This project will conduct a detailed investigation into the study conducted by Anderson, C & Dill, K (2000) on their examination of violent video games affecting aggressive behaviors in the laboratory and in life.Anderson, C & Dill, K (2000) study the ways in which media shapes individual behaviors based on aggression-related variables and personal characteristics. The myriad types of literature will be thoroughly examined and compared with the quantitative study to finalist an outcome. Research design The research aims to understand whether young individuals within today's society are influenced and dominated by the violence portrayed within the media, which can lead to changed behaviors. The first task is to select the participants for this convenient random sample survey.This research will target the youth populace; ages 18-24, with 20 participants both male and female conveniently selected to participate. All participant's wi ll remain anonymous and will take place through survey monkey in order for subjects to easily access the sample survey. The second task is to provide the link to the youth, ages 18-24, for the sample survey to be completed. The link will be conveniently published on the University of Western Sydney Backbone page to gain anonymous participants. The surveys will consist of liker- type and open-ended questions to make the survey in-depth, yet ass to complete.A third task to be undertaken whilst the surveys are being completed is to conduct the qualitative approach within this study. This methodology will be utilized to examine myriad types of literature to gather and compare data to gain an outcome. The data gathered will be analyses through statistical and text analysis of the methodology developed. Through survey monkey, the data is manually analyses from the participant surveys completed, in which, an excel sheet will be created and the results conveyed within the survey will be inv estigated further to help validate the proposal.Ethical procedures Ethical considerations are essential when undertaking research methodology. Issues such as confidentially, anonymity and the right to withdrawal from the study are significant principles that are put in place for this study, for the respect of the participants. Informed consent is the cornerstone for research and an important aspect provided to potential subjects. This study will provide the participants with an information sheet detailing all the information about the study being conducted in a clear and brief manner.Along with the information sheet, a consent form will be sent voluntarily and to be free from coercion. For ethical reasons, subjects will only be allowed to complete this study if they are 18 years of age; this will be clearly stated in the consent form to avoid any issues further down the track. The process of the consent form will also imply that subjects have to right to withdrawal from the study at any point. The right to confidentiality is essential in research (Polite & Beck, 2010) but may be conflicting in this proposed study.This is due to the facts that the surveys will be asking for their own perspectives, opinions and experiences, which ay lead to break confidentiality. However, participant's identities will remain protected from the public. Through the research methodology for this study, there is a myriad of benefits and risks that may be presented. With the online surveys being the primary form of data collection for this study, this has allowed for a cost-effective and efficient way of collecting information from a population.However, concerns arise with this form of surveying, as it is not secure in preventing under age individuals from completing it. In addition, a risk that may influence this study is the act that not all youths are the same and what may disturb one individual may have no effect on another. Likewise, development concerns, emotional maturity and relationships with others seem to be a much more significant role in determining if an individual is at risk for violent behavior (Media smart, 2012).

Different Approaches in The Wisdom of Teams

Jon R. Katzenbach is a director of McKinsey & Company, Inc., where he has served the senior executives of leading companies for over thirty years. His experience includes work with both public and private sector clients from the industrial, financial, and consumer industries. He has also served a variety of nonprofit institutions. He specializes in issues involving corporate governance, organization, and leadership. Douglas K. Smith is a former consultant at McKinsey & Company, Inc., who today is a leading commentator on organizational performance and change. Simply, teams outperform people working alone. This is especially true when the performance requires multiple skills, judgements, and experiences. Consultants or former consultants of large consulting firms wrote the Wisdom of Teams. The Wisdom of Teams authors have roots at McKinsey. A consulting firm based out of Dallas Texas. The authors have spent considerable time working with teams, studying them and are now using their books to impart that knowledge to those seeking to form, develop and facilitate successful teams in their organizations. However, the two books take very different approaches. Teams are one of the catchwords of the 90's. And with them has come an explosion of literature telling us what teams are and what they are not; how to create them, measure them, use them and empower them. A new vocabulary has emerged that distinguishes work groups from work teams, and self-directed teams from all other teams. Some of the essential lessons learned about teams and team performance are: – Teams do not arise without a perforce challenge that is meaningful to those involved. – Real team†s results will be greater if the leaders aim their sights on preference. – Biases toward individualism cannot interfere with the team†s goals. The Wisdom of Teams presents lessons learned from the success and failure of actual teams. The authors base their wisdom on personal experience along with extensive interviews conducted with 50 different businesses. Katzenbach and Smith's lessons are supported by case studies. â€Å"Real† teams are the focus of the book. According to Katzenbach and Smith, a â€Å"real† team is a small number of people with complementary skills who are committed to a common purpose, performance goals and approach for which they hold themselves mutually accountable. These elements of a team — purpose, performance goals, common approach to work and mutual accountability — define what teams are and how they should be managed. Teams are distinguished from work groups in that the work they perform is collective as opposed to the sum of individual contributions, leadership roles are shared, and the team does real work together that result in a specific product or service being delivered. This distinction is important, because the focus of the book is on what teams are, what it takes to become a team and how to exploit the potential of successful teams. The authors also present useful guidelines for determining when to use a team and when to use a work group. Teams are not presented as an organizational ideal. In fact, Katzenbach and Smith encourage looking at the organization's goals and policies to determine if a team or work group is the best choice. Their bias is that teams are worth the trouble where they support organizational goals. In their view, the potential of teams is unlimited and cultivating real teams is one of the best ways of upgrading the overall performance of an organization. Katzenbach and Smith's advice is simple, straightforward, and practical. They look at teams in an organizational context. Certain elements are critical to team success. The organization needs to have or develop a strong â€Å"performance ethic.† In other words, compelling clear purposes and performance standards need to be an important part of the organization's culture. According to Katzenbach and Smith, performance, not chemistry, shapes teams. â€Å"Real† teams emerge when the individuals in them take risks involving conflict, trust, interdependence, and hard work. Making conflict constructive by developing ways to handle differences and concerns and molding them into common goals is when real teams emerge. The authors suggest achieving this by establishing urgency and clear direction in teams, selecting members based on skill balance, not personality, and with opportunities to learn from each other. Establishing clear start-up rules for behavior and seizing upon a few immediate performance-oriented tasks that are challenging but achievable also help teams develop. Spending lots of time together and giving positive feedback are key. The authors describe the senior management team as the hardest to establish they present this as a fact of organizational life that can be addressed. Their solution: start by creating a strong senior management work group and go from there. Many successful organizations using teams have them. The authors are also realists. The difficulty teams may face such as lack of management direction is described with suggestions for addressing them. Finally, and maybe most importantly, Katzenbach and Smith are optimists. They believe that most people are able to lead. Leaders need to provide guidance and give up control and most importantly believe in the team and put them first. It is that attitude, belief in the team, that is the most important characteristic of a leader. They conclude that a strong performance ethic leads to the pursuit of common performance results that benefit customers, shareholders, and employees. An overemphasis on any one area creates distortions that lead to turf battles and politics. Managers must demand and then relentlessly support pursuit of performance by teams. This clear simple model can easily be applied to any type of organization. All of this advice is offered while keeping jargon to a minimum. In fact, the book starts by acknowledging what we all know creating change in an organization can be difficult. Yet, The Wisdom of Teams provides simple strategies, to analyze organizational readiness, and alternatives that will get your organization closer to a real team environment. It outlines the basics elements of team and then offers techniques for sticking to them to achieve success. You do not need to be a process consultant to make teams work in Katzenbach and Smith's world. In addition, this is the book's greatest strength. While the advice offered is good, the book could be much more concise and easier to read. Many of the points are redundant. This is a good book for the beginner, who wants to understand the issues.

