關於 satisfy meaning in english ，我們在網路上蒐集到這些相關的討論、資訊與評價

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Thaksin Shinawatra in Private Discussion
World Policy Institute Global Leader Briefing Series Thinking Points
World Policy Institute, 9th March 2016, New York

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Excellencies, Distinguished Guests, Ladies and Gentlemen,

I must thank you World Policy Institute for providing me an opportunity to share my thought on the challenges that revolve around the economic, regional and global implications of how Thailand will make its way through a period of transition and change.

We all know that no society in the twenty-first century can sustain any form of “progress” in the well-being of its people without at least two basic foundations:
The first one is political stability. The second one is the ability to create economic activities that allow growth and readiness to shift its creativities to sustain wealth.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Let me tell you the tale of the two cities, which is not written by Charles Dickens. It is the tale of parallel progress of Washington D.C. and Beijing. Each has its own history, pain and loathing. As the years go by, the two cities have been seen as rivals which offers competing models for growth and prosperity.

One is Free Market-Capitalism with the so-called “Open Democracy” as the foundation of its economic model. The other one is State-Led Capitalism with the central control system by one party.

Both of the models have proven to be successful in a very dramatic way from the past to the present. Admitting that the Chinese model was fitting to the change of attitude among the leadership of the country at that time, in parallel with the change of economic model in the West, in which the definition of “free trade” benefits China’s shifting position from a close market to a semi-open market.

But we must admit also that both models are now having to adjust itself to the new reality; the reality of dramatic change in speed and character of technology for industrial production; the change from “a country-based product” to “network of global design, global sourcing,and global production for just one product”. This extraordinary change upends the “normal” internal economic adjustment of the country and made it very difficult to find a simple economic adjustment.

We must recognize that advancement in the wealth management technique and technology also upend the normal linkage between capital and changes in production. However, we probably agree, that one common threat for survival in this present so-called “New Normal” is either you have the ability and willingness to change or you don’t. Thailand, like the other countries, cannot get away from this New Normal in the international context.

Ladies and Gentleman,

There is a tale of a poor English teacher in China who soared to the list of the world’s wealthiest people. He neither built a big factory nor invested in any production facility. But, people paid for his service simply to reach the network of supply and demand on a grand scale. I believe, he must feel thank you to the internet.

Ladies and Gentleman,

Amid the global economic slowdown, the pattern of trade has significantly changed. Due to the development of information technology infrastructure and increasing number of population who is able to access to the internet, e-commerce has become a new engine that sustains growth for both developed and developing economies. According to UNCTAD’s report last year, the value of global business-to-business (B2B) e-commerce in 2013 exceeded $15 trillion USD. While global business-to-consumer (B2C) e-commerce still accounted for an estimated $1.2 trillion USD, this segment has grown at a rapid pace; especially in the Asia and Oceania region where B2C segment is expected to surge from 20 to 37 percent between 2013 to 2018. Due to the incremental growth of cross-border e-commerce trade, international postal deliveries of small packets and parcels have risen by 48 percent between 2011 to 2014 globally.

For both Asia and the West, I believe these numbers provide us with clues for the new growth opportunities where “access to networks” is the key: meaning, the networks of consumers and factors of production across geographical boundaries. Unlike the economy of twentieth century when “access to centers” is the rules of the game, today, businessmen who do not have big factories and are not the owners of multinational corporations, can manage to reach and satisfy the needs of their customers worldwide through networks of production and distribution with an assist of the new communication technology. Today’s economy is increasingly decentralized. Consumption and production are more and more dispersed. We could imagine that an American producers can sell their products online directly to consumers in the western part of China without having to spend business hours in Beijing or Shanghai. Vice versa, a Chinese producer can bypass New York to offer their products to customers in New England and Mid-Atlantic states. The network economy has provided the people, both in small and large businesses, with the ability to produce and access to consumers at lower costs. We, as a global community, must put special emphasis on how each country can invest and share risk with the people to create growth collectively.

