In an interview with Ars Technica about the visit to the Bay area of North Korean defectors, KSP associate director David Straub criticized their launching of propaganda-carrying balloons into North Korea as irresponsible in light of North Korean threats to retaliate by again attacking South Korea militarily. Although not included in the published interview, Straub prefaced his comments by noting that he "strongly agree[d] on the need to provide the North Korean people with as much information as possible about the outside world and their situation in it," but questioned the effectiveness of the balloon campaign compared to other, less provocative means.

Siegfried Hecker and his research assistant, Peter E. Davis, write that South Korea's nuclear energy program has become model that countries aspiring to obtain nuclear energy should emulate.

CISAC Senior Fellow Siegfried Hecker and his research assistant, Peter E. Davis, write in this Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists article that South Korea's nuclear energy program has become model that countries aspiring to obtain nuclear energy should emulate.

The number of obese and overweight people continues to rise in developing countries – Cambodia is no exception. Obesity and being overweight are in turn associated with a higher risk of chronic non-communicable diseases like diabetes. However, the relationship between body weight and disease risk may not be the same in different countries. If Asian populations show an elevated risk of disease at a lower body weight than in the west, policy recommendations based on western body mass index (BMI) standards may not be appropriate.

How should healthcare providers counsel patients and policymakers design policies to reduce risk and create prevention strategies in Cambodia, as well as elsewhere across the Asia-Pacific?

Former Developing Asia Heath Policy Fellow Siyan Yi, joined by other global health experts, considered these questions and recently published his findings in “Appropriate Body Mass Index and Waist Circumference Cutoff for Overweight and Central Obesity among Adults in Cambodia” in PLOSOne, Vol. 8, Issue 10, (October 2013).

Using cross-sectional data from a national survey conducted by the World Health Organization and Ministry of Health in Cambodia, the study aimed to identify the appropriate BMI and waist circumference (WC) cutoff to understand which individuals are considered overweight and thus have an elevated risk of disease.

For both men and women, significant associations were found between individuals who had diabetes, hypertension, and high cholesterol and a WC of greater than/equal to 80.0 cm and a BMI of greater than/equal to 23.0 kg/m2. Therefore, the study suggests that relevant cutoff to determine obesity designation is a WC 80.0 cm and a BMI 23.0 kg/m2, which is lower than the standard cut-off in the west.

The article findings may be particularly helpful to health policymakers in Cambodia. It is the first study of its kind – using nationwide data to suggest specific WC and BMI cutoff among Cambodian adults. The cutoff can act as a benchmark for health care providers to administer proper diagnosis. Furthermore, national public health programs could be developed to better target this population for health improvement.

Yi is now the Research Director of Population Health & Development at Khmer HIV/AIDS NGO Alliance (KHANA), an NGO in Cambodia that provides integrative HIV/AIDS prevention and support services.

Japan’s first decade of the twenty-first century was both disappointing and bewildering, producing wildly contrasting evaluations. Many have come to call this period the “second lost decade,” characterized by policy paralysis and overall lackluster economic growth.

For those studying Japan more closely, however, the same decades reveal nothing short of a broad transformation in numerous core tenets of Japan’s postwar political economy. How can we best capture this transformation?

Each chapter in this volume examines a different aspect of Japan’s political economy within a longer historical trajectory, from multiple angles, to depict a flexible but resilient system. We characterize Japan’s process of change as syncretism—practices foreign, domestic, old and new were selectively adopted, mixed and matched, along the way creating a new and unique hybrid system.

Syncretism: The Politics of Economic Restructuring and System Reform in Japan, edited by Kenji E. Kushida, Kay Shimizu, and Jean C. Oi, is available for purchase from Brookings Institution Press.

Here is Gerhard Casper, standing before 7,000 people gathered in Stanford’s Frost Amphitheater to hear him deliver his first speech as the university’s president.

It’s 1992, the second day of October. Stanford is embroiled in a federal lawsuit over indirect research costs. It is struggling with campus-wide budget cuts and saddled with $160 million in damages caused by the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. University officials are wrestling with controversies over affirmative action, sex discrimination, free speech and diversity.

“What was I to say at my inauguration,” Casper asks in “The Winds of Freedom: Challenges to the University,” a newly published book of selected speeches and extended commentary about those addresses.

“What was I not to say? What were my tasks?”

Casper spent months wrestling with those questions, writing and rewriting his inaugural address. Rather than focus on the university’s troubles with a promise to make them disappear, he instead emphasized Stanford’s role as an institution devoted to teaching, learning and research. He grounded his remarks in Stanford’s motto – translated from his native German as “the wind of freedom blows” – and charted the freedoms most important to a university.

There are eight, he tells his audience.

Among them: an unrestrained pursuit of knowledge, an ability to challenge long-held beliefs and new ideas, and the “freedom to speak plainly, without concealment and to the point.”