Character’s Personality in the Great Gatsby Essay

The Great Gatsby, a novel by F. Scott Fitzgerald, is a love story about one man’s desire to climb the social ladder and to marry the girl of his dreams. In this novel, Fitzgerald uses imagery and many symbols to reveal significant aspects of the central character, Jay Gatsby’s, personality. The green light reveals hope in Gatsby’s future. His mansion is also a symbol, representing his wealth but also how he still wishes to be classed higher in society. The Eggs also represent the barriers between the upper and lower classes of Long Island. First of all, the colour green that is displayed through the light that Gatsby notices â€Å"[Daisy] always [has on] that burns all night at the end of [her] dock† (91) represents Jay Gatsby’s jealousy towards Tom Buchanan as well as his hopes for his future, including the American Dream. Envy that Gatsby feels for Tom Buchanan is present because Gatsby loves Daisy and wanted to marry five years ago, but could not because of the difference in social class. At the time, Daisy was a rich girl and Jay, a poor boy. Daisy could not have possibly married someone as poor as Jay Gatsby and could not wait around for him either, so she married Tom Buchanan, which leads to Gatsby’s jealousy. When they are all in town, Gatsby tells Tom that â€Å"[Daisy has] never loved [him]† (124) and rather that she has loved Gatsby all along. He tells Tom that â€Å"[Daisy] only married [him] because [he] was poor and she was tired of waiting for [him]† (124). When Gatsby â€Å"[stretches] out his arms out toward the dark water† (25) at the green light, this shows Gatsby reaching for his love, Daisy Buchanan, trying to grab the woman that he could never have, which seems so close but is farther than it appears. The green light represents Gatsby’s obsession with love and his hopes to reconcile with Daisy which leads to also representing the American Dream, a dream that anyone can live the life they wish for if they work hard. The green light represents money, wealth, power and love, which is everything Gatsby wishes he had to live the American Dream. Secondly, another symbol used to reveal aspects of Jay Gatsby’s personality is his mansion. Although Gatsby lives in West Egg and lives next to Nick Carraway’s â€Å"small eyesore† (11) of a home, Nick describes Gatsby’s house as â€Å"a colossal affair by any standard† (11) and â€Å"a factual imitation of some Hà ´tel de Ville in Normandy† (11). His mansion represents his wealth and even though Gatsby is extremely rich with the money he has earned, he will never obtain his goal to be ranked high enough in society to be a part of the East Egg community with Tom and Daisy Buchanan. Gatsby’s mansion also symbolises his extravagance which is used to gain attention from people of Long Island to prove that he is just as worthy as they are. He throws big parties featuring â€Å"buffet tables, garnished with glistening hors-d’oeuvres [and] spiced baked hams† (41) and an orchestra with â€Å"oboes, trombones and saxophones, and viols and cornets and piccolos† (42). All this to prove he was like them. Gatsby’s mansion, just like the green light, also represents the American Dream. A life he wish he had. Finally, one other symbol that is exemplified throughout the book is Eggs. The division of the East and West Eggs â€Å"twenty miles from the city† (10) symbolises Gatsby’s obsession with increasing his social status. Gatsby lives in West Egg, the â€Å"less fashionable† (10) of the two Eggs. The East Egg is where all the old money is. This is a place where everyone is accustomed to their wealthy lifestyle, being born into rich families, refined and are all socially conscious. The West Egg is where the new money is and where everything is over the top and flashy. Despite the fact that Gatsby lives in West Egg, he aspires to be accepted into the East Egg Society by flaunting his wealth. In conclusion, F. Scott Fitzgerald uses many symbols in The Great Gatsby to reveal significant aspects of the central character, Jay Gatsby’s, personality. The green light signifies jealousy, envy, hope and the American Dream while Gatsby’s mansion demonstrates his want to be something he is not. The division between the Eggs are also important and symbolise Gatsby’s obsession in climbing the social ladder. Works Cited Fitzgerald, F. Scott. The Great Gatsby. Penguin Books; London, England, 1950.

