When missionaries-turned-tribal-advocates Gene and Mary Long moved to Thailand in 1978, they were initially tasked with supporting a hill tribe in transition. The Mlabri (or “Yellow Leaf”) people had lived an almost perfect jungle existence with limited interaction with outsiders. The Longs arrived, along with their toddler son Allen, at a time when deforestation was slashing back thousands of acres annually—soon there would not be enough jungle terrain for the Mlabri to continue hunting and gathering. Allen (Udom) Long came of age in close contact with the Mlabri and observed what happens to a shrinking culture as their home turf disappears. “The Mlabri had no place to hide, in a very real sense,” Long told me.
Northern Thai farmers and other hill tribes, including the Hmong, moved into the area. While cultural precepts demanded the Mlabri could not become farmers themselves, they could farm for others for wages. Theirs became an odd amalgam of new experiences—Allen’s father introduced the Mlabri to mirrors, something they’d never before encountered. Modern inventions attracted them—flashlights, radios, lighters. Long explains that the community “didn’t understand the market value of the products they wanted.” Laboring for Thai and Hmong farmers, some Mlabri would work half a year to earn a flashlight. Some naively became linked with drug trafficking. Slash-and-burn agriculture using dangerous chemicals, at abusively low wages, became their means of survival.

The Long family experimented with various forms of product-development with the Mlabri, attempting to use traditional skills to create products with appeal to fair-trade shoppers and tourists. Rather than making computer chips or iPhones, Long explained, the goal was to find a product over which the Mlabri already had ownership. They began making hammocks, which offered modest sales in-country at a smattering of Thai tourist shops. “For years I tried getting into the U.S. market with these hammocks,” says Long. He tried eBay, contacting retailers. He’d all but given up on breaking into the American market when a 26-year-old backpacker named Joe Demin showed up in the village. He’d stumbled upon a hammock at a resort and took an impetuous journey to the Mlabri that would mark the start of a growing lifestyle brand, Yellow Leaf Hammocks.
In the years since, the startup grew into a social enterprise that supports the work of 110 weavers, who can earn 650 percent more making hammocks than they did in slash-and-burn agriculture—or as much as a college-educated teacher. Demin says they’re now able to afford uniforms and shoes for their children. “Every child of a weaver goes to school,” he says.
Yet Yellow Leaf struggled with many of the same challenges that face startups—such as lack of capital to establish ready inventory. “We never had capital to guarantee fulltime work beyond a single hammock order,” Demin says. During times of heavy orders, the weavers could count on work, but when demand ran low, they still were turning back to slash-and-burn agriculture.
For Yellow Leaf Hammocks, loyalty to the Mlabri was paramount, and early on the company was hesitant to dip into venture capital (and any strings that may come attached). Fortunately, at the time that it became clear that the Mlabri were in need of more predictable income, and that the company needed steady inventory to get product to customers faster, Yellow Leaf was invited by Kiva to participate in its new Experimental Partnership Program (an extension of the popular microfinancing program into the social enterprise sphere that now includes 30 partners, and is set to grow).
When I asked Jason Riggs, director of communications at Kiva, by email what prompted the fundraising site’s move to include for-profit social enterprises, he explained: “‘For-profit’ means that they have a business model that aims to be self-sustaining and that can eventually attract regular market capital.” Kiva’s patient and risk-tolerant capital can help prove the viability of such models, and Kiva lenders are willing to support these organizations so long as they see a strong social impact. “The hope is that Kiva can help quantify their risk profiles and make it easier for regular investors to work with them.”
Through the Kiva loan program, Yellow Leaf began piloting a program whereby a Mlabri weaver might have up to six months of work crowdfunded through a Kiva loan, at zero percent interest. Long went from family to family within the community totaling more than 300 people, explaining the potential of the program. “The Mlabri were skeptical,” says Long. They were wary of loan sharks. “They took several different angles of cross examination, which I was thrilled about.” For a community so exploited for decades, caution was wise. In the end, nine weavers from each of the major families signed on to pilot the loan program, and will repay their loans (usually over nine months) through hammock sales. Other weavers can still work under the old model, being paid per hammock made.
The Kiva loan program marks a milestone for Yellow Leaf Hammocks and the Mlabri. There’s been talk among the Mlabri about what to do with the profits—improved housing, maybe a television. One weaver has been considering buying a telephone. “When I pointed out I didn’t know who he’d call,” Long says of that particular weaver, “he kind of smiled.”
But having a chunk of cash to manage over time—which offers freedom and the ability to plan for the future—also means learning to manage finances, banking. Sharing your abundance is of the upmost importance to the Mlabri, who once hunted and gathered to support the collective; personal banking seems to run contrary to that. Even a decade ago, everything needed to be shared. Long told me that if someone bought five eggs, for example, they had to share them with everyone in the village. “It would take forever and everybody would get a little piece,” he says. Banking is yet another transition to navigate.
For Yellow Leaf Hammocks, and with the added benefits of the Kiva loans, the emphasis is on empowering the Mlabri to live their lives as they see fit—without exploitation, without the environmental and health risks associated with slash-and-burn agriculture. It’s a tricky mix of using modern economic structures to support a traditional way of life. The weavers determine how much work they need to put in to support their lifestyles. (“Full-time” means something different to the Mlabri, who with steady income, save time for traditional activities.) It’s a formal structure that lets the Mlabri decide when and how they want to work. It’s far from the exploitation they experienced in the past. As Riggs puts it, “by providing flexible income activities, the Mlabri are better empowered to make their own decisions as to how their culture and society should develop and adapt.”
Images courtesy of Yellow Leaf Hammocks
  • Foreign aid’s hidden benefit: Recipients are more likely to pay the generosity forward
    Photo credit: Kim Hong-Ji/Getty ImagesSouth Korean soldiers oversee the arrival of a batch of Johnson & Johnson’s Janssen COVID-19 vaccines donated by the U.S. government on June 5, 2021.

