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|my rating
Nov 26, 2017
really liked it
As Canada celebrated its 150th birthday this year, reconciliation was increasingly a buzzword on the lips of politicians, journalists, and celebrities As Canada celebrated its 150th birthday this year, reconciliation was increasingly a buzzword on the lips of politicians, journalists, and celebrities. Most people seemed to recognize that we have a ways to go in our relationship with Indigenous peoples—but most people also seem unwilling to put that recognition into action. As my recent review of Seven Fallen Feathers shows, our country is still a hostile place when it comes to Indigenous lives. And the present situation is a direct result of the more-than-150 years of colonialism executed as official government policy, including the residential school system.
Residential Schools and Reconciliation is an historical overview of the actions taken by governments and churches involved in residential schooling in the years since the residential school system was wound down. J.R. Miller provides a brief description of residential schools but assumes the reader is generally familiar with the term. The book focuses not so much on the schools themselves, on the abuse and suffering, but rather on the ways in which our society and some of its largest organizational entities have attempted to respond to and reconcile the harm done to Indigenous peoples. Miller's book is very scholarly but never too technical or too dry, and their treatment of the subject matter is both sensitive and comprehensive. I've been reading a lot about residential schools over the past few years, but I still managed to learn so much from this book.
Miller begins by examining the apologies offered by the official church bodies that ran or co-ran residential schools. He discusses why these apologies came about, the internal strife that often accompanied them, and the reactions on the part of survivors and Indigenous members of these congregations. While I was aware of the role that many churches had played in residential schools, and that various attempts at apology had happened, Miller helped fill in a lot of gaps in my knowledge. I appreciate the way he highlights how different survivors reacted very differently to these apologies. There is a tendency for settlers like myself to paint Indigenous issues in these broad, sweeping generalizations: oh, Indigenous people are opposed to pipelines; Indigenous people are upset with Trudeau's government, etc. The reality is, unsurprisingly, so much more complex. The more I follow and listen to Indigenous people, particularly on Twitter, the more I get a glimpse of the internal arguments—arguments that I'm not party to, that I don't participate in, because they are none of my business, but that reveal and remind me of the great diversity of individual and cultural voices within the group settlers have labelled "Indigenous".
A great deal of Residential Schools and Reconciliation focuses on this idea of whether or not the responses have been appropriate and sufficient. In their discussion of the church and, later, government apologies, Miller refers to the criteria for a successful and intentional apology as outlined in The Age of Apology. He points out areas in which the apologies worked well, such as the way they have allowed some survivors to open up, come to terms with, or more openly express their feelings about their experiences. He also points out where people or groups have expressed dissatisfaction with the apology process.
Next, Miller chronicles the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples (RCAP) and how its mandate gradually shifted to include residential schools as the commissioners recognized how important it was to the people they interviewed. This chapter and the next, which details the government's response to RCAP's report, are full of details that, at times, bogged me down—but it's very interesting, and I suspect someone reading this for purposes of research will find it extremely useful.
I was more interested in the next part of the book, which discusses the Indian Residential Schools Settlement Agreement. Basically, government was tired of being taken to court so many times, so they eventually agreed to litigate everything en masse and have one big settlement. Obviously I'd heard of this, but Miller does a good job explaining how it came about, what it entailed, and who did and did not benefit. It's really messy and really, really bureaucratic. In general, it just gives you a good sense of why Indigenous people are so fed up with trying to deal with the governments—for every little bit of ground (sometimes literally, if we're talking about land claims) regained, kilometres of red tape must be negotiated. The result is a process so dehumanizing that it retraumatizes the people who have already had their dignity and humanity stripped from them once by the government.
The final part of the book concerns the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, along with related attempts by the government to advance the cause of reconciliation. The TRC's final report was only released a few years ago, so this is still fairly fresh. I learned a lot about the origins and workings of the TRC that I hadn't—I knew it had been funded by the money from the settlement, but I didn't know there were three original commissioners who eventually ended up resigning and the commission essentially restarted after that! Reminds me a lot of the current inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women.
One conviction, which this book strengthened for me, is that the government still doesn't get it. I think individual people do—some of the politicians and some of the public servants who, collectively, run what we call "government" in this country. But the system as a whole remains a very colonial and racist institution. It is obsessed with, beholden to, budgets. It wants to bottom-line the issues of residential schools and reconciliation, to attach a dollar value, to pay that out, and then declare the matter closed. As long as this type of thinking prevails, reconciliation can't truly happen. The government has to stop saying, "OK, if we do this, then we're even. OK, if this happens, then we start fresh." That's not how this works. That's not how any of this works. But the government keeps trying it, because it is scared that if it actually ever admits how much work it needs to put into reconciliation, then voters will revolt over the potential cost. That's why it's so important for settlers to educate themselves on these issues—because, yeah, it will cost taxpayer money to fix this mess. But the human cost of not fixing it is so much higher.
Much of what I have read or watched about residential schools focuses on explaining the schools themselves and what survivors endured there. Those are important stories, of course. And I was sceptical, going into this book, precisely because I was wondering what an academic might reveal that I haven't been learning from other sources closer to the issue. Yet Residential Schools and Reconciliation actually serves a very important purpose. It educates about the response to residential schools, what happened afterwards, much of which occurred at a time when I was too young to appreciate what was happening in our society. I'd highly recommend this volume for anyone with an interest in the steps that churches, governments, and survivors have taken, and that after reading, you ponder whether or not it really is enough.
Notes are private!
Nov 05, 2017
Nov 09, 2017
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Mar 22, 2016
Oct 10, 2017
liked it
Not actually my cup of tea, The Future of War: A History is a massive data dump and analysis of what we used to think about the future of warfare. Law Not actually my cup of tea, The Future of War: A History is a massive data dump and analysis of what we used to think about the future of warfare. Lawrence Freedman has clearly Done the Research, and I have to hand it to him: there's compelling stuff here. Thanks to NetGalley and Public Affairs for the eARC.
I love the premise of this book. It kind of merges my passion for literature and my mild interest in history. It is very easy for us to interpret the actions of people in the past through our hindsight and our own cultural lenses. Freedman reminds us what any good historian tries to remember: people in the past had a very different conception of the world, and as such, their motivations might be hard to unravel if they didn't write them down. To us, the multitudinous causes of World War I and the line connecting it to World War II seem obvious. To someone living in 1920 or 1930, not so much. To us, the outcome of the Cold War and its influence around the world is just a matter of fact now—to someone living in 1950 or 1960, with the spectres of Hiroshima and Nagasaki still lingering in recent memory, it's a very different story.
Freedman's survey of the literature is thoughtful, perceptive, detailed, and critical. He intersperses the literature between arguments for an overall thesis—which basically seems to be that, following the end of the Cold War, we've reached a point where it is increasingly difficult to predict the "future" of war, simply because we have yet to settle on a redefinition of the word.
One part of the book that really jumped out at me is where Freedman explains the intense efforts put into statistical analysis of wars. In particular, he describes late-twentieth-century attempts to compile casualty databases. He points out all the assumptions that necessarily went into this work, since it is difficult to define what war is, how long it lasts, or what counts as a "death" or "injury" attributable to the war. As such, while these sources of information are invaluable for discussing war and the related politics, they are also flawed and biased. Freedman reminds us that methodology in these situations is so tricky—it's not a matter of getting it right, but of understanding that there is no one right way to collect and interpret the data.
I also really enjoyed the first part of The Future of War, where Freedman analyzes what people were writing prior to and then following the First World War. I liked the glimpse at war fiction, from people like Wells and others whose names aren't quite as well known today. And it's interesting how Freedman draws connections between fiction and its influence on the population, as well as politicians. Later on, he recapitulates this by recounting President Reagan's reaction to Tom Clancy's first novels.
The last part of the book was less interesting, for a few reasons. By this point, I was getting fatigued. This is a long book, and more to the point, it is incredibly dense and detailed and technical. A student of history will find this a useful resource; the casual reader, like myself, might start feeling bogged down. Also, the incredibly globalized nature of warfare in the 1990s, the sheer number of internecine affairs, means that Freedman has to cover a lot of ground in comparably few pages. Like, entire books have and can be written about small parts of each of these conflicts. So it all starts to feel overwhelming, but rushed.
None of this is Freedman's fault in particular. The Future of War is quite well-written and informative. It is a little drier and less engaging than I typically want my non-fiction to be, but I can't really hold that against it. I'm just not quite the target audience. History buffs, though, particularly those who want to learn more about how we used to think about war, might have more patience and inclination to really dive deep into this.
Notes are private!
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 14, 2017
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Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017
it was amazing
Seven Fallen Feathers: Racism, Death, and Hard Truths in a Northern City is one of those books I wish didn't exist but am so grateful it does. Over th Seven Fallen Feathers: Racism, Death, and Hard Truths in a Northern City is one of those books I wish didn't exist but am so grateful it does. Over the past few years, I've seen my city come up in the national media from time to time—and often related to Indigenous issues, such as the deaths or inquests of the students in this book. But after the interest in those stories dies down, and the spotlight of the press turns away, life in this city goes on. Nothing really changes. Tanya Talaga, by investigating and piecing together the stories of these seven deaths, and by putting them in the larger context of our colonial history, has created an enduring record that—I hope—is more difficult to ignore.
I'm going to review this book first for a general audience, then I'm going to get into my reaction to it as a settler from Thunder Bay. Trigger warnings, obvs, in this book and review for discussions of suicide, violence (particularly against women and youth), binge drinking, and racial slurs.
Seven Fallen Feathers is not about blame; it is about responsibility. We all have a responsibility towards children, as our future. The government has a responsibility towards Indigenous peoples—it acknowledges this, even if it doesn't always act on it. Settlers have a responsibility to understand how the actions of our ancestors have resulted in a broken and hostile system of multiple genocides. Talaga pulls no punches in these respects; she has a quotation about cultural genocide right up front from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission's final report.
That's why this book is so important beyond the boundaries of the city in which it's set. This is a story of seven deaths in Thunder Bay, yes, but it goes wider than that. It's a story about the complacency of an entire country, of a whole population, to the plight of Indigenous peoples caused and continued by a settler government that doesn't care. Seven students attending Dennis Franklin Cromarty High School died between 2000 and 2011, and the police and city did the utter minimum that they could do to investigate or prevent further tragedies. The jury roll shenanigans, the inquest recommendations—all signs point to a deadly spectrum from apathy to outright racism within our judicial and political system. Talaga puts the pieces together so clearly and decisively that no matter where you live in Canada, no matter how little you've tuned into these stories, you're going to understand the situation.
Context is so important, and that's what Seven Fallen Feathers provides. Yes, it retells, as best Talaga can piece together, the night of each student's disappearance or death and the days that followed. More importantly, however, Talaga connects these students' deaths to the history of this city and this country. DFC, albeit run by an Indigenous education authority, is a response to and inheritor of the colonial system of residential schools that broke apart so many families over the past century. These students were only attending high school in Thunder Bay because their own communities don't have high schools, for various reasons, all of which are ultimately attributable to the provincial and federal governments refusing to do anything about it. The governments have, through decades of inaction, proved that Indigenous lives (by which I mean their livelihoods, lands, education, culture, language, as well as their bodies) matter less than settler lives. No amount of Trudeau-style speechmaking or name-changing is going to ameliorate this single, sad legacy.
We did this. We meaning not just settlers but entire generations of anyone who calls themselves Canadians. And we are still doing it. When we ignore Indigenous people who are telling us about communities with unsafe drinking water, without proper housing or flushing toilets, when we don't care about the state of education in these communities—we are complicit. This isn't about guilt for something that happened twenty, fifty, a hundred years in the past; this is about complicity in what's happening right now, every single day. It's happening all across Canada—it's just more obvious, more brutally explicit, here in Thunder Bay.
Talaga opens the book with a prologue that introduces readers to Thunder Bay. Having grown up here and lived here for almost my entire life, it is strange to see my city described to those who might have no context. But of course, this isn't Toronto or Vancouver. Talaga needs to give the "average reader" context for what they are going to learn:
Thunder Bay has always been a city of two faces. The Port Arthur side is the white face and the Fort William side is the red face. Port Arthur lies on the north shore. It is built up on the gentle, sloping Canadian Shield. Two-storey brick houses line streets that run up and down the Shield, each with a beautiful view of Lake Superior as far as the Sibley Peninsula, where the stone-cold Sleeping Giant Nanabijou sleeps.
She's correct, of course. It's a little strange to see my city described so clinically, to hear her discuss the layout of streets I know so well, to hear Intercity referred to as "the demilitarized zone" or Victoriaville as a "poorly planned shopping mall with a 1970s vibe" (entirely too true), just because it's the normal backdrop for me. But Thunder Bay really is divided this way, even if some of us residents don't like to think about it. I sit here, typing this review in a two-storey (albeit non-brick) house that I bought in Port Arthur, and I won't lie: I principally looked at houses on this side of town because it's "nicer". Such are the divisions of class and race made even deeper by colonialism.
Similarly, despite this being my hometown, I have been ignorant of a lot of the ways racism manifests here. In part this is my youth—I was barely 11 in 2000, when DFC opened and the first of the seven students discussed here, Jethro Anderson, went missing and was found dead. And although there were a few Indigenous kids in my classes at school, the truth was that when I was younger, my world was very stratified. I never really interacted a lot with Indigenous people until I started working at the Thunder Bay Art Gallery in high school. I didn't go to powwows or other cultural events (more so because I just … didn't … go … anywhere, but still).
Now a large proportion of the adults I teach are Indigenous, and I am much more directly connected to what's happening in this city and in Northern Ontario. The crises affecting these communities reach right into my classroom. I knew about these deaths, about the inquest and its recommendations, about the myriad other issues. I bought Seven Fallen Feathers because I wanted to learn more and then to amplify it. Yet that doesn't change the fundamental fact that my privilege insulates me from understanding how truly hostile Thunder Bay is to Indigenous people. It insulates me from ever having heard certain slurs tossed around in my company, though I totally believe Talaga when she says it's commonly heard on our streets. I can read and listen all I like … but I'm never really going to know. Because at the end of the day, I'm safe on these streets. Indigenous people are not. And it's shameful that it took me working with a large proportion of Indigenous people for me to finally start learning about these issues.
Of course, this isn't about me. I don't mean to centre myself here and make this all about how I feel. I just want to share why it's so important for fellow settlers of Thunder Bay to read Seven Fallen Feathers and keep an open mind. There is so much defensiveness in this city, on the part of the settler population, to any hint that we might have a problem. It's gross. But speaking settler-to-settler, I get where that's coming from, even if the people being defensive don't: deep down, in your gut, you're starting to wake up to the fact you've been duped. You've been able to live in wilful ignorance for so long that the idea you've been so blind makes you feel almost comically buffoonish—how could you have missed this? In such moments, often it is easier to succumb to the siren calls of cognitive dissonance and dismiss what's right in front of your eyes: no, there's no problem here; these are just tragic accidents, the result of too much drinking, of an education authority that can't keep its kids under control, why don't they just all relocate…. It's easier to believe in the lies of colonialism than in what's right.
It's uncomfortable, yeah. But what's worse—some minor personal discomfort, or more people losing their lives?
Thunder Bay has a racism problem, and it's one that no amount of "Respect" campaigning is going to fix. Such campaigns are ultimately doomed to failure because they locate racism in individuals' actions rather than in the systems that surround and support them. Yes, it was a single individual—Brayden Bushby—who threw a trailer hitch at Barbara Kentner, who would ultimately die from those injuries, while reportedly yelling "I got one!" But it was a system of justice long practised at ignoring violence against Indigenous people that resulted in police investigating "if" it was a hate crime and ultimately never upgrading the charges beyond assault. "Respect" campaigning won't work if the costs of showing disrespect are zero.
Canadians need to read this book. If you live in Thunder Bay, you need to read this and confront the hard truths of our northern city. If you don't live here, you need to read this and understand what is happening here. I challenge you to read Seven Fallen Feathers, to hear the testimony of the families and teachers and Elders, and not feel your heart break seven times over. But what really matters is what you do after you read this. Will it be just another tragic tale? Or will it be time to act and demand change? If you read this and it changes nothing about your perspectives or actions, you are participating in the colonization of Indigenous tragedy; it becomes a spectacle, something for settlers to consume the way we've consumed the land and … well … everything else. You must read this, and then you must act: use your privilege to demand change from your governments, your schools, your organizations, and yourselves.
Notes are private!
Oct 03, 2017
Oct 07, 2017
Aug 23, 2017
Sep 01, 2016
Sep 01, 2016
it was amazing
Sometimes you see a book and you just know that it's the book you've been waiting for. That was my reaction when Chelsea Vowel, who blogs and tweets a Sometimes you see a book and you just know that it's the book you've been waiting for. That was my reaction when Chelsea Vowel, who blogs and tweets as âpihtawikosisân, announced Indigenous Writes: A Guide to First Nations, Métis, and Inuit Issues in Canada. You really should read her blog and follow her, because she her writing is clear and informative, and she is excellent at providing further resources. This continues in her book. I was extremely excited to get my hands on a copy, because it seemed like exactly what I wanted: a series of connected but self-contained essays that explain and highlight some of the diverse issues that Indigenous peoples face in Canada. I wanted a way to continue educating myself as well as a potential classroom resource, and lndigenous Writes lives up in every respect.
Funny story: I pre-ordered a hard copy of this when it was announced, and then last month when I joined NetGalley, I saw that it was available. I requested and received an electronic copy from NetGalley, but by the time I was going to read it, my hard copy had shown up a little early in the mail. So I thank Portage & Main Press and NetGalley for the review copy, but there is nothing like a physical book. It's beautifully designed and laid out, and I've already taken it around and shown it off to friends and colleagues. (Nerrrrrrd.)
Indigenous Writes is an attempt to start these conversations in an honest, heartfelt way that is rigorous in its resources and research yet also accessible rather than academic. Vowel doesn't assume any prior knowledge; she starts right off with a few chapters on terminology, like the differences between Indigenous, Aboriginal, Indian, First Nations, etc. From there, each essay addresses one of the numerous questions, concerns, or myths that tend to crop up over and over about Indigenous peoples, including: what "status" is and who gets it; what defines whether someone belongs to an Indigenous people, as well as more specifically what makes someone Métis; the fact that we tend to be uncomfortable, as a society, with Indigenous practices spilling over into what we perceive as "non-Indigenous" spaces, and how that becomes a transgression; as well as myths about taxes, progress, alcoholism, authenticity, etc. I wish I could just list all 31 chapter titles here! I cracked the book open to the table of contents when I first received it, and I just smiled at how much stuff Vowel manages to talk about. This is not a thick book, and the chapters themselves are seldom very long, but it is still so broadly informative.
Why do we need this book? Vowel herself eloquently provides the reason. Speaking about how settlers often deride Indigenous people from rural areas for not being familiar with urban life, she says:
On the other side, there is no expectation within Canadian (non-Indigenous) culture that Indigenous cultures must be accounted for, learned about, or even really accommodated. Knowing nothing about the Inuit, for example, is not considered a fault. Yet when Nunavummiut (Inuit of Nunavut) or Nunavimmiut (Inuit of Nunavik) go south, their lack of knowledge about city culture/living is considered to stem from small-mindedness, a lack of education, or ignorance.
