If your head was just one big eye...

...would this church square look like this?  I have no freaking clue -all I know is that this is a 360 spherical panorama, which used a "stereographic projection" to create a globe.  Pretty wild; check out more of them here.

This image, which was originally posted to Flickr, was reviewed on 31-December-2007 by the administrator or trusted user RedCoat, who confirmed that it was available on Flickr under the above license on that date

A Declaration of Dependence

Earlier today, I had a post-church discussion with my parents about the nature and origins of the concept of "nuclear family" that is so engrained in North American culture. We chatted / debated about how long fathers have been commuting from nine-to-five jobs, and how realistic Hollywood-created imagery of families playing Scrabble around the dining room table really is. Although we immediately came to a number of tentative conclusions, it just occurred to me - about nine hours later, after pacing around the fireplace, staring into it's propane-fueled flames - how central the phenomenon of independence is to the familial institution. The independence I speak of isn't that of grandiose nationalist movements; rather, it refers to the type of separation on a personal level that stems from individualism.

Allow me to unpack that a little bit. Defenders of the "traditional nuclear family" often point, rightly so, to its deep roots in Western history, and the extent to which our current economic, social, and moral frameworks rely on it. People of religious conviction commonly take this even further, by claiming that not only is the nuclear family firmly established in our cultural fabric, it's also divinely ordained. Within Christian circles, I consistently hear passages such as Genesis 2:24 cited: "For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh". I feel like the popular emphasis placed on this arrangement is greater today than ever, with nuptials being noted in discussions on topics ranging from gay marriage to successful child rearing.

It would be absurdly naive of me to contest the centrality of the nuclear family unit to Western society. On a more subjective level, I would even argue that it is, more often than not, a functional, merit-filled system. However, I also think that stressing it as an environment of paramount importance to human development - as many commentators, such as Christian fundamentalist groups, tend to do - verges on dangerous, largely because this approach is a tunnel-visioned one that neglects the importance that community plays in people's lives.

Which brings me back to the notion of "personal independence". Taken by itself, the Scripture passage that I just referenced makes it sound as if a type of schism occurs between the newlywed couple and their parents upon their marriage - similar what takes place the day a colony of a great world power gains political autonomy. However, a broader examination of the Judeo-Christian canon reveals that young families often actually remained within the community of their extended families. In other words, although they may have got their own tent (which I'm sure they appreciated!), it was pitched on the same old campsite. Far from viewing a separation from their parents as a part of the "natural cycle" or the rite of passage to adulthood, they embraced it as a setup that would allow them to develop their relationship and love for each other on an even deeper level, while also retaining close links to those with whom they were previously in closest quarters.

As a Western-born young professional, I feel that a significantly different value system is being impressed upon me. Aside from the commonly-felt economics-based pressures to "find a job and do something useful with yourself" (undoubtedly a byproduct of merit-based capitalism), I often feel the need to achieve a sort of psychological and spiritual independence from others. Although confiding in a close person, such as a good friend or family member, has remarkable immediate and long-term effects when I'm going through a rough time, I often can't help but feel as if I've become undesirably reliant on that person - exposed, vulnerable. Today, while contemplating how I'd feel if someone close to me died (don't worry, it's not a common thought process!), I even went as far as to concede that my sorrow might be somewhat alleviated by the prospect of becoming less emotionally and psychologically attached to that person. Somehow, this type of event would represent the scaling of one more cliff face on the mountain of independence, a significant victory for my individual psyche. One step closer to completing the rite of passage to self-sustainability.

Just like the newly-wedded Hebrew couple enjoys a certain degree of autonomy without considering it in itself as an end, however, I don't believe people such as me are to desire economic, psychological, or spiritual independence as an ideal. If this were so, the highest degree of human development would be characterized by a solitary, lonely existence "at the top". Although some individuals, such as the fabled Egyptian Desert Fathers of the third century, found spiritual fulfillment from long periods of solitude, this was not intended to be the standard configuration of human society as a whole. Rather, people need to live in community in order to function properly. This is in no small part due to the fact that living in community forces us to learn to depend on each other - a prospect that offends the individualistic tendencies that urge us not to rely upon assistance from a neighbor unless absolutely necessary. According to these instincts, in the rare case that we are forced to accept charity, we're to reciprocate as soon as possible, so as to avoid creating a "vicious cycle" of obligation and undesirable interaction.

