Questões de Inglês

STATE-SPONSORED HAPPINESS
By Karen Greenspan

[1]     Last November [2015], citizens of the tiny Himalayan nation of Bhutan were in a frenzy preparing for the sixtieth birth anniversary of their previous
king, His Majesty the Fourth Druk Gyalpo (Dragon King) Jigme Singye Wangchuck, who had reigned from 1972–2006. This wise, benevolent, and
innovative leader brought Bhutan into the modern age by implementing such public policies as free public education, free healthcare services, well-planned
business development, internet connectivity, and vigorous environmental protections. In an unparalleled move, he launched the drafting of a constitution
and shifted the country to democracy. He then abdicated the throne to his eldest son, King Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck. According to many, the
Fourth Druk Gyalpo made this move because he did not want his son to be thrust unprepared into the role of leadership as he had been at age sixteen when
his father died suddenly and unexpectedly.
[2]     The Fourth Druk Gyalpo is probably most renowned, however, for introducing the concept of Gross National Happiness (GNH)—the government policy
that measures the growth and development of the country by the happiness and contentment of its people. At the core of the policy are four priorities—
equitable and sustainable development, protection of the environment, preservation and promotion of Bhutan’s unique cultural heritage, and provision
of good and responsive governance.
[3]     In honor of the Fourth Druk Gyalpo’s birthday, the entire country observed three days of celebration from November 9-11. Because Bhutan is a Buddhist
country, prayers and rituals were woven into the festivities. The Je Khenpo, spiritual leader of the country, wrote a special zhabten—a prayer for the long
life of an individual composed by a senior spiritual figure whose power of speech is considered capable of turning word into reality. Other prayers and texts
were to be recited across the country in fortresses, monasteries, temples, and seminaries. At Changlimithang Stadium in the capital city of Thimphu, one
hundred monks rehearsed a sacred dance called Zheng Zhi Pem, which is a component of the Longevity Ritual. An elaborate ceremonial procession with
military, monastic, and government officials, as well as an honor guard of one thousand army personnel, was presented three times to His Majesty.
[4]     Because the people of Bhutan are so happy – more than ninety-one percent of the population were scored as happy in a 2015 GNH survey – many of
them wanted to participate in showing gratitude for His Majesty’s leadership. The currency [moeda] of gratitude in this land of happiness is dance. As a
result, practically all of Bhutan took part in commemorating – mostly through dance – the birthday of the Fourth Druk Gyalpo. The release of thousands
of colorful, biodegradable balloons and three cake-cutting ceremonies capped the celebrations.
[5]     What I understood, after witnessing these events in November, is that a government’s focus on the happiness of a country’s people can be a powerful
transformative force, an instrument for positive social change.

Adapted from Natural History, March 2016.

ISLAND OF THE BLUE FOXES

[1]   In 1733, a Russian land-and-sea expedition, initially funded by Tsar Peter the Great and later charged by Empress Anna to explore Siberia and the
uncharted shores of the North Pacific, set off eastward from St. Petersburg. Led by a career naval officer, a Dane, Vitus Bering, the expedition was as massive
as its mission was challenging: not only to map and inventory new lands, but also, according to Canadian history writer Stephen Bown (author of the
recently published book Island of the Blue Foxes: Disaster and Triumph on the World’s Greatest Scientific Expedition), “to demonstrate to Europe the
power and sophistication of Russia.”
[2]   No roads spanned [estendiam-se sobre] the thousands of miles to Russia’s coastal frontier on the Kamchatka peninsula at the time, and, even in the
few Siberian settlements under control of central government, there was little infrastructure other than that sustaining local fur trapping and forestry.
Bering’s entourage, accordingly, needed to bring along mammoth loads of supplies if it were to carry out the threefold tasks of conducting scientific studies,
constructing vessels for venturing into the Pacific, and simply surviving and avoiding hunger. Timber would be plentiful on site, but not iron, sailcloth,
medical supplies, books, scientific instruments, and a host [grande número] of other raw materials and finished goods.
[3]   The expedition party, numbering in the thousands, included drovers [boiadeiros, vaqueiros], sailors, soldiers, shipwrights [construtores navais],
coopers [tanoeiros], blacksmiths [ferreiros], carpenters, secretaries, surveyors [agrimensores], and physicians – a sizeable sample of the skilled and
unskilled work force of “civilized” Russia.
[4]   Drawing on journals, logs, and official reports, Bown presents a moving account of how the great Kamchatka – North Pacific expediton became a ten-