Part of having (in my case) white privilege is being able to ignore not just the problems that Indigenous peoples face but, you know, their actual existence and culture entirely. Yet we expect—no, demand—that Indigenous people are familiar with settler culture, customs, and laws. That's a little thing called colonialism, son, and it isn't over just because we broke away from Britain.
I see this expectation manifest almost every day. I teach adults who come from remote communities in Northern Ontario to Thunder Bay on the invitation of Matawa First Nations in order to take the classes they need to finish their high school diploma and then get training for the workforce. Very often my students come from reserves with poor access to clean drinking water, poor housing conditions, little or no Internet and cell phone access, etc. Yet we expect them to somehow adjust to relocating to a city, often with young children in tow, and get used to attending classes all day for months at a time. And this is a group of students who have the support of each other, as well as Indigenous social workers, elders, etc. If they find it tough, imagine how daunting it can be for someone who does this on their own.
When the most recent (I hate having to write that, hate that there has been more than one) news cycle about the suicide crisis in Attawapiskat erupted, letters to the editor in The Chronicle Journal suggested "closing" these northern communities and relocating their inhabitants closer to urban centres like Thunder Bay. (Insert Picard facepalm here.) Aside from the incredible tone-deafness and irony of the idea that settlers should be relocating Indigenous peoples because we've decided what's best for them, I was just so amazed by the lack of empathy coming from the people who had written those letters. They acted as if the people and the culture are the problem, rather than the fact we still tacitly expect assimilation even if we claim otherwise. I'm a mellow person, and I was getting angry about it—and again, I'm a settler and have all the privileges that entails, so I can't even begin to imagine how people more connected and involved with these issues are feeling. It's unconscionable, the state of things, yet we let it go on.
Clearly, education is an important and pressing matter, both in terms of educating wider Canadian society about Indigenous peoples and making sure that Indigenous people receive the education they need to succeed. The big buzzword these days is reconciliation. That's a big word for me to define comprehensively, but I think part of reconciliation must entail better knowledge of Indigenous cultures and history. Yet Vowel points out in her chapter on residential schools that most provinces' curricula do not live up to promises to teach more thoroughly about these things. When these subjects come up, they tend to be discussed in the past tense, locating the problems and the people in history.
The wider problem that Vowel also touches on in the final chapter of Indigenous Writes is that schooling in Canada is still very Westernized and therefore assimilationist. I get what she means. Although I am proud that my job involves helping Indigenous adults get their high school diplomas, I also often reflect on the extent to which I am complicit in perpetuating colonial curriculum and approaches to education. I do what I can to bring Indigenous content into the classroom: we talk about the treaties, about systemic discrimination, about residential schools. I try to listen to my students and get help from my Indigenous colleagues. At the end of the day, though, I am still evaluating these students against expectations grounded more in Western ideas of industrialized, rationalist education than anything else. That bothers me, a lot.
Indigenous Writes is going to make an excellent resource for classroom teachers like myself. It will help us educate ourselves so we can understand these issues better, and we can even use some of these essays, or the resources that Vowel references, in our classes. But I don't think that goes far enough. We really need to change the entire system of education. Or, as Vowel puts it at the end of this chapter:
Indigenous communities as a whole simply do not have the internal resources to create an entire system of private schooling to rectify the horrendous gap that has always existed between Indigenous and non-Indigenous student outcomes. If you can judge a society by its system of education, then Canada stands clearly guilty of discriminating against Indigenous peoples by allowing this situation to continue.
I don't think it's a coincidence that this is the last chapter, and because there is no afterword or epilogue, this is Vowel's closing statement for the entire book. It is a challenge to the idea that Canada does not discriminate, and a challenge to us to do something to make the system better.
I know what you're thinking, though: OK, Ben, so you love this book as a teacher, but I'm not a teacher, so what would I get out of it? I'm glad you asked, invisible straw person voice.
It comes down to this, really: I keep having to remind myself is that the Canada I see—the Canada I grew up believing in—is not the Canada that many Indigenous people see. Growing up in a reserve, or growing up in a city but being exposed constantly to racist remarks or the threat of violence or being treated with suspicion and stereotyping … that necessarily brings about a different perspective. That's what Vowel is trying to show us with Indigenous Writes. We Canadians pride ourselves on diversity and multiculturalism, yet some of us then turn around and leave racist comments on articles about missing and murdered Indigenous women, or we talk about how Indigenous people already have it too good in this country. It is a cognitive dissonance that is tragic, because it is quite literally killing people. If our country is as good and strong as we like to claim it is, we should be able to have a conversation about racism and actually act to end it.
It's very easy to homogenize and lump all Indigenous peoples together when discussing "Indigenous issues", and Vowel very deftly avoids generalizations. She discusses issues that tend to be common across the land, such as land claims, access to drinking water, stereotypes and myths and racism; she also discusses issues specific to the Inuit, Métis, and even particular nations. When she does this, lets her sense of humour come through, occasionally unleashing some well-deserved sarcasm as she dismantles an argument she has clearly dealt with too many times before. Like me, Vowel loves science fiction, and I greatly enjoyed how she references, analyzes, and deconstructs some authors' portrayals of Indigenous peoples in their writing. Indigenous Writes is basically the rigour you'd expect from an academic textbook (the amount of endnotes alone could maim you if you dropped them on your toes) without the typically dry writing. It is the best of both world, academic and activist.
This is not always an easy book to read. There were times I had to take a break. Reading the essays back to back, it can feel very overwhelming, all of it, and unlike Indigenous people, I haven't even lived it. Vowel recognizes the potential for succumbing to hopelessness, and she is quick to point out alternatives. She points to the staggering amount of research already presented on how to start the process of reconciliation: there's the Neegan Burnside report on how to fix the urgent issue of drinking water on reserves; there is the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples with its complex, comprehensive twenty-year plan that fell by the wayside; there is, of course, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission's report on the legacy of residential schools. There are indeed thorny issues here, but we have the ingredients for beginning to solve them. We just need to actually, you know, acknowledge the problem and start doing something about it instead of locating the problems in the past or twiddling our thumbs and agreeing that it's awful but, hey, what can you do? We need to stop blaming Indigenous people for existing, for still being here after centuries of us trying to wipe them out, and stop blaming them or their cultures for the problems that currently beset their communities.
You or I, on our own, of course cannot end or undo centuries of colonization, discrimination, and assimilation. But we can start, as individuals, by filling the gaps in our knowledge, challenging our own internalized racism, and checking our privilege. We need to have conversations about this—but remember that any given Indigenous person is under no obligation to educate settlers about these issues: that is on us! So when someone like Chelsea Vowel deigns not just to speak up, but to provide us with an invaluable, detailed collection of essays and endnotes, we need to pay attention.
On that note, I don't usually do this, but I really want people to read this book, so here's where you can order it directly from the publisher.
Notes are private!
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 26, 2016
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Nov 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2013
it was amazing
Just last week, CBC News announced it was closing comments on articles about indigenous peoples, because at the moment, it cannot guarantee sufficient Just last week, CBC News announced it was closing comments on articles about indigenous peoples, because at the moment, it cannot guarantee sufficient moderation to sustain polite discourse. In addition to the usual trolls, some people were writing hate speech motivated by a misconception of the state of indigenous peoples in Canada. And while this is reprehensible, it probably shouldn't be surprising. We white people are very good at ignoring indigenous people—until we want their land, that is.
The Inconvenient Indian: A Curious Account of Native People in North America is Thomas King's attempt to make some kind of sense of the conflicting narratives and myths created about the European occupation of North America. I approached this book as someone who is interested in gaining a deeper awareness of indigenous perspectives on indigenous issues. I'm already sympathetic to these ideas and have a surface-level understanding of some of the challenges Indigenous people face as a result of colonialism. I don't think this book would work for someone who, say, is not so sympathetic or is actively labouring under the types of misconceptions that I hear all-too-often in Thunder Bay.
Unlike Stephen Harper, I have no trouble admitting that Canada has a history of colonialism. As King demonstrates in the Chapter 7, "Forget About It," that colonialism is ongoing. It has never stopped. And while I thought I understood this prior to reading The Inconvenient Indian, the implications of this continuum of colonialism only crystallized for me after reading this book.
We don't learn enough about our history of colonialism in schools. It's convenient, for instance, for us to subscribe to the fiction that we aren't responsible for anything that happened before 1867. That was Britain and France, we say—blame those European powers! (Strangely enough, we're quite happy to claim we "won" the War of 1812 despite not being a country back then, either.) But for all the noise that provincial governments make about curricula, indigenous peoples were largely absent from my education. And while I understand now that the colonization and oppression of indigenous people is ongoing, it took King's book to help me connect these two ideas—that is to say, our education system leaves us ignorant because colonialism is ongoing. I learned about the slavery and the triangle trade in history class, because these things are done and gone, and we can talk about them as "terrible tragedies" with the required distance of history. (N.B., I know that slavery is still a huge problem in Canada, and similarly, racism against black people is an ongoing issue we need to deal with as a society. But slavery is underground instead of legalized, and while racism against black people is endemic and systemic, it is not codified in our laws the way it is with indigenous people and the Indian Act.) But talking about our history with indigenous nations requires us to look at how things are "better" now … and as King points out, over and over in this book, things aren't better; we're just adept at discriminating in new and creative ways.
It's this cyclical view that was the gamechanger for me here. I knew we had been colonialist in the past, and I knew we were being colonialist now, but King lines everything up and connects the dots in a way that shows how our current attitudes emerged from past ones. And so I can see now that a statement I might have made previously, like, "The situation of indigenous peoples in Canada is still pretty bad, but it has gotten a lot better in recent years" is just woefully inaccurate. Although it's true that some bands and nations have made great strides in some areas, others have seen setbacks; it's so difficult to quantify whether things are getting better or worse, because overall our society remains hostile and racist.
Disagree? I refer you to the CBC comments section.
Naturally, being a teacher, I'm all for education. But King has a wet blanket for me, too; he puts it very elegantly in the final chapter:
Ignorance has never been the problem. The problem was and continues to be unexamined confidence in western civilization and the unwarranted certainty of Christianity. And arrogance. Perhaps it is unfair to judge the past by the present, but it is also necessary.
He does go on to say, "If nothing else, an examination of the past—and of the present, for that matter—can be instructive," so education is helpful—just not enough on its own. Because when you get right down to it, our governments, past and present, have always known what they were doing. They want "inconvenient Indians" to disappear. They wish that indigenous peoples were relegated to history like they are so often portrayed in Hollywood. And if we truly are a democracy where governments reflect the will of the people—where governments refuse to take a stand about land rights or missing and murdered women or police brutality because it would mean upsetting affluent white voters—then the will of the people sucks, and we should be ashamed.
I was reading a recent issue of National Geographic, and it had an article about a national park in Scandinavia. It mentioned the Sami people, indigenous peoples of that area. I did a doubletake. I didn't know there were people indigenous to that area! (I knew there are plenty of indigenous cultures in various parts of the world, just not there.) Our society is not interested in highlighting the diversity of indigenous cultures anywhere, because it would mean admitting that we need to talk to the members of these cultures, to treat them like human beings, to deal with them fairly. And we can't do that, because they have land we want. Land we deserve, I guess, because we're better at exploiting it?
I should note that the above tirade is my own and not King's. Actually, despite his hefty cynicism, King is fairly conciliatory in tone. He's not here to accuse or point fingers at white people in general; he's not saying you are a bad person. But acknowledging our privilege and the way we interact with our racist society is important.
As King mentions, this is all about the land. It's not just a problem of racism; it's a problem of capitalism. We live in a world that rewards a certain perspective, one in which property and people are both commodities valued only for what they can produce, not their intrinsic qualities. This is a noxious philosophy, but it has made many people rich, and so they defend it. And, unfortunately, attempts to improve or replace this system have sometimes backfired spectacularly.
The Inconvenient Indian is an account of indigenous peoples in North America rather than a history. King explains this choice in the prologue, and I understand. He's not here to be a scholar—others have done that. He's here to make a point. He does so eloquently and exhaustively. Each chapter is full of facts (as much as he maligns them) and anecdotes and impressive lists of dates and events. At every turn, he confronts us with the reality that the Canadian and American governments have never dealt with indigenous peoples in good faith, have broken treaties and promises whenever it suited them, and have alternatively attempted to exterminate or legislate indigenous people out of existence.
It's a grim story. But it is our story. And King does, to his credit, try to end on a happy note. While he can't point to things getting better, he highlights two "recent" massive land claims (in Alaska and in the creation of Nunavut) that have set some precedents. And he reminds us that whatever the past and present holds, the future is yet unwritten: indigenous cultures and people can change, just as the rest of society can change.
If we will it.
So educate yourself. Read this book. Get uncomfortable. Talk about racism. Challenge your behaviour and the behaviour of the friends. This won't go away unless we do something about it.
Notes are private!
Dec 03, 2015
Dec 06, 2015
Dec 03, 2015
Sep 25, 1997
really liked it
I make no secret of the fact that I think George Eliot is a literary badass, and Felix Holt: The Radical is just the latest example of these well-dese I make no secret of the fact that I think George Eliot is a literary badass, and Felix Holt: The Radical is just the latest example of these well-deserved credentials. This is essentially a political and legal thriller set in 1832 England on the cusp of the passage of the First Reform Act. (Among other things, the Reform Acts of the 1800s redefined the electoral districts for the English Parliament and expanded the franchise ever so slightly.) The sleepy English town of Treby finds itself the centre of political action during the latest election campaign. Harold Transome returns home after fifteen years abroad and decides to run as the Radical candidate, much to the surprise of his Tory family. Meanwhile, in typical Eliot fashion, the Felix Holt doesn't show up for the first fifty pages of his own book! Despite Transome and Holt's self-declared Radicalism, the two butt heads, and soon it's obvious neither really embodies the label they've chosen. Meanwhile, a dastardly lawyer plots possible revenge against Transome, and it all hinges on the question of paternity and inheritance of a preacher's daughter.
You hooked yet? Because I know that the language in novels like this can be an obstacle to enjoying them. Eliot is a fan of lengthy sentences and even longer paragraphs. Her description belabours points until they become entire discourses; her dialogue is more of a series of speeches fired back and forth like broadside salvos. With this style, however, comes a consummate ability to draw out the most intricate descriptions of human foibles and fragility. We see this quite early in Eliot's portrayal of the ageing Mrs Transome, and later when we delve into Esther's motivations for obsessing over the strange and somewhat offensive Mr Holt. Unlike modern thrillers, which tend to sacrifice depth of character for depth of field in the action, Felix Holt is a character-driven thriller in which Eliot asks how our upbringing, gender, and political convictions influence the choices we make and how far we will go to get what we want.
I could spend
First, we have Harold Transome. He comes back home after living in "the East" (mostly Smyrna), where he had a wife (who since died) and a kid (whom he mostly ignores, in that great fashion of the English gentility). Like many a man convinced of his competence, he essentially swoops down on Transome Court like the North Wind: we're doing things the Harold Transome way, and if you don't like it, then tough. He engages the Transomes' lawyer, Jermyn, as his election agent even while plotting to remove Jermyn at the most convenient opportunity. He ignores his mother and the tough time she's been having of keeping up the estate—but that's mostly because Transome ignores women in general, finding the weaker sex useless for everything except stroking his ego and likely stroking … well … you know what I mean.
Transome runs as the Radical candidate for this district. I never completely understood why he was going for Parliament, except perhaps because he felt it was the prestigious thing to do. He certainly never evokes a sense of statesmanship. Although he good-naturedly (and naively) attempts to put a stop to the rabble-rousing activities Jermyn's minion engages in on Transome's behalf, Transome does not in and of himself spend much time espousing Radical views. His political allegiance seems more a reaction against the stagnant Toryism of the countryside than any conviction that England needs to change.
I guess the most redeeming thing we can say about Transome is that he's not a total dick. When he learns that Esther has legal claim to Transome Court, his first reaction is not to conceal the news but actually tell her and then kind-of-sort-of attempt to court her in the hopes he can keep the estate this way. (Now, the cynical would point out he's just pre-empting the uncomfortable disclosure from Jermyn, and he obviously talks himself into loving Esther instead of harbouring true feelings for her. And there is something to that. But Transome is not a villain so much as an opportunistic upper–middle-class businessman; granted, the distinction between these two labels is not always clear.)
Whereas Transome considers himself a "man of the world" in a quite literal sense and almost condescends to bring himself down to the worker's level, Felix Holt is quite proud of his poverty. He looks down on the rich, in a moral sense. Like Transome, he identifies as a Radical but doesn't necessarily embody that philosophy: he in fact discourages workers from getting it into their heads that they need to vote to effect political change. Holt wants everyone to behave nicely in the hopes that this will persuade the people in charge to be nicer in return. In her "Address to the Working Man" included as an appendix to this edition, Eliot writes in Holt's voice and explains that expanding the franchise to uneducated workers would be a bad idea right now, because it would encourage a kind of ignorant populism that would pull the country down.
And so Felix Holt is fascinating, because it is not actually a very radical novel. At the time Eliot was writing it, of course, those in favour of Reform were seen as quite radical people (and then you had the unions, and later, the people advocating for secret ballots). But if anything, this novel shows that Eliot is herself calling only for gradual change. She doesn't want workers to have the right to vote until they also have the education she feels is necessary for them to vote "properly." I find this paradox fascinating, because in some ways she has hit on the crucial point: franchise is no good if the people enfranchised have little knowledge on which to base a decision. Simply guaranteeing everyone over 18 the right to vote is not enough, then; we are obligated to provide civic education—and in this respect, I don't think our present government does nearly enough….
So Holt, then, is the "common man" who nevertheless acts as a voice of caution. He is continually trying to apply the brakes, as seen in his foolish and ill-fated attempt to curb the rioting on election day. It sometimes seems like Eliot focuses less on him than on any other main character. Nevertheless, his role as titular character is deserved more because he ties all the other characters together. He interacts with everyone else, subtly shaping the nature of the conversation. It is the not-quite-love-triangle among Holt, Esther, and Transome that precipitates the novel's conclusion.
In Esther we see Eliot wrestle with ideas of femininity, education of women, and the duties that children have for their parents. I've always lauded the way Eliot's writing has a feminist tone for the Victorian period in which she lived; and, by all accounts, Mary Ann Evans was a pretty spectacular woman. Nevertheless, Esther demonstrates some of the limits of Eliot's endorsement of "women's liberation." On one hand, Eliot mocks those women around Treby who look down on Esther for being "over-educated" for a preacher's daughter and for putting on airs. On the other, she uses Felix as a foil for Esther's ego and high opinion of herself: after a single meeting, Esther becomes desperate to prove to Felix at every turn that she can be humble and be open to being lead by a man (i.e., him) in matters of substance. Eliot places Esther in a role complementary to the men in her life: she must support and aid her ageing father; be led by the man she chooses as a husband; and nurture the children in her charge, whether it's as a mother or a teacher. In this respect, while Eliot is quick to call out the double standards that adversely affect women's quality of life, she is not quite ready to tear down conventional gender roles.