The Da Vinci Code Chapter 4-6

CHAPTER 4 Captain Bezu Fache carried himself like an angry ox, with his wide shoulders thrown back and his chin tucked hard into his chest. His dark hair was slicked back with oil, accentuating an arrow-like widow's peak that divided his jutting brow and preceded him like the prow of a battleship. As he advanced, his dark eyes seemed to scorch the earth before him, radiating a fiery clarity that forecast his reputation for unblinking severity in all matters. Langdon followed the captain down the famous marble staircase into the sunken atrium beneath the glass pyramid. As they descended, they passed between two armed Judicial Police guards with machine guns. The message was clear: Nobody goes in or out tonight without the blessing of Captain Fache. Descending below ground level, Langdon fought a rising trepidation. Fache's presence was anything but welcoming, and the Louvre itself had an almost sepulchral aura at this hour. The staircase, like the aisle of a dark movie theater, was illuminated by subtle tread-lighting embedded in each step. Langdon could hear his own footsteps reverberating off the glass overhead. As he glanced up, he could see the faint illuminated wisps of mist from the fountains fading away outside the transparent roof. â€Å"Do you approve?† Fache asked, nodding upward with his broad chin. Langdon sighed, too tired to play games. â€Å"Yes, your pyramid is magnificent.† Fache grunted. â€Å"A scar on the face of Paris.† Strike one.Langdon sensed his host was a hard man to please. He wondered if Fache had any idea that this pyramid, at President Mitterrand's explicit demand, had been constructed of exactly 666 panes of glass – a bizarre request that had always been a hot topic among conspiracy buffs who claimed 666 was the number of Satan. Langdon decided not to bring it up. As they dropped farther into the subterranean foyer, the yawning space slowly emerged from the shadows. Built fifty-seven feet beneath ground level, the Louvre's newly constructed 70, 000-square-foot lobby spread out like an endless grotto. Constructed in warm ocher marble to be compatible with the honey-colored stone of the Louvre facade above, the subterranean hall was usually vibrant with sunlight and tourists. Tonight, however, the lobby was barren and dark, giving the entire space a cold and crypt-like atmosphere. â€Å"And the museum's regular security staff?† Langdon asked. â€Å"En quarantaine,†Fache replied, sounding as if Langdon were questioning the integrity of Fache's team. â€Å"Obviously, someone gained entry tonight who should not have. All Louvre night wardens are in the Sully Wing being questioned. My own agents have taken over museum security for the evening.† Langdon nodded, moving quickly to keep pace with Fache. â€Å"How well did you know Jacques Sauniere?† the captain asked. â€Å"Actually, not at all. We'd never met.† Fache looked surprised. â€Å"Your first meeting was to be tonight?† â€Å"Yes. We'd planned to meet at the American University reception following my lecture, but he never showed up.† Fache scribbled some notes in a little book. As they walked, Langdon caught a glimpse of the Louvre's lesser-known pyramid – La Pyramide Inversee – a huge inverted skylight that hung from the ceiling like a stalactite in an adjoining section of the entresol. Fache guided Langdon up a short set of stairs to the mouth of an arched tunnel, over which a sign read: DENON. The Denon Wing was the most famous of the Louvre's three main sections. â€Å"Who requested tonight's meeting?† Fache asked suddenly. â€Å"You or he?† The question seemed odd. â€Å"Mr. Sauniere did,† Langdon replied as they entered the tunnel. â€Å"His secretary contacted me a few weeks ago via e-mail. She said the curator had heard I would be lecturing in Paris this month and wanted to discuss something with me while I was here.† â€Å"Discuss what?† â€Å"I don't know. Art, I imagine. We share similar interests.† Fache looked skeptical. â€Å"You have no idea what your meeting was about?† Langdon did not. He'd been curious at the time but had not felt comfortable demanding specifics. The venerated Jacques Sauniere had a renowned penchant for privacy and granted very few meetings; Langdon was grateful simply for the opportunity to meet him. â€Å"Mr. Langdon, can you at least guess what our murder victim might have wanted to discuss with you on the night he was killed? It might be helpful.† The pointedness of the question made Langdon uncomfortable. â€Å"I really can't imagine. I didn't ask. I felt honored to have been contacted at all. I'm an admirer of Mr. Sauniere's work. I use his texts often in my classes.† Fache made note of that fact in his book. The two men were now halfway up the Denon Wing's entry tunnel, and Langdon could see the twin ascending escalators at the far end, both motionless. â€Å"So you shared interests with him?† Fache asked. â€Å"Yes. In fact, I've spent much of the last year writing the draft for a book that deals with Mr. Sauniere's primary area of expertise. I was looking forward to picking his brain.† Fache glanced up. â€Å"Pardon?† The idiom apparently didn't translate. â€Å"I was looking forward to learning his thoughts on the topic.† â€Å"I see. And what is the topic?† Langdon hesitated, uncertain exactly how to put it. â€Å"Essentially, the manuscript is about the iconography of goddess worship – the concept of female sanctity and the art and symbols associated with it.† Fache ran a meaty hand across his hair. â€Å"And Sauniere was knowledgeable about this?† â€Å"Nobody more so.† â€Å"I see.† Langdon sensed Fache did not see at all. Jacques Sauniere was considered the premiere goddess iconographer on earth. Not only did Sauniere have a personal passion for relics relating to fertility, goddess cults, Wicca, and the sacred feminine, but during his twenty-year tenure as curator, Sauniere had helped the Louvre amass the largest collection of goddess art on earth – labrys axes from the priestesses' oldest Greek shrine in Delphi, gold caducei wands, hundreds of Tjetankhs resembling small standing angels, sistrum rattles used in ancient Egypt to dispel evil spirits, and an astonishing array of statues depicting Horus being nursed by the goddess Isis. â€Å"Perhaps Jacques Sauniere knew of your manuscript?† Fache offered. â€Å"And he called the meeting to offer his help on your book.† Langdon shook his head. â€Å"Actually, nobody yet knows about my manuscript. It's still in draft form, and I haven't shown it to anyone except my editor.† Fache fell silent. Langdon did not add the reason he hadn't yet shown the manuscript to anyone else. The three- hundred-page draft – tentatively titled Symbols of the Lost Sacred Feminine – proposed some very unconventional interpretations of established religious iconography which would certainly be controversial. Now, as Langdon approached the stationary escalators, he paused, realizing Fache was no longer beside him. Turning, Langdon saw Fache standing several yards back at a service elevator. â€Å"We'll take the elevator,† Fache said as the lift doors opened. â€Å"As I'm sure you're aware, the gallery is quite a distance on foot.