year odyssey of hardship and conflict. Physical rigors were expected, but equally significant were social dramas playing out along the way. Siberian officials,
overwhelmed by the sudden – and sometimes unannounced – arrival of imperious strangers, were reluctant to provide necessary services. Further delays
arose from Bering’s cautious regard for carrying out every step of his mandate and getting everything in line before proceeding to the next step, a habit not
always well received by younger and more adventurous officers under his command.
[5]   Not until June 1742 did newly built ships depart from Kamchatka on a voyage that was to secure Bering’s posthumous reputation and provide a basis
for Russia’s colonization of Alaska. The key figure in this climactic episode is Georg Steller, who served as a naturalist and physician aboard Bering’s ship.
Steller’s arrogance made him the target of scorn [desprezo] by most of the crew, but his notes on the appearance and behaviour of novel species of North
American wildlife have earned him a lasting place in the history and nomenclature of biology – a few months ago, I spent an evening watching a group of
Steller’s sea lions asleep on the shore of the Columbia River.
[6]   The villain of the story – as in so many expeditions of this era – is the vitamin-C deficiency known as scurvy [escorbuto]. Near the end of the book,
marooned [ilhados, abandonados] on a fox-infested island that today bears [ostenta] Bering’s name, sailors die, one after another, from this malady that
nowadays can be avoided with a daily vitamin-C enriched cough drop. Here Steller emerges as the ultimate hero of the expedition, nursing crew members
back to health with local herbs [ervas]. Thanks to Steller, 46 of his 76 shipmates, along with Steller, survived to tell their tales, now retold so well in Stephen
Bown’s fine addition to the literature of Artic exploration.
Laurence A. Marschall
Adapted from Natural History, March 2018.

ISLAND OF THE BLUE FOXES

[1]   In 1733, a Russian land-and-sea expedition, initially funded by Tsar Peter the Great and later charged by Empress Anna to explore Siberia and the
uncharted shores of the North Pacific, set off eastward from St. Petersburg. Led by a career naval officer, a Dane, Vitus Bering, the expedition was as massive
as its mission was challenging: not only to map and inventory new lands, but also, according to Canadian history writer Stephen Bown (author of the
recently published book Island of the Blue Foxes: Disaster and Triumph on the World’s Greatest Scientific Expedition), “to demonstrate to Europe the
power and sophistication of Russia.”
[2]   No roads spanned [estendiam-se sobre] the thousands of miles to Russia’s coastal frontier on the Kamchatka peninsula at the time, and, even in the
few Siberian settlements under control of central government, there was little infrastructure other than that sustaining local fur trapping and forestry.
Bering’s entourage, accordingly, needed to bring along mammoth loads of supplies if it were to carry out the threefold tasks of conducting scientific studies,
constructing vessels for venturing into the Pacific, and simply surviving and avoiding hunger. Timber would be plentiful on site, but not iron, sailcloth,
medical supplies, books, scientific instruments, and a host [grande número] of other raw materials and finished goods.
[3]   The expedition party, numbering in the thousands, included drovers [boiadeiros, vaqueiros], sailors, soldiers, shipwrights [construtores navais],
coopers [tanoeiros], blacksmiths [ferreiros], carpenters, secretaries, surveyors [agrimensores], and physicians – a sizeable sample of the skilled and
unskilled work force of “civilized” Russia.
[4]   Drawing on journals, logs, and official reports, Bown presents a moving account of how the great Kamchatka – North Pacific expediton became a ten-