Felix Holt culminates in an election, a riot, a trial, and shenanigans over estate ownership. It all ends in tears, and then a wedding, and finally a happily-ever-after, for most involved. The winds of change are evident throughout the novel, but the ending seems to assure us that all will go on as it largely was before: the rich will be rich, the poor will be poor, and there will be Tories and Whigs and the occasional Radical doing whatever it is men of means do in Parliament while your average worker drinks and works the mines. This is not, therefore, that radical of a book. But Eliot manages to deliver an amazing story full of intrigue, backstabbing, characters who are all out for themselves.
I picked an excellent time to read this as well. And I don't just mean because Thanksgiving Saturday was unseasonably pleasant and I could read this outside while listening to the new Florence + the Machine album. No, I mean that in Canada we're a week away from a federal election. The campaigning in this book reminded me of the lengthy campaigning happening here. Eliot's coverage of the Reform Act is a potent reminder that we are lucky we have the right to vote—and by we, I don't just mean land-owning white men. While I completely understand why some people are discouraged by our political system and don't believe their vote will "count," I'm still disappointed when someone I know shrugs off the idea that they should vote. It is a duty, and it is not one we should take for granted considering that some of us have had it for less than a century. And it's certainly in the interests of the people in power to keep you from voting, particularly if you are young, or poor, or from a minority group and interested in expressing your opinions.
This might sound trite, but one of the most radical things you can do as a Canadian on October 19 is vote. Go do it.
And then go read Felix Holt. It's far from my favourite Eliot novel, but it shows the beginnings of all the skill and ability with character and setting that makes her one of my favourite authors. Eliot manages to convey a sense of entirety, that microcosm of the human experience: she is not overly cynical or overly optimistic; she simply shows what is—and what might be.
Notes are private!
Oct 06, 2015
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 06, 2015
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015
liked it
I didn't intend to read two non-fiction books, two books about economics, consecutively. That's just how it happened. However, Unaccountable: Truth an I didn't intend to read two non-fiction books, two books about economics, consecutively. That's just how it happened. However, Unaccountable: Truth and Lies on Parliament Hill, is about as far away as you might get from Trekonomics . The latter is speculating on what might or could be; the former is a deeply personal tale about politics and events that actually happened. Kevin Page, who shares a hometown of Thunder Bay with me, recounts his time as the inaugural Parliamentary Budget Officer and the relationship of that office with the Harper government. He does not pull punches, but he also remains classy and complimentary to politicians and public servants alike.
First, a little context for my non-Canadian friends reading this: last October, we went to the polls for our 42nd general election. The campaign leading up to it, at 11 weeks, was the longest federal election campaign in our history (I can already sense my American friends gasping in envy at this number). The stakes were high: Stephen Harper's Conservative party was attempting to form a fourth consecutive government, and a second majority government. Instead, owing to a combination of Conservative missteps during the campaign and probably just fatigue for the Conservatives' time in office, the Liberals swept into power, going from 34 to 184 seats. Although many people and polls predicted a Liberal minority government, the dramatic Liberal win was a surprise to many people.
Unaccountable's title sums up the nature of Page's story. Over his nine years as Prime Minister, Harper consolidated executive power in the Prime Minister's Office, the PMO. His initial victory over the Liberals was largely due to backlash over the sponsorship scandal; for this reason, he ran his campaign on promises of openness, transparency, and accountability. (None of this is new: the history of our Parliament is largely the Liberals and Conservatives trading the reins of power as one or the other regime gets brought down by a scandal caused by corruption and overconfidence. Neither party is inherently right or just. Also it's worth noting that Harper's Conservatives are actually a parasite that has zombified the corpses of several centre-right parties, so it's a little unfair to compare them directly to previous incarnations of the Conservatives.) Creating the PBO, which Page himself likens to the U.S. Congressional Budget Office, was Harper's way of delivering on that promise.
This is all well and good. Alas, the Conservative government did not live up to these promises (surprise, surprise). Indeed, Harper's time in office saw the government transform into one of Canada's most secretive, closed, and retributive governments in our history. MPs were not allowed to give interviews. Directives went out from the PMO muzzling scientists and researchers. The government deliberately hobbled the census, because who needs statistics? And even as they claimed to be fiscally responsible, the government refused to produce reliable data to back up their claims.
Unaccountable is basically Page recounting all the times he called bullshit on the government's numbers (or, more often, lack thereof) and then got told off, loudly and rudely, for, as he puts it, doing his job. From the first report his office produced—forecasting the long-term costs of Canada's involvement in Afghanistan—to the F-35 forecasts, the PBO came under fire from the government for exceeding its mandate and attempting to work with the opposition parties. Ironically, many of the emotionally-charged responses from the government to these reports were contributing factors to the two elections and two prorogations of Parliament that we experienced prior to 2015. Meanwhile, Page and his office just kept chugging along, hoping that by keeping the media on their side and sticking to what they did best—research and reporting—they would stay intact, if not exactly popular with the administration.
Although Page's narration is quite focused, necessarily, on his actions and the actions of his team and the effects they had on the government, I wouldn't say he's trying to be remembered as a crusader against the Harper government, nor is he stroking ego. Rather, he simply is very passionate about and invested in the idea of an impartial and accountable civil service. He wants people to be inspired not just by himself but by the process and passion of him and his colleagues at the PBO. He is looking back on his five years as PBO and reflecting that he has done good, and it comes across that way. Moreover, he's trying to drum up the excitement level and present these events in an interesting way. There is a reason for that.
This is an important book. Discussions of the civil service are not sexy. Canadians have a poor enough understanding of how our political system works as it is; I doubt most Canadians would be able to tell you what the PBO is or where it fits into our system (to be fair, I had no idea it had been shoved into the Library of Parliament org chart until I read this book). When a friend of mine asked me what this book is about, she responded that her attitude towards politics in one of "blissful ignorance." This is coming from an intelligent and educated person. And it's exactly the kind of response that allows people like Harper to strong-arm the government in a direction that isn't good for our country.
Apathy is the enemy of a healthy democracy. Parliament governs through the will of the people. It exists to keep the executive in check. But if the people don't care, then Parliament is de-fanged. And while our MPs are the heart and soul of Parliament, the untold legion of civil servants who run their offices and departments are its life-blood. They are the ones who draft our laws, vet our budgets, and prepare communiques. Without them, government would grind to a halt. And their integrity is paramount: they guard against ideology trumping reality. (Yeah, I used trumping there for a reason.)
Let's be clear: this isn't a left wing/right wing, Liberal versus Conservative thing. Page is critical of the Conservative government's conduct when it comes to releasing data. He very carefully does not comment on the ideology behind the Conservatives' policies, though, just their fiscal responsibility. And this is key, both to understanding Unaccountable as well as our politics. It is not the Conservatives' ideology that is the issue here: rather, it's the fact that they refused to provide the methodology and data used to arrive at their budgeting forecasts, and they consistently claimed that their policies would cost far less than they would in reality. This is not surprising; no government wants to look bad by saying they're going to spend a ton of money. And that's exactly what the PBO did by consistently releasing reports second-guessing what few numbers the Conservatives announced. Oopsie.
Replacing the Conservatives with a Liberal government is not a panacea. Page and his publisher very deliberately timed the release of this book to coincide with the upcoming election. It's clear he hoped to make an impact, at least among the probably nerdy Canadians who were going to pick up this book in time for it to influence their vote. But ousting Harper doesn't automatically fix anything—remember, when he was Leader of the Official Opposition, he was quite happy to go on about transparency, only to swiftly change tune when he became PM. And indeed, there are some warning signs that the Liberals are being recalcitrant about their numbers as well. I'd say I'm shocked, but….
Unless the government actually gives the PBO the power to compel the release of government data, there is little the PBO can do except make noise. Ultimately, it's we—the ones who put the Liberals into government—who have the power. That's why you should read the book. Yes, it is about economics and spending and politics. But it is not full of jargon. Indeed, Page provides succinct and clear descriptions of how the PBO did its research and produced its reports. Although I had been aware of Page and the PBO's existence during his tenure there, I didn't really understand how it operated. Now I know more!
Unaccountable is not a tell-all full of gossip on Parliament Hill. It's the unsexy but still quite dramatic story of a guy trying to do his job so that we can stay informed. At times he gets personal, recounting a bit of biography and sharing the story of his son's death and how that influenced his decision to apply for this job. Your mileage may vary for these details. What I can't shake is how none of this civil service stuff gets taught in schools. Our civic education is laughably perfunctory—we've been lucky, coasting off the fact that Canada's traditionally high immigrant ratio means we get so many talented people coming into our country and caring greatly about the political process because it's what got them here in the first place, often from places where they have less of a voice. Those of us who have grown up here, in privileged families who, by dint of economic and ethnic status, are not often the target of government policy changes, except for the better (Harper's "old stock" Canadians if you will) forget how good we have it. And we seldom learn about the essential role that public servants play in keeping it that way.
So, here's my assignment to the class: read this. It is not a long book. It is 200 pages. It is not a superbly written book, but it isn't hard to read either. I suspect for most of us, though, it will fill in unexpected gaps in our knowledge.
Democracy for the individual can be thought of as comprising two questions: What do I want this country to be? and Is the current government making it so? Only you can answer the first question. Neither Unaccountable nor I are out to shame you for being Liberal or Conservative, NDP or Green, Bloc or anything else: you do you. In order to answer that second question, however, you need unbiased and detailed data—not so you can put on your economist hat and analyze it yourself, but so third parties whom you trust can look at it. The PBO and similar civil servants work to get you that data, and as Kevin Page recounts here, it is not always an easy task or one for which they are rewarded. The least we can do is pay a little more attention.
Notes are private!
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016
Sep 29, 2015
Mar 01, 2015
Mar 20, 2015
liked it
Election time is just around the corner, and boy am I … not excited. I would dearly like to see a change in the party that forms the next government … Election time is just around the corner, and boy am I … not excited. I would dearly like to see a change in the party that forms the next government … but I am somewhat sceptical we will manage to bring that about. But this isn't about how much I dislike what Stephen Harper has done to Canada. I wrote a blog post about that for Canada Day. This is a review of Dismantling Canada, by Brooke Jeffrey, and former Liberal policy adviser.
So let's get our biases declared up front. Jeffrey, obviously sympathizes with the Liberal party and seems pretty liberal in her political leanings. Similarly, I tend to get placed quite left on the political spectrum, although I eschew associating myself with any particular party. There are elements of both the Liberal Party and the NDP I like, and there are elements of both parties I dislike. That's one reason I love our Parliamentary system so much: the party in power, even in a majority, tends to have to work with the other parties in a somewhat collaborative way. Harper has worked very hard to change that and to poison the atmosphere on the Hill, one of many effects Jeffrey catalogues here.
If I'm already set against Harper, why bother reading this book? It's not like I'm going to use the facts in here as fodder at dinner party conversations. I don't go to dinner parties, and even if I did, I'm not the kind of person to stump for or against politicians in polite conversation. Instead, Dismantling Canada caught my eye because Jeffrey promised to explain Harper's politics in the context of recent Canadian history. Although I was always somewhat aware of politics growing up, it wasn't until Martin was on his way out that I was old enough to follow the political scene. I first voted in the 2008 federal election, so Harper has been Prime Minister for all of my voting life. (All seven long years of it.)
One point that Jeffrey makes clear is how Harper's Conservative Party of Canada differs so much from the previous Conservative government led by Brian Mulroney. Those "Tories" where Progressive Conservatives and continued the conservative tradition that stretches back to Confederation. The current Conservative Party of Canada, on the other hand, is a result of the Reform Party (of which Harper was a founding member) merging with the Canadian Alliance. Both parties are far-right splinters of the former Progressive Conservatives; after they merged, they swallowed up the Progressive Conservatives to become our present-day Conservative Party. But somewhere along the way, there was a glitch in the matrix. Now former high-profile Progressive Conservatives have declared they'd rather have a Liberal government. That's messed up. You know you're Conserving … Conservating … whatever … wrong when Joe Clark tells you he's voting Liberal.
And see, this was a cool detail that is probably obvious to people like my dad, who have lived through such regime changes, but was not so obvious to me. Harper's Conservatives are, sadly, pretty much the only Conservatives I've ever known. So now I feel sorry for the people who have conservative or right-wing ideologies but don't want to vote for Harper because of how he has managed the Conservative Party. Those people have even suckier options than liberals like myself who think even the NDP are too centrist for our taste….
So Jeffrey then takes Harper to task for not actually delivering on a lot of what typical conservatives would want from him. The Conservatives have always billed themselves as sound fiscal managers, yet there are numerous examples of how their fiscal policy doesn't make sense. The government cut a lot of programs in an attempt to gut social welfare—and, OK, while I think that was a terrible move, I understand the ideology behind that. But there's one example where the government announces, very abruptly, they are cancelling a program they themselves established a year previous, and then forcing the provinces to pay for a different program that fulfils somewhat the same purpose. Despite the fact that the original program was actually working and cost less. I won't even get into how the Liberals left the next government with a surplus … which has somehow become a deficit on the Conservative watch, despite their constant trimming and slashing of government-funded agencies. Just where is all this money going, anyway?
We don't know, because the party that campaigned against a corruption-riddled Liberal government on a platform of accountability and transparency is anything but. Harper is running a dark show, one where Access to Information is scarce and expensive, and the government routinely ignores and maligns the Parliamentary Budget Officer and other watchdogs it created. Ottawa is on the verge of tipping into a bizarre, Orwellian universe.
The other running theme throughout this book is an analysis of Harper's ideology versus his pragmatism. Jeffrey points out that one reason he has been so successful is an evolving willingness to sideline his ideology if it's more practical to do so. She illustrates how the earlier Harper didn't do this, but as time went by and he rose to prominence again as a politician, he has changed his tune. He still isn't quite willing to engage in diplomacy, as his deplorable treatment of the UN shows. Nevertheless, Harper seems content to pursue his agenda more slowly than he might like if he thinks it will win him some votes in the next election.
Dismantling Canada is really well written. Despite being very information dense, I had an easy time getting through it, at least until the very end, when I could see that the end was in sight and Jeffrey was reiterating a lot of what came before. As far as Jeffrey's own biases go, she obviates them to a great extent simply through her use of facts. You can debate the merits of the Harper government, but you can't deny they now run a massive deficit. (You can only try to hide the fact, or mislead the public….) And she's quick to point out that Harper's rise to power owes a great deal to incompetence and corruption within the Liberal ranks (though I suppose, in its own way, this is a backhanded compliment acknowledging the Liberals the "natural governing party".) I think the only really jarring part comes at the very end. After a somewhat tedious chapter about the Conservative brand, Jeffrey launches into the conclusion, where she tries to determine whether Harper has succeeded with his agenda yet. She concludes he has made a lot of strides politically but has not yet succeeded in changing the culture of Canada. The last few sentences are an abrupt and optimistic change from the rest of the book, which quite frankly reads as incredibly depressing.
I'm not sure, then, how such wishful thinking can follow from everything else that comes before. We just don't have the data to know if a majority of Canadians agree with Harper's vision now—thanks for screwing up the census, Harper. Political polls are notoriously unreliable, as is our electoral system, which is first-past-the-post and now disenfranchises voters who are less likely to vote Conservative. So, you know, there's that. Obviously both Jeffrey and myself would like it to be true that Canada remains a more liberal place, but confirmation bias is a bitch.
I guess we'll see what October has in store for us. Dismantling Canada went to press well before the surprise NDP victory in Alberta. Jeffrey discounts the NDP, mentioning them here only a few times, and only in passing, as historical interest. She's quite convinced the Liberals under Trudeau are Harper's true competition (and that was probably the case up until a few months ago). Whether the NDP's prominence means they could form the next government, or if they will split the vote and pave the way for another Conservative government, remains to be seen. I cannot be as sanguine as the conclusion of this book is, especially not after reading it.
This is full of details that will make a political junkie happy (although a Harperite who doesn't want their convictions questioned won't like it). It's fairly well-written—predictably, somewhat on the dry side, but less so than I feared when I picked it up off the library shelf. And it provides a lot of good historical context, especially for younger people like myself who are only just getting into the whole election thing.
Notes are private!
Jun 27, 2015
Jul 02, 2015
Jun 27, 2015
Jan 01, 2012
Sep 28, 2013
liked it
The human body is weird. I mean, it's a wonder we function at all. We're fragile bags of mostly water that support a strange and wonderful organ that The human body is weird. I mean, it's a wonder we function at all. We're fragile bags of mostly water that support a strange and wonderful organ that seems to give us consciousness. All this happens through a complex set of interconnected systems that work to keep us alive. I'm really not down with the ickiness of my biology: bring on the robot bodies! Until that happens, though, I'm forced to agree with Lawrence Hill: Blood really is The Stuff of Life. Furthermore, how we treat blood and how, historically, our understanding of blood has led us to treat others, is a fascinating and important topic to consider.
I'm seeing a lot of reviews of this book that express dissatisfaction with the lack of scientific information and the excess of anecdotes from Hill's life. And, fair enough: if that's the sort of thing you're looking for, you will be disappointed. Although Hill gives a basic précis of how blood breaks down and when we learned all this, Blood is more about culture and history than it is about science—the science, when it's there, is to illuminate the historical attitudes, rather than the other way around. Being disappointed with this is a totally legitimate attitude, but I think it's a little disingenuous when the book never bills itself as popular science. My copy, at least, claims to be "a bold meditation on blood as an historical and contemporary marker of identity, belonging, gender, race, class, citizenship, athletic superiority, and nationhood" (woo, Oxford comma!). Laundry list aside, there's no claim to scientific discourse here. Let's not ignore the impulse of the Massey Lectures either, which is to discuss a topic as it relates to culture and philosophy. The whole point of this exercise is for Hill to remove blood from beneath the microscope and look at how it has affected our societies.
One point Hill wants to hammer home is that despite differences in blood types, all our blood is the same. That is, no one has ever managed to use blood to successfully replicate the cultural constructs of race and ethnicity. He examines the futility of trying to establish ancestry and descent through blood quanta. Your skin might be lighter or darker than other people; you might have hair that coils or curls or waves or stay straight; but as long as your blood types are compatible, you can share blood regardless of these surface-level characteristics. Hill reminds us that the idea we can neatly compartmentalize humans into categories like "race" is only that—an idea, promoted and perpetuated throughout the centuries whenever it is a convenient way for people in power to oppress others.