    Foreign aid may not improve how recipients view donor countries – but it can set off a chain of goodwill that spreads far beyond the original act of giving.

    That is what a colleague and I found when we studied how South Koreans responded to COVID-19 vaccines donated by the United States.

    The South Korean government reserved donated Johnson & Johnson vaccines for military reservists and, for medical reasons, excluded anyone under 30. As a result, we could compare the views of South Koreans just above and below that threshold.

    We found that the donated vaccines did not improve people’s views of the United States. South Koreans who received American vaccines reported similar views of the U.S. as those who had not been vaccinated.

    Yet the results were striking in another way. Those who received donated American vaccines became more supportive of their own government sending aid abroad. Recipients shifted from neutrality on the matter to expressing moderate support for foreign aid, scoring about one point higher on a seven-point scale than those who didn’t make the eligibility cutoff.

    There is also evidence that these effects extend beyond direct recipients. South Koreans who were simply told that the U.S. was providing vaccine aid to developing countries also became more supportive of their own government doing the same – though this effect was concentrated among political moderates.

    Together, these patterns point to what social scientists call “generalized reciprocity” – the impulse not to repay kindness directly but to pass it on. In this way, one act of aid can prompt another, and spread across borders.

    Why it matters

    From Washington and London to Berlin and Tokyo, foreign aid budgets have been cut. In November 2020, former U.S. Agency for International Development Administrator Samantha Power invoked a common assumption when she argued that providing vaccines abroad would restore American leadership – that the value of aid lies in the goodwill it generates toward the donor.

    Our findings suggest this is one way aid can matter, but not necessarily the most important.

    Instead, aid may foster a form of international cooperation that does not depend on treaties or direct reciprocity between nations but emerges from ordinary people’s willingness to pass on goodwill.

    A nurse administers a vaccine shot to an elderly lady.
    A South Korean woman receives a COVID-19 vaccine on April 1, 2021. Chung Sung-Jun/Getty Images

    If aid can trigger chains of giving across borders, then how we assess its value may need to change. Current frameworks tend to emphasize donor nations’ direct returns or strategic benefits, but the cooperative effects we identify are largely invisible to those metrics.

    This suggests that current cuts may be shutting down effects that policymakers have not yet learned to measure – a form of international cooperation that, once set in motion, can generate cascading effects well beyond what any single donor nation could achieve alone.

    What we don’t know

    Important questions remain: Do similar patterns emerge with other forms of aid – such as disaster relief, food assistance or long-term development programs? And how long do these effects last?

    There are also hints that the threshold for triggering this response may be lower than previously thought. The effect persisted even when using eligibility for donated vaccines, rather than actual receipt, as the measure – suggesting proximity to aid, not just receipt, may be enough to activate the impulse to give.

    If evidence that past recipients of aid have themselves become donors strengthens public support for giving in donor countries, then aid may be more self-sustaining than critics assume – reinforced not just by its immediate effects, but by the example it sets.

    This article originally appeared on The Conversation. You can read it here.

  • Photographic memory is a myth – here’s what research really says about remembering
    Photo credit: F.J. Jimenez/Moment via Getty ImagesYour memory is not a camera.