year odyssey of hardship and conflict. Physical rigors were expected, but equally significant were social dramas playing out along the way. Siberian officials,
overwhelmed by the sudden – and sometimes unannounced – arrival of imperious strangers, were reluctant to provide necessary services. Further delays
arose from Bering’s cautious regard for carrying out every step of his mandate and getting everything in line before proceeding to the next step, a habit not
always well received by younger and more adventurous officers under his command.
[5]   Not until June 1742 did newly built ships depart from Kamchatka on a voyage that was to secure Bering’s posthumous reputation and provide a basis
for Russia’s colonization of Alaska. The key figure in this climactic episode is Georg Steller, who served as a naturalist and physician aboard Bering’s ship.
Steller’s arrogance made him the target of scorn [desprezo] by most of the crew, but his notes on the appearance and behaviour of novel species of North
American wildlife have earned him a lasting place in the history and nomenclature of biology – a few months ago, I spent an evening watching a group of
Steller’s sea lions asleep on the shore of the Columbia River.
[6]   The villain of the story – as in so many expeditions of this era – is the vitamin-C deficiency known as scurvy [escorbuto]. Near the end of the book,
marooned [ilhados, abandonados] on a fox-infested island that today bears [ostenta] Bering’s name, sailors die, one after another, from this malady that
nowadays can be avoided with a daily vitamin-C enriched cough drop. Here Steller emerges as the ultimate hero of the expedition, nursing crew members
back to health with local herbs [ervas]. Thanks to Steller, 46 of his 76 shipmates, along with Steller, survived to tell their tales, now retold so well in Stephen
Bown’s fine addition to the literature of Artic exploration.
Laurence A. Marschall
Adapted from Natural History, March 2018.

ISLAND OF THE BLUE FOXES

[1]   In 1733, a Russian land-and-sea expedition, initially funded by Tsar Peter the Great and later charged by Empress Anna to explore Siberia and the
uncharted shores of the North Pacific, set off eastward from St. Petersburg. Led by a career naval officer, a Dane, Vitus Bering, the expedition was as massive
as its mission was challenging: not only to map and inventory new lands, but also, according to Canadian history writer Stephen Bown (author of the
recently published book Island of the Blue Foxes: Disaster and Triumph on the World’s Greatest Scientific Expedition), “to demonstrate to Europe the
power and sophistication of Russia.”
[2]   No roads spanned [estendiam-se sobre] the thousands of miles to Russia’s coastal frontier on the Kamchatka peninsula at the time, and, even in the
few Siberian settlements under control of central government, there was little infrastructure other than that sustaining local fur trapping and forestry.
Bering’s entourage, accordingly, needed to bring along mammoth loads of supplies if it were to carry out the threefold tasks of conducting scientific studies,
constructing vessels for venturing into the Pacific, and simply surviving and avoiding hunger. Timber would be plentiful on site, but not iron, sailcloth,
medical supplies, books, scientific instruments, and a host [grande número] of other raw materials and finished goods.
[3]   The expedition party, numbering in the thousands, included drovers [boiadeiros, vaqueiros], sailors, soldiers, shipwrights [construtores navais],
coopers [tanoeiros], blacksmiths [ferreiros], carpenters, secretaries, surveyors [agrimensores], and physicians – a sizeable sample of the skilled and
unskilled work force of “civilized” Russia.
[4]   Drawing on journals, logs, and official reports, Bown presents a moving account of how the great Kamchatka – North Pacific expediton became a ten-