Ladies and Gentleman,

Another tale is about the rebirth of a road that nobody cares since the Portuguese discovered a possible sea route from Europe to Asia. The Portuguese did offer an alternative trade route with substantial margins for the goods carried. Although you might lose half of the cargoes on the way, you still did not lose your shirt. Since the demand for spices were overwhelming, the merchant marines heavily charge everybody.

Ladies and Gentleman,

The heavy-load transport through the sea has been with us till now, and the land routes from Asia to Europe have been neglected. If the world’s economy is thriving like the good old days, probably, not so many people would be interested in finding an alternative in life. But, since the situation goes awry, I believe, any country should consider all possibilities.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Today, there are two major initiatives that, I think, have great potential to accelerate growth and leverage “quality of growth” that brought into being by the emergence of network economy. One is the China-led “One Belt, One Road” (OBOR) plan to develop transport and logistics connectivity encompassed some 60 countries, which include about 50 percent of the world’s GDP. And, the other is the US-led Trans-Pacific Partnership Agreement (TPP) between 12 Pacific Rim countries, which account for more than 40 percent of the world’s GDP. I have not seen these two initiatives as antagonistic, but rather a kind of two parallel processes that, at a certain point, will create mutual economic benefits for Asia and the West.

We must overcome the stereotype that perceive China and the US as merely the two opposing political superpowers. In reality, the economic development during the past decade has shown us how far these two major economies are interdependent. China is the largest foreign holder of US government securities with $1.24 trillion USD worth. With the total trade volume of $521 billion USD in 2014, the US is China’s biggest trade partner. Total US foreign direct investment (FDI) in China stood at $65.77 billion USD at the end of 2014, while the Chinese FDI in the US is estimated to have reach $11.9 billion USD.

Given this interdependence in mind, I believe Southeast Asia- the region that sits in between the two great initiatives of the two major economies- must put special emphasis on how to enhance the mutual economic benefits with its counterparts. For Southeast Asia in the twenty-first century, the geopolitics should be about how to reinforce the networks of wealth creation for the people that stretch across national and regional borders.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Let me tell you the last tale about a Thai restaurant. No matter how many times the master chef tries to teach his protege, the young man keeps making mistakes in mixing the ingredients. Customers are kept waiting, hungry and mad. Once the customers are served, half of them get diarrhea afterward. The moral of this tale is one must make the written recipe right.

Ladies and gentlemen,

While some people may underline the unique characteristics of Thailand in terms of its history and developmental path, the country itself cannot avoid to come to terms with the global challenges of the twenty-first century. For half a century, the Thai economy has incrementally integrated into global economy. Values of Thailand’s exports per GDP and FDI in the country have shown us clearly how far the growth of Thai economy has been interwoven with the fate of global economy.

Against this context, we shall consider Thailand’s draft constitution with a very simple question: will the latest draft constitution “enable” the country to grow and become stronger in the present world? Or, will the latest draft constitution provide Thailand with a sufficient institutional infrastructure for investment, production, cooperation, and businesses?

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Due to the framework set out by the latest draft constitution, it is difficult to foresee a government that is responsive to the people and the challenges of the twenty-first century. According to the new draft, the 200-seat upper house, or Senate, will be appointed by the so-called “experts”. The Senate will also have greater powers to block legislation. Regarding the Constitutional Court, its scope of jurisdiction will be expanded. The Court will have the power to examine cases based on petitions filed directly by individuals, without the requirement that an actual dispute being brought by political organs or other courts.

If we consider the doctrine of separation of powers as the foundation for growth and stability, the critical issue that we shall examine is whether the judicial power will trespass the provinces of legislature/ and executive or not? For a government to be able to manage the economy against the global slowdown, I do hope that there will be no over-enforcement of the judicial power. Experiences of several countries show us that, if unchecked, judicial review can be inappropriately used as “delaying tactic”; thus, in turn, become an impediment to economic policy implementation.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I believe that the foundation for the country to create growth and prosperity is to build trust in the global community. The constitution shall protect the rule of law and provide at least a minimum level of freedom of speech that facilitates economic cooperation between the people and the global community. Trade and investment cannot flourish if there is no certain degree of confidence provided by the rule of law. Against the transition and change, Thailand must reevaluate its strength and weakness. The country shall find a sensible way to regain its political stability and economic dynamism. I have only proposed the way of how should we think of the phenomena that is the world today.