    Hollywood loves a superpower. Not all involve capes or cosmic rays. Some are cognitive: characters who can remember everything. In movies and on TV, viewers repeatedly encounter those with extraordinary minds who glance once at a page, a room or a face – and later recreate every detail with surgical precision.

    You see it everywhere: “Suits,” “Sherlock” and “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.” Even in children’s literature there’s fifth grader Cam Jansen, who activates her photolike memory by saying “Click!”

    Most recently, it appeared in the television series “The Pitt,” set in a hospital emergency department. When the digital patient board suddenly went offline, medical student Joy Kwon saved the day by effortlessly reciting from memory every lost detail – names, rooms, doctors, conditions, vitals. It’s a gripping moment. The stakes are high, recall is perfect, and the implication is clear: Some people have minds that function like high-resolution cameras.

    The idea of photographic memory is simple and powerful: Experience is captured objectively, stored completely and retrieved perfectly. See it once, keep it forever.

    There’s just one problem. There’s no scientific evidence it exists.

    Your memory doesn’t record, it reconstructs

    As a memory researcher, I understand that belief in photographic memory is common and the idea is compelling. But it is simply wrong.

    Human memory does not work like a recording device. It’s a reconstructive process even among those with the most extraordinary skills. When you recall an event, memory doesn’t just hand you your experiences the same way every time. It’s never a matter of simply accessing, retrieving and playing back a static record of a stored slice of the past.

    hands with photo negatives on a lightbox, with magnifying glass
    Memory doesn’t scan through a bank of static, stored memories. janiecbros/iStock via Getty Images Plus

    Rather, you reconstruct the past by piecing together the remnants of experience available to you in the moment of recollection. It’s a process shaped by a range of factors, including the search cues you use; your present knowledge, attitudes and goals; and your current state of mind or mood.

    Because each of these factors is dynamic and changing, you’ll remember the past differently today – if ever so slightly – from how you remembered it yesterday, and differently from how you’ll remember it tomorrow. What you remember is not only incomplete but also inexact.

    A closer look at extraordinary memory

    Some people, such as memory competition champions, do have extraordinary memories. They can memorize thousands of digits or entire decks of cards in minutes. Their feats are real, but they don’t come from a memory that takes mental snapshots.

    Instead, these people rely on strategies – mental frameworks built through thousands of hours of deliberate practice to scaffold their memory in specific domains. Without these strategies and in other aspects of life, their recall looks pretty much like everyone else’s. Experts’ performance reflects better methods, not different machinery.

    In the scientific literature, the ability that comes closest to photographic memory is eidetic imagery: a form of visual mental imagery in which people claim they can briefly continue to “see” pictures they carefully studied and that are then removed from view.

    This ability is rare, is seen mostly in children, and usually disappears by adolescence. Even at its peak, however, it falls short of the Hollywood ideal. Eidetic images fade quickly and are not perfectly accurate. They can include distortions and even details that were not seen.

    It’s exactly what you’d expect from a reconstructive memory system – and exactly what you would not expect from a literal recording.

    Forgetting is a feature and not a flaw

    The myth about photographic memories feeds into the idea that your memory has failed if you can’t remember – that if your memory worked right, it would operate like a camera. When you can’t retrieve information or you lose it entirely, it can feel like something has gone wrong.

    In reality, forgetting is functional. Without it, we’d never get by.

    For instance, people use their memories of the past to forecast the future. Perfect memory would be a liability. Forgetting washes out the details of specific episodes and retains the gist so you can apply past experiences to novel situations, not just those that exactly match what happened before.

    Forgetting also guards your emotional health. The dulling of memories for negative events, like say an embarrassing episode, makes it easier for you to move on than if you reexperienced all the details in full force every time the event came to mind.

    Forgetting protects your sense of self as well. Memories of your past form the foundation of your identity. To help maintain a stable self-concept, people selectively modify or even forget those memories that challenge their views of themselves.

    view from above of two people looking at black and white photos in an album
    Even mundane moments can be recalled by the rare people with highly superior autobiographical memory. Slavica/iStock via Getty Images Plus

    The rare individuals who come closest to having near-perfect memory often reveal the downsides. People with highly superior autobiographical memory can remember nearly every day of their lives in vivid detail. If you ask one of these people to recall what they did on Nov. 24, 1999, they likely can tell you.

    Their extraordinary ability seems to come from a habitual, even compulsive, reflection on their past and a focus on anchoring memories to dates. However, this skill is limited to autobiographical events, and they are prone to various kinds of memory distortions and errors just like everyone else.

    While this ability might sound like an advantage, many people with highly superior autobiographical memory describe it as exhausting. They struggle to move past negative experiences because their memories make them seem as sharp as ever.