year odyssey of hardship and conflict. Physical rigors were expected, but equally significant were social dramas playing out along the way. Siberian officials,
overwhelmed by the sudden – and sometimes unannounced – arrival of imperious strangers, were reluctant to provide necessary services. Further delays
arose from Bering’s cautious regard for carrying out every step of his mandate and getting everything in line before proceeding to the next step, a habit not
always well received by younger and more adventurous officers under his command.
[5]   Not until June 1742 did newly built ships depart from Kamchatka on a voyage that was to secure Bering’s posthumous reputation and provide a basis
for Russia’s colonization of Alaska. The key figure in this climactic episode is Georg Steller, who served as a naturalist and physician aboard Bering’s ship.
Steller’s arrogance made him the target of scorn [desprezo] by most of the crew, but his notes on the appearance and behaviour of novel species of North
American wildlife have earned him a lasting place in the history and nomenclature of biology – a few months ago, I spent an evening watching a group of
Steller’s sea lions asleep on the shore of the Columbia River.
[6]   The villain of the story – as in so many expeditions of this era – is the vitamin-C deficiency known as scurvy [escorbuto]. Near the end of the book,
marooned [ilhados, abandonados] on a fox-infested island that today bears [ostenta] Bering’s name, sailors die, one after another, from this malady that
nowadays can be avoided with a daily vitamin-C enriched cough drop. Here Steller emerges as the ultimate hero of the expedition, nursing crew members
back to health with local herbs [ervas]. Thanks to Steller, 46 of his 76 shipmates, along with Steller, survived to tell their tales, now retold so well in Stephen
Bown’s fine addition to the literature of Artic exploration.
Laurence A. Marschall
Adapted from Natural History, March 2018.

ISLAND OF THE BLUE FOXES

[1]   In 1733, a Russian land-and-sea expedition, initially funded by Tsar Peter the Great and later charged by Empress Anna to explore Siberia and the
uncharted shores of the North Pacific, set off eastward from St. Petersburg. Led by a career naval officer, a Dane, Vitus Bering, the expedition was as massive
as its mission was challenging: not only to map and inventory new lands, but also, according to Canadian history writer Stephen Bown (author of the
recently published book Island of the Blue Foxes: Disaster and Triumph on the World’s Greatest Scientific Expedition), “to demonstrate to Europe the
power and sophistication of Russia.”
[2]   No roads spanned [estendiam-se sobre] the thousands of miles to Russia’s coastal frontier on the Kamchatka peninsula at the time, and, even in the
few Siberian settlements under control of central government, there was little infrastructure other than that sustaining local fur trapping and forestry.
Bering’s entourage, accordingly, needed to bring along mammoth loads of supplies if it were to carry out the threefold tasks of conducting scientific studies,
constructing vessels for venturing into the Pacific, and simply surviving and avoiding hunger. Timber would be plentiful on site, but not iron, sailcloth,
medical supplies, books, scientific instruments, and a host [grande número] of other raw materials and finished goods.
[3]   The expedition party, numbering in the thousands, included drovers [boiadeiros, vaqueiros], sailors, soldiers, shipwrights [construtores navais],
coopers [tanoeiros], blacksmiths [ferreiros], carpenters, secretaries, surveyors [agrimensores], and physicians – a sizeable sample of the skilled and
unskilled work force of “civilized” Russia.
[4]   Drawing on journals, logs, and official reports, Bown presents a moving account of how the great Kamchatka – North Pacific expediton became a ten-