“The research enterprise can easily be smothered by internal and external politics, pressures, and red tape,” he tells the crowd. “The wind of freedom has been a necessary, if not sufficient, condition for making our great universities the envy of the world. Without that freedom, that greatness is imperiled.”

Humor and heft

Academic freedom was a recurring theme during his eight years at the helm of Stanford. It was a time in which he navigated the university through turmoil and debates not only faced by Stanford and other American universities, but by the entire country.

With “The Winds of Freedom,” Casper presents seven speeches from his presidency, along with a commencement address he delivered at Yale in 2003. They delve into free expression, campus diversity and affirmative action. They cover the university’s role as a place of research and its relationship to the politics of the day.

A book launch celebration and discussion will be held Feb. 25 at Encina Hall.

The big, weighty ideas often come wrapped in a sense of humor – sometimes self-deprecating – that was the hallmark of a popular and seemingly very accessible president who surely never spoke to the same audience twice.

Casper has done more than merely dust off and repackage his favorite or most important speeches into a book. These are addresses tied together by those notions of academic freedom. And in detailed commentary following the text of each speech, Casper explains what was on his mind when he was writing them.

“I put a lot of effort into my speeches,” Casper says during a conversation in his office at the Freeman Spogli Institute for International Studies, where he is a senior fellow and served as director from 2012 to 2013. “But if you take the speeches in isolation, you often end up with an abstract notion of what was happening at time. I wanted to use these speeches as an example of the complexity of issues and questions that I had to deal with as president.”

Diversity, identity and valid arguments

So here is Casper welcoming an incoming class in 1993, one year after delivering his inaugural address. It includes white and black and American Indian students. Some are the American children and grandchildren of Mexican and Asian immigrants. Only 5 percent are foreign students, but they hail from 37 countries.

The president is talking about diversity. He shares his own story about coming to America, telling the students about growing up in Germany in the wake of the Nazi regime and moving to California as a 26-year-old in 1964. He pokes fun at the accent he never lost, but reminds the students that “I have acquired an American `cultural identity.’”

He tells them they will all develop their own sense of cultural identity, adding that diversity makes the university a richer place.

“If we at the university were not committed to interactive pluralism, education would become impossible,” he tells the newcomers.

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“No university can thrive unless each member is accepted as an individual and can speak and will be listened to without regard to labels and stereotypes,” he says.

Read out of context today, passages of the speech tuck into the timeless tropes of America as both a mosaic  and a melting pot. It’s OK to assimilate, he tells us. We can still maintain our own identities.

But In Casper’s rearview mirror, the speech becomes a history lesson, a reminder of the American landscape 20 years ago.

“The early 1990s was probably the decade during which multiculturalism and identity politics were most prominent in the United States in general and on American campuses in particular,” he writes in his new book. “When I came to Stanford in 1992, I was ill equipped to deal with some of these issues.”

He goes on to trace the steps Stanford took to address diversity and he shares his thoughts – some scholarly, some personal – on the issues of social and cultural identity. He parses the differences between multiculturalism and diversity.

He discusses the adoption of a new policy on sexual harassment, moves made to increase the number of women on the faculty, and the tensions arising from the university’s struggle to support on-campus ethnic community centers. He revisits the political and ethnically charged student protests that unfolded in the early 1990s.

While he was dealing with the daily fallout of those matters in the president’s office, he was also searching for opportunities to convey his positions and address the issues in his public speeches.

Welcoming the Class of 1997 gave him one of those chances.

“In a university nobody has the right to deny another person’s right to speak his or her mind, to speak plainly, without concealment and to the point,” he tells the incoming students.  “In a university discussion your first question in response to an argument must never be `Does she belong to the right group?’ Instead, the only criterion is `Does she have a valid argument?’”

The lines echo those he used in his inaugural address, and they do so intentionally.

“If you have something you believe in strongly, you must repeat it and repeat it and repeat it,” he says now. “I do that. I plagiarize myself – not because I ran out of things to say, but because it was important to re-emphasize points over and over again.”

Defining academic freedom

So here is Casper in 1998, speaking at Peking University during the school’s centennial celebration. The Chinese government used the occasion to bolster PKU’s standing as a key institution that would lead the country into the 21^st Century, and Casper focused his remarks on the role of research-intensive universities and the integrity they must maintain.

“Academic freedom is the sine qua non of the university,” he tells the audience. “Academic freedom means, above all, freedom from politics.” It also means “freedom from pressures to conform within the university,” he says.

Reflecting on that speech in “The Winds of Freedom,” Casper shares an unsettling irony: as he delivered his remarks, he was unaware that a Stanford research associate from China was being held in a Beijing prison under dubious charges of betraying state secrets.

