Pakistan And The Nuclear Bomb Motivations Exposed...

Pakistan and the Nuclear Bomb: Motivations Exposed through a Constructivist Lens Intro It is easy to try to frame the actions of the Pakistani government in its quest for nuclear weapons from a realist perspective. Essentially, this is to say that a realist views any state as a rational actor which desires to gain and maintain its own status as a world power player in a system of international anarchy – which is to say there is no entity superior to the state. Additionally, each state will seek to maximize its own self-interests vis-à  -vis its military and non-military political capabilities in order to ensure state survival and continuity of the governing regime. Body As Alexander Wendt said, â€Å"anarchy is what states make of it†. In order to demonstrate why Pakistan’s pursuit of becoming a nuclear weapon state is constructivism, it is vital to understand the history between Pakistan and India. The Islamic Republic of Pakistan is considered to be a rising star within the international community. According to the Central Intelligence Agency World Factbook, â€Å"The separation in 1947 of British India into the Muslim state of Pakistan (with West and East sections) and largely Hindu India was never satisfactorily resolved.† The emergence of this persisting rivalry began with the partition of British India, which mostly divided Pakistan and India along ethnic and religious lines. The relationship between India and Pakistan further devolved with three conflicts, starting in

Quantitative Research Methods For Research - 1077 Words

Quantitative research methods are typically concerned with measuring criminological or criminal justice reality. There are a number of different quantitative research methods available to researchers, most of which fall under the rubric of a research design, which can be defined as the plan for a study that includes the exploratory, descriptive, explanatory and evaluative of an investigation. Purpose of exploratory research is to identify context, issues and concerns whereas descriptive is to provide an accurate, detailed picture, describing context of a situation. The purpose of explanatory is to test the predictions of a theory when evaluative design is to describe a programme or intervention. These research methods include: survey research, experimental and quasi-experimental research, longitudinal research, cross-sectional research, meta-analysis and time series research (Criminology Criminal Justice Research, 2012). Qualitative Research is primarily exploratory research. It is used to gain an understanding of underlying reasons, opinions, and motivations. It provides insights into the problem or helps to develop ideas or hypotheses for potential quantitative research. Crime statistics is used to compare rates over time, measure police efficiency, help the police to concentrate resources and to provide the public with information about criminal activity. Crime figures isn’t as reliable as not all crimes are recorded by the police, there is evidence of a ‘dark figureShow MoreRelatedResearch Methods Of Quantitative Research1087 Words   |  5 Pages Week 2 Assignment Adam Morrison PSY 326 Research Methods Jessica Lee Qualitative researchers are focused on interpreting and making sense out of what they observe rather than trying to simplify and quantify these observations by collecting and observing people, places and things in their natural setting. In doing this, researchers are able to investigate hypothesis with more freedom and rigidity while accepting the fact that they relinquish their ability to control direct and indirectRead MoreResearch Methods Of Quantitative Research Essay2390 Words   |  10 Pages3.1. Research Methods There are two types of research methods, which are qualitative, and quantitative each of which is focused towards diverse aspect. It is noticed that qualitative research method is used for the studies that are dependent on the use of theoretical data or content instead of collecting statistical or empirical evidence to support the discussion. 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The research design mentions to the general approach that is selected to assimilate the different mechanisms of the research in an intelligible and rational way, thus, safeguarding that it will efficientlyRead MoreQualitative Quantitative Research Methods1047 Words   |  5 PagesQualitative amp; Quantitative Research Methods PSY 326 Dr. Willow Aureala March 29, 2011 Qualitative amp; Quantitative Research Methods There are two types of research methods: qualitative and quantitative. Qualitative research methods are complex meaningful analyses characterized by processes and meanings that are not measured in terms of mathematical measurements. Quantitative research however, relies and builds on mathematical procedures and methods, such as frequency, quality, amountRead MoreQualitative And Quantitative Research Methods936 Words   |  4 PagesQualitative and quantitative research methods are two alternative applications for research methods. Both are very different in how data is collected, what data is collected, and how data is measured. Both of these research methods are utilized amongst the major areas of psychology and the social sciences. This paper will provide a brief description of qualitative and quantitative methods, provide the differences between the two approaches along with the terminology used for both; I will alsoRead MoreQualitative And Quantitative Research Methods1285 Wor ds   |  6 PagesQualitative and Quantitative Research Ravi Teja Mora Dr. Jimi Peters Research Methods Stratford University â€Æ' Qualitative and Quantitative Research Introduction There has been a widespread of debate in recent years regarding the quantitative and qualitative research methods, wether one or the other has to be emerged as superior. 