† Although Langdon knew the elevator would expedite the long, two-story climb to the Denon Wing, he remained motionless. â€Å"Is something wrong?† Fache was holding the door, looking impatient. Langdon exhaled, turning a longing glance back up the open-air escalator. Nothing's wrong at all, he lied to himself, trudging back toward the elevator. As a boy, Langdon had fallen down an abandoned well shaft and almost died treading water in the narrow space for hours before being rescued. Since then, he'd suffered a haunting phobia of enclosed spaces – elevators, subways, squash courts. The elevator is a perfectly safe machine, Langdon continually told himself, never believing it. It's a tiny metal box hanging in an enclosed shaft! Holding his breath, he stepped into the lift, feeling the familiar tingle of adrenaline as the doors slid shut. Two floors.Ten seconds. â€Å"You and Mr. Sauniere,† Fache said as the lift began to move,† you never spoke at all? Never corresponded? Never sent each other anything in the mail?† Another odd question. Langdon shook his head. â€Å"No. Never.† Fache cocked his head, as if making a mental note of that fact. Saying nothing, he stared dead ahead at the chrome doors. As they ascended, Langdon tried to focus on anything other than the four walls around him. In the reflection of the shiny elevator door, he saw the captain's tie clip – a silver crucifix with thirteen embedded pieces of black onyx. Langdon found it vaguely surprising. The symbol was known as a crux gemmata – a cross bearing thirteen gems – a Christian ideogram for Christ and His twelve apostles. Somehow Langdon had not expected the captain of the French police to broadcast his religion so openly. Then again, this was France; Christianity was not a religion here so much as a birthright. â€Å"It's a crux gemmata† Fache said suddenly. Startled, Langdon glanced up to find Fache's eyes on him in the reflection. The elevator jolted to a stop, and the doors opened. Langdon stepped quickly out into the hallway, eager for the wide-open space afforded by the famous high ceilings of the Louvre galleries. The world into which he stepped, however, was nothing like he expected. Surprised, Langdon stopped short. Fache glanced over. â€Å"I gather, Mr. Langdon, you have never seen the Louvre after hours?† I guess not, Langdon thought, trying to get his bearings. Usually impeccably illuminated, the Louvre galleries were startlingly dark tonight. Instead of the customary flat-white light flowing down from above, a muted red glow seemed to emanate upward from the baseboards – intermittent patches of red light spilling out onto the tile floors. As Langdon gazed down the murky corridor, he realized he should have anticipated this scene. Virtually all major galleries employed red service lighting at night – strategically placed, low-level, noninvasive lights that enabled staff members to navigate hallways and yet kept the paintings inrelative darkness to slow the fading effects of overexposure to light. Tonight, the museum possessed an almost oppressive quality. Long shadows encroached everywhere, and the usually soaring vaulted ceilings appeared as a low, black void. â€Å"This way,† Fache said, turning sharply right and setting out through a series of interconnected galleries. Langdon followed, his vision slowly adjusting to the dark. All around, large-format oils began to materialize like photos developing before him in an enormous darkroom†¦ their eyes following as he moved through the rooms. He could taste the familiar tang of museum air – an arid, deionized essence that carried a faint hint of carbon – the product of industrial, coal-filter dehumidifiers that ran around the clock to counteract the corrosive carbon dioxide exhaled by visitors. Mounted high on the walls, the visible security cameras sent a clear message to visitors: We see you.Do not touch anything. â€Å"Any of them real?† Langdon asked, motioning to the cameras. Fache shook his head. â€Å"Of course not.† Langdon was not surprised. Video surveillance in museums this size was cost-prohibitive and ineffective. With acres of galleries to watch over, the Louvre would require several hundred technicians simply to monitor the feeds. Most large museums now used† containment security.† Forget keeping thieves out.Keep them in.Containment was activated after hours, and if an intruder removed a piece of artwork, compartmentalized exits would seal around that gallery, and the thief would find himself behind bars even before the police arrived. The sound of voices echoed down the marble corridor up ahead. The noise seemed to be coming from a large recessed alcove that lay ahead on the right. A bright light spilled out into the hallway. â€Å"Office of the curator,† the captain said. As he and Fache drew nearer the alcove, Langdon peered down a short hallway, into Sauniere's luxurious study – warm wood, Old Master paintings, and an enormous antique desk on which stood a two-foot-tall model of a knight in full armor. A handful of police agents bustled about the room, talking on phones and taking notes. One of them was seated at Sauniere's desk, typing into a laptop. Apparently, the curator's private office had become DCPJ's makeshift command post for the evening. â€Å"Messieurs,† Fache called out, and the men turned. â€Å"Ne nous derangez pas sous aucun pretexte. Entendu?† Everyone inside the office nodded their understanding. Langdon had hung enough NE PAS DERANGER signs on hotel room doors to catch the gist of the captain's orders. Fache and Langdon were not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Leaving the small congregation of agents behind, Fache led Langdon farther down the darkened hallway. Thirty yards ahead loomed the gateway to the Louvre's most popular section – la Grande Galerie – a seemingly endless corridor that housed the Louvre's most valuable Italian masterpieces. Langdon had already discerned that this was where Sauniere's body lay; the Grand Gallery's famous parquet floor had been unmistakable in the Polaroid. As they approached, Langdon saw the entrance was blocked by an enormous steel grate that looked like something used by medieval castles to keep out marauding armies. â€Å"Containment security,†Fache said, as they neared the grate. Even in the darkness, the barricade looked like it could have restrained a tank. Arriving outside, Langdon peered through the bars into the dimly lit caverns of the Grand Gallery. â€Å"After you, Mr. Langdon,† Fache said. Langdon turned. After me, where?Fache motioned toward the floor at the base of the grate. Langdon looked down. In the darkness, he hadn't noticed. The barricade was raised about two feet, providing an awkward clearance underneath. â€Å"This area is still off limits to Louvre security,† Fache said. â€Å"My team from Police Technique etScientifique has just finished their investigation.