Obviously, Hill's identity as a black man contributes heavily to this discussion, as does his identity as the child of Americans who immigrated. But he also talks about other ways in which blood has been used to oppress, separate, or otherwise distinguish people into less- and more-deserving groups. In particular, he mentions the ongoing struggle Aboriginal peoples of Canada have even in being recognized as being Aboriginal. Blood, blood quantum, and the idea that who one marries can affect whether your children are members of a certain group all contribute to allowing or denying access to certain privileges. This is a pattern of behaviour that has gone on for millennia and continues to this very day—but it has no basis in fact.
In this way, blood is one of the properties by which we determine what is human. Hill examines this from another angle when he discusses blood-doping and other steroid usage. As an amateur runner who gave up his athletic aspirations for literary ones, Hill knows a lot about the mechanics of running and the obstacles athletes face to run faster and longer. Blood plays an immensely important role in this. I never followed the blood-doping scandal when it was in the news—sports is of little interest to me. The transhumanist aspect of steroid use, however, is fascinating. Hill teases out the difficult ethical quandaries surrounding these issues, speculates how we will deal with more and more innovative ways of enhancing athletes.
Blood is definitely thoughtful and moving. It is somewhat repetitive. Though Hill promises a careful division of topics into the five chapters/five lectures of the series, he revisits the same ideas—albeit from slightly different angles. Each chapters, as a result, has some high points mixed among a lot of, "Didn't I already read this?" Though the book never goes so far as to be boring, it is not as insightful as its length might suggest.
It's just a coincidence that I read this just as the adaptation of Hill's The Book of Negroes premieres on CBC. Hill's choice of subject for the Massey Lectures was certainly apt: his writing is often about blood and the effect it has on our lives. I haven't actually read The Book of Negroes yet, but even from his non-fiction writing I can tell that Hill is a talented and thorough author. If the subject interests you, then Blood will be satisfying guide through the cultural baggage that courses through our veins and arteries. If you're looking for a popular science book, though, you should continue your search elsewhere.
Notes are private!
Jan 2015
Jan 04, 2015
Aug 09, 2014
Jan 03, 2014
Jan 03, 2014
it was amazing
This book made me angry, and definitely a little uncomfortable. However, I'm not angry with the book or with Laurie Penny. I'm angry in the sense that This book made me angry, and definitely a little uncomfortable. However, I'm not angry with the book or with Laurie Penny. I'm angry in the sense that she outlines in chapter 2, "Lost Boys," when she says, "Anger is an entirely appropriate response to learning that you're implicated in a system that oppresses women but the solution isn't to direct that anger back at women." I'm angry at the abuse and suffering women undergo in our society; I'm angry that as a man I'm expected to act in ways that, directly or indirectly, facilitate such suffering. And I'm uncomfortable because Penny discusses painful and, as the title promises, Unspeakable Things. This book is part-catharsis, part–rallying cry, and it's entirely polemical and political in a brilliant way.
"This is a feminist book. It is not a cheery instruction manual for how to negotiate modern patriarchy, with a sassy wink and a thumbs-up." From the very first page of the introduction, Penny lays her cards on the table and is absolutely clear about what to expect from Unspeakable Things. And so, from that first page, I found myself nodding along in agreement. I've taken a more active interest in gender issues for years now, so I'm relatively familiar with the concepts, the ideas, the jargon. Hence, I'm not going to claim that the average reader will have the same reaction to page one as I did. But that doesn't matter, because the point of the book is that it gradually and carefully lays out an argument for why all of us—men, women, and other genders—need to talk about these things. It's all there in the title: Penny's concern is that there are people on both sides of these issues of sex and gender who are trying to shut the discussion down. There are certain things too sensitive, too sacred, that we just shouldn't talk about them. We need to shut them away, maybe so we can "protect the children." This silencing is implicit, codified in the way we socialize men and women through upbringing and schooling and media, as well as explicit, waged as attacks, physical and verbal, against women and their allies in print and digital media. In many ways, Unspeakable Things isn't about defining or recapitulating particular notions of feminism so much as it is an exponent of free speech in a feminist way. This is a powerful and, for some people, scary idea. But Penny's writing is more than equal to the challenge of being accessible while still avoiding the pitfalls of popular non-fiction. As she promises in the introduction, this is not one of those cheeky books written and published under the banner of new feminist success stories, guides and tell-alls about how to "have it all" in the world of work and childrearing. Rather, this is a frank polemic. As I said at the beginning, it is painful and discomfiting, and if it doesn't stir you to anger, then you're reading it wrong.
It would be ironic if I tried to describe what every reader, including women readers, would get from this book. I can't even claim to speak for all men. But let me describe my reaction, as someone whose external appearance and performance of gender means I receive a great deal of privilege in this society. One reason that this book just works so well for me is how Penny seems to have made a conscious effort to address as diverse an audience as possible. In my case, I of course identified with that second chapter, in which she chronicles the detrimental effects of patriarchy on men. Penny systematically dismantles the argument that feminism is something that benefits only women. This is perhaps one of the most pernicious and pervasive myths about feminism that make many people, men and women, balk at discussing it or embracing it. But once again, Penny states it loudly and clearly for all to hear:
Feminism has never just been about liberating women from men, but about freeing every human being from the straitjacket of gender oppression. For the first time, men and boys as a whole are starting to realise how profoundly messed up masculinity is—and to ask how they might make it different.
In particular, Penny argues that patriarchy does not actually benefit many men, just those at the top. The oppression of women is, in part, a sop to men who actually have very little power otherwise—their power over women and children essentially there to compensate their relative powerlessness in other spheres of society. And she highlights the way media often portray men in hyper-masculine ways. It's not just women who suffer at the hands of commercials, music, film, television. Men too find expectations thrust upon them as a consequence of their gender. Men, just like women, were bound by certain rituals of etiquette and unspoken codes of conduct (the difference being that men, unlike women, experienced more perks under this system) and were punished unduly for deviating. This has started to change recently—but the fact remains that some people seem terrified by the idea that some men don't want to pursue women, don't want to view them as objects, don't want to act in macho and masculine ways. These same people are terrified by the idea that women are more than bodies, that they want autonomy over their lives, that they might want to act more like men—or, indeed, cleave to a very feminine identity without the baggage of the male gaze attached to such expression. This is where my anger enters the picture again: I'm normally an easygoing person, but the concept that some people would seek to circumscribe the rights and privileges of the rest of us in order to satisfy their own fucked up idea of "normality" is more than just messed up. It's actually sickening, the extent to which people will hurt one another simply because they don't conform to certain ideas about gender.
So in this way, I can empathise with the first chapter, "Fucked-Up Girls," as well as the second one. I can't know exactly what it's like for women to experience the abuse and oppression, the pressure they endure in the face of countless signals from society about how they should behave around each other and around men. Yet I have some very good reasons for wanting to make the world a more equitable place, one where people of any gender have more equal privileges. There is a small but nonzero probability that one day I will reproduce, and that the child I have will identify as a woman. And though this merely possible future, I'm human enough to feel twinges of anger and sorrow that this child could find her life difficult and painful merely because she doesn't conform to the allowable parameters of womanhood. On a more immediate note, I have a fair number of women friends. I care for them. So the idea that this is what they experience, whether it's daily or occasionally or almost never at all, is unconscionable.
You have to be a pretty lousy person to want to perpetuate a system that actively harms half of humanity and subtly oppresses the other half.
So throughout the book, there was this undercurrent of anger mixed with genuine distress as I read. Penny has come much closer than many other feminist writers in helping me understand how some women feminists do call for more radical actions and imagine futures without men. Thanks to the Internet, women have so many ways of expressing this anger and sharing the stories of their oppression. And this anger is legitimate and painful, as it should be, and the proper response is not to shut it down or attempting to speak over it but instead to step back and acknowledge it. However, what makes Unspeakable Things all the more impressive is the way Penny balances this anger with a resilient empathy. As bleak as it might get, she always insists that there is a way forward in which all actors, women as well as allies, can benefit and work together for a better future. Amidst what is otherwise a somewhat stark view of the current state of women online and in the developed world, this hopeful message is a welcome beacon of light.
I'm not going to break this book down chapter-by-chapter, as much as I'd like to—this review is already getting long enough. But I do want to talk about the major themes of the last chapters. In particular, in "Cybersexism" Penny looks at how the Internet is influencing attitudes towards sex and sexuality. I spend a great deal of time online and am very invested in the Internet's role in our world, so I found this fascinating. And in many ways, our attitudes towards sex and sexuality—and how and when we are permitted to discuss those things—are major artifacts of our gendered society.
Penny reviews how the Internet has been a boon and a bane for women's self-expression, offering new spaces for speech while also throwing up the potential for anonymous trolls to come along and shame, silence, and threaten. She also mentions porn, and the conflicted and complicated relationship sex work in general has with feminism. Canada is currently in the process of attempting to recodify our criminal laws regarding sex work, and it's difficult. It's not something I know enough about to comment on in more detail, but I really enjoyed reading Penny's thoughts on the subject.
Above all else, these chapters on love in the age of cyberspace showcase Penny's anticapitalist approach to feminism. The Internet makes it that much easier for corporations to sell certain visions of sex and sexuality to people. They do this not because these visions are natural, normal, or just; they do this because they want to make money. Robin Thicke's "Blurred Lines" became a sensation last year, and like many songs, it's catchy until you look at the lyrics. So it attracted a fair amount of criticism and no shortage of defenders, male and female. In response to accusations of sexism, these defenders asserted that Thicke's song actually promotes the "liberation" of women's sexuality, that he's encouraging her to express herself in ways that are not necessarily traditional. Alas, this counterargument misses the point. It doesn't matter that a man is singing a song about women being more proactive in their sexuality. This is still a song about a man telling a woman what type of sexual expression he wants to see from her, what behaviour on her part gratifies him. This is the trap into which we too often fall when discussing sex and media: even so-called "sex positive" campaigns are still pressing upon us a specific model of sexuality that we are expected to follow. We haven't won as long as media continue to sell us specific versions of permissible sexual expression; we will have won when media acknowledges that any expression is as good as the next, that there is no one true way to act in order to be happy or successful. And of course, this is not compatible with capitalism, which relies on the propagation of uncertainty and materialistic desire in order to create profits.
This thread of anticapitalist sentiment is present throughout the entire book. As with her declaration that Unspeakable Things is a feminist book, Penny makes not apologies for this stance (nor should she). She recognizes, rather, that for feminism to succeed it must be political and radical and that we won't have gender equity until we dismantle this system. I think feminists who fail to view intersectionality as crucial to their endeavour are shortsighted. Penny acknowledges the importance of race but doesn't spend too much time speaking about it; from her personal experiences she declares herself more able to discuss the class-based inequities that reinforce gender inequity. And this, in turn, links back to what I said earlier about that resilient empathy. While Penny does not mince words as she chronicles the hurts of sexism and misogyny, she also offers hope. In addition to her call for more frank discussions about these things that we would rather sweep under the carpet, Penny calls for a more permissive society, one in which we are not so constrained in our actions by our sex, gender, race, class, or any other label we are saddled with. This single element, among all the other reasons I like this book, is its best feature.
I won't hesitate to say that Unspeakable Things is one of the best books I've read this year and one of the best feminist books I've ever read. I've followed Penny on Twitter for a while now and enjoy her New Statesman posts, but it's good to have a tangible object I can recommend or give as a gift. And I do recommend it. This is a book everyone should read. Hopefully it will make you thoughtful, and if it also makes you a little angry, then that's a good thing too. Anger can stir one to action, and it's through action that we can help dismantle the system that oppresses us and build a better world. Or, you know, not. More likely we'll fail in the process of trying. But that doesn't mean we should stop trying. Sexism and misogyny might be the way the world is, but it is not the way the world should be.
Notes are private!
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 10, 2014
Jan 01, 2012
Oct 08, 2013
it was amazing
Rick Mercer is a national treasure, and if his show hasn't convinced you of this, then you need to get this book and re-read some of his rants from ye Rick Mercer is a national treasure, and if his show hasn't convinced you of this, then you need to get this book and re-read some of his rants from years gone by. Having been living in the UK for the past year and a half, my opportunities to watch The Rick Mercer Report have been reduced (I could probably get it, but it would require time and effort I don't really have right now). I bought this book at the airport on my way back to the UK in the new year, because I was worried I would finish the book I was currently reading. That didn't happen, but now I'm glad I have this little slice of Canada with me in Britain.
For those of you who aren't familiar with The Rick Mercer Report, it's like a little window into life in Canada. There are two major highlights to the show: the Rant, and Mercer's visit to some place across Canada.
In the Rant, Mercer delivers a minute or minute-and-a-half satirical speech about some topic in current events, usually politics. He speaks directly into the camera while he and a very skilled cameraperson navigate the aggressively urban backdrop of an alley with heavy graffiti. As the name implies, the Rant is an emotionally, if finally honed, invective and invocation. Mercer scathingly criticizes and calls out behaviour he doesn't like, whether it's by politicians of any party or just people on the street, and he implores the audience or members of the public to do something about it. The result are often bitingly hilarious, but they can also come off as very pessimistic or cynical.
Reading these rants is a slightly different experience from watching them on TV. Mercer's choice of words becomes more important, and of course you have to imagine the tone instead of hear it. For me, although I was entertained, I also felt a little ashamed of my country. The book has a selection of rants from September 2008 to March 2013. It was interesting to revisit the politics of my country through Mercer's eyes. I once again experienced the rise of the Harper Conservative majority. I shared in Mercer's cynicism regarding the leadership races of the Liberals and the NDP—demonstrating that, when it comes to calling out the bullshit, he is quite happy to take aim at the left as well as the right. And, as the years go by and Harper's mark on Canada becomes more visible, the rants seem to become increasingly critical. Sometimes it seems like things are going from bad to worse.
But then you have the other half of the show, in which Mercer visits somewhere in Canada—and it could be literally anywhere, with any one. He has been to the Royal Canadian Mint (and tried to "steal" some gold bars). He has bungee-jumped off a bridge with wheelchair-using Rick Hansen. He visits university campuses across the country, parks, restaurants, etc., often accompanied by a politician, athlete, or some other celebrity. These segments are always fun: Mercer is like a kid in a candy shop; it's as if every day is his first day on the job after being handed a TV show and told to "go do it". At the same time, Mercer graciously and infectiously highlights everything great about our country. He compliments the pancakes at the Hoito (which are great, but, you know, I've had better) and gets into all sorts of shenanigans with some of the least likely accomplices. It seems like Mercer will go anywhere and try anything, and the result is great TV and great moments where he shows the audience the diversity of our country.
Of course, these segments aren't present in this book. Which is why I'm glad that instead it offers "Encounters and Exploits", photos of Mercer's adventures with his various guests. They are nice breaks between the rants and reminders of this other essential part of Mercer's show.
Because that's what makes Rick Mercer such a valuable national asset. He simultaneously manages to shame and reassure. His Rants remind us that we are flawed; we are a country of problems that need to be fixed, and they aren't going to be fixed as long as we stay silent about them. His excursions, on the other hand, showcase the best this country has to offer on the grandest or most modest levels. They evince the title of this book: Canada is indeed A Nation Worth Ranting About, and Mercer is never going to let us forget it.
So thank you, Rick Mercer, for bringing a passion and joy to your job and doing it so well.
Notes are private!
Feb 02, 2014
Feb 09, 2014
Feb 02, 2014
Mar 30, 2000
it was amazing
It's not very often that I commend a blurb. I prefer to mock them, especially for their brevity or generic flavour—fantasy and science fiction are par It's not very often that I commend a blurb. I prefer to mock them, especially for their brevity or generic flavour—fantasy and science fiction are particularly guilty of this. For Homage to Catalonia I can make an exception: my edition has a blurb on the back cover from Antony Beevor, who calls this "an unrivalled picture of the rumours, suspicions and treachery of civil war." This describes the book perfectly.
A couple of burdens of ignorance to confess before we begin here. Firstly, I had no idea there was a Spanish Civil War until I picked up this book. If any of the various books related to the early twentieth century or to World War II that I have cracked open since the days of Grade 10 history class mentioned a Spanish Civil War, such passing allusions have long fled my mind. I'm somewhat ashamed to have such a massive gap in my historical knowledge, but there you have it. At least I've filled it in with a firsthand account from one of England's great twentieth-century writers!
Secondly, I didn't realize this was non-fiction until I started reading the introduction. See, I didn't set out to read this book. George Orwell is one of those authors whose oeuvre, at least these days, is overshadowed by one or two masterpieces—Nineteen Eighty-Four and Animal Farm in his case. For the vast majority of anyone who reads Orwell, one or both of those works are their introduction, and usually the totality of their Orwellian experience. His other works lurk on the fringes of popular perception. Some, like his essay, "Politics and the English Language" are more prominent than others. Suffice it to say: I had never heard of Homage to Catalonia until a colleague at school offered me a copy—she had accidentally ordered two. I don't turn down free books, let alone books by George Orwell.
While my ignorance regarding history shames me, it also gave me an opportunity to approach Orwell's account without many preconceptions. Unlike a student of history reading this for a course, or someone who is more familiar with the period, I had no idea what Orwell was prattling on about when he talked about Franco, the POUM or PSUC, etc. I understand the differences between the Marxist, Stalinist, and Trotskyist flavours of Communism, and I knew the names of Hitler, Mussolini, and Stalin. As far as the political situation in Spain went, however, I was tabula rasa. This allowed me simply to embrace and go with Orwell's explanation and opinions instead of fighting against any contradictions or additional confusion created by my prior knowledge. So, in some cases, ignorance can be a useful tool for reading comprehension.
Homage to Catalonia definitely improved my awareness of the complex political climate in Europe prior to World War II. I was about to say it "clarified my understanding" until I realized how silly a statement that would be. The dense, almost inscrutable explanations of the political situation in Spain during the Civil War in this book bely any claims that the politics are a simple matter of Left versus Right, Communist versus Fascist. Orwell himself was so frustrated by attempting to explain the matter that, in his errata for later editions of the book, he instructed editors to remove it from the main body and place those chapters into appendices, which is how they appear in this edition. This was a great choice, because I can't imagine someone less interested in the politics trying to slog through this chapters and still finish the book. Tucked away as appendices, they are less intimidating but just as informative. (You really don't need that information, however, just to enjoy Orwell's personal account of his experiences in Spain.)
At its most basic, this is a personal account of an English journalist of socialist tendencies who went to Spain, enlisted in the militia, and fought in the trenches against Fascists. Orwell captures the vagaries of living in the trenches, particularly those engendered by a combination of poorly equipped, poorly trained soldiers and a lack of sound strategic leadership. He recounts the periods of endless waiting, the lines that were comically far apart—too far for their obsolete rifles to be effective—and the occasional thrill of real danger. Throughout those months, Orwell's sense of idealistic enthusiasm for the Socialist/Communist movement fades palpably. And what's left diminishes even further after he is wounded and returns to Barcelona, only to experience the street fighting and suppression of the POUM.
(I confess I enjoyed reading Orwell's description of the sensations of being shot—in the throat!—and recovering afterwards. One can write about many experiences authentically without ever having to undergo them oneself, and that might include the experience of being shot. But there is a depth to Orwell's account that comes out of that moment of certainty that one's life is over. It is harrowing yet reassuring.)