    Accurate – and empowering – view of memory

    Beliefs about “perfect memory” shape how people judge studentseyewitnessespatients and even themselves. They influence legal decisions, educational practices and unrealistic expectations about what human minds can – and should – do.

    Letting go of the camera metaphor could be a step toward better understanding how memory works. The brain is not a roll of film, it’s a storyteller – one that edits, interprets and reshapes the past in light of the present.

    And that’s not a limitation. It’s a superpower.

    This article originally appeared on The Conversation. You can read it here.

  • How workplace stress hijacks the nervous system to cause headaches − and a neurologist’s guide to managing them
    Photo credit: Sean Gladwell/Moment via Getty ImagesOngoing stress can send the nervous system into a state of heightened sensitivity.

    Many people finish the workday not just tired but wired. Their mind keeps racing, their body feels tense, and even in moments that should be restful they feel a lingering sense of urgency. Conversations replay in their mind, unfinished tasks resurface, and their nervous system seems unwilling to power down.

    You may recognize this experience. It has become so common that it is often accepted as the norm in modern professional life. Yet this persistent state of activation carries consequences for physical health, especially for people prone to headaches.

    As a board-certified neurologist who specializes in headache medicine, I see a lot of patients whose pain increases from the high-pressure work culture prevalent today. While it might seem beyond your control, there are some steps you can take.

    Stress and the nervous system

    Stress is not inherently harmful. In fact, when experienced in short bursts, stress can be beneficial by increasing focus, improving performance and preparing the body to handle challenges. However, problems arise when stress becomes chronic and relentless.

    The nervous system perceives and processes both stress and pain. Built to be highly adaptable, it continually responds to internal signals and external factors, constantly recalibrating to maintain balance. When the brain continuously perceives ongoing demands without adequate recovery, it keeps the body in a prolonged state of alertness.

    During these periods of ongoing stress, hormones such as cortisol and adrenaline remain persistently elevated. In this sensitized state, signals that would typically be ignored or interpreted as minor can start to feel much more intense.

    This state leads to an increase in heart rate and sustained muscle tension, with the nervous system transitioning into continuous fight or flight mode. In the context of headaches, this sensitization can lower the threshold for pain, making it easier for a headache to start and harder for it to stop.

    Over time, this constant activation can disrupt the body’s natural balance and create an environment for headache disorders to develop or worsen.

    Chronic stress acts as both a trigger and an exacerbating factor for migraines. The neurological system of people who experience migraines is comparatively more responsive to environmental changes, including variations in sleep patterns, the environment, hormonal fluctuations and stress intensity.

    This means that persistent exposure to stress may drive up frequency and severity of migraine episodes. In addition, muscle tension in the neck, shoulders and scalp – a frequent effect of stress – can cause tension headaches, too.

    Extended periods of sitting, sustained concentration and physical tension during the workday can contribute to the development of tension headaches in the later hours of the day.

    Young desk worker at a desk in an office, looking at charts, straining his eyes and holding up his head
    Poor sleep, too much desk time and other factors can exacerbate the effects of stress on the nervous system, leading to headaches. ChadaYui/iStock via Getty Images Plus

    The role of sleep

    Chronic stress can also have a profound impact on sleep quality. Many people who feel persistently wired at the end of the workday struggle to fall asleep or stay asleep. That fitful sleep may lack the restorative qualities necessary for recovery.

    Poor sleep can, in turn, perpetuate the stress cycle, leaving the brain further sensitized and increasing the likelihood of headaches the following day. This loop can be difficult to break, as fatigue reduces resilience and amplifies the sense of being overwhelmed that comes with stress.

    In addition to affecting sleep, chronic stress impairs concentration and cognitive function. When the brain remains in a state of constant vigilance, scanning for demands and threats, it becomes harder to focus, be creative and solve problems. As a result, productivity declines, errors become more frequent and frustration mounts, adding to the overall stress burden.

    Headaches that occur alongside these cognitive challenges can further disrupt daily life, making even routine tasks feel difficult.

    Managing work stress

    Understanding the connection between stress and the nervous system points to some steps you can take to shift the nervous system out of its constantly activated state. You’ll never eliminate stress entirely – that’s neither realistic nor necessary. But it is possible to create intentional space for the body to reset:

    Small, consistent strategies that address both biological and lifestyle causes of headaches can minimize the effects of chronic stress and encourage nervous system regulation. Over time, these strategies can gradually reduce headache frequency and severity, improving overall quality of life.

    This article originally appeared on The Conversation. You can read it here.

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