Despite Denmark’’s manifest virtues, Danes never talk about how proud they are to be Danes. This would sound weird in Danish. When Danes talk to foreigners about Denmark, they always begin by commenting on its tininess, its unimportance, the difficulty of its language, the general small-mindedness and self-indulgence of their countrymen and the high taxes. No Dane would look you in the eye and say "Denmark is a great country." You’’re supposed to figure this out for yourself. It is the land of the silk safety net, where almost half the national budget goes toward smoothing out life’’s inequalities, and there is plenty of money for schools, day care, retraining programs, job seminars -- Danes love seminars: three days at a study center hearing about waste management is almost as good as a ski trip. It is a culture bombarded by English, in advertising, pop music, the Internet, and despite all the English that Danish absorbs -- there is no Danish Academy to defend against it -- old dialects persist in Jutland that can barely be understood by Copenhageners. It is the land where, as the saying goes, "Few have too much and fewer have too little," and a foreigner is struck by the sweet egalitarianism that prevails, where the lowliest clerk gives you a level gaze, where Sir and Madame have disappeared from common usage, even Mr. and Mrs.. It’’s a nation of recyclers -- about 55% of Danish garbage gets made into something new -- and no nuclear power plants. It’’s a nation of tireless planners. Trains run on time. Things operate well in general. Such a nation of overachievers -- a brochure from the Ministry of Business and Industry says, "Denmark is one of the world’’s cleanest and most organized countries, with virtually no pollution, crime, or poverty. Denmark is the most corruption-free society in the Northern Hemisphere." So, of course, one’’s heart lifts at any sighting of Danish sleaze: skinhead graffiti on buildings ("Foreigners Out of Denmark!"), broken beer bottles in the gutters, drunken teenagers slumped in the park. Nonetheless, it is an orderly land. You drive through a Danish town, it comes to an end at a stone wall, and on the other side is a field of barley, a nice clean line: town here, country there. It is not a nation of jaywalkers. People stand on the curb and wait for the red light to change, even if it’’s 2 a.m. and there’’s not a car in sight. However, Danes don’’t think of themselves as a waiting-at-2-a.m.-for-the-green-light people -- that’’s how they see Swedes and Germans. Danes see themselves as jazzy people, improvisers, more free spirited than Swedes, but the truth is (though one should not say it) that Danes are very much like Germans and Swedes. Orderliness is a main selling point. Denmark has few natural resources, limited manufacturing capability; its future in Europe will be as a broker, banker, and distributor of goods. You send your goods by container ship to Copenhagen, and these bright, young, English-speaking, utterly honest, highly disciplined people will get your goods around to Scandinavia, the Baltic States, and Russia. Airports, seaports, highways, and rail lines are ultramodern and well-maintained. The orderliness of the society doesn’’t mean that Danish lives are less messy or lonely than yours or mine, and no Dane would tell you so. You can hear plenty about bitter family feuds and the sorrows of alcoholism and about perfectly sensible people who went off one day and killed themselves. An orderly society cannot exempt its members from the hazards of life. But there is a sense of entitlement and security that Danes grow up with. Certain things are yours by virtue of citizenship, and you shouldn’’t feel bad for taking what you’’re entitled to, you’’re as good as anyone else. The rules of the welfare system are clear to everyone, the benefits you get if you lose your job, the steps you take to get a new one; and the orderliness of the system makes it possible for the country to weather high unemployment and social unrest without a sense of crisis. According to the passage, Danish orderliness