Although the descriptions of trench life and criticism of the militia's unprepared, unprofessional attitude are all well and go, I started to get invested in the second half of the book. Once Orwell returns from the front to recover from his wound, things get very interesting. Still technically a soldier fighting against Fascism, he quickly finds himself aligned with a party that has fallen out of favour. The other elements of the Communist aparatus begin to suppress and move against the POUM. Orwell goes from being a recovering soldier to an innocent observer to a "Trotyskist betrayer" who is wanted for arrest. Eventually, he and his wife end up fleeing from the very government and people he had so idealistically sought to defend when he first came to Spain.
Orwell's political explanations are invaluable, and this is where his appendices prove most useful. Obviously, for someone unfamiliar with this event, it has provided me with a wealth of information. I can now comfortably ride out a mention to the Spanish Civil War in casual conversation—no longer must I feel the beginnings of a dry sweat in my palms and on my forehead as someone throws out a passing reference to Franco, fascism, or the PSUC! Yet Homage to Catalonia provides an education more general and even more important than mere familiarity with the events and political players of the day: Orwell's deft political commentary is also a scathing indictment of propaganda and interventionist imperialism. Its message is still relevant in today's political climate, where both Left and Right scream at us for attention, for exclusive allegiance, for polarized patriotism.
Consider, for example, how Orwell deconstructs the portryal of events in foreign newspapers. He criticizes British and other foreign newspapers for only showing one side of the story. He also criticizes journalists who went to Spain but just reprinted the official, accepted version of events instead of digging deeper for the truth. Within Spain, stories were murkier and more complicated—censorship was rife, and in the hands of the Communists and the PSUC, but there were still conflicting voices. Outside Spain, however, the Communist apparatus spearheaded by the USSR managed to spin events to their benefit. And it's interesting that this spin was anti-revolutionary.
After all, the first thing one learns about communism as a political philosophy is that it is the result of a worker revolution against the wealthy bourgeoise. Orwell illuminates how Communism—that is, the movement as it was expressed in Russia—had already become compromised and corrupted by that need for any form of government to perpetuate its own existence and interests. It was in Russia's interest to have a Franco government, albeit a capitalist one. It was in Britain's interests to have a Franco, capitalist government. These titanic powers of the European stage intervened (or, equivalently, chose not to intervene) and spun the story to ensure the outcome that was favourable to their interests, regardless of the effect this would have on the Spanish population. It's the same old story, and it still happens today. Observe the recent revolution in Libya, which garnered American support despite the United States' previous close ties to Gaddafi. As political winds shift, so too do attitudes towards intervention. And Orwell makes clear his disgust for this.
Orwell's conclusions will be familiar for anyone who has read Nineteen Eighty-Four: don't trust what you read in the papers. Bias is everywhere. The only innoculation is to read more than one perspective, to piece together something that might be closer to the truth through a synthesis of conflicting accounts, and to be aware of the possible biases of the writers. (This is why the single voice of the state in Orwellian England is so pernicious.) He also provides a healthy reminder that neither the Left nor the Right have the monopoly on propaganda or bias. As a liberal, I'm making a mistake if I assume that only the "right wing" sources of news are the ones presenting a biased view of events and that leftist or centrist news sources are somehow more reliable.
Furthermore, it would be overly naive and optimistic to assume that the Internet somehow alleviates this problem. While it's true that the Web has provided some unique opportunities for peer-to-peer, uncensored communication—Google and Twitter's assistance to the Egyptian revolution is one example—the problem remains that the Internet is not fundamentally democratic. I do believe it can be a powerful tool for democracy—that is to say, it's no more anti-democratic by nature than it is democratic. But, as Evgeny Morozov has repeatedly argued, it is not a magic bullet.
Orwell's obvious disillusionment with Communism as a movement in this book provides key insights into his later novels. Both Animal Farm and Nineteen Eighty-Four are not exactly subtle in their messages. Nevertheless, Homage to Catalonia sharpens those messages, providing a historical context that makes it more evident why Orwell was motivated to write those two books. He was clearly reacting strongly against what he perceived as a betrayal of the very principles he supported, and he wanted to convey the danger of that betrayal to everyone.
I'm very glad Homage to Catalonia found me. It educated me about an important event in recent European history. It gave me insight into the personal life of a great author of the twentieth century. It emphasized the dangers of propaganda and the necessity of questioning the motives of external actors in larger world events. And it sharpened my understanding—and appreciation—of the power and importance of Orwell's two major novels. Both compelling on its own and as a companion piece, Homage to Catalonia is a gem.
Notes are private!
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 14, 2013
Sep 2012
Sep 25, 2013
really liked it
I read this book on my flight back to England (the second one, since I missed the first one by that much). The plane is one of those newer models that I read this book on my flight back to England (the second one, since I missed the first one by that much). The plane is one of those newer models that has entertainment units in the back of every seat, and to my surprise they had different movies on offer from those available when I flew back to Canada a few weeks ago. One of those movies was The Fifth Estate, which also tells the story of Julian Assange and WikiLeaks. So this review will also be a bit of a review of that movie. But I'll save you the suspense: This Machine Kills Secrets is way better than the The Fifth Estate.
Andy Greenberg doesn't just tell the story of Julian Assange. He tells the story how the global climate that allowed WikiLeaks to coalesce came itself into being. For this, he stretches back to Daniel Ellsberg and the Pentagon Papers. He discusses the origins of public key encryption and PGP, of the cypherpunks, Tor, and all the predecessors who paved the way for Assange and WikiLeaks. Greenberg explores the tension between the government and anti-establishment groups. Each group wants to keep or expose certain secrets. Is there ever a time when leaks are acceptable, even if they are unlawful? What if such leaks place people in danger? Or are we truly living in a post-privacy age, where there should be no secrets and everything should be open?
I like the narrative technique that Greenberg uses here: each chapter typically consists of two stories, and he alternates between these stories, developing them in parallel. For example, in chapter 6 he describes both the ascension of Birgitta Jo'nsdo'ttir to the Icelandic parliament and the genesis of Bivol and BalkanLeaks at the hands of Atanas Tchobanov and Assen Yordanov. He discusses Jo'nsdo'ttir's involvement in politics and how she becomes involved with WikiLeaks; meanwhile, explains how Tchobanov and Yordanov's desire to replicate WikiLeaks on a smaller, more contained scale has met with success because of their commitment to the anonymity of their sources. By switching back and forth, Greenberg creates an interesting pacing that keeps the chapters feeling fresh, even when they are very long.
This is not a long book, but it contains a wealth of information. With each chapter, Greenberg delves further into the tools and social movements that emerged in the crucible of the early 1990s Internet. It all starts with Ellsberg and the Pentagon Papers, which Greenberg contrasts with the more recent leak by Chelsea Manning. From here, Greenberg traces other instances of leaking, as well as the technology and related hacking movements that make such leaks possible. He mentions Anonymous and the HBGary hack. But, most importantly, he places WikiLeaks in context of other leaks and thus explains how WikiLeaks forever changed what it meant to leak confidential or classified information.
WikiLeaks, Greenberg argues, arrived on the world stage at the perfect time. Technology had advanced to a point where a massive leak, orders of magnitude beyond the Pentagon Papers, was quite feasible. Thanks to the Internet, it was not only easy to distribute leaked documents but virtually impossible to remove them from circulation once they had been distributed. (This is particularly evident as Greenberg describes the circumstances whereby the complete, unredacted set of State Department cables became widely available after someone leaked the encrypted file and Assange unwittingly allowed his password to that file to be published.)
But WikiLeaks is also somewhat of a special case. It has encouraged copycats, which have met with varying degrees of success. But the tenets of leaking and anonymous whistleblowing have not exactly become cemented within our culture. WikiLeaks itself has a much lower profile these days, still smarting from Assange's more personal controversies. Greenberg doesn't pull the punches, cataloguing the fall from grace, as it were, for WikiLeaks and Assange, as well as the difficulties faced by those like Domscheit-Berg, who strives to create a successor to WikiLeaks in OpenLeaks.
This Machine Kills Secrets is much more nuanced and much more detailled than The Fifth Estate. The movie only focuses on the relationship between Assange and Domscheit-Berg. It begins when the two first begin working together and ends shortly thereafter. There is no mention of OpenLeaks and very little in terms of language or explanation about WikiLeaks--in short, there is very little to differentiate this movie from generic hacker movie fare. It does nothing to place WikiLeaks into the historical context of leaking and civil disobedience. Maybe the only good thing it does is demonstrate the conflict between those who want to leak everything, unedited, and those who feel a duty to prevent needlessly endangering people mentioned in leaked material. (Plus, I enjoyed seeing Alexander Siddig, Laura Linney, and Stanley Tucci in that subplot.)
This is a must-read for anyone interested in cryptography, hacking, security, and leaking. Pick up this new edition if you can--this was on my to-read list from when it first came out last year, prior to Snowden's megaleak. This new edition has Greenberg's thoughts on Snowden included as an afterword, and it really helps to put the rest of the book in perspective. I'm glad it was included, because otherwise the book would have felt a little obsolete in light of how Snowden's megaleak has changed things--or not changed things. Because, as Greenberg is quick to point out, the story of leaks has not yet finished. We aren't living in a post-leak world. We're still living in the middle of this revolution, and it's too early yet to tell which way it will go. That's up to us.
Notes are private!
Jan 05, 2014
Jan 07, 2014
Dec 30, 2012
Nov 04, 2008
liked it
I wouldn't necessarily describe myself as anti-American, but I will cop to having anti-American sentiments. I have plenty of American friends, but I c I wouldn't necessarily describe myself as anti-American, but I will cop to having anti-American sentiments. I have plenty of American friends, but I chose to move to England before the United States—and, to be perfectly honest, I don't think I could ever bring myself to live in the United States. There are just some ideas so apparently entrenched in American society that seem so backward to me. And I know my American friends understand—a lot of it seems backward to them too!
It's something of a trend these days to discuss the "hijacking" of American politics. Corporations have hijacked politics; ultra right-wing evangelicals have hijacked politics; Tea Party patriots have hijacked politics … at this rate, if Bigfoot hasn't hijacked politics by December, I will be disappointed. There is, of course, a great deal of truth in some of these perspectives, and these discourses are valuable. At the same time, one should not neglect the fact that the United States has always been in a state of uneasy tension between religious freedoms and religious establishment, between liberal and conservative, between society and business. So much of the hijacking happening today is not so much an aberration as it is the latest recurrence in a long line of such events, as Simon Schama attempts to demonstrate in The American Future: A History.
Here are some things I learned from The American Future: A History. Some of them are obvious, yes, and probably don't require a book to become evident. But it's always good to be reminded.
There were no "good old days". Well, maybe if you were a rich, white, European male. But if you're a rich, white male today, wake up and stop complaining: your days are still pretty good. The idea that the United States of the past was somehow a golden land of opportunity and prosperity, and that it has since declined into its present state, is a myth. Imperialism, racism, and colonialism have always been a part of the United States of America. The religious persecution that so many of the original colonists fled in coming to the shores of the New World eventually caught up with them, and Catholics, Jews, and the apostate Protestant sect of the week were routinely barred from livelihoods and politics. Let's not even get started about slavery.
Despite the bad, we too often forget about the good. In our rush to cringe at the past, sometimes it's easy to overlook the people who stood up against tyranny and oppression. I'm not talking about George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and other revolutionaries or Founding Fathers. I'm talking about the people who, quietly or not, worked tirelessly on behalf of the disenfranchised, the minorities, every group who did not get a voice in the system. From Return Jonathan Meigs to Fred Bee, there were numerous good people who deserved to be remembered for trying to stop oppression and atrocities, even if they were ultimately unsuccessful.
Hero worship is for losers. The way—or at least this is how it seems from my perspective as an outsider—Americans are taught to venerate the Founding Fathers and other such historical figures without much time spent on more critical perspectives really concerns me. I understand that it's a big deal that these people helped liberate the colonies from British rule. But they weren't gods; they were ordinary, flawed individuals. Jefferson had some good ideas. He also owned slaves. And, while his attitude towards the indigenous peoples of the Americas was not as antagonistic as Andrew Jackson's, it still rested upon the principles of Eurocentric, cultural assimilation. And from what I read about the various textbook guidelines being pushed in certain states, I doubt these views are being explored. And it's a shame, because if there's one thing studying any history, from the United States or elsewhere, can teach us, it's …
We can do so, so much better. We've got a long way to go. In the two centuries since gaining independence, the United States has changed greatly—but in some ways, it and the rest of the world continues to repeat the same old mistakes. Claiming we are superior to the people of the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries, that we've learned our lessons, is misguided at best and woefully delusional at worst. It will be interesting to see what historians two hundred years hence write about our intolerance and indiscretions.
But I'm still an optimist. Even if I would let myself, I can't bring myself to yield to despair and the cynical proposition that we have finally achieved that crucial intersection of environmental irresponsibility, cultural apathy, and anxious nationalism that will somehow doom us all. History shows that humans are really, really good at screwing things up. We're also really, really good at surviving our mistakes, in one form or another.
And armed with the knowledge of—and more importantly, the discussion sparked by—history, we can do better. Schama's history, like a lot of popular history books, tends to focus on episodic accounts of individuals' contributions. It's easier that way; we like narratives and we like protagonists. And while that doesn't always provide an holistic view of the era, it does recreate one salient feature: individuals can make a difference. I'm trying not to get too trite and inspirational here, and I'm not going to wax poetically about how one person can change the entire world. Chances are, most of us are going to go on to lead fairly unremarkable lives and fade away without too many people remember us. (Though we individuals output more information about ourselves than the entirety of the nineteenth century put out, so much of it these days is digital and therefore ephemeral.) But just because we skim along the surface instead of swimming in the deep doesn't mean we are unimportant, or that our actions have no effect on this world around us.
The American Future: A History left me with very mixed emotions. On one hand, I had been treated to a greatest hits playlist of some of the United States' most insular and bonehead moves. On the other hand, as you can tell from the above paragraph, Schama manages to convey that contagious optimism emblematic of the 2008 American presidential election. Schama starts by setting himself a goal of exploring where the United Sates might by going by looking to its past. In this, I think he is successful. That being said, I can't give this book high marks in every category. Schama is very good at belabouring his points and overstaying his welcome. We spend so much time on certain episodes, such as Montgomery Meigs. I enjoyed it, but it was also a little exhausting. Schama's use of detail is both a blessing and a curse.
As a Canadian whose grasp of American history is probably rudimentary at best, I certainly found this book informative. It was also helpful in a more general sense, for it illuminates the sources of certain cultural habits Americans often express that can puzzle the rest of the world. We learn about manifest destiny in school, but we don't necessarily understand its origins—now I kind of do. I recommend this book for non-Americans who are trying to understand why some Americans think and act the way they do. American friends, we know not all of you are crazy, and we're trying very, very hard to put up with those of you who are. But some of us are running out of patience, and it's time you step up, mmkay? Because the American future is coming, and I want it to be a good one.
Notes are private!
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 01, 2012
Sep 08, 2009
Sep 08, 2009
really liked it
The Rwandan genocide is one of those events that looms in my mind as something that happened when I was alive but too young to really understand that The Rwandan genocide is one of those events that looms in my mind as something that happened when I was alive but too young to really understand that there was a world outside of my country, or even my community, really. Politics was something that came via the television, an artifact of the history we were studying in school, not a daily fact of life. War and genocide was something that had happened in the past, long ago and far away. I was lucky, because I grew up in Canada, where hardship is visited upon fewer people than most places (though still far too many). I've always had a roof over my head, clean water and plenty of food, not to mention electricity. Oh, and I've never had a mob try to burn my house or kill me simply because I happened to be the unpopular ethnicity de jour. (September 11 was kind of my personal geopolitical moment of awakening. I was in Grade 7. I remember coming home for lunch and my mom telling me someone had attacked the towers in New York.
God Sleeps in Rwanda is about the genocide, and about the efforts to move past it in the late 1990s. It's also an intensely personal tale by someone who was born and raised in Rwanda. Joseph Sebarenzi understands the terror of having one's home and life threatened by a genocidal mob. Although he was not present for the events of 1994, he later returned to Rwanda and became Speaker of the Parliament, where he played an integral role in trying to wrest power back from the hands of the executive branch and restore rule of law. Though his attempts were largely unsuccessful, the struggle itself is moving, even haunting. Sebarenzi and his co-author, Laura Ann Mullane, create a tenuous balance between the heartbreaking recounting of each successive blow to freedom and peace in Rwanda and Sebarenzi's relentless optimism.
I read, and loved, Shake Hands with the Devil . Yet Roméo Dallaire's perspective is that of an outsider. He entered Rwanda with certain pre-conceptions and ideas acquired as a result of his upbringing. This isn't a criticism of him or his book, which is an amazing chronicle of the international community's failure to react to the Rwandan genocide. But it's a limitation that makes books like God Sleeps in Rwanda a welcome counterpart to Shake Hands with the Devil. Sebarenzi exposes us to a viewpoint that isn't Western or Eurocentric. He can cut through the "centuries of tribal genocide" myth or any other colonial misconceptions about life in Rwanda and tell us how it is (if we are willing to listen).
I enjoyed reading Sebarenzi's account of the political machinations afoot following Rwanda's supposed transition to democracy under Bizimungu and Kagame. Sebarenzi was right in the thick of it, actively working to promote rule of law. He also doesn't conceal his own blindness, at the time, towards Kagame's deviousness. He honestly believed Kagame was interested in instituting democratic reforms up until the point where it became clear Kagame was only interested in holding on to power. This kind of insider's account of trying to stabilize a fledgling democracy is fascinating and valuable.
That relentless optimism of Sebarenzi's is what makes the book worth reading. As I said in my review of Shake Hands with the Devil, genocide is depressing. Sebarenzi doesn't go into as much detail about the genocide—in many ways, the bulk of the book focuses on the recovery efforts afterwards—but what he lacks in detail he makes up for in the personal connection to some of the victims. Moreover, the Rwandan genocide marked a kind of death of Rwanda as a unified nation … Sebarenzi has now lost his homeland twice, and it isn't even being occupied by a foreign power.
So for him to write that he's still hopeful, he still wants reconciliation and forgiveness and reparation … that's kind of amazing. It reminds me of the Dalai Lama's attitude towards China. Sebarenzi by no means sees what the perpetrators of the genocide did as justified or acceptable—but he doesn't demonize them either. He understands their motivations. And he categorically rejects the idea that revenge is the best thing on offer right now. This kind of fairness and compassion is everything we need in a world increasingly polarized by rhetoric and radicalism … and now I sound like a movie trailer narrator.
Notes are private!
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 01, 2010
really liked it
Full disclosure: I received this book in a Goodreads First Reads giveaway. Loves me the free books.
In Wikinomics, Don Tapscott and Anthony D. Williams Full disclosure: I received this book in a Goodreads First Reads giveaway. Loves me the free books.
