damn it is a *dupeof=http://videosift.com/video/Sinead-O-Connor-the-Chieftains-The-Foggy-Dew

This video has been declared a duplicate by the original submitter; transferring votes to the original video and killing this dupe - dupeof declared by jonny.

A "right" implies that you need permission. There is no "right to learn", it is a biological construct. You learn, because your brain works that way. Our society does not infringe on that ability, but you are not granted a right - it just is. You may argue that by not forbidding it, we are indirectly setting up a right, but it's still misleading.

Your right to negotiate your rights is internal to the society - we have politicians elected to determine rights, judges to uphold them. Other societies might have had Chieftains determining right and wrong, and rights for the people.

From an outside perspective a given society's rights might be seen as barbaric, given our own society's standpoint. Examples: Prima Nocte or the death penalty.

The important thing is that rights are determined on a societal level, not an individual level. Morality, might be entirely different, but that's another discussion.
>> ^Pantalones:

@GeeSussFreeK
Ah, so the argument is any natural right is only as legitimate as it's subjective and relative foundation, and therefore simply a misnomer for negotiated right. That's an interesting standard for "natural". That's an interesting concept. As a counter argument, I ask, can I negotiate my right (not capacity or ability) to learn? How about my right to negotiate?
Seriously, if there is an author I can read up on, I'd enjoy reading a more in depth exploration of this idea.

7 thousand years of human Civilization, and we still haven't solved the King/Chieftain problem yet. Does this remind anyone of the NASI youth programs? Has Russia traded communism for a twisted form of democratic fascism?

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn,
they stretch an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,
Are bent lyke drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
"Bethankit!" 'hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him ower his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a haggis!