He learned about the matter several months after the event, and writes now about the university’s unsuccessful appeals for the researcher’s release to then-President Jiang Zemin and his subsequent decision not to pursue a plan for Stanford to open a program at PKU at that time.

“I did not think that it was appropriate for me to enter into an agreement with one of China’s most prominent institutions – continue, as it were, as if nothing had happened – while a Stanford researcher was being held in prison without any explanation,” he writes. “I certainly did not take the step to suspend our discussions lightly, since throughout my life, throughout the many years of the Cold War, I had always favored engagement rather than iron curtains.”

“Germans don’t give funny speeches”

Casper gave his first public address at Stanford when he was 53. But he had already spent a lifetime as a speechmaker.

“I had been viewed in high school to have the ability to talk well and address a large audience,” he says. “And clearly, I liked to do it.”

He was elected president of the student council. His principal and history teacher, Erna Stahl, would call him the school’s festredner, or keynote speaker. He was tapped as valedictorian of the Class of 1957.

He discusses his valedictory address – focused on the dearth of German role models – in the preface to “The Winds of Freedom.” He writes about his relationship with Stahl, how he was impressed by her stories of  confronting the Gestapo, and the impact that growing up in post-Nazi Germany had on him.

“We hadn’t done any intensive study of the Third Reich by eleventh grade,” Casper says. “That was due to the fact that the Erna Stahl believed very strongly that going into the politics of the moment – the aftermath of the Nazi period – would not be the best method to teach us the values she wanted us to have. It would have become too quickly biographical and personal and she was very insistent that there needed to be positive values instilled in us to balance against what the Nazis had perpetrated.”

The preface is as close as the book comes to reading like a memoir, and Casper condenses his childhood, education, academic career and personal acknowledgments into 15 pages.

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Photo Credit: L.A. Cicero

While there are only a few lines devoted to his 26 years at the University of Chicago as a law professor, dean and provost, it was in that city where Casper’s innate ability to connect with an audience meshed with his public persona.

“Germans don’t give funny speeches,” he says. “In Germany, jokes undercut your credibility. My speaking style – the self-deprecation, the humor – that was really honed in Chicago. My friends and colleagues had these characteristics, and those elements were brought into my life.”

He learned that a joke does more than solicit a laugh. It can disarm a critic, humanize a speaker and lighten up an otherwise serious speech.

“After all, you want the audience to keep paying attention if you really do have something important to tell them,” he says.

An era begins

So here again is Casper, new to Stanford on that second day of October in 1992 and about to take on the promises and problems of the university.

He opens with a light touch, addressing “fellow members of the first-year class and fellow transfer students.” He suggests with deadpan delivery that he was hired as Stanford’s president because he could properly pronounce the university’s motto as it appears in German on the president’s seal: Die Luft der Freiheit weht.

“Alas, I have bad news for the board of trustees,” he says, turning to look at the board members seated on the stage behind him. The phrase, he says, was originally written in Latin. Not German.

“If, under these circumstances, the trustees would feel it appropriate to renounce their contract with me, I would understand perfectly,” he says, cracking a wide smile for the first time.

“All I ask for is the opportunity to finish this speech.”

And with his first formal words as Stanford’s ninth president, Casper casts himself as a newcomer – an outsider here to lead, learn and speak his mind.

Scholars, policymakers and business leaders from Japan and the United States recently gathered at Stanford to analyze energy innovation and build new bilateral endeavors.

“With rapid economic growth in emerging countries, world energy consumption has been and will be increasing, everyone has been wondering if there are enough energy resources for this growth," said Hideichi Okada, a former vice minister for International Affairs at Japan's Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry.

Panelists weigh in on the changing energy picture in the U.S. and Japan.

Okada said Japan and the U.S. share concerns about world geopolitical change in energy supply and demand, and nuclear policy. Okada is at Stanford as the Sasakawa Peace Fellow at the Walter H. Shorenstein Asia-Pacific Research Center (Shorenstein APARC) this year.

Okada's remarks came during the the New Channels Dialogue, a two-day conference organized by the Japan Program at Shorenstein APARC and the Sasakawa Peace Foundation. It is the first of three annual conferences aimed to stimulate debate on 21st century problems faced by both nations. 

“In the aftermath of the disaster at Fukushima, Japan has reinvigorated its search for cutting-edge technologies and alternative sources of energy,” said Yuji Takagi, president of the Sasakawa Peace Foundation. In parallel, the U.S. has increased its production of shale gas as a viable alternative of natural gas.

Confluence of national interest and demand, and shared historical connections between the U.S. and Japan, suggest an ideal environment for further partnerships between the two countries.

“We have entered an especially important period in bilateral relations between the Asia-Pacific [and the U.S.] – it is undergoing such rapid change and technology is transforming. In this context, I believe the U.S.-Japan relationship will only become more important,” Takagi said.