In Wikinomics, Don Tapscott and Anthony D. Williams argue that the Internet has irrevocably altered the way corporations and businesses will interact and develop new products and services. The proprietary, closed models of research and design are obsolete and must be replaced by mass collaboration with outside talent. Companies that do not embrace this new ethic of economics, the eponymous wikinomics, will be left behind, their innovation too glacial for a world where news moves at the speed of the trending topics on Twitter.
As I said in my review of Wikinomics, I am biased because of my generation. A lot of what Tapscott and Williams argue just feels right to me because this is how I have grown up using technology; I don't really understand any other model. My criticisms of Wikinomics were mostly directed toward the authors' style and rhetoric, and the same is true for Macrowikinomics. The books share the same effusive tone that makes me wince for how it must sound to the truly sceptical. However, this sequel has managed to win me over in a way the business-oriented Wikinomics did not. One thing I noticed with Wikinomics was how dated it felt, even though it was written only in 2006. In contrast, Macrowikinomics is a lot more topical and much more embedded within the current events of 2008-2010, yet it paradoxically feels like it will age more slowly. It owes this success to its expanded scope and more ambitious premises. By applying wikinomics in a more general setting, Tapscott and Williams make a more convincing case for its relevance.
Macrowikinomics covers several topics of contemporary importance. The CBC Spark interview covers some of them with Tapscott. After introducing their concept and bringing those who did not read the first book up to speed, Tapscott and Williams briefly cover how they think wikinomics will help to avoid any repeats of the 2008 financial crisis (more open data means more watchdogs). However, the book really hits its stride in part III: "Reindustrializing the Planet." Here, Macrowikinomics does what Wikinomics didn't: it makes me angry.
Oh, not angry at the book! No, Tapscott and Williams blithely discuss how wikinomics is beneficial for the transition away from fossil fuels, and although their conclusions and futuristic scenarios often err on the side of optimism, much of their analysis is valid. And so, the normally level-headed and mellow Ben feels the first signs of rage simmering beneath his placid surface. It's those darn global warming deniers! We know the effects of carbon dioxide emissions on the atmosphere. I am convinced by the evidence that humans are a significant contributor to global warming—however, even if one is not, doesn't it make sense to curb our emissions anyway? At some point, whether or not one agrees that we have already passed it, we'll be emitting too much carbon dioxide, and the Earth will not be a happy place to live. The same goes for our dependence on fossil fuels. Maybe the opponents of the transition to clean energy are right, and there are vast, untapped reserves of oil. That does not change the fact that oil is a finite, non-renewable resource; we are using it faster than it can be replenished by several oils of magnitude. Eventually we're going to have to kick our oil habit—isn't it better to do it now, while we can phase out oil gradually?
Of course, the people who deny human culpability in global warming and the danger of our dependence on fossil fuels often do so out of a particularly insidious version of myopia. We humans are notoriously bad at our long-range planning, preferring to jump from crisis to crisis as our evolution has conditioned us to do. The result is a sort of "not in my lifetime" deferral of the problems of global warming, fossil fuel dependency, etc.—and this, of course, is where my generational bias rears its head. My generation rather worries we're the ones who will ultimately have to deal with these problems (or else)! Yet we are only just beginning to come of age and exert an influence on the conventional halls of power—corporations, governments, NGOs, etc. So understand that for us, the distributed approach to solving these problems that wikinomics champions feels natural and effective because it's largely all we have. Our governments mumble about "emissions targets" and "carbon taxes" even as our world leaders fly off on expensive jets to international summits where they talk about treaties that, if ever signed, are never really honoured. Our poor politicians are trapped between the rock of the powerful, well-funded corporate lobbyists and the increasingly-vocal youth calling out for change. Change, however, is slow in coming. And if our governments are slow in implementing clean energy, designing intelligent electrical grids, and subsidizing automobile innovation, then we are going to do it ourselves.
Our methods are as various and diverse as our demographic: we might generate our own electricity and sell it back to the grid, we might help design vehicles that are more efficient, or maybe we'll develop and contribute to apps that track our carbon footprints. One of the more reassuring points that Tapscott and Williams make is that, contrary to how I sometimes feel, one does not have to be an expert in everything. Sometimes, with all of the issues that seem to be clamouring for my attention, I am just overwhelmed by the amount of information available to me. It's impossible to become an expert in everything, so I must rely on other experts to tell me what I should think, and that always opens me up to the danger of being misled—one Andrew Wakefield, and suddenly I'm running around, not vaccinating my children! Tapscott and Williams have a suggestion to help mitigate such problems: openness and participation. Just as they believe that being open about the methods for calculating derivatives and risks will prevent repeats of the 2008 financial crisis, they are very adamant about opening up R&D for transportation and encouraging innovation in the clean energy sector. I don't need to be an expert in car design, because there are plenty of other car design experts out there who can focus on helping to build better cars. Meanwhile, I can contribute where I feel most comfortable. And that brings me to Macrowikinomics' take on education.
I am almost finished my undergraduate education. This was the last year of my honours bachelors degree in mathematics; next year I take "professional year" education courses and complete two sessions of student-teaching in schools. If all goes well, I'll be certified to teach grades 7-12 in Ontario, specifically in math and English. I've always wanted to be a teacher, even when I was a child. As I approach the attainment of that goal, I ruminate often on how I will teach. I have so many new options available to me, new technology and new strategies. As a new teacher, it threatens to be a little overwhelming, since I still have no experience. I'm sure I will find my way and develop strategies that work for me, as well as for my students. For now, I think about how I can bring my comfort and familiarity with current technology into the classroom and apply it to my teachables.
If Macrowikinomics made me angry about global warming, it made me excited about education. Tapscott and Williams tackle mostly the "ivory tower" of universities in the first chapter of part VI: "Learning, Discovery, and Well-Being", but they also mention projects in elementary and secondary schools of which they approve. Many of their proposals are controversial, and many of them seem obvious, and there is plenty of overlap between these two categories. It should come as no surprise that they want pedagogy to shift away from one-to-many delivery methods, such as the traditional professorial lecture, toward collaborative learning environments where teachers guide students toward making discoveries. They quote Seymour Papert: "The scandal of education is that every time you teach something, you deprive a [student] of the pleasure and benefit of discovery." This resonates with me. As a student, I have always loved learning, and that has made it easier for me than many of my peers. I know that I can't make every student love learning, but I can do my best. I can recognize that everyone learns differently and try to foster that difference rather than ignore it as I deliver the same lesson in the same style to the same bored faces.
Mostly, Macrowikinomics calls for a flexibility in the education system that would be as awesome as it is, at present, unattainable. Oh, I think components of their vision are very achievable—for example, I certainly hope to see open textbooks and additional platforms modelled after MIT's OpenCourseWare become more common. The success of OpenCourseWare and Khan Academy suggest that there is a niche traditional textbook and lecture-style learning is not satisfying. Some of Tapscott and Williams' suggestions are less likely to pass, at least in the near future: I think as long as universities are competing for government grants and corporate investments, it will be more difficult to collect credits from disparate institutions (through distance learning) and cobble them into a degree. Of course, Tapscott and Williams would like to see those institutions become collaborative at every level, not just when it comes to accreditation, and that would solve the problem—but the problem is a deep one, embedded with the very system itself. And I'm not going to tackle it myself … I'll be in high school, preparing the minds who probably will.
In the last two parts of the book prior to the conclusion, Macrowikinomics turns first to the dying newspaper industry and then to the effect of wikinomics on freedom and democracy. The former contains little that will be new if one has been paying any sort of attention to the news in the past five years: newspapers are dying, free is killing them, bits are cheaper than atoms, etc. It is a solid enough analysis, but it is not the strongest part of the book. I am pleased by the inclusion of the latter part, because it addresses some of the concerns I voiced in my review of Wikinomics about the absence of any perspectives from less developed nations. Again, it's not perfect, and sometimes I had to flip to the end notes to find the caveats about how the Internet can be used to the advantage of authoritarian regimes as well as a tool to fight against them. I'm still pleased by the inclusion of these topics, however, and for readers less familiar with how social networking has interacted with political activism, this part will hopefully be enlightening.
And yes, I get it: BMWs run Linux. The repetitive style that sometimes irked me in Wikinomics returns in all its glory. Also, if you have read Wikinomics, and especially if you read these in quick succession, some sections of this book will feel very familiar—in fact, some are reproduced verbatim from the first book. While I understand the need to familiarize newcomers with these ideas, and while it might be economical to save some time and effort by reusing older material, I found my attention wandering during these parts, because I had heard it all before.
Tapscott and Williams are at their best when they are discussing the new and amazing opportunities for innovation that the Internet and mass collaboration offer. They are, in a sense, charting the new techniques made possible by our new technology, both by interviewing the people who are setting trends and blazing trails and by making their own diagnoses and suggestions for how we can innovate using wikinomics. As with the previous books, they run into more trouble when they attempt to wax philosophical—their enthusiasm undermines their frequent reminders that wikinomics, the Internet, etc., are not panaceas. Similarly, their attempts to refute criticism of wikinomics and macrowikinomics are noble but unimpressive. Macrowikinomics is thorough, well-researched, and very much a manifesto.
Whether you consider this a good thing I will leave up to you. I, for one, plan to recommend this to people who I think will find it interesting, even if they might not agree with Tapscott and Williams' views. Unless you are an entrepreneur, investor, or corporate executive, I would advise you just to skip Wikinomics and go right to this book: it's everything Wikinomics is and more, and it's definitely worth reading. Macrowikinomics is neither the most insightful nor the most persuasive book about technology I've read, but it is provocative. It made me angry, and it made me inspired.
Notes are private!
Jun 04, 2011
Jun 05, 2011
Feb 28, 2011
Nov 09, 2010
Nov 09, 2010
liked it
Full disclosure: I won this book in a Goodreads First Reads Giveaway. Loves me the free books.
I won this book before the 18-day demonstration in Tahri Full disclosure: I won this book in a Goodreads First Reads Giveaway. Loves me the free books.
I won this book before the 18-day demonstration in Tahrir Square began, but the events in Egypt (and across the Middle East) were foremost in mind as I read this book. In high school, I learned about democracy in an incredibly idealized, abstract way. It is something born one or two centuries ago, something synonymous with freedom, involving voting and citizen participation. School does not always make it clear that democracy itself continues to evolve as our society changes. Hence the need for next generation democracy. Furthermore, the Millennial Generation (also known as Generation Y) is now coming into its own, graduating from university, dominating even more of the 18-30 voting bloc. Hence the need to examine the democracy of the next generation.
Jared Duval could also have titled his book, Not Yer Grandfather's Democracy, which I think sounds catchier, although maybe it doesn't quite have the double entendre of the actual title. Nevertheless, it conveys a similar message: the Millennial Generation and its maturation amid the information and Internet revolutions of the late twentieth, early twenty-first century, is going to do democracy differently. Duval contends that democracy in its current form has alienated representatives from their leaders to some extent; the pressure of lobbyists, the pressure to campaign constantly for the next election, and the unwieldy size and density of bills makes it increasingly difficult for our democracies to function. This is not a doom-saying book, though. Duval thinks new technology, combined with a new will, can not only save democracy but make it better.
Fundamental to this improvement is the idea that new technology (i.e., the Internet) makes it easier to create organizations with distributed, lateral power structures rather than hierarchical, top-down ones. This decentralization and de-concentration of power has two benefits: firstly, it is more efficient, because each group can be left to administer its own projects without having to get approval and supervision from upper management; secondly, it makes the organizations less vulnerable when their visionary leaders step down. These are both very important changes, something Duval highlights by exploring the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina and the rise of youth activism groups across the United States.
In the former case study, Duval examines how the decentralized, autonomously-functioning Coast Guard units made for the most effective force in the days following the devastation of New Orleans. He then goes on to look at how citizens rallied to create a balanced reconstruction plan that would preserve the neighbourhoods of New Orleans at a time when rebuilding community was essential. In both cases, the traditional top-down authorities (FEMA and the mayor/city council, respectively) failed to produce adequate responses to the disaster and its aftermath. By contrast, these decentralized approaches worked well: for the Coast Guard, it created flexibility; for the citizen planners, it ensured an appropriate diversity of input from different demographics.
In the latter case study, Duval looks at the rising number of youth-led activism groups. Here he recounts from personal experience with the Sierra Student Coalition. In particular, he focuses on the circumstances surrounding the formation of the Energy Action Coalition. The key ingredient that allowed Energy Action to succeed where other umbrella organizations failed, according to Duval, was its innovative approach to fundraising. Instead of "organization-versus-organization," Energy Action required all member groups to raise funds on behalf of the entire coalition, which then apportioned the funds according to a pre-determined budget. This might seem like the antithesis of decentralization, but the point is that it prevented organizations from competing against each other in their fundraising efforts. And that meant they could work more effectively to address their particular focuses, while enjoying the support and exposure provided by membership in the coalition.
Duval is clearly close to and passionate about his subject matter, neither of which is a bad thing. At first I was worried he would not examine some of his case studies with the critical eye they required. Fortunately, I worried for nothing: Duval points out the limitations of the open source approach to democracy and of the way some people have tried implementing it. In particular, he expresses disappointment over the Obama administration's failure to adhere to some of its openness and transparency promises from Obama's campaign. So rest assured that, while extremely optimistic, Next Generation Democracy does not view the world through rose-coloured glasses. If anything, Duval is frank and unapologetic over his analysis of the world's plight, especially when it comes to climate change.
There is one area where I'm dissatisfied with Duval's approach, and that is the characterization of the Millennial Generation. Some of his stories are very heartwarming and inspirational, as I'm sure they are intended to be. Yet I couldn't help but think to myself, "Wow, it's like every member of my generation is an activist!" which reminded me that Duval has selected very specific cases to support his argument. There are a lot of activists in my generation. But I don't necessarily accept that the Millennials are different enough from previous generations in this respect. Perhaps the form of activism has evolved with the decades as well. Yet there are plenty people of my generation who are not overly concerned with advocating for change. Duval spends a lot of time talking about Millennials who are making a difference; he does not spend enough time on ways in which this open source approach can combat apathy. This, more than war, poverty, or climate change, is the challenge of my generation, I think. If the Millennials are to have the impact Duval wants them to have, first they must be made to care. Open source politics has the potential for inspiring action, and to his credit, that potential is implicit in a lot of Duval's case studies, such as his profile of SeeClickFix.
Also, Duval is preaching to the choir here. Sometimes that makes reading a book more difficult for me, because I just can't engage with the subject matter as much as if I was trying to formulate counterarguments. The best way to counteract such difficulties is to include anecdotes and enough new, fresh ideas and information to keep me entertained and educated. To an extent, Duval is successful in this effort (and I can't claim there is a dearth of anecdotes). Nevertheless, I feel a little jaded when it comes to reading about Wikipedia or the birth of Linux. It would be interesting to see the review of someone who started this book vehemently opposed to Duval's position.
Let's do this with two questions. What is Next Generation Democracy? It is a well-constructed argument that the Millennial Generation, combined with technological innovations, is going to change how democracy and politics work. It is an interesting account of some of those changes, supported by anecdotal, statistical, and scholarly evidence. Duval's writing is charismatic even if it is not necessarily persuasive. What isn't Next Generation Democracy? It's not comprehensive. Its scope is very narrow, as attested to by the volume's thin girth. I try not to blame books for not being what they are not, however, so this is not necessarily a negative remark, just an observation. Next Generation Democracy also isn't one-sided when it comes to its analysis, although it isn't quite balanced either.
Do I recommend this book? Conditionally. I can't say it's essential or required reading, but if you are interested in this topic, this would be a good choice. Likewise, if you find the premise I've outlined intriguing, then this is probably worth a try. Finally, though I found its length somewhat limiting, there's something to be said for a book this small examining issues that big. I could see this making a good textbook for a university, or even a high school course, when used in combination with other texts. Next Generation Democracy is not revolutionary like it wants the Millennial Generation to be, but it is different enough that it stands out—in a good way.
(Sidebar: my advanced reading copy lacks an index, which I find noteworthy and slightly annoying. This is quite possibly limited to the ARC, so I'd be interested in knowing if the final version does have an index.)
Notes are private!
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 14, 2011
Jan 10, 2011
Oct 12, 2010
it was amazing
He's just this guy, you know?
My Spiritual Journey is a collection of the Dalai Lama's writings, speeches, and thoughts as they pertain to his life as He's just this guy, you know?
My Spiritual Journey is a collection of the Dalai Lama's writings, speeches, and thoughts as they pertain to his life as a human being, as a Buddhist monk, and as the Dalai Lama. This is not a traditional autobiography or memoir. Instead, some of the chapters (passages? sections?) are quite short—even less than a page—but no less meaningful or inspiring. Rather than looking for some kind of chronological theme, it helps to view this book in those three stages outlined above (and emphasized in this book by the Dalai Lama himself). I read each passage in quick succession over the course of about three days, but this could easily work as the sort of book that you read over the course of weeks or even a month or two. Many reviewers have mentioned that this book is repetitive in sections—and I agree. But it's repetitive for a reason: as the Dalai Lama mentions, everything is interdependent and connected; the passages in this book are no exception. Each one alone is a small snippet of wisdom, but together they form a more cohesive window into the philosophy that drives one of the most illustrious and interesting people alive today.
When I was born in 1989, the Dalai Lama was already thirty years into his exile. The Berlin Wall came down two months afterward. The Rwandan genocide happened when I was too young to follow what was going on, if the media had bothered to give it the coverage it truly deserved. I think the first big military action of which I was really aware, in a political sense, was the invasion of Iraq in 2003. I remember listening to the radio at night as I was trying to fall asleep and hearing the hourly CBC news report discussing the bombing of Baghdad. As someone who has been lucky enough to grow up in a country and a socioecomic situation where I don't have to worry about war, poverty, or oppression, it's difficult for me to put myself in the place of the people of Iraq, of Rwanda, of Tibet. I'm aware, intellectually, that genocides and invasions and games of the worst sort of politics are happening … but that is a far cry from understanding the plight of these people who are, after all, human beings just like me.
My Spiritual Journey is valuable because of its juxtaposition of the atrocities in Tibet with the Dalai Lama's own pacifist beliefs. It is amazing listening to him speak with such empathy and compassion toward everyone—not just his own people, but toward his Chinese brothers and sisters. He is very careful not to generalize, to distinguish between the Chinese people and their government. Even with the government of the so-called "People's Republic" of China, the Dalai Lama stresses that he is always open to communication, to discussion, to reconciliation. From all of his writings, whether he's talking about his childhood in Tibet or his attempts to bring the Tibetan plight front-and-centre on the world stage, one gets this incredible sense of resoluteness from the Dalai Lama. He exudes a steadfast confidence in this idea that we, humans, can have a positive influence on the universe and that, through compassion, we can help prevent suffering. Having just finished Robopocalypse, in which an AI decides to destroy humanity in order to preserve life on Earth, this optimism is incredibly reassuring and comforting.