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Describe the key features (up to 5) that distinguish quantitative research from qualitative research. Provide examples to demonstrate your main points. Firstly, qualitative and quantitative research methods are used for different purposes. Quantitative methods try to explain and make predictions, confirm and validate an existing

Warm Bodies Chapter 5 Free Essays

string(34) " It starts with R\?’ I nod\." I take Julie to the food court, and she gives me an odd look when I immediately start moving towards the Thai restaurant. As we get closer she cringes and covers her nose. ‘Oh God,’ she moans. We will write a custom essay sample on Warm Bodies Chapter 5 or any similar topic only for you Order Now The warming bins in front are frothing with dried-up rot, dead maggots and mould. I’m pretty much impervious to odour by now, but judging by Julie’s expression, it’s foul. We dig around in the back room for a while, but the airport’s intermittent power means the freezers only work part-time, so everything inside is rancid. I head towards the burger joint. Julie gives me that quizzical look again and follows me. In the walk-in freezer we find a few burger patties that are currently cold, but have clearly been thawed and refrozen many times. Dead flies speckle the white freezer floor. Julie sighs. ‘Well?’ I look off into the distance, thinking. The airport does have a sushi bar . . . but I remember a little about sushi, and if a few hours can spoil a fresh hamachi fillet, I don’t want to see what years can do. ‘God,’ Julie says as I stand there deliberating, ‘you really know how to plan a dinner date.’ She opens a few boxes of mouldy buns, wrinkles up her nose. ‘You’ve never done this before, have you? Taken a human home alive?’ I shake my head apologetically, but I wince at her use of the word ‘human’. I’ve never liked that differentiation. She is Living and I’m Dead, but I’d like to believe we’re both human. Call me an idealist. I raise a finger as if to stall her. ‘One . . . more place.’ We walk to an unmarked side area of the food court. Several doors later, we’re in the airport’s central storage area. I prise open a freezer door and a cloud of icy air billows out. I hide my relief. This was starting to get awkward. We step inside and stand among shelves stacked high with in-flight meal trays. ‘What have we here . . .’ Julie says, and starts digging through the low shelves, inspecting the Salisbury steaks and processed potatoes. Thanks to whatever glorious preservatives they contain, the meals appear to be edible. Julie scans the labels on the upper shelves she can’t reach and suddenly beams, showing rows of white teeth that childhood braces made perfect. ‘Look, pad thai! I love . . .’ She trails off, looking at me uneasily. She points to the shelf. ‘I’ll have that.’ I stretch over her head and grab an armful of frozen pad thai. I don’t want any of the Dead to see Julie eating this lifeless waste, these empty calories, so I lead her to a table hidden behind some collapsed postcard kiosks. I try to steer her as far away from the School as possible, but we can still hear the wretched screams echoing down the halls. Julie keeps her face utterly placid during even the shrillest wails, doing everything short of whistling a tune to show that she doesn’t notice the carnage. Is this for my benefit, or hers? We sit down at the cafe table and I set one of the meal trays in front of her. ‘En . . . joy,’ I say. She jabs at the frozen-solid noodles with a plastic fork. She looks at me. ‘You really don’t remember much, do you? How long has it been since you ate real food?’ I shrug. ‘How long has it been since you . . . died or whatever?’ I tap a finger against my temple and shake my head. She looks me over. ‘Well, it can’t have been very long. You look pretty good for a corpse.’ I wince again at her language, but I realise she can’t possibly know the sensitive cultural connotations of the word ‘corpse’. M uses it sometimes as a joke, and I use it myself in some of my darker moments, but coming from an outsider it ignites a defensive indignation she wouldn’t understand. I breathe deep and let it go. ‘Anyway, I can’t eat it like this,’ she says, pushing her plastic fork into the food until one of the tines snaps. ‘I’m going to go find a microwave. Hold on.’ She gets up and wanders into one of the empty restaurants. She has forgotten her shamble, and her hips sway rhythmically. It’s risky, but I find myself not caring. ‘Here we go,’ she says when she comes back, taking a deep whiff of spicy steam. ‘Mmm. I haven’t had Thai in for ever. We don’t do real food at the Stadium any more, just basic nutrition and Carbtein. Carbtein tablets, Carbtein powder, Carbtein juice. Jesus H. Gross.’ She sits down and takes a bite of freezer-burned tofu. ‘Oh wow. That’s almost tasty.’ I sit there and watch her eat. I notice she seems to be having trouble getting the clumpy, congealed noodles down her throat. I fetch a lukewarm bottle of beer from the restaurant’s cooler and set it on the table. Julie stops eating and looks at the bottle. She looks at me and smiles. ‘Why, Mr Zombie, you read my mind.’ She twists off the cap and takes a long drink. ‘I haven’t had beer in a while, either. No mind-altering substances allowed in the Stadium. Have to stay alert at all times, stay vigilant, blah blah blah.’ She takes another drink and gives me an appraising look laced with sarcasm. ‘Maybe you’re not such a monster, Mr Zombie. I mean, anyone who appreciates a good beer is at least halfway okay in my book.’ I look at her and hold a hand to my chest. ‘My . . . name . . .’ I wheeze, but can’t think how to continue. She sets the beer down and leans forward a little. ‘You have a name?’ I nod. Her lip curls in an amused half-smile. ‘What’s your name?’ I close my eyes and think hard, trying to pull it out of the void, but I’ve tried this so many times before. ‘Rrr,’ I say, trying to pronounce it. ‘Rur? Your name is Rur?’ I shake my head. ‘Rrrrr . . .’ ‘Rrr? It starts with R?’ I nod. ‘Robert?’ I shake my head. ‘Rick? Rodney?’ I shake my head. ‘Uh . . . Rambo?’ I let out a sigh and look at the table. ‘How about I just call you â€Å"R†? That’s a start, right?’ My eyes dart to hers. ‘R.’ A slow smile creeps across my face. ‘Hi, R,’ she says. ‘I’m Julie. But you knew that already, didn’t you. Guess I’m a fucking celebrity.’ She nudges the beer towards me. ‘Have a drink.’ I eye the bottle for a second, feeling a strange kind of nausea at the thought of what’s inside. Dark amber emptiness. Lifeless piss. But I don’t want to ruin this improbably warm moment with my stupid undead hang-ups. I accept the beer and take a long pull. I can feel it trickling through tiny perforations in my stomach and dampening my shirt. And to my amazement, I can feel a slight buzz spreading through my brain. This isn’t possible, of course, since I have no blood-stream for the alcohol to enter, but I feel it anyway. Is it psychosomatic? Maybe a distant memory of the drinking experience left over from my old life? If so, apparently I was a lightweight. Julie grins at my stupefied expression. ‘Drink up,’ she says. ‘I’m actually more of a wine girl anyway.’ I take another pull. I can taste her raspberry lip gloss on the rim. I find myself imagining her dolled up for a concert, her neck-length hair swept and styled, her small body radiant in a red party dress, and me kissing her, the lipstick smearing onto my mouth, spreading bright rouge onto my grey lips . . . I slide the bottle a safe distance away from me. Julie chuckles and returns to her food. She pokes at it for a few minutes, ignoring my presence at the table. I’m about to make a doomed attempt at small talk when she looks up at me, all traces of joviality gone from her face, and says, ‘So, â€Å"R†. Why are you keeping me here?’ The question hits me like a surprise slap. I look at the ceiling. I gesture around at the airport in general, towards the distant groans of my fellow Dead. ‘Keep you safe.’ ‘Bullshit.’ There is silence. She looks at me hard. My eyes retreat. ‘Listen,’ she says. ‘I get that you saved my life back there in the city. And I guess I’m grateful for that. So, yeah. Thanks for saving my life. Or sparing my life. Whatever. But you walked me into this place, I’m sure you could walk me out. So again: why are you keeping me here?’ Her eyes are like hot irons on the side of my face, and I realise I can’t escape. I put a hand on my chest, over my heart. My ‘heart’. Does that pitiful organ still represent anything? It lies motionless in my chest, pumping no blood, serving no purpose, and yet my feelings still seem to originate inside its cold walls. My muted sadness, my vague longing, my rare flickers of joy. They pool in the centre of my chest and seep out from there, diluted and faint, but real. I press my hand against my heart. Then I reach slowly towards Julie, and press against hers. Somehow, I manage to meet her eyes. She looks down at my hand, then gives me a dry stare. ‘Are you. Fucking. Kidding me.’ I withdraw my hand and drop my eyes to the table, grateful that I’m incapable of blushing. ‘Need . . . to wait,’ I mumble. ‘They . . . think you’re . . . new convert. They’ll notice.’ ‘How long?’ ‘Few . . . days. They’ll . . . forget.’ ‘Jesus Christ,’ she sighs, and covers her eyes with her hand, shaking her head. ‘You’ll . . . be okay,’ I tell her. ‘Promise.’ She ignores this. She pulls an iPod out of her pocket and stuffs the earbuds into her ears. She returns to her food, listening to music that’s just a faint hiss to me. This date is not going well. Once again the absurdity of my inner thoughts overwhelms me, and I want to crawl out of my skin, escape my ugly, awkward flesh and be a skeleton, naked and anonymous. I’m about to stand up and leave when Julie pulls a bud out of one ear and gives me a squinting, penetrating look. ‘You’re . . . different, aren’t you?’ she says. I don’t respond. ‘Because I’ve never heard a zombie talk, other than â€Å"brains!