year odyssey of hardship and conflict. Physical rigors were expected, but equally significant were social dramas playing out along the way. Siberian officials,
overwhelmed by the sudden – and sometimes unannounced – arrival of imperious strangers, were reluctant to provide necessary services. Further delays
arose from Bering’s cautious regard for carrying out every step of his mandate and getting everything in line before proceeding to the next step, a habit not
always well received by younger and more adventurous officers under his command.
[5]   Not until June 1742 did newly built ships depart from Kamchatka on a voyage that was to secure Bering’s posthumous reputation and provide a basis
for Russia’s colonization of Alaska. The key figure in this climactic episode is Georg Steller, who served as a naturalist and physician aboard Bering’s ship.
Steller’s arrogance made him the target of scorn [desprezo] by most of the crew, but his notes on the appearance and behaviour of novel species of North
American wildlife have earned him a lasting place in the history and nomenclature of biology – a few months ago, I spent an evening watching a group of
Steller’s sea lions asleep on the shore of the Columbia River.
[6]   The villain of the story – as in so many expeditions of this era – is the vitamin-C deficiency known as scurvy [escorbuto]. Near the end of the book,
marooned [ilhados, abandonados] on a fox-infested island that today bears [ostenta] Bering’s name, sailors die, one after another, from this malady that
nowadays can be avoided with a daily vitamin-C enriched cough drop. Here Steller emerges as the ultimate hero of the expedition, nursing crew members
back to health with local herbs [ervas]. Thanks to Steller, 46 of his 76 shipmates, along with Steller, survived to tell their tales, now retold so well in Stephen
Bown’s fine addition to the literature of Artic exploration.
Laurence A. Marschall
Adapted from Natural History, March 2018.

FAREWELL AT LAST

[1]   Rafael is about to finish his degree at Havana University, but his mind is elsewhere. The finance and economics he is learning are “what they use here
in Cuba”, he explains, ie, not much use anywhere else. Cuba’s socialist government pays for his education but the stipend for living expenses is just $4 a
month, enough for ten meals at the university canteen. Additional lunch money comes from his siblings [irmãos e irmãs], who live abroad. Rafael (not his
real name) wants to go, too. He is looking for scholarships to get a master’s degree in Europe. If he finds one, he plans to stay abroad, where he can earn
real money.
[2]   Rafael is among the many young Cubans who respond to their crimped [restringidos, obstruídos] prospects not by agitating against the system but by
plotting to escape it. He does not oppose Cuba’s communist regime, nor does he take much interest in it. So he is unexcited by a power shift that will make
headlines around the world. On April 19^th Raúl Castro plans to step down as president, bringing to an end nearly 60 years of rule by the family that led the
country’s revolution. Rafael thinks it is time for Mr Castro to go. But “it doesn’t matter to me.”
[3]   It will matter to most of Cuba’s 11 million people, who have no easy way off the island. In a country where transfers of power are rare, the one that will
soon occur [on April 19^th 2018] is momentous. Mr Castro, who is 86, is expected to hand power to the “first” vice-president, Miguel Díaz-Canel. He had not
been born when Raúl’s brother, Fidel Castro, toppled the American-backed dictatorship of Fulgencio Batista in 1959. The post-revolutionary generation
will bring a change in style and raise Cubans’ expectations of their government. It is unclear whether the new leaders will meet them.
[4]   Mr Díaz-Canel, an engineer by training, has acquired a reputation for modesty during his quiet three-decade ascent through government and the
Communist Party. As a leader in his home province of Villa Clara, in central Cuba, he rode around on a bicycle rather than in an official car. At the (one-

party) parliamentary elections last month, he queued up with other voters and chatted to the press (Mr Castro zipped in and out of his polling station).
[5]   Mr Díaz-Canel has sometimes seemed more liberal than other party officials. He backed gay rights before it was fashionable. In 2013 he calmed a furore
caused by the censorship of some student bloggers who were critical of the government. He met the students in front of the press and said that in the
internet age “banning something is almost a delusion.”
[6]   His elevation to the presidency will be part of a broader generational change. Several octogenarian conservatives, such as José Ramón Machado Ventura
and Ramiro Valdés, will probably leave the council of state, a body with lawmaking powers. Mr Díaz-Canel is expected to replace government ministers
with his own people.
[7]   But substantive change, if it happens, will not be abrupt. Although la generación histórica will no longer run the government day to day, it will still be
influential. Until 2021 Mr Castro is expected to remain head of the Politburo, which controls the Communist Party and thus the overall direction of policy.
Mr Ventura will remain second-in-command. Mr Díaz-Canel will be only the third most powerful member.
[8]   He may not be the reformer some Cubans are hoping for. 

Adapted from The Economist, April 14th 2018.