People haven't been able to successfully organize themselves with this attitude as of yet, and I believe it's foolish to believe that we'll be able to in the future. In his book entitled "Reflections on Christian Leadership", Catholic priest Henri Nouwen speaks of the defining characteristic of a true leader as being the ability to humbly place oneself at the bottom of the social ladder, and rely wholly on the wisdom and goodwill of others. Personally, I don't think there's a better time than now to take this advice to heart. Perhaps we need to reconsider the universal applicability of the maxim "pulling one up by one's own bootstraps", and focus on developing communities where we pool each others' resources. I'm no socialist, and I'm not primarily talking about economic resources (although there's definitely a time and place for this). I'm speaking of spiritual and psychological capital, that embodies itself in encouraging others, and making yourself vulnerable and authentic to them.

If the current economic crisis can be viewed as something of a failure of an economic system largely rooted in individualism and personal benefit, then there's hardly a better time to acknowledge the basic fact that we need to rely on each other. Just as the 13 Colonies needed a Declaration of Independence to free themselves from the political oppression resulting from despotism in 1776, we need a Declaration of Dependence to emancipate us from the devastating forces of the individualistic psyche that exist in 2009. If we would only embrace the strength available in our neighbor, we would gain the power to overcome looming strongholds.

Past puberty, on to the kids: Obama and America's coming of age

Anyone who's graced graced a university campus, watched a Michael Moore film, or spent their fair share of time reading the work of the liberal media knows that words like "globalization", "colonization" and "imperialism" have firmly achieved buzz status. The latter two, far from being relics of bygone centuries, have undergone significant modifications that have made them relevant to contemporary issues. When people speak of McDonalds, they speak of "cultural colonialism"; ExxonMobil, "economic imperialism"; indeed, the list goes on. Usually, these words are used to describe some sort of exploitive relationship, where it's quite clear who's on the winning end, and who's being short-changed. In some cases, however, it isn't nearly this evident. The concept that I'd like to advance can't really be molded into a variation of colonialism or imperialism, since there isn't really one actor explicitly dominating another. In accordance with it's subtle nature - as well as its general ambiguity - I think it would be appropriate to deem this concept "international paternalism".

It was in a conversation over Crock-Pot pulled pork and veggie chili on Wednesday, at one of the many potlucks I've come into the habit of attending, that this topic was brought up in relation to current events. A couple of courageous pioneers had decided to venture out of the comfy utopia of Obamamanialand, and critique his inaugural address. At first, I was as shocked as anyone would have been; after all, this was the second coming of JFK they were talking about - the veritable panacea of America's ills. Although politicians rarely reach personality cult status in democratic societies like ours, Obama's got to be pretty close - for the most part, he's even escaped the prodding of the most conservative pundits. However, when I made a point of emerging from my star-struck daze, I saw that they were extracting some pretty significant tidbits from my heart-throb's speech. Specifically, the new president seemed to indicate that his country was about to take on an entirely new disposition: instead of being the world's best policeman, it would shift it's focus to being Earth's resident Dad.

Allow me to illustrate my point with what will likely turn out to be a wildly overblown analogy. When one couples the military adventures of the Bush years with levels of economic deregulation unseen since the beginning of the 20th century, the US of the first decade of the 21st could be seen as a kind of larger-than-life, teenage superstar: individualistic, unpredictable, boom-or-bust. If the world was MTV and the US was a rock star, it was Kurt Cobain in 1992. Opinions of it varied from love to despisal, but no one could deny that America was living life in the fast lane, with no intention of stopping for pedestrians (read: Frenchmen). Although it might initially be difficult to draw a parallel between a grunge rocker and a policeman (per my metaphor in the previous paragraph), keep in mind that we're not talking about your average Mountie; Chuck Norris is at the wheel of this cruiser.

Then September of 2008 hit, and Kurt OD'd. As it turns out, like an immature adolescent, a free-whelling economy can only be given so much autonomy before it starts to destroy itself. Just like in 1929 - albiet for different reasons - heaven quickly turned into hell, and America wasn't flying nearly as high as before. Although the increaing turmoil in Iraq and Afghanistan had somewhat tempered the ambition of the Lawrence of Arabia of the world order, it was the economic crash that ultimately broke the camel's back.

This disaster just happened to coincide with the culmination of a rough-and-tumble election campaign, and the appointment of a new president, Mr. Obama. In contrast to the bull-headed, no-holds-barred attitude of his predeccesor, Obama was characterized throughout his campaign and president-elect period by a more contemplated, mature, academic demeanor. Used to the chummy style of President Bush, some even described him as cold and disconnected. Despite the strong tradition of populism in American politics, however, he seemed to win over the electorate