† and all that silly groaning. And I’ve never seen a zombie take any interest in humans beyond eating them. I’ve definitely never had one buy me a drink. Are there . . . others like you?’ Again I feel the urge to blush. ‘Don’t . . . know.’ She pushes her noodles around the plate. ‘A few days,’ she repeats. I nod. ‘What am I supposed to do here till it’s safe to run away? I hope you don’t expect me to just sit in your housejet taking blood baths all week.’ I think for a moment. A rainbow of images floods my head, probably snippets of old movies I’ve seen, all sappy and romantic and utterly impossible. I have got to get ahold of myself. ‘I’ll . . . entertain,’ I say eventually, and offer an unconvincing smile. ‘You are . . . guest.’ She rolls her eyes and resumes eating. The second earbud is still sitting on the table. Without looking up from her plate she casually offers it to me. I stick it in my ear, and the voice of Paul McCartney drifts into my head, singing all those wistful antonyms, yes/no, high/low, hello/goodbye/hello. ‘You know John Lennon hated this song?’ Julie says as it plays, speaking in my direction but not really addressing me. ‘He thought it was meaningless gibberish. Funny coming from the guy who wrote â€Å"I Am the Walrus†.’ ‘Goo goo . . . g’joob,’ I say. She stops, looks at me, tilts her head in pleasant surprise. ‘Yeah, exactly, right?’ She takes a sip of the beer, forgetting the imprint of my lips on the bottle, and my eyes widen in brief panic. But nothing happens. Maybe my infection can’t travel through soft moments like these. Maybe it needs the violence of the bite. ‘Anyway,’ she says, ‘it’s a little too chipper for me right now.’ She skips the song. I hear a brief snippet of Ava Gardner singing ‘Bill’, then she skips a few more times, lands on an unfamiliar rock tune, and cranks the volume. I’m distantly aware of the music, but I have tuned out. I watch Julie bob her head from side to side with eyes closed. Even now, here, in the darkest and strangest of places with the most macabre of company, the music moves her and her life pulses hard. I smell it again, a white glowing vapour wafting out from under my black blood. And even for Julie’s safety, I can’t bring myself to smother it. What is wrong with me? I stare at my hand, at its pale grey flesh, cool and stiff, and I dream it pink, warm and supple, able to guide and build and caress. I dream my necrotic cells shrugging off their lethargy, inflating and lighting up like Christmas deep in my dark core. Am I inventing all this like the beer buzz? A placebo? An optimistic illusion? Either way, I feel the flatline of my existence disrupting, forming heartbeat hills and valleys. How to cite Warm Bodies Chapter 5, Essay examples

Movie Summary Before Sunrise Essay Example For Students

Movie Summary Before Sunrise Essay In the words of Steve Jobs, No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven dont want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Weaved throughout, Before Sunrise directed by Richard Linklater, there is a synthesizing of ideals of a great Shakespearian tragedy and its foil the Shakespearian comedy, of the fear the submission of death while being filled with love and comedy. The cookie cutter story of two lovers, Celine and Jesse, meet paths in a train, making a pact that regardless the odds they were getting off to roam Vienna, enchanted by the romance and cultural of their surroundings, all till reality hits them again at sunrise. Beyond it being a â€Å"love† story it has a minimalistic plot, with not much happening, aside from walking and talking with a few kisses here and there; it integrates the simplest rendition of the romantic’s conflict between love and its obstacles. The odd thing of the film, is that the dialogue contradicts the characterization of this being a romantic/ dramatic film. The dialogue, carries a strong pull towards a tragedy with the fusion of the themes of death, love vs. time, and the cameos of religious ideals of life and reincarnation, minus the whimsical death. Conversations preoccupied with death, transience and the fragility of life. It’s safe to say that, the influence of the protagonist is the fear of death and mortality, while fighting against time. The question being what happens after sunrise? Nevertheless, Celine’s fascination and attraction to death and reincarnation lead to the magnetism between her and Jesse. That same fascination mutates to an obsession, starting to infect every aspect of her life travel, decision making, and even her choice of literature. In fact, when the couple first meet they ask each other, â€Å"What are you reading? † she responds by showing her the cover of George Batalie book titled Madame Edwards Le Mort, translating the dead man. The tale Jesse tells of himself as a child seeing his grandmother’s ghost in the spray of a water hose, hits a chord on Celine’s own obsession over her own mortality. At this part of the film the characteristics of the romance begin to oozes out , that being the moment where she decided to put her life and safety in the hands of this random person she had just simply connected with. The ambiguity and the unknown of death has caused and