A. sets the people apart from Germans and Swedes.
B. spares Danes social troubles besetting other peoples.
C. is considered economically essential to the country.
D. prevents Danes from acknowledging existing troubles.
Despite Denmark’’s manifest virtues, Danes never talk about how proud they are to be Danes. This would sound weird in Danish. When Danes talk to foreigners about Denmark, they always begin by commenting on its tininess, its unimportance, the difficulty of its language, the general small-mindedness and self-indulgence of their countrymen and the high taxes. No Dane would look you in the eye and say "Denmark is a great country." You’’re supposed to figure this out for yourself. It is the land of the silk safety net, where almost half the national budget goes toward smoothing out life’’s inequalities, and there is plenty of money for schools, day care, retraining programs, job seminars -- Danes love seminars: three days at a study center hearing about waste management is almost as good as a ski trip. It is a culture bombarded by English, in advertising, pop music, the Internet, and despite all the English that Danish absorbs -- there is no Danish Academy to defend against it -- old dialects persist in Jutland that can barely be understood by Copenhageners. It is the land where, as the saying goes, "Few have too much and fewer have too little," and a foreigner is struck by the sweet egalitarianism that prevails, where the lowliest clerk gives you a level gaze, where Sir and Madame have disappeared from common usage, even Mr. and Mrs.. It’’s a nation of recyclers -- about 55% of Danish garbage gets made into something new -- and no nuclear power plants. It’’s a nation of tireless planners. Trains run on time. Things operate well in general. Such a nation of overachievers -- a brochure from the Ministry of Business and Industry says, "Denmark is one of the world’’s cleanest and most organized countries, with virtually no pollution, crime, or poverty. Denmark is the most corruption-free society in the Northern Hemisphere." So, of course, one’’s heart lifts at any sighting of Danish sleaze: skinhead graffiti on buildings ("Foreigners Out of Denmark!"), broken beer bottles in the gutters, drunken teenagers slumped in the park. Nonetheless, it is an orderly land. You drive through a Danish town, it comes to an end at a stone wall, and on the other side is a field of barley, a nice clean line: town here, country there. It is not a nation of jaywalkers. People stand on the curb and wait for the red light to change, even if it’’s 2 a.m. and there’’s not a car in sight. However, Danes don’’t think of themselves as a waiting-at-2-a.m.-for-the-green-light people -- that’’s how they see Swedes and Germans. Danes see themselves as jazzy people, improvisers, more free spirited than Swedes, but the truth is (though one should not say it) that Danes are very much like Germans and Swedes. Orderliness is a main selling point. Denmark has few natural resources, limited manufacturing capability; its future in Europe will be as a broker, banker, and distributor of goods. You send your goods by container ship to Copenhagen, and these bright, young, English-speaking, utterly honest, highly disciplined people will get your goods around to Scandinavia, the Baltic States, and Russia. Airports, seaports, highways, and rail lines are ultramodern and well-maintained. The orderliness of the society doesn’’t mean that Danish lives are less messy or lonely than yours or mine, and no Dane would tell you so. You can hear plenty about bitter family feuds and the sorrows of alcoholism and about perfectly sensible people who went off one day and killed themselves. An orderly society cannot exempt its members from the hazards of life. But there is a sense of entitlement and security that Danes grow up with. Certain things are yours by virtue of citizenship, and you shouldn’’t feel bad for taking what you’’re entitled to, you’’re as good as anyone else. The rules of the welfare system are clear to everyone, the benefits you get if you lose your job, the steps you take to get a new one; and the orderliness of the system makes it possible for the country to weather high unemployment and social unrest without a sense of crisis. Which of the following is NOT a Danish characteristic cited in the passage
A. Fondness of foreign culture.
B. Equality in society.
C. Linguistic tolerance.
D. Persistent planning.
Harry Truman didn’’t think his successor had the right training to be president. "Poor Ike ― it won’’t be a bit like the Army," he said. "He’’ll sit there all day saying ,do this, do that,’’and nothing will happen." Truman was wrong about Ike. Dwight Eisenhower had led a fractious alliance ― you didn’’t tell Winston Churchill what to do ― in a massive, chaotic war. He was used to politics. But Truman’’s insight could well be applied to another, even more venerated Washington figure, the CEO-turned cabinet secretary. A 20-year bull market has convinced us all that CEOs are geniuses, so watch with astonishment the troubles of Donald Rumsfeld and Paul O’’Neill. Here are two highly regarded businessmen, obviously intelligent and well-informed, foundering in their jobs. Actually, we shouldn’’t be surprised. Rumsfeld and O’’Neill are not doing badly despite having been successful CEOs but because of it. The record of senior businessmen in government is one of almost unrelieved disappointment. In fact, with the exception of Robert Rubin, it is difficult to think of a CEO who had a successful career in government. Why is this Well, first the CEO has to recognize that he is no longer the CEO. He is at best an adviser to the CEO, the president. But even the president is not really the CEO. No one is. Power in a corporation is concentrated and vertically structured. Power in Washington is diffuse and horizontally spread out. The secretary might think he’’s in charge of his agency. But the chairman of the congressional committee funding that agency feels the same. In his famous study "Presidential Power and the Modern Presidents," Richard Neustadt explains how little power the president actually has and concludes that the only lasting presidential power is "the power to persuade." Take Rumsfeld’’s attempt to transform the cold-war military into one geared for the future. It’’s innovative but deeply threatening to almost everyone in Washington. The Defense secretary did not try to sell it to the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Congress, the budget office or the White House. As a result, the idea is collapsing. Second, what power you have, you must use carefully. For example, O’’Neill’’s position as Treasury secretary is one with little formal authority. Unlike Finance ministers around the world, Treasury does not control the budget. But it has symbolic power. The secretary is seen as the chief economic spokesman for the administration and, if he plays it right, the chief economic adviser for the president. O’’Neill has been publicly critical of the IMF’’s bailout packages for developing countries while at the same time approving such packages for Turkey, Argentina and Brazil. As a result, he has gotten the worst of both worlds. The bailouts continue, but their effect in holstering investor confidence is limited because the markets are rattled by his skepticism. Perhaps the government doesn’’t do bailouts well. But that leads to a third rule: you can’’t just quit. Jack Welch’’s famous law for re-engineering General Electric was to be first or second in any given product category, or else get out of that business. But if the government isn’’t doing a particular job at peak level, it doesn’’t always have the option of relieving itself of that function. The Pentagon probably wastes a lot of money. But it can’’t get out of the national-security business. The key to former Treasury secretary Rubin’’s success may have been that he fully understood that business and government are, in his words, "necessarily and properly very different." In a recent speech he explained, "Business functions around one predominate organizing principle, profitability ... Government, on the other hand, deals with a vast number of equally legitimate and often potentially competing objectives ― for example, energy production versus environmental protection, or safety regulations versus productivity." Rubin’’s example shows that talented people can do well in government if they are willing to treat it as its own separate, serious endeavour. But having been bathed in a culture of adoration and flattery, it’’s difficult for a CEO to believe he needs to listen and learn, particularly from those despised and poorly paid specimens, politicians, bureaucrats and the media. And even if he knows it intellectually, he just can’’s live with it. The author seems to suggest that CEO-turned government officials