What's not comforting, of course, is his story of the struggle of Tibet. I must confess I find it difficult to keep track of all those oppressive regimes around the world. It seems like no matter where one turns, bam, there's a government oppressing its people. (And I know that we could have a nice little debate about what the American, Canadian, British governments are trying to pull these days—even if we are generous and give them a free pass, democracy is a fragile creature in this world.) Hence, while apathy is a real and present danger in today's society, it is also important to acknowledge that we cannot all be aware of everything that's happening. So I welcomed this chance to become more familiar with the history of Tibet; with its history with China, India, and Britain; with its struggle for independence or autonomy. This book is informative and eye-opening, making me wonder if we are so used to the situation in Tibet that, as a global society, we have largely become apathetic—because if not, then why aren't we doing anything about this?
The Dalai Lama may have a penchant for peace and compassion, but he is no pushover: that resoluteness is like a core of steel. In his calls for negotiation, for independence, and for autonomy, he displays the mind of a statesman and a philosopher. Politicians would learn a lot from observing how the Dalai Lama comports himself and operates—it's a little something called dignity. He has it. Most politicians, sadly, seem to have sacrificed this attribute in favour of a more flashy style of showmanship. The Dalai Lama is candid about how, in the past, he was innocent or somewhat naïve in his expectations. Even as his age has brought more experience and more wisdom, however, he does not allow hope and optimism to atrophy.
My Spiritual Journey is inspiring and insightful. It informed about all these subjects with which I have only a cursory familiarity: Tibet, Buddhism, the office of the Dalai Lama. Better yet, I got to learn about these through the eyes of the Dalai Lama himself, glimpse the processes that give rise to his thoughts and his feelings. The staccato rhythm created from this collection of his writings and speeches necessarily makes this book different from your typical memoir or autobiography. I'm honestly not sure if that makes it better or worse (you decide!). I've decided to give My Spiritual Journey five stars because, to put it simply, I do not think there is anything I would change about it to make it "better". It is an open, honest, and intensely personal look at a man whose life has been political from the moment he was identified as the fourteenth Dalai Lama. What more could you desire?
Finally, this seems like a good starting place if one wants to read something by the Dalai Lama but isn't sure where to start. I'm making note of some of his other books I'd like to read now—he has some fascinating thoughts on the convergence of science and spirituality and has written at them at length elsewhere.
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Want to know the difference between the Renaissance and present-day society? If Machiavelli had written The Prince today, it would be called Ruling Pr Want to know the difference between the Renaissance and present-day society? If Machiavelli had written The Prince today, it would be called Ruling Principalities for Dummies. In the fifteenth century, manuals for prospective rulers took the form of profound philosophical treatises. In the twenty-first century, they're bullet-point lists bound in bright yellow covers with a cartoon on the front. Part history and part philosophy, The Prince is a glimpse into the mind of a Renaissance thinker. As much as it is an exploration of politics, it is also an exploration of personality, a fact that becomes much clearer when it's held up next to Machiavelli's other works, such as The Life of Castruccio Castracani and Discourses on Livy.
If one wants to be reductionist, one can boil down The Prince to a manual on how to keep power. Machiavelli focuses in particular on princes who are new to their principality, as hereditary princes simply need to continue the practices of their predecessors that made the people content enough not to revolt. New princes must establish control over their state, whether it's one they have recently conquered or one they've seized in a coup.
I think it's a mistake to reduce The Prince though. What sets Machiavelli apart is his style, the way he articulates his arguments and advances his philosophy for ruling a principality. He draws on specific cases, both from ancient (usually Roman) history and recent events in 15th-century Italy. Consequently, I've learned more about Italian history from The Prince than any other source. Fifteenth-century Italy was one fucked up place, and it's no wonder that Machiavelli felt the need to write The Prince.
In both The Prince and Discourses on Livy, Machiavelli makes heavy use of examples from ancient Rome. In comparing contemporary Italy to the times that preceded it, Machiavelli usually finds his own time lacking. Although he's a staunch republican, if you read only The Prince, you probably wouldn't know it. Maybe Machiavelli wrote it only as an attempt to get into the good graces of the Medicis. From the way he speaks wistfully of Rome—both republic and empire—I couldn't help but get a sense that Machiavelli's outlining what he sees as the qualities Italy needs in a leader who will restore the country's former glory. As a student of history, Machiavelli knows that Italy was once strong—and unified. Even in Discourses, Machiavelli says that only a single man can found a republic (Chapter 9: "How It Is Necessary for a Man to Act Alone in Order to Organize a Republic Anew. . ."). The Prince, then, is a programme for good leadership of a state. More than just keeping power, The Prince is about being great (a condition that Machiavelli never conflates with morality).
For those of us who live in democracies, we don't always have a clear understanding of exactly what duties occupy the mind of a prince. Machiavelli's writing has certainly been eye-opening and educational for me, simply because he comments on matters that I would never think about. Nevertheless, I have no doubt that some aspects of Machiavelli's pragmatic advice still apply. For example, chapters 17, 18, and 19 elucidate the difference between applying necessary cruelty and engendering contempt or hatred. Machiavelli is, if anything, meticulous in his reasoning. He has no scruples about "misremembering" history or, as is the case in his biography of Castruccio Castracani, outright fabricating it. But when it comes to his arguments, each one is carefully constructed and advanced in order to convince.
I have nothing but praise for this particular edition as well. It's a serendipitous Christmas gift from a friend. I had to read a few chapters of The Prince for a philosophy class, so I took the opportunity to read the entire book (and the "other writings" included here). This edition has notes at the end of every chapter that explain historical references, possible translation problems, and most importantly, mistakes made by Machiavelli. The introduction, timeline, and brief biography of Machiavelli were also helpful in providing context—as previously mentioned, I found this book an informative source of Italian history as well as political philosophy. The inclusion of both The Prince and excerpts from Discourses on Livy provides a contrast of Machiavelli's work that's quite useful. I found The Prince more comprehensive (although this could be bias, as the book only has excerpts from Discourses), but Discourses is a fascinating look at Machiavelli's republican sensibilities, as well as his thoughts on the use of religion in republics.
The Prince is essential for anyone interested in political philosophy. Machiavelli's work has retained its fame for a reason: it is both a philosophical and a rhetorical masterpiece. It's a mistake to write it off either as satire or as some sort of dark endorsement of immoral deeds. That scholars more intelligent and more knowledgeable than I still debate some of the meaning behind Machiavelli's words attests to the their complexity. As for me, while I don't think I'll be acquiring a new principality any time soon, now I feel more prepared should that happen. ...more
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We used this book in the second half of my Philosophy and Gender course (the first book we discussed was Feminism: Issues and Arguments , by Jennifer We used this book in the second half of my Philosophy and Gender course (the first book we discussed was Feminism: Issues and Arguments , by Jennifer Saul). It's probably one of the best discussions of multiculturalism I will ever read. Anne Phillips provides a marvellous survey of contemporary political and philosophical attitudes toward multiculturalism while simultaneously advocating her approach.
Phillips' thesis is clear: she wants to keep multiculturalism but change how we understand the entire concept of culture, which she argues has become too rooted in narrowly-perceived groups. Instead, we should focus on the cultural rights of individuals. Current efforts to promote multiculturalism often result in treating individuals, especially individuals from minority groups, like cultural robots at the mercy of the tenets of their "cultural group." Phillips argues that these groups are harder to define than most people think, and that individuals should be regarded as autonomous generators of culture instead of robots.
To support her thesis, Phillips shows how current multicultural policies leave the door open to political and social inequality of women and other minority groups; furthermore, she cites examples of civil and criminal cases where a mistaken definition of culture has allowed individuals to commit heinous crimes with mitigated or even no punishment. Finally, she emphasizes the disadvantage to shifting motivations for action from the individual to culture, and notes that our reliance on the idea of cultural groups creates problems when people want to leave those groups and find a lack of willing support services on the "outside." In the book's final chapter, Phillips reiterates her solution to all of these problems: a multiculturalism without groups. While not a panacea, she admits, she believes it will establish an atmosphere better equipped to deal with the types of problems that arise in the application of multiculturalism. Whether or not Phillips is correct remains to be seen; personally, I found her argument convincing.
The beauty of this book is that it advances Phillips' abstract argument on very practical grounds, by pointing out problems with current policies and suggesting possible solutions. She draws on a variety of sources but doesn't religiously support any of them, openly criticizing theorists whom she praised in a prior chapter. Similarly, she praises various governments when they get it right (in her opinion) and notes when they get it wrong. This non-partisan approach firmly places Multiculturalism without Culture in the academic area of arguments, making it a nice break from the politically-biased fiction that, even if entertaining, always leaves me vaguely suspicious at the end.
In terms of use, I found Multiculturalism without Culture educational and interesting. I learned a great deal about the multicultural policies of the United Kingdom and the Netherlands, forced marriages, and cultural defence in courts. This book, in many ways a survey book, is not about any of those things except as they relate to Phillips' thesis; still, her coverage of them piqued my interest. Culture is more than just language, ideas, and beliefs ... it has political and social manifestations that are not as clear cut as textbooks and legislatures would like to believe.
Multiculturalism without Culture is relatively easy to read—a little long, but all of it is relevant to Phillips' argument—and very well-written. While some books will cover the more specific subjects in depth (Phillips recommends a few in her footnotes and bibliography), this is a great look at contemporary views on multiculturalism. ...more
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In Areopagitica, John Milton delivers a finely-honed argument in opposition to the Licensing Order of 1643, which restored strict censorship laws to E In Areopagitica, John Milton delivers a finely-honed argument in opposition to the Licensing Order of 1643, which restored strict censorship laws to England. Milton relies primarily on classical references; indeed, the title is an allusion to the Areopagus, a hill in Athens and the name of a council who sat in judgement on that hill. In a single word, Milton links the crux of his argument to the zeitgeist of Hellenic antiquity, which held a great fascination for learned individuals of the seventeenth century.
Milton's main argument concerns the fact that other societies, particularly Greece and Rome, did not employ censorship laws yet flourished nonetheless. In fact, Milton maintains that censorship represses society by stifling innovation and discourse and debate. He goes on to demonstrate that even if one could find incorruptible, pure jurors to study potential works for publication, it would still be a very daunting and unfeasible task.
In addition to his classical references, Milton draws heavily on supporting evidence in the Bible. This method of attack also underscores an important difference between Milton's perspective on "free speech" and what we con temporarily associate with "free speech." Milton's primary concern is the search for knowledge; he's interested in the Truth as an expression of divine purity. As a result, Milton isn't opposed to censorship outright--he remarks, for instance, that books may be burned after publication should they be deemed unfit for public consumption. Rather, Milton merely advocates against pre-judging a work before the public has a chance to judge.
Almost four hundred years old now, Areopagitica is nonetheless still a very relevant document today. Its name, and Milton's very academic tone, may deter some people from trying to read it. However, it's pertinent to several issues in modern culture--freedom of speech is one, as noted above, and it also pertains to the ongoing debate over the role of copyright in digital media. While copyright and censorship are distinct devices, both share in common the need to have control over a work; both, as Milton points out with regards to the latter, have the potential to harm a society even as they supposedly work to protect it. By understanding historical attitudes toward censorship, I have a better respect for the nuances of the issues we face today.
As an argument, Areopagitica is intriguing and valuable. As a composition, it's masterful. Milton employs a very stable structure with a clear introduction, in which he outlines the shape of his argument. In addition to his use of allusion, he goes out of his way to compliment his audience--i.e., the Parliament of England--always punctuating his arguments with, "And surely esteemed men such as yourselves" and so on. This is not a loud-mouthed soapbox rant but a very rational work of art, and that's what makes it so powerful.
Although I enjoyed almost all of Areopagitica, there is one part where I must disagree with Mr. Milton--that is, I would argue that one of his points is flawed. As he approaches the end of his speech, Milton opines for freedom of religion--save popery and superstition, obviously, or any such practices as may be deemed harmful to society--those religions should be "extirpated". He never gives any indication of who may determine what types of religious practice society may tolerate. Since Catholicism is only recently overthrown in England (a few decades is brief compared to its long reign before Henry VIII's intercession), England is no stranger to religious upheaval. It's almost a betrayal of one of Milton's earlier points, where he argues that even the best-intentioned of men may not be able to adequately judge the suitability of a work for print--here he seems content in young Protestantism's ability to judge if a religion is acceptable or not.
It's very interesting reading rational works by religious authors from previous ages, now that we're in an increasingly secular era. Biblical allusions can be a powerful ally, but religions have also been overused for justification of a myriad of Very Bad Ideas. It's a fine line these authors walk; Milton walks it with great skill.
Areopagitica is an excellent piece of rhetoric--a well-reasoned argument can be a pleasure to read, or to listen to, as the case may be. ...more
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I'm not exactly up on the Chinese history; it's not a subject that we covered much in school. Most of what I know comes by way of hazy pop culture ref I'm not exactly up on the Chinese history; it's not a subject that we covered much in school. Most of what I know comes by way of hazy pop culture references and exposure via the slightly counterfactual nature of science fiction and historical fiction. Moreover, having been born and raised subsequent to the Cold War and the height of anti-communist sentiment in the West, not to mention just after the Tienanmen Square incident, the history that features in Prisoner of the State belongs to that middle part of the twentieth century I fondly call the "lost years". If it happened after World War II, we didn't really talk much about it in school. So I try to remedy that oversight by reading about it on my own time. I can't quite recall what put Prisoner of State on my radar. It's been on my to-read list for a few years now. My public library in Thunder Bay didn't have a copy, so I had relegated it to the "to buy, eventually" shelf. Fortunately, I managed to find a copy in the Suffolk library system, so I jumped at the chance to read it now. And … it isn't quite what I was expecting.
What strikes me the most about Zhao Ziyang is his unwavering focus on economic reform. From the title, not to mention the fact that he composed these thoughts while under house arrest, set me up to expect a more politically-focused tract. Knowing precisely nothing about Zhao, or indeed the structure of the Chinese leadership, prior to this point, I wasn't prepared for Zhao's intense, detailled discussions of how China's economy changed in the latter part of the twentieth century. At times the minutiae become tedious, the trees threatening to rise up and swallow the forest. For the most part, though, Zhao's account is enlightening.
Zhao's discussion of the different paths that China could take in the 1980s provides an important context to the China that exists today. I now better understand the paradox of the People's Republic of China: a country ruled by One Party where personal freedoms are constrained, but economic freedom has expanded markedly. Much of this is thanks to Zhao and his supporters, for they believed that the strict, centralized planned economy inherited via Stalin and Mao was doomed to failure, at least for a country the size of China. Zhao repeatedly explains that he could not abide the waste and inefficiency that resulted from a top-down, planned economy, and he saw more free-market solutions as the only way to drag China towards a twenty-first century where it could compete and interact at an international level.
That Zhao was not more interested in the political side of things might seem surprising to an outsider like me, but he also offers some insights into why this might be so. He admits that he was, at least until they came for him, fairly conservative regarding the possibility of the Party abusing its power. Like something out of Nineteen Eighty-Four, he is complacent about the system until it turns against him. This is most evident when he contrasts himself and his associate Hu Yaobang, who shared Zhao's zeal for economic reform but was also much more interested in bringing a more open democracy to the country. Zhao's caution allowed him to remain even when Yaobang was removed by more conservative opponents—though, of course, that same caution and lack of political deftness contributed to Zhao's own eventual downfall.
It'd be inaccurate for me to represent Zhao as completely devoid of political leanings. Importantly, Prisoner of the State shows his growth in this area. Even before his house arrest, Zhao begins to understand that economic reform is difficult without political reform. The "beloved" Party elders are slow to retire—they like to hang on to power, unsurprisingly, and the cult-of-personality-style political system has encouraged reverence from their followers to the point of deference. The most conservative elders are very opposed to Zhao's reforms, but there are no checks and balances to remove their influence. Similarly, once they begin to turn against Zhao and investigate him, he experiences firsthand the way an authoritarian government can trammel upon the rights of an individual, Party constitution or no.
The Zhao who speaks in this journal is a different Zhao, a Zhao who understands that China's future is as much about political reform as it is economic reform. Just as he recognized the terrible inefficiencies that plagued a centralized, planned economy, Zhao began to understand the inefficiency inherent in political power concentrated within an oligarchy. His personal journey towards these revelations, recounted with a small dose of hindsight, provides intimate insight into China's political climate in the late twentieth century. I definitely emerged from this book with a better understanding of how the people in power thought and the way communism was operating in China during those years.
I wouldn't necessarily recommend this book to a general audience. It's somewhat technical at times—economics isn't my best subject, whereas Zhao clearly lives and breathes such theory—and packed with historical, geographical, and ethnographical detail that can overwhelm at times. For students of Chinese history or political science in general, though, this would be a fascinating firsthand account. Prisoner of the State is less about Zhao's own personal gripes with house arrest—he gets past that after the first chapter or so—and more a meditation on what he dreamed China could be versus what it has turned into. It is at times cynical and at times hopeful, for even though he spent the last years of his life in a gilded cage, Zhao still dreamed of a China that could change.
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Fundamentalism scares me. Like, causes me to despair and lament the future of human civilization scares me. Fundamentalists seem so diametrically oppo Fundamentalism scares me. Like, causes me to despair and lament the future of human civilization scares me. Fundamentalists seem so diametrically opposed to progress, freedom, and education that I fear what will happen if ever they attain a critical mass of power. Fundamentalism is universal in its appeal to the irrationality of our species: it is not just limited to any one religion. We cannot fight it by identifying a religion with its fundamentalist base and rejecting it; we cannot say, "Terrorists who were Muslim destroyed the Twin Towers, therefore Islam is bad." We're more mature and nuanced than that, right?
I sure hope so. And so does Tarek Fatah, because his book, Chasing a Mirage: The Tragic Illusion of an Islamic State, is an appeal to logic and rationality. "Islam is in danger" extremists chant, and yes, it is—in danger from them.
Chasing a Mirage is divided into three parts. Fatah first uses present claimants to the title "Islamic state" to investigate what this term means. Then he delves into the history of Islam and examines past countries that Islamists want to use a templates for a the Islamic state. Finally, he singles out some particular examples of how the Islamist agenda is furthered in Western countries. Each of these sections alone would be worth reading. Together, they form a compelling argument both fascinating and bleak.
In "Part One: The Illusion" Fatah elaborates on what he means by the term Islamic state. He uses three contemporary countries—Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, and Iran—as case studies. These countries both claim to be "Islamic states" in one form or another, and many readers (including myself) associate these countries with Islam. Fatah also looks at Palestine, which he feels is in danger of being hijacked by extremists in an ill-advised attempt to turn it into an Islamic state. In all of these cases, Fatah highlights how attempts to transform Islam into a political system in addition to a religious one have become mired in corruption and human rights abuses. His argument is simple: if these are examples of Islamic states, then he does not want one.
Central to the concept of Islamic state is the supremacy of Islam. Simple enough: there is no god but God (or Allah, if you prefer), and we worship him based on the revelations in the Quran given to us by the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him. In an Islamic state, Islam is more than just a state religion. Rather, the entire political and judicial systems are codified according to Islamic practices and principles. Or at least, that is the theory. As Fatah demonstrates in Part 2, there aren't really Islamic principles for politics. However, I am getting ahead of myself.