controlled Celine’s every action that has occurred up to that point of her life, â€Å"I’m afraid of death 24 hours a day, said Celine. Thus, unconsciously winning her over and convincing her to disembark the train and spend the wild night in Vienna. As they start to embark this journey through out Vienna, they encounter countless individuals, pass numerous landmarks; but Celine remembering her previous travels is attracted to Friedhof der Namenlosen Friendhof der Namelosen , a graveyard filled with Viennese suicide and plague victims, many of them resting for eternity in the sort of anonymity . â€Å"I visited this as a young teenager. I think it left a bigger impression on me at that time than any of the museums we went to. † Celine at an early age gained a respect for the delicacy of life and its worth. Seeing all this lives that were short lives, unmissed, forgotten, and never to exist . .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a , .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a .postImageUrl , .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a .centered-text-area { min-height: 80px; position: relative; } .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a , .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a:hover , .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a:visited , .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a:active { border:0!important; } .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a .clearfix:after { content: ""; display: table; clear: both; } .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a { display: block; transition: background-color 250ms; webkit-transition: background-color 250ms; width: 100%; opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #95A5A6; } .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a:active , .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a:hover { opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #2C3E50; } .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a .centered-text-area { width: 100%; position: relative ; } .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a .ctaText { border-bottom: 0 solid #fff; color: #2980B9; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0; padding: 0; text-decoration: underline; } .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a .postTitle { color: #FFFFFF; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 600; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 100%; } .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a .ctaButton { background-color: #7F8C8D!important; color: #2980B9; border: none; border-radius: 3px; box-shadow: none; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 26px; moz-border-radius: 3px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-shadow: none; width: 80px; min-height: 80px; background: url(https://artscolumbia.org/wp-content/plugins/intelly-related-posts/assets/images/simple-arrow.png)no-repeat; position: absolute; right: 0; top: 0; } .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a:hover .ctaButton { background-color: #34495E!important; } .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a .centered-text { display: table; height: 80px; padding-left : 18px; top: 0; } .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a-content { display: table-cell; margin: 0; padding: 0; padding-right: 108px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 100%; } .uc040730b998651ca469f14eb4d734b2a:after { content: ""; display: block; clear: both; } READ: Movie Overview - Boy EssayNot even in the memories in those who loved them. â€Å"When I was a little girl, I thought that if none of your family or friends knew you were dead, then its like not really being dead. People can invent the best and the worst for you. † It’s brought to our attention the same fear we all face, the not knowing the events, thoughts, or memories of us when we are gone. Celine brings up the question, â€Å"If none of your family or friends know your were you dead, or missing? † Even before the time of Hezekiah, the man that asked for fifteen more years of life and god granted it to him, mankind feared the closing of their death. Throughout this film, the protagonist from the time they leave the train they are in a sense of a split of time where time does not affect them it’s not until they reach the cemetery that time stops. â€Å"She was only 13 when she died. That meant something to me, you know, I was around that age when I first saw this. Hmm. Now, Im 10 years older, and shes still, 13, I guess. † Celine in this quote admires how time does not affect the dead. For that reason that they know t time affects the living, they live spontaneous lives. Yet aware death stops, shortens and controls time. As time passes, maybe we should record it and put it in a vault so that when we get a little old and dont have the energy we can remember how life used to be. The theme of love resonated underneath the more highlighted themes of time, death, and the strongest of the being fear. In spite of the fear of death, mortality and time the protagonist used their love to overcome that fear. Love tore the veil of fear, which allowed them to move on with their lives. The original question was; what happens after sunrise? You tell me.