A. are able to fit into their new roles.
B. are unlikely to adapt to their new roles.
C. can respond to new situations intelligently.
D. may feel uncertain in their new posts.
Harry Truman didn’’t think his successor had the right training to be president. "Poor Ike ― it won’’t be a bit like the Army," he said. "He’’ll sit there all day saying ,do this, do that,’’and nothing will happen." Truman was wrong about Ike. Dwight Eisenhower had led a fractious alliance ― you didn’’t tell Winston Churchill what to do ― in a massive, chaotic war. He was used to politics. But Truman’’s insight could well be applied to another, even more venerated Washington figure, the CEO-turned cabinet secretary. A 20-year bull market has convinced us all that CEOs are geniuses, so watch with astonishment the troubles of Donald Rumsfeld and Paul O’’Neill. Here are two highly regarded businessmen, obviously intelligent and well-informed, foundering in their jobs. Actually, we shouldn’’t be surprised. Rumsfeld and O’’Neill are not doing badly despite having been successful CEOs but because of it. The record of senior businessmen in government is one of almost unrelieved disappointment. In fact, with the exception of Robert Rubin, it is difficult to think of a CEO who had a successful career in government. Why is this Well, first the CEO has to recognize that he is no longer the CEO. He is at best an adviser to the CEO, the president. But even the president is not really the CEO. No one is. Power in a corporation is concentrated and vertically structured. Power in Washington is diffuse and horizontally spread out. The secretary might think he’’s in charge of his agency. But the chairman of the congressional committee funding that agency feels the same. In his famous study "Presidential Power and the Modern Presidents," Richard Neustadt explains how little power the president actually has and concludes that the only lasting presidential power is "the power to persuade." Take Rumsfeld’’s attempt to transform the cold-war military into one geared for the future. It’’s innovative but deeply threatening to almost everyone in Washington. The Defense secretary did not try to sell it to the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Congress, the budget office or the White House. As a result, the idea is collapsing. Second, what power you have, you must use carefully. For example, O’’Neill’’s position as Treasury secretary is one with little formal authority. Unlike Finance ministers around the world, Treasury does not control the budget. But it has symbolic power. The secretary is seen as the chief economic spokesman for the administration and, if he plays it right, the chief economic adviser for the president. O’’Neill has been publicly critical of the IMF’’s bailout packages for developing countries while at the same time approving such packages for Turkey, Argentina and Brazil. As a result, he has gotten the worst of both worlds. The bailouts continue, but their effect in holstering investor confidence is limited because the markets are rattled by his skepticism. Perhaps the government doesn’’t do bailouts well. But that leads to a third rule: you can’’t just quit. Jack Welch’’s famous law for re-engineering General Electric was to be first or second in any given product category, or else get out of that business. But if the government isn’’t doing a particular job at peak level, it doesn’’t always have the option of relieving itself of that function. The Pentagon probably wastes a lot of money. But it can’’t get out of the national-security business. The key to former Treasury secretary Rubin’’s success may have been that he fully understood that business and government are, in his words, "necessarily and properly very different." In a recent speech he explained, "Business functions around one predominate organizing principle, profitability ... Government, on the other hand, deals with a vast number of equally legitimate and often potentially competing objectives ― for example, energy production versus environmental protection, or safety regulations versus productivity." Rubin’’s example shows that talented people can do well in government if they are willing to treat it as its own separate, serious endeavour. But having been bathed in a culture of adoration and flattery, it’’s difficult for a CEO to believe he needs to listen and learn, particularly from those despised and poorly paid specimens, politicians, bureaucrats and the media. And even if he knows it intellectually, he just can’’s live with it. In commenting on O’’Neill’’s record as Treasury Secretary, the passage seems to indicate that
A. O’’Neill has failed to use his power well.
B. O’’Neill’’s policies were well received.
C. O’’Neill has been consistent in his policies.
D. O’’Neill is uncertain about the package he’’s approved.