† He motioned to the opening. â€Å"Please slide under.† Langdon stared at the narrow crawl space at his feet and then up at the massive iron grate. He's kidding, right? The barricade looked like a guillotine waiting to crush intruders. Fache grumbled something in French and checked his watch. Then he dropped to his knees and slithered his bulky frame underneath the grate. On the other side, he stood up and looked back through the bars at Langdon. Langdon sighed. Placing his palms flat on the polished parquet, he lay on his stomach and pulled himself forward. As he slid underneath, the nape of his Harris tweed snagged on the bottom of the grate, and he cracked the back of his head on the iron. Very suave, Robert, he thought, fumbling and then finally pulling himself through. As he stood up, Langdon was beginning to suspect it was going to be a very long night. CHAPTER 5 Murray Hill Place – the new Opus Dei World Headquarters and conference center – is located at 243 Lexington Avenue in New York City. With a price tag of just over $47 million, the 133, 000- square-foot tower is clad in red brick and Indiana limestone. Designed by May & Pinska, the building contains over one hundred bedrooms, six dining rooms, libraries, living rooms, meeting rooms, and offices. The second, eighth, and sixteenth floors contain chapels, ornamented with mill- work and marble. The seventeenth floor is entirely residential. Men enter the building through the main doors on Lexington Avenue. Women enter through a side street and are ‘acoustically and visually separated' from the men at all times within the building. Earlier this evening, within the sanctuary of his penthouse apartment, Bishop Manuel Aringarosa had packed a small travel bag and dressed in a traditional black cassock. Normally, he would have wrapped a purple cincture around his waist, but tonight he would be traveling among the public, and he preferred not to draw attention to his high office. Only those with a keen eye would notice his 14-karat gold bishop's ring with purple amethyst, large diamonds, and hand-tooled mitre-crozier applique. Throwing the travel bag over his shoulder, he said a silent prayer and left his apartment, descending to the lobby where his driver was waiting to take him to the airport. Now, sitting aboard a commercial airliner bound for Rome, Aringarosa gazed out the window at the dark Atlantic. The sun had already set, but Aringarosa knew his own star was on the rise. Tonight the battle will be won, he thought, amazed that only months ago he had felt powerless against the hands that threatened to destroy his empire. As president-general of Opus Dei, Bishop Aringarosa had spent the last decade of his life spreading the message of â€Å"God's Work† – literally, Opus Dei.The congregation, founded in 1928 by the Spanish priest Josemaria Escriva, promoted a return to conservative Catholic values and encouraged its members to make sweeping sacrifices in their own lives in order to do the Work of God. Opus Dei's traditionalist philosophy initially had taken root in Spain before Franco's regime, but with the 1934 publication of Josemaria Escriva's spiritual book The Way – 999 points of meditation for doing God's Work in one's own life – Escriva's message exploded across the world. Now, with over four million copies of The Way in circulation in forty-two languages, Opus Dei was a global force. Its residence halls, teaching centers, and even universities could be found in almost every major metropolis on earth. Opus Dei was the fastest-growing and most financially secure Catholic organization in the world. Unfortunately, Aringarosa had learned, in an age of religious cynicism, cults, and televangelists, Opus Dei's escalating wealth and power was a magnet for suspicion. â€Å"Many call Opus Dei a brainwashing cult,† reporters often challenged. â€Å"Others call you an ultraconservative Christian secret society. Which are you?† â€Å"Opus Dei is neither,† the bishop would patiently reply. â€Å"We are a Catholic Church. We are a congregation of Catholics who have chosen as our priority to follow Catholic doctrine as rigorously as we can in our own daily lives.† â€Å"Does God's Work necessarily include vows of chastity, tithing, and atonement for sins through self-flagellation and the cilice?† â€Å"You are describing only a small portion of the Opus Dei population,† Aringarosa said. â€Å"There are many levels of involvement. Thousands of Opus Dei members are married, have families, and do God's Work in their own communities. Others choose lives of asceticism within our cloistered residence halls. These choices are personal, but everyone in Opus Dei shares the goal of bettering the world by doing the Work of God. Surely this is an admirable quest.† Reason seldom worked, though. The media always gravitated toward scandal, and Opus Dei, like most large organizations, had within its membership a few misguided souls who cast a shadow over the entire group. Two months ago, an Opus Dei group at a mid-western university had been caught drugging new recruits with mescaline in an effort to induce a euphoric state that neophytes would perceive as a religious experience. Another university student had used his barbed cilice belt more often than the recommended two hours a day and had given himself a near lethal infection. In Boston not long ago, a disillusioned young investment banker had signed over his entire life savings to Opus Dei before attempting suicide. Misguided sheep, Aringarosa thought, his heart going out to them. Of course the ultimate embarrassment had been the widely publicized trial of FBI spy Robert Hanssen, who, in addition to being a prominent member of Opus Dei, had turned out to be a sexual deviant, his trial uncovering evidence that he had rigged hidden video cameras in his own bedroom so his friends could watch him having sex with his wife. â€Å"Hardly the pastime of a devout Catholic,† the judge had noted. Sadly, all of these events had helped spawn the new watch group known as the Opus Dei Awareness Network (ODAN). The group's popular website – www odan.org – relayed frightening stories from former Opus Dei members who warned of the dangers of joining. The media was now referring to Opus Dei as† God's Mafia† and† the Cult of Christ.