Nobody’s Fool　　( January 2011 )

Yoshitomo Nara

Do people look to my childhood for sources of my imagery? Back then, the snow-covered fields of the north were about as far away as you could get from the rapid economic growth happening elsewhere. Both my parents worked and my brothers were much older, so the only one home to greet me when I got back from elementary school was a stray cat we’d taken in. Even so, this was the center of my world. In my lonely room, I would twist the radio dial to the American military base station and out blasted rock and roll music. One of history’s first man-made satellites revolved around me up in the night sky. There I was, in touch with the stars and radio waves.

It doesn’t take much imagination to envision how a lonely childhood in such surroundings might give rise to the sensibility in my work. In fact, I also used to believe in this connection. I would close my eyes and conjure childhood scenes, letting my imagination amplify them like the music coming from my speakers.

But now, past the age of fifty and more cool-headed, I’ve begun to wonder how big a role childhood plays in making us who we are as adults. Looking through reproductions of the countless works I’ve made between my late twenties and now, I get the feeling that childhood experiences were merely a catalyst. My art derives less from the self-centered instincts of childhood than from the day-to-day sensory experiences of an adult who has left this realm behind. And, ultimately, taking the big steps pales in importance to the daily need to keep on walking.

While I was in high school, before I had anything to do with art, I worked part-time in a rock café. There I became friends with a graduate student of mathematics who one day started telling me, in layman’s terms, about his major in topology. His explanation made the subject seem less like a branch of mathematics than some fascinating organic philosophy. My understanding is that topology offers you a way to discover the underlying sameness of countless, seemingly disparate, forms. Conversely, it explains why many people, when confronted with apparently identical things, will accept a fake as the genuine article. I later went on to study art, live in Germany, and travel around the world, and the broader perspective I’ve gained has shown me that topology has long been a subtext of my thinking. The more we add complexity, the more we obscure what is truly valuable. Perhaps the reason I began, in the mid-90s, trying to make paintings as simple as possible stems from that introduction to topology gained in my youth.

As a kid listening to U.S. armed-forces radio, I had no idea what the lyrics meant, but I loved the melody and rhythm of the music. In junior high school, my friends and I were already discussing rock and roll like credible music critics, and by the time I started high school, I was hanging out in rock coffee shops and going to live shows. We may have been a small group of social outcasts, but the older kids, who smoked cigarettes and drank, talked to us all night long about movies they’d seen or books they’d read. If the nighttime student quarter had been the school, I’m sure I would have been a straight-A student.

In the 80s, I left my hometown to attend art school, where I was anything but an honors student. There, a model student was one who brought a researcher’s focus to the work at hand. Your bookshelves were stacked with catalogues and reference materials. When you weren’t working away in your studio, you were meeting with like-minded classmates to discuss art past and present, including your own. You were hoping to set new trends in motion. Wholly lacking any grand ambition, I fell well short of this model, with most of my paintings done to satisfy class assignments. I was, however, filling every one of my notebooks, sketchbooks, and scraps of wrapping paper with crazy, graffiti-like drawings.

Looking back on my younger days—Where did where all that sparkling energy go? I used the money from part-time jobs to buy record albums instead of art supplies and catalogues. I went to movies and concerts, hung out with my girlfriend, did funky drawings on paper, and made midnight raids on friends whose boarding-room lights still happened to be on. I spent the passions of my student days outside the school studio. This is not to say I wasn’t envious of the kids who earned the teachers’ praise or who debuted their talents in early exhibitions. Maybe envy is the wrong word. I guess I had the feeling that we were living in separate worlds. Like puffs of cigarette smoke or the rock songs from my speaker, my adolescent energies all vanished in the sky.

Being outside the city and surrounded by rice fields, my art school had no art scene to speak of—I imagined the art world existing in some unknown dimension, like that of TV or the movies. At the time, art could only be discussed in a Western context, and, therefore, seemed unreal. But just as every country kid dreams of life in the big city, this shaky art-school student had visions of the dazzling, far-off realm of contemporary art. Along with this yearning was an equally strong belief that I didn’t deserve admittance to such a world. A typical provincial underachiever!