Experts and Stanford scholars discuss electricity systems in California and Japan.

Okada cited the joint U.S.-Japan wind power project in Hawaii as an example of recent cooperation. Last December, Maui became the site of a multi-year renewable energy project between the American and Japanese governments.

Other panelists offered different perspectives on energy opportunities from across sectors, included among them were Julia Nesheiwat, the State Department’s Deputy Assistant Secretary at the Bureau of Energy Resources; Hirofumi Takinami, a member of the Japan’s House of Councilors and former visiting fellow at Shorenstein APARC; Thomas Starrs, SunPower vice president; Nobuo Tanaka, former IEA Executive Director; and Frank Wolak, Stanford economics professor and director of the Program on Energy and Sustainable Development.

Topics discussed included:

• Energy constraints experienced by Japan since the Fukushima nuclear disaster, and challenges facing Japan’s electricity industry liberalization.
• Regional implications of China’s rise as a major energy consumer and producer.
• Geopolitical and trade balance effects on the United States and Japan resulting from the shale gas revolution transforming the U.S. into a major energy producer.
• Broad impacts to the energy industry caused by geopolitics and financial instability.
• Lessons learned from California’s experience with electricity industry liberalization.
• Multilateral partnerships for energy technology and innovation.

The second day of the conference was a closed session in which candid, in-depth discussions were held. Participants also went on a site visit to Bloom Energy led by principal cofounder and chief executive officer K.R. Sridhar.

The New Channels Dialogue highlighted energy imperatives and created a network of exchange anticipated to continue beyond the conference. A report that encompasses major points and policy recommendations will be published in the forthcoming months. 

As the debate over the role and future of Massive Open Online Courses (MOOCs) gathers steam, Andrew Ng, associate professor of computer science at Stanford University and cofounder of Coursera, shared his views on how MOOCs can optimize and personalize education experiences at a seminar co-hosted by the Stanford Chinese Faculty and Family Club and the China 2.0 initiative at Stanford Graduate School of Business. (Watch the seminar video here.)

Ng offered up plenty of food for thought about the potential implications of the “massive data” collected from MOOCs. Coursera, which started by offering two Stanford courses online, is an education company partnering with 76 universities and organizations worldwide to offer 550 free online courses. It is currently the largest MOOC platform, according to Ng, with six million students and 108 partners.

Speaking to more than 120 attendees, Ng claimed that Coursera collected more educational data in 2013 than the entire academic field of education throughout the history of mankind. “The volume of data to unleash is unprecedented,” he noted. Researchers and educators seeking to innovate in education will be able to apply even the most basic data analytic techniques to produce a multitude of research papers and generate innovative ideas to advance education.

In a crowded field with other firms and organizations such as NovoEd, OpenEdX, Udacity, and Udemy offering MOOCs, Coursera’s students tend to be professionals seeking continuing education, with more than 75% of students already having earned a Bachelor’s degree at a minimum. By analyzing rich data collected from tens of thousands of MOOC students, instructors are receiving almost instantaneous feedback to help them improve their teaching methods and to communicate with students more effectively. Ng gave an example of how Coursera sends more “user-friendly” weekly emails to increase actions from students. “If you are reminded about things you have done well, and [we] ask you to engage in the next class, you are more likely to take action,” Ng said.

With auto-graded quizzes and peer-grading built into courses, students receive feedback much quicker in MOOCs than having to wait for professors or graduate students to return their graded work. And feedback is received at both ends. MOOCs have dramatically increased the pace of feedback for those doing the teaching. Stanford faculty members receive feedback from students annually. “Once a year I get the opportunity to improve my class… This is an incredibly slow rate of learning for me,” Ng commented. However, data is collected from students continuously on MOOC platforms – when a student finishes a lecture, speeds up videos, submits a survey, or engages in social media – instructors receive a wealth of informative resources to “rapidly improve their classes,” argued Ng.

Running A/B tests is another way to improve learning interfaces. Ng shared an ongoing test carried out by his company in determining the importance of featuring an instructor’s face in the lower corner during lectures versus hearing merely a voice over a teaching presentation. Although staff at Coursera was split over what they thought would help students more, it turned out that students without the video of the instructor found it much harder to concentrate.

Ng notes that production resources and the lack of a revenue stream are currently two major bottlenecks for MOOCs, but he is proud to be feeding Coursera’s test and analysis results back into its course development and design to create even more value-optimized courses. Coursera also makes the company’s raw educational data available to partners and other universities. He attributed an optimization mindset to his Google days, where he was the founder of Google’s large-scale deep learning project. “Your ability to get the data to optimize makes something much more valuable, and we hope to do that with education,” said Ng. “We are in very early stages of figuring out what technologies should look like for MOOCs. There is a serious trade-off between cost of content production and how engaging the content is. We continue to see other transformations.”