† We fear what we do not understand, Aringarosa thought, wondering if these critics had any idea how many lives Opus Dei had enriched. The group enjoyed the full endorsement and blessing of the Vatican. Opus Dei is a personal prelature of the Pope himself. Recently, however, Opus Dei had found itself threatened by a force infinitely more powerful than the media†¦ an unexpected foe from which Aringarosa could not possibly hide. Five months ago, the kaleidoscope of power had been shaken, and Aringarosa was still reeling from the blow. â€Å"They know not the war they have begun,† Aringarosa whispered to himself, staring out the plane's window at the darkness of the ocean below. For an instant, his eyes refocused, lingering on the reflection of his awkward face – dark and oblong, dominated by a flat, crooked nose that had been shattered by a fist in Spain when he was a young missionary. The physical flaw barely registered now. Aringarosa's was a world of the soul, not of the flesh. As the jet passed over the coast of Portugal, the cell phone in Aringarosa's cassock began vibrating in silent ring mode. Despite airline regulations prohibiting the use of cell phones during flights, Aringarosa knew this was a call he could not miss. Only one man possessed this number, the man who had mailed Aringarosa the phone. Excited, the bishop answered quietly. â€Å"Yes?† â€Å"Silas has located the keystone,† the caller said. â€Å"It is in Paris. Within the Church of Saint-Sulpice.† Bishop Aringarosa smiled. â€Å"Then we are close.† â€Å"We can obtain it immediately. But we need your influence.† â€Å"Of course. Tell me what to do.† When Aringarosa switched off the phone, his heart was pounding. He gazed once again into the void of night, feeling dwarfed by the events he had put into motion. Five hundred miles away, the albino named Silas stood over a small basin of water and dabbed the blood from his back, watching the patterns of red spinning in the water. Purge me with hyssop andI shall be clean, he prayed, quoting Psalms. Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. Silas was feeling an aroused anticipation that he had not felt since his previous life. It both surprised and electrified him. For the last decade, he had been following The Way, cleansing himself of sins†¦ rebuilding his life†¦ erasing the violence in his past. Tonight, however, it had all come rushing back. The hatred he had fought so hard to bury had been summoned. He had been startled how quickly his past had resurfaced. And with it, of course, had come his skills. Rusty but serviceable. Jesus' message is one of peace†¦of nonviolence†¦of love.This was the message Silas had been taught from the beginning, and the message he held in his heart. And yet this was the message the enemies of Christ now threatened to destroy. Those who threaten God with force will be met with force.Immovable and steadfast. For two millennia, Christian soldiers had defended their faith against those who tried to displace it. Tonight, Silas had been called to battle. Drying his wounds, he donned his ankle-length, hooded robe. It was plain, made of dark wool, accentuating the whiteness of his skin and hair. Tightening the rope-tie around his waist, he raised the hood over his head and allowed his red eyes to admire his reflection in the mirror. The wheels are in motion. CHAPTER 6 Having squeezed beneath the security gate, Robert Langdon now stood just inside the entrance to the Grand Gallery. He was staring into the mouth of a long, deep canyon. On either side of the gallery, stark walls rose thirty feet, evaporating into the darkness above. The reddish glow of the service lighting sifted upward, casting an unnatural smolder across a staggering collection of Da Vincis, Titians, and Caravaggios that hung suspended from ceiling cables. Still lifes, religious scenes, and landscapes accompanied portraits of nobility and politicians. Although the Grand Gallery housed the Louvre's most famous Italian art, many visitors felt the wing's most stunning offering was actually its famous parquet floor. Laid out in a dazzling geometric design of diagonal oak slats, the floor produced an ephemeral optical illusion – a multi- dimensional network that gave visitors the sense they were floating through the gallery on a surface that changed with every step. As Langdon's gaze began to trace the inlay, his eyes stopped short on an unexpected object lying on the floor just a few yards to his left, surrounded by police tape. He spun toward Fache. â€Å"Is that†¦ a Caravaggio on the floor?† Fache nodded without even looking. The painting, Langdon guessed, was worth upward of two million dollars, and yet it was lying on the floor like a discarded poster. â€Å"What the devil is it doing on the floor!† Fache glowered, clearly unmoved. â€Å"This is a crime scene, Mr. Langdon. We have touched nothing. That canvas was pulled from the wall by the curator. It was how he activated the security system.† Langdon looked back at the gate, trying to picture what had happened. â€Å"The curator was attacked in his office, fled into the Grand Gallery, and activated the security gate by pulling that painting from the wall. The gate fell immediately, sealing off all access. This is the only door in or out of this gallery.† Langdon felt confused. â€Å"So the curator actually captured his attacker inside the Grand Gallery?† Fache shook his head. â€Å"The security gate separated Sauniere from his attacker. The killer waslocked out there in the hallway and shot Sauniere through this gate.† Fache pointed toward anorange tag hanging from one of the bars on the gate under which they had just passed. â€Å"The PT Steam found flashback residue from a gun. He fired through the bars. Sauniere died in here alone.† Langdon pictured the photograph of Sauniere's body. They said he did that to himself.Langdon looked out at the enormous corridor before them. â€Å"So where is his body?† Fache straightened his cruciform tie clip and began to walk. â€Å"As you probably know, the Grand Gallery is quite long.† The exact length, if Langdon recalled correctly, was around fifteen hundred feet, the length of three Washington Monuments laid end to end. Equally breathtaking was the corridor's width, which easily could have accommodated a pair of side-by-side passenger trains. The center of the hallway was dotted by the occasional statue or colossal porcelain urn, which served as a tasteful divider and kept the flow of traffic moving down one wall and up the other. Fache was silent now, striding briskly up the right side of the corridor with his gaze dead ahead. Langdon felt almost disrespectful to be racing past so many masterpieces without pausing for so much as a glance. Not that I could see anything in this lighting, he thought. The muted crimson lighting unfortunately conjured memories of Langdon's last experience in noninvasive lighting in the Vatican Secret Archives. This was tonight's second unsettling parallel with his near-death in Rome. He flashed on Vittoria again. She had been absent from his dreams for months. Langdon could not believe Rome had been only a year ago; it felt like decades. Another life.His last correspondence from Vittoria had been in December – a postcard saying she was headed to the Java Sea to continue her research in entanglement physics†¦ something about using satellites to track manta ray migrations. Langdon had never harbored delusions that a woman like Vittoria Vetra could have been happy living with him on a college campus, but their encounter in Rome had unlocked in him a longing he never imagined he could feel. His lifelong affinity for bachelorhood and the simple freedoms it allowed had been shaken somehow†¦ replaced by an unexpected emptiness that seemed to have grown over the past year. They continued walking briskly, yet Langdon still saw no corpse. â€Å"Jacques Sauniere went this far?