In their zeal to spread Islam, proponents of the Islamic state lose sight of the little things in life, like, say, human rights. Societies like Saudi Arabia and Pakistan have institutionalized a form of hierarchical racism in which Arab Muslims are at the top and non-Arab Muslims are treated like second-class citizens, often as poorly as non-Muslims. At times, this has resulted in genocidal or near-genocidal atrocities, both against non-Muslims and even other Muslims. Fatah spares us no detail as he recounts Pakistan's bloody history. That such actions are committed in the name of Islam is a travesty, for what does it say of one's religion if it condones such violence and abuses? Where in the Quran does it say, "Arabs number 1! Arabs number 1!"?
The fact of the matter, as Fatah explains it, is that the Quran contains no outline for the "Islamic state" that Islamists want. Indeed, apparently even the Islamists don't have a consistent idea of what "Islamic state" means across the board: "Among Pakistan's imams and Islamic scholars, no two agreed on the fundamental definition of either an 'Islamic State' or a 'Muslim.'" This last tactic is all too common:
… the only beneficiaries of the Islamic State were the tyrants who ruled Muslim populations and who were able to silence opposition by getting the Ulema [religious scholars:] to declare that opposition to their government was opposition to Islam.
If someone opposes you, obviously he or she is an apostate. Conveniently, Islamists believe the punishment for apostasy is death. As a result of such an extremist view, Islam has been hijacked.
As horrible as the human rights abuses perpetrated in the name of Islam are, I am even more troubled by this subversion and rejection of democracy. Democracy is a delicate flower that is beautiful when it flourishes but wilts all too easily. Once in decline, it is very difficult to restore. Islamists have often come to power through democratic means, but once in power they turn democracy into a sham, if they bother keeping it around at all. Iran is an example of this subversion of democracy: although their president is nominally elected by the people, elections in Iran are anything but free of intimidation. Worse, the policy implemented by the ayatollahs of Iran "virtually guarantees that no matter what the people of Iran want, they will not be able to dislodge the Islamic theocracy by democratic means." Instead, Fatah notes, "Not all ayatollahs in Iran agree with the current leadership.… It is quite likely that the changes the Iranian people desire in their country may come from within the religious establishment." Despite having just spent an entire chapter discussing the problems with Iran, Fatah remains optimistic about its potential for recovery:
… as long as even a handful of such Iranian clerics speak their mind, and as long as Iranian women rebel against the oppressive misogyny of the mullahs, there is hope for the Iranian revolution to reach its intended potential, a secular democracy where Iran can again play the historic role it once did. A free and democratic Iran where ayatollahs become the people's moral compass, not their executioners, would trigger a renaissance in the rest of the Muslim world.
Eloquently put, and right too. I am no fan of Iran. However, in opposing the ayatollahs it behoves one not to demonize them like they have done with the West. This only engenders more hatred and mistrust, and that is something we can ill afford.
Having looked at present-day Islamic states and found them wanting, Fatah decides to look to history for examples of an Islamic state worth emulating. He does this not on a whim but because Islamists often speak of a "golden age" of Islam. So Fatah looks at the period following the death of the Prophet, where Muslims were ruled by the four "Rightly Guided Caliphs." Then he looks at three other examples of empires nominally based on Islamic principles. The result is pretty much what one would expect, especially after reading Part 1. In all cases, these politicians use and abuse Islam to gain power and stay in power. Some of these empires achieved both zeniths and nadirs of civilization. There is no evidence, however, that any of these states witnessed a "golden age." And sometimes it seemed like living as a Muslim, especially a non-Arab Muslim, in an Islamic state sucks pretty bad. And if an Islamic state is a place where not even Muslims want to live … well, who exactly wants it?
"Part Two: The Genesis" is my least favourite section of Chasing a Mirage. It is long, almost too long, and at times it becomes mired in details as Fatah enthusiastically accounts for every name and place and factor involved in the current episode. That being said, there is nothing in this section that feels superfluous. I could not suggest removing anything just to make it shorter, and I cannot fault it for being comprehensive. All I can say is that you will probably want to take this section slowly. Read it a chapter at a time while relaxing with another book.
The final section of the book, "Part Three: The Consequences," is a nice little reward to those who persevered through Part 2. Fatah devotes a chapter each to sharia law, jihad, and the wearing of the hijab, ultimately concluding that each of these phenomena are part of the Islamist agenda in the West. This is where Fatah gets the most opinionated and the most personal, since as a founding member of the Muslim Canadian Congress he was often involved in these issues. On a somewhat nationalistic note, I also want to add that I appreciate how when Fatah says, "this country" he means Canada, not the United States. Obviously I need to read more books about Canadian politics.
Part 3 reminds me of Multiculturalism without Culture , by Anne Phillips. Like Philips, Fatah is concerned that simplistic ideas of unified cultures are being used against us: "In Ottawa, the lobbying by Islamist groups is relentless, putting politicians of all stripes on the defensive as they fear they might be labelled racist or Islamophobic if they criticize Islamists." Islam, like every other religion, is not monolithic. Muslim culture, like every other culture, is not monolithic. It behoves us to understand this and reject the attitudes of Islamists, who eagerly label as apostates any Muslim who disagrees with them.
I was pleased to see that, in addition to rejecting the Islamist requirement that women wear the hijab, Fatah supports a woman's right to wear the hijab if she chooses. From his vitriolic rejection of the former I feared a rejection of the latter as well. Fortunately, Fatah remains consistently pro-choice, which is how I see the matter: in both cases, the government removes freedom of choice. It is not enough to protest against bans of the hijab or the burka; one must also protest against the requirement to wear such coverings. It boggles my mind that some people would indoctrinate their daughters to believe that, if they don't cover their hair, some man will rape them and get them pregnant (for one thing, what does that say about men?!). It boggles my mind that otherwise progressive Muslims will, with a straight-face, parrot the hypocrisy of Islamists who denounce terrorism while calling for jihad. If Muslims and non-Muslims alike want to rehabilitate the image of Islam in the West, we must restore it to the tenets of gender equality preached in the Quran and ignore those voices who call for the submission of women and the demonization of the Other. We must strive to better educate ourselves about these issues, lest in our ignorance we fall prey fundamentalists and extremists, from whatever religion or creed they hail.
Multiculturalism does not mean "separate rules for separate cultures." It is am embrace of every culture, a commitment to preserve freedom of choice. I don't care if you worship Yaweh, Allah, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, or even if you don't worship a god at all: treat me like a human being, and I will treat you like a human being. Because that's what matters. And as an added bonus, I promise that even if you don't wear a hijab, I will somehow manage to refrain from stoning you on suspicion of adultery.
Chasing a Mirage: The Tragic Illusion of an Islamic State is an eye-opening look at the political history of Islam. Tarek Fatah reaffirms Islam as a peaceful, progressive religion and condemns those extremists who would reshape it into something otherwise. Fatah's rejection of the Islamic state is threefold: firstly, Islamists' claim that "Islam is in danger" without an Islamic state is false; secondly, the so-called Islamic states of the past to which Islamists point as "golden age" templates are anything but golden; finally, this struggle to achieve an Islamic state damages what Fatah labels the "state of Islam" that he believes is core to Muslim identity. Furthermore, Fatah does not do what frustrates me about so much of political non-fiction today; he does not say, "this book is merely an attempt to make you aware of the problems" in order to avoid proposing solutions. Chasing a Mirage is full of solutions, alternatives, and hope. This is without a doubt one of the best books I've read all year—and I've been having a pretty good year for reading, so I don't say this lightly. Oh, and the "manufacturer's warranty" included at the end is hilarious.
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Aug 03, 2010
Aug 06, 2010
Jan 11, 2009
Oct 16, 2008
really liked it
I'd recommend Remix to anyone who creates content, whether as part of their day job or simply as a hobby in their basement. Lawrence Lessig takes the I'd recommend Remix to anyone who creates content, whether as part of their day job or simply as a hobby in their basement. Lawrence Lessig takes the complicated issues surrounding modern copyright and explains them in terms laypeople can comprehend. Moreover, he makes a compelling argument from an economic standpoint as to why less copyright could lead to more profit.
My favourite quotation from this book is:
Copyright law has got to give up its obsession with "the copy." The law should not regulate "copies" or "modern reproductions" on their own. It should instead regulate uses—like public distributions of copies of copyrighted work—that connect directly to the economic incentive copyright law was intended to foster.
Lessig succinctly reveals the flawed premise from which most corporations approach the concept of copyright in our digital age. Thanks to the Internet, it's now possible to distribute an infinite number of copies of a digital work. Regulating that work like it's a physical object doesn't work, as we saw empirically through the failed experiment of Digital Rights Management (DRM). Focusing on copying is a doomed tactic. Focusing on usage is a much better way to exercise one's control over one's content.
Never does Lessig advocate the abolition of copyright. I've often struggled with the very existence of this legal quagmire we've constructed. As a content creator in general, I am happy to release as much of my content as possible under a Creative Commons license. I love to let people benefit from my content by reusing it wherever possible. Yet, as a writer, I'm reluctant to do that for everything I produce, since traditional publishing still requires (at least in some cases) a traditional, all rights reserved copyright. So either I must accept copyright in some form, or I must abandon any hope of being published through "traditional" means.
Lessig's stance reassures me that there is nothing wrong with the concept of copyright itself--indeed, so-called "free" licenses, like Creative Commons and "copyleft" are also copyright, just of a different breed--the core dilemma we face is that copyright has become distorted during the twentieth century by increasingly restrictive regulation. Lessig argues that we need new legislation to remove our copyright quagmire and update our laws to reflect current cultural values. But how effective is his argument?
Having never read his previous works, I was in the dark regarding Lessig's rhetorical style, so I went into Remix with no expectations and an am unable to compare it to his other arguments. I found Remix both compelling and accessible. What truly surprised me was the types of premises Lessig used to advance his argument. Although both points of legality and appeals to ethos appear in Remix, Lessig's primary concern is one of economics. Would less restrictive copyright be better or worse for the economy? Is it still possible to derive value (i.e., make money) off a work with a less restrictive copyright? Lessig's answer is an unequivocal yes.
I admire this strategy more than I admire the argument itself, for I think it will go a long way toward convincing economists, lawyers, and business people--anyone concerned with making money from their content or the content of their clients--that less copyright isn't as scary as it seems. Remix is not the manifesto of a copyright revolutionary attempting to storm the Bastille of commerce and tear down the walls of sane legislation. Rather, Lessig points out that sometimes more control is less desirable--for instance, it can often bring unwanted liability to the copyright holder or stifle possible opportunities for fan-based revenue. Although making money is always a concern, it isn't necessarily the only concern--sometimes it's better to build customer loyalty or cultivate what Lessig terms a "sharing economy" than just reap profits.
I won't attempt to summarize all of Lessig's arguments here. Remix is short enough--perhaps my largest complaint about the book--and well-organized enough that anyone should be able to muddle through, and anyone with interest in these issues will derive enjoyment from it. Those of us who agree with Lessig's perspective are lucky to have such an eloquent and sharp voice for remixing. As for our opponents--well, if Remix doesn't persuade you, I at least hope that it opens your eyes as to why why some people promote remixing, beyond a twisted desire to steal profit from other content creators. Copyright certainly isn't a black and white issue; Remix succeeds in showing that it doesn't need a black and white answer. ...more
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Apr 14, 2009
Jan 09, 2009
Oct 18, 2006
liked it
Full disclosure: I was brought up Christian (Protestant), although my family wasn't particularly observant--we went to church, less frequently as I gr Full disclosure: I was brought up Christian (Protestant), although my family wasn't particularly observant--we went to church, less frequently as I grew up, and my dad would read from the Bible each Christmas (the nativity story, naturally). As I approach the third decade of my life and am shocked to find myself becoming an adult, not just legally but intellectually, I slide further and further along the scale from agnostic to atheist. Although I was raised Christian, I don't think I was ever a theist, for the reasons elucidated by Dawkins in Chapter 9.
Even though my conviction of atheism has grown stronger in past years, I've avoided reading The God Delusion. Truthfully, Richard Dawkins rather scares me at times, by dint of his vociferous opposition to religion. However, reading this book turned out to be a good call. Firstly, I found that I do share most of Dawkins' opinions on these issues. Secondly, the book itself is pretty entertaining, and for the most part espouses logical arguments. Finally, it allowed me to do away with the spectre of Dawkins hanging over my inclinations to atheism.
Dawkins has set the bar high for himself in The God Delusion; first he attempts to justify atheism, then he tries to show that religion is harmful as well. He succeeds in the first count, and he makes some compelling arguments for the second count. Unfortunately, The God Delusion creaks and groans under the weight of hyperbole and overemphasis. Intelligent though he may be, succinct he is not!
The first four chapters establish Dawkins' topic (religion religion, as opposed to the reverential "Einsteinian" religion he believes many scientists practise), contemporary attitudes toward atheism in America and Britain, arguments for God's existence, and arguments against God's existence. The latter two chapters of this quartet are of particular interest; Dawkins adequately summarizes the major arguments for God's existence. His criticism of them is slightly less robust, owing mostly to an overuse of rhetorical questions and his incredulous tone, as if he can't actually believe people would use these arguments. Still, I appreciated his deconstruction of Pascal's Wager, where he exposes it as patently untenable: you can't fake belief.
Chapter 5, "The Roots of Religion," is less remarkable. If one is truly interested in the origins of religion from an evolutionary perspective, there are probably better books available on the subject. Dawkins can't do it justice in a book crammed full of so many other discussions.
Chapters 6 and 7 challenge the assertion that religion is the only way to impose morality on society. In particular, I liked how Dawkins deprecates the Bible as a source of morality: a literal interpretation of the Bible would yield a moral system considered abhorrent by most people today, yet a symbolic interpretation requires some sort of external criterion by which to judge which parts are "symbolic" and what exactly they symbolize. Dawkins makes it clear that while religion may enforce--i.e., police--morality, it cannot provide the golden rule for morality ex nihilo.
My favourite chapters, however, were chapters 8 and 9. Finally Dawkins gets to his pet subject: the harm caused by religion. These are the most interesting and certainly the most controversial chapters of the book; if you try reading The God Delusion and find it hard to get past the first couple of chapters, skip ahead to chapter 8. It's worth slogging through just these two chapters, if none others. I agree with Dawkins' opinion that raising children in a particular faith is irresponsible--it's indoctrination. I don't begrudge raising children in religious communities or to practise religious rituals, so long as those children are educated to think critically about their faith and beliefs--and are not ostracized if they choose to reject religion. My only regret is that Dawkins makes a massive digression into the abortion debate that seems tangentially related to his main point at best....
The last chapter, chapter 10, is an adequate peroration but far from the inspiring exultation of science that Dawkins may have intended to shoehorn into the end of his book. It piqued my interest in re-reading A Short History of Nearly Everything, which much better captures the sentiments Dawkins expresses here.
As much as I enjoyed The God Delusion, it should have been better. Too many rhetorical questions, too many "atheist prejudice horror stories," and Dawkins can't help but belabour every single point. Also, the tone of most of the book is just a little too smug--to be fair, Dawkins goes out of his way to express his respect for his intellectual opponents. Yet there's a distinct sense of incredulity that people actually believe some of the arguments he has set out to debunk. While I enjoy smug humour to a certain extent, The God Delusion often tried my patience.
Theist, deist, or atheist (or whatever other permutation you've decided to concoct), I do think The God Delusion is worth reading. If anything, it's the perfect storm for creating more debate--for "consciousness raising," as Dawkins puts it in his book--and that makes it commendable. Plus, it's dedicated to Douglas Adams. Like Dawkins, I miss Douglas. ...more
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Aug 2009
Jan 01, 2009
Feb 12, 2008
really liked it
I heard of Susan Jacoby's book (and Jacoby herself, I might add) through her interview on The Colbert Report. The topic struck a chord with me. I supp I heard of Susan Jacoby's book (and Jacoby herself, I might add) through her interview on The Colbert Report. The topic struck a chord with me. I suppose I could describe myself as an intellectual even though I am only a teenager/young adult--I read for pleasure, as my membership on this site would indicate, and I regularly engage in thought and discourse about matters that may be labelled intellectual. As a result, a book about anti-intellectualism and anti-rationalism in America piqued my interest (I may as well note at this point that I am Canadian).
My overall impression of Jacoby's book is that it is extremely well-written. Whether you agree with her arguments or not, to any degree, the book is a worthwhile exploration of the subject it discusses. Jacoby charts the American attitude toward intellectualism, learning, religion, science, and more, throughout its history, from its founding to the present day. She does this in a lively, thought-provoking manner, providing quotations and statistics to back up her assertions. I found the trip through history alone quite pleasant; I enjoy books that link their subjects to historical and social contexts, thereby increasing my awareness of how the past influences our present day actions.
What of Jacoby's thesis? Well, I can't say I agree 100% with her. The great thing about living in a free country and being intellectual is the capacity to read and respect another's opinion without totally agreeing with it, of course. I share Jacoby's worries about how infotainment is crippling our children and our culture. I despise the plague of reality television and daytime TV such as Dr. Phil or Oprah. The fact that more people turn to that medium for their relaxation and entertainment--especially people may age--than read a book saddens me. I enjoy my books.
As a technophile, I can't fully support Jacoby's attitudes toward technology's role in this matter. I definitely agree that the public too often tries to find technological solutions to what are essentially social problems--as a programmer, I lament this fact daily, because it makes it harder for me to program when people constantly insist I add a feature designed to restrict something that should be common sense. I love technology; I really do. But that's because I use it responsibly. I spend what may be an unhealthy time on the Internet, I admit, but I do read books. I talk with friends, try to prod them into a vaguely intellectual discussion. I do my part.
The Age of American Unreason is a welcome break from the polarized polemics of political pundits obsessed with the upcoming American election. Jacoby may be a secularist and an atheist, but she gives the right its dues and criticizes the left when appropriate. She is emphatic and resolute in her opinions, but at the same time, Jacoby is humble--in her conclusion, she notes, "I too am nibbling at the edges. . . None of these suggestions addresses the core problem created by the media--the pacifiers of the mind that permeate our homes, schools, and politics" (315). To me, this combination makes her an effective author.
Her remarks remind me of Douglas Coupland's novel Girlfriend in a Coma, in which the main characters go through the apocalypse in order to be reminded of the most important aspects of life: to challenge everything. To question everything, to constantly seek answers and explanations. Exploration has been a constant driving force of humanity. Just because we've mapped the Earth doesn't mean exploration needs to stop. It simply means it must metamorphose into a mental exercise; we must continue to explore the nature of humanity. But we can't do that if we continue to ignore it by becoming slaves to television or shooting down opponents with ad hominem attacks. We must challenge everything we think is right, because so often, history has proven we've been wrong. And if we are right, then our efforts to prove ourselves wrong will merely make our conviction stronger. ...more
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