I did, however, love to draw every day and the scrawled sketches, never shown to anybody, started piling up. Like journal entries reflecting the events of each day, they sometimes intersected memories from the past. My little everyday world became a trigger for the imagination, and I learned to develop and capture the imagery that arose. I was, however, still a long way off from being able to translate those countless images from paper to canvas.

Visions come to us through daydreams and fantasies. Our emotional reaction towards these images makes them real. Listening to my record collection gave me a similar experience. Before the Internet, the precious little information that did exist was to be found in the two or three music magazines available. Most of my records were imported—no liner notes or lyric sheets in Japanese. No matter how much I liked the music, living in a non-English speaking world sadly meant limited access to the meaning of the lyrics. The music came from a land of societal, religious, and subcultural sensibilities apart from my own, where people moved their bodies to it in a different rhythm. But that didn’t stop me from loving it. I never got tired of poring over every inch of the record jackets on my 12-inch vinyl LPs. I took the sounds and verses into my body. Amidst today’s superabundance of information, choosing music is about how best to single out the right album. For me, it was about making the most use of scant information to sharpen my sensibilities, imagination, and conviction. It might be one verse, melody, guitar riff, rhythmic drum beat or bass line, or record jacket that would inspire me and conjure up fresh imagery. Then, with pencil in hand, I would draw these images on paper, one after the other. Beyond good or bad, the pictures had a will of their own, inhabiting the torn pages with freedom and friendliness.

By the time I graduated from university, my painting began to approach the independence of my drawing. As a means for me to represent a world that was mine and mine alone, the paintings may not have been as nimble as the drawings, but I did them without any preliminary sketching. Prizing feelings that arose as I worked, I just kept painting and over-painting until I gained a certain freedom and the sense, though vague at the time, that I had established a singular way of putting images onto canvas. Yet, I hadn’t reached the point where I could declare that I would paint for the rest of my life.

After receiving my undergraduate degree, I entered the graduate school of my university and got a part-time job teaching at an art yobiko—a prep school for students seeking entrance to an art college. As an instructor, training students how to look at and compose things artistically, meant that I also had to learn how to verbalize my thoughts and feelings. This significant growth experience not only allowed me to take stock of my life at the time, but also provided a refreshing opportunity to connect with teenage hearts and minds.

And idealism! Talking to groups of art students, I naturally found myself describing the ideals of an artist. A painful experience for me—I still had no sense of myself as an artist. The more the students showed their affection for me, the more I felt like a failed artist masquerading as a sensei (teacher). After completing my graduate studies, I kept working as a yobiko instructor. And in telling students about the path to becoming an artist, I began to realize that I was still a student myself, with many things yet to learn. I felt that I needed to become a true art student. I decided to study in Germany. The day I left the city where I had long lived, many of my students appeared on the platform to see me off.

Life as a student in Germany was a happy time. I originally intended to go to London, but for economic reasons chose a tuition-free, and, fortunately, academism-free German school. Personal approaches coexisted with conceptual ones, and students tried out a wide range of modes of expression. Technically speaking, we were all students, but each of us brought a creator’s spirit to the fore. The strong wills and opinions of the local students, though, were well in place before they became artists thanks to the German system of early education. As a reticent foreign student from a far-off land, I must have seemed like a mute child. I decided that I would try to make myself understood not through words, but through having people look at my pictures. When winter came and leaden clouds filled the skies, I found myself slipping back to the winters of my childhood. Forgoing attempts to speak in an unknown language, I redoubled my efforts to express myself through visions of my private world. Thinking rather than talking, then illustrating this thought process in drawings and, finally, realizing it in a painting. Instead of defeating you in an argument, I wanted to invite you inside me. Here I was, in a most unexpected place, rediscovering a value that I thought I had lost—I felt that I had finally gained the ability to learn and think, that I had become a student in the truest sense of the word.

But I still wasn’t your typical honors student. My paintings clearly didn’t look like contemporary art, and nobody would say my images fit in the context of European painting. They did, however, catch the gaze of dealers who, with their antennae out for young artists, saw my paintings as new objects that belonged less to the singular world of art and more to the realm of everyday life. Several were impressed by the freshness of my art, and before I knew it, I was invited to hold exhibitions in established galleries—a big step into a wider world.

The six years that I spent in Germany after completing my studies and before returning to Japan were golden days, both for me and my work. Every day and every night, I worked tirelessly to fix onto canvas all the visions that welled up in my head. My living space/studio was in a dreary, concrete former factory building on the outskirts of Cologne. It was the center of my world. Late at night, my surroundings were enveloped in darkness, but my studio was brightly lit. The songs of folk poets flowed out of my speakers. In that place, standing in front of the canvas sometimes felt like traveling on a solitary voyage in outer space—a lonely little spacecraft floating in the darkness of the void. My spaceship could go anywhere in this fantasy while I was painting, even to the edge of the universe.

Suddenly one day, I was flung outside—my spaceship was to be scrapped. My little vehicle turned back into an old concrete building, one that was slated for destruction because it was falling apart. Having lost the spaceship that had accompanied me on my lonely travels, and lacking the energy to look for a new studio, I immediately decided that I might as well go back to my homeland. It was painful and sad to leave the country where I had lived for twelve years and the handful of people I could call friends. But I had lost my ship. The only place I thought to land was my mother country, where long ago those teenagers had waved me goodbye and, in retrospect, whose letters to me while I was in Germany were a valuable source of fuel.

After my long space flight, I returned to Japan with the strange sense of having made a full orbit around the planet. The new studio was a little warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo, in an area dotted with rice fields and small factories. When the wind blew, swirls of dust slipped in through the cracks, and water leaked down the walls in heavy rains. In my dilapidated warehouse, only one sheet of corrugated metal separated me from the summer heat and winter cold. Despite the funky environment, I was somehow able to keep in midnight contact with the cosmos—the beings I had drawn and painted in Germany began to mature. The emotional quality of the earlier work gave way to a new sense of composure. I worked at refining the former impulsiveness of the drawings and the monochromatic, almost reverent, backgrounds of the paintings. In my pursuit of fresh imagery, I switched from idle experimentation to a more workmanlike approach towards capturing what I saw beyond the canvas.

Children and animals—what simple motifs! Appearing on neat canvases or in ephemeral drawings, these figures are easy on the viewers’ eyes. Occasionally, they shake off my intentions and leap to the feet of their audience, never to return. Because my motifs are accessible, they are often only understood on a superficial level. Sometimes art that results from a long process of development receives only shallow general acceptance, and those who should be interpreting it fail to do so, either through a lack of knowledge or insufficient powers of expression. Take, for example, the music of a specific era. People who lived during this era will naturally appreciate the music that was then popular. Few of these listeners, however, will know, let alone value, the music produced by minor labels, by introspective musicians working under the radar, because it’s music that’s made in answer to an individual’s desire, not the desires of the times. In this way, people who say that “Nara loves rock,” or “Nara loves punk” should see my album collection. Of four thousand records there are probably fewer than fifty punk albums. I do have a lot of 60s and 70s rock and roll, but most of my music is from little labels that never saw commercial success—traditional roots music by black musicians and white musicians, and contemplative folk. The spirit of any era gives birth to trends and fashions as well as their opposite: countless introspective individual worlds. A simultaneous embrace of both has cultivated my sensibility and way of thinking. My artwork is merely the tip of the iceberg that is my self. But if you analyzed the DNA from this tip, you would probably discover a new way of looking at my art. My viewers become a true audience when they take what I’ve made and make it their own. That’s the moment the works gain their freedom, even from their maker.

After contemplative folk singers taught me about deep empathy, the punk rockers schooled me in explosive expression.

I was born on this star, and I’m still breathing. Since childhood, I’ve been a jumble of things learned and experienced and memories that can’t be forgotten. Their involuntary locomotion is my inspiration. I don’t express in words the contents of my work. I’ll only tell you my history. The countless stories living inside my work would become mere fabrications the moment I put them into words. Instead, I use my pencil to turn them into pictures. Standing before the dark abyss, here’s hoping my spaceship launches safely tonight….