† â€Å"Mr. Sauniere suffered a bullet wound to his stomach. He died very slowly. Perhaps over fifteen or twenty minutes. He was obviously a man of great personal strength.† Langdon turned, appalled. â€Å"Security took fifteen minutes to get here?† â€Å"Of course not. Louvre security responded immediately to the alarm and found the Grand Gallery sealed. Through the gate, they could hear someone moving around at the far end of the corridor, but they could not see who it was. They shouted, but they got no answer. Assuming it could only be a criminal, they followed protocol and called in the Judicial Police. We took up positions within fifteen minutes. When we arrived, we raised the barricade enough to slip underneath, and I sent a dozen armed agents inside. They swept the length of the gallery to corner the intruder.† â€Å"And?† â€Å"They found no one inside. Except†¦Ã¢â‚¬  He pointed farther down the hall. â€Å"Him.† Langdon lifted his gaze and followed Fache's outstretched finger. At first he thought Fache was pointing to a large marble statue in the middle of the hallway. As they continued, though, Langdon began to see past the statue. Thirty yards down the hall, a single spotlight on a portable pole stand shone down on the floor, creating a stark island of white light in the dark crimson gallery. In the center of the light, like an insect under a microscope, the corpse of the curator lay naked on the parquet floor. â€Å"You saw the photograph,† Fache said,† so this should be of no surprise.† Langdon felt a deep chill as they approached the body. Before him was one of the strangest image she had ever seen. The pallid corpse of Jacques Sauniere lay on the parquet floor exactly as it appeared in the photograph. As Langdon stood over the body and squinted in the harsh light, he reminded himself to his amazement that Sauniere had spent his last minutes of life arranging his own body in this strange fashion. Sauniere looked remarkably fit for a man of his years†¦ and all of his musculature was in plain view. He had stripped off every shred of clothing, placed it neatly on the floor, and laid down on his back in the center of the wide corridor, perfectly aligned with the long axis of the room. His arms and legs were sprawled outward in a wide spread eagle, like those of a child making a snow angel†¦ or, perhaps more appropriately, like a man being drawn and quartered by some invisible force. Just below Sauniere's breastbone, a bloody smear marked the spot where the bullet had pierced his flesh. The wound had bled surprisingly little, leaving only a small pool of blackened blood. Sauniere's left index finger was also bloody, apparently having been dipped into the wound to create the most unsettling aspect of his own macabre deathbed; using his own blood as ink, and employing his own naked abdomen as a canvas, Sauniere had drawn a simple symbol on his flesh – five straight lines that intersected to form a five-pointed star. The pentacle. The bloody star, centered on Sauniere's navel, gave his corpse a distinctly ghoulish aura. The photo Langdon had seen was chilling enough, but now, witnessing the scene in person, Langdon felt a deepening uneasiness. He did this to himself. â€Å"Mr. Langdon?† Fache's dark eyes settled on him again. â€Å"It's a pentacle,† Langdon offered, his voice feeling hollow in the huge space. â€Å"One of the oldest symbols on earth. Used over four thousand years before Christ.† â€Å"And what does it mean?† Langdon always hesitated when he got this question. Telling someone what a symbol† meant† was like telling them how a song should make them feel – it was different for all people. A white Ku Klux Klan headpiece conjured images of hatred and racism in the United States, and yet the same costume carried a meaning of religious faith in Spain. â€Å"Symbols carry different meanings in different settings,† Langdon said. â€Å"Primarily, the pentacle is a pagan religious symbol.† Fache nodded. â€Å"Devil worship.† â€Å"No,† Langdon corrected, immediately realizing his choice of vocabulary should have been clearer. Nowadays, the term pagan had become almost synonymous with devil worship – a gross misconception. The word's roots actually reached back to the Latin paganus, meaning country-dwellers. â€Å"Pagans† were literally unindoctrinated country-folk who clung to the old, rural religions of Nature worship. In fact, so strong was the Church's fear of those who lived in the rural villes that the once innocuous word for† villager† – villain – came to mean a wicked soul. â€Å"The pentacle,† Langdon clarified,† is a pre-Christian symbol that relates to Nature worship. The ancients envisioned their world in two halves – masculine and feminine. Their gods and goddesses worked to keep a balance of power. Yin and yang. When male and female were balanced, there was harmony in the world. When they were unbalanced, there was chaos.† Langdon motioned to Sauniere's stomach. â€Å"This pentacle is representative of the female half of all things – a concept religious historians call the ‘sacred feminine' or the ‘divine goddess. ‘ Sauniere, of all people, would know this.† â€Å"Sauniere drew a goddess symbol on his stomach?† Langdon had to admit, it seemed odd. â€Å"In its most specific interpretation, the pentacle symbolizes Venus – the goddess of female sexual love and beauty.† Fache eyed the naked man, and grunted. â€Å"Early religion was based on the divine order of Nature. The goddess Venus and the planet Venus were one and the same. The goddess had a place in the nighttime sky and was known by many names – Venus, the Eastern Star, Ishtar, Astarte – all of them powerful female concepts with ties to Nature and Mother Earth.† Fache looked more troubled now, as if he somehow preferred the idea of devil worship. Langdon decided not to share the pentacle's most astonishing property – the graphic origin of its ties to Venus. As a young astronomy student, Langdon had been stunned to learn the planet Venus traced a perfect pentacle across the ecliptic sky every four years. So astonished were the ancients to observe this phenomenon, that Venus and her pentacle became symbols of perfection, beauty, and the cyclic qualities of sexual love. As a tribute to the magic of Venus, the Greeks used her four-year cycle to organize their Olympiads. Nowadays, few people realized that the four-year schedule of modern Olympic Games still followed the cycles of Venus. Even fewer people knew that the five-pointed star had almost become the official Olympic seal but was modified at the last moment – its five points exchanged for five intersecting rings to better reflect the games' spirit of inclusion and harmony. â€Å"Mr. Langdon,† Fache said abruptly. â€Å"Obviously, the pentacle must also relate to the devil. Your American horror movies make that point clearly.† Langdon frowned. Thank you, Hollywood.The five-pointed star was now a virtual cliche in Satanic serial killer movies, usually scrawled on the wall of some Satanist's apartment along with other alleged demonic symbology. Langdon was always frustrated when he saw the symbol in this context; the pentacle's true origins were actually quite godly. â€Å"I assure you,† Langdon said,† despite what you see in the movies, the pentacle's demonic interpretation is historically inaccurate. The original feminine meaning is correct, but the symbolism of the pentacle has been distorted over the millennia. In this case, through bloodshed.† â€Å"I'm not sure I follow.† Langdon glanced at Fache's crucifix, uncertain how to phrase his next point. â€Å"The Church, sir. Symbols are very resilient, but the pentacle was altered by the early Roman Catholic Church. As part of the Vatican's campaign to eradicate pagan religions and convert the masses to Christianity, the Church launched a smear campaign against the pagan gods and goddesses, recasting their divine symbols as evil.† â€Å"Go on.† â€Å"This is very common in times of turmoil,† Langdon continued. â€Å"A newly emerging power will take over the existing symbols and degrade them over time in an attempt to erase their meaning. In the battle between the pagan symbols and Christian symbols, the pagans lost; Poseidon's trident became the devil's pitchfork, the wise crone's pointed hat became the symbol of a witch, and Venus's pentacle became a sign of the devil.† Langdon paused. â€Å"Unfortunately, the United States military has also perverted the pentacle; it's now our foremost symbol of war. We paint it on all our fighter jets and hang it on the shoulders of all our generals.† So much for the goddess of love and beauty. â€Å"Interesting.† Fache nodded toward the spread-eagle corpse. â€Å"And the positioning of the body? What do you make of that?† Langdon shrugged. â€Å"The position simply reinforces the reference to the pentacle and sacred feminine.† Fache's expression clouded. â€Å"I beg your pardon?† â€Å"Replication. Repeating a symbol is the simplest way to strengthen its meaning. Jacques Sauniere positioned himself in the shape of a five-pointed star.† If one pentacle is good, two is better. Fache's eyes followed the five points of Sauniere's arms, legs, and head as he again ran a hand across his slick hair. â€Å"Interesting analysis.† He paused. â€Å"And the nudity?† He grumbled as he spoke the word, sounding repulsed by the sight of an aging male body. â€Å"Why did he remove his clothing?† Damned good question, Langdon thought. He'd been wondering the same thing ever since he first saw the Polaroid. His best guess was that a naked human form was yet another endorsement of Venus – the goddess of human sexuality. Although modern culture had erased much of Venus's association with the male/female physical union, a sharp etymological eye could still spot a vestige of Venus's original meaning in the word† venereal.† Langdon decided not to go there. â€Å"Mr. Fache, I obviously can't tell you why Mr. Sauniere drew that symbol on himself or placed himself in this way, but I can tell you that a man like Jacques Sauniere would consider the pentacle a sign of the female deity. The correlation between this symbol and the sacred feminine is widely known by art historians and symbologists.† â€Å"Fine. And the use of his own blood as ink?† â€Å"Obviously he had nothing else to write with.† Fache was silent a moment. â€Å"Actually, I believe he used blood such that the police would follow certain forensic procedures.† â€Å"I'm sorry?† â€Å"Look at his left hand.† Langdon's eyes traced the length of the curator's pale arm to his left hand but saw nothing. Uncertain, he circled the corpse and crouched down, now noting with surprise that the curator was clutching a large, felt-tipped marker. â€Å"Sauniere was holding it when we found him,† Fache said, leaving Langdon and moving several yards to a portable table covered with investigation tools, cables, and assorted electronic gear. â€Å"As I told you,† he said, rummaging around the table,† we have touched nothing. Are you familiar with this kind of pen?† Langdon knelt down farther to see the pen's label. STYLO DE LUMIERE NOIRE. He glanced up in surprise. The black-light pen or watermark stylus was a specialized felt-tipped marker originally designed by museums, restorers, and forgery police to place invisible marks on items. The stylus wrote in a noncorrosive, alcohol-based fluorescent ink that was visible only under black light. Nowadays, museum maintenance staffs carried these markers on their daily rounds to place invisible† tick marks† on the frames of paintings that needed restoration. As Langdon stood up, Fache walked over to the spotlight and turned it off. The gallery plunged into sudden darkness. Momentarily blinded, Langdon felt a rising uncertainty. Fache's silhouette appeared, illuminated in bright purple. He approached carrying a portable light source, which shrouded him in a violet haze. â€Å"As you may know,† Fache said, his eyes luminescing in the violet glow,† police use black-light illumination to search crime scenes for blood and other forensic evidence. So you can imagine our surprise†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Abruptly, he pointed the light down at the corpse. Langdon looked down and jumped back in shock. His heart pounded as he took in the bizarre sight now glowing before him on the parquet floor. Scrawled in luminescent handwriting, the curator's final words glowed purple beside his corpse. As Langdon stared at the shimmering text, he felt the fog that had surrounded this entire night growing thicker. Langdon read the message again and looked up at Fache. â€Å"What the hell does this mean!† Fache's eyes shone white. â€Å"That, monsieur, is precisely the question you are here to answer.† Not far away, inside Sauniere's office, Lieutenant Collet had returned to the Louvre and was huddled over an audio console set up on the curator's enormous desk. With the exception of the eerie, robot-like doll of a medieval knight that seemed to be staring at him from the corner of Sauniere's desk, Collet was comfortable. He adjusted his AKG headphones and checked the input levels on the hard-disk recording system. All systems were go. The microphones were functioning flawlessly, and the audio feed was crystal clear. Le moment de verite, he mused. Smiling, he closed his eyes and settled in to enjoy the rest of the conversation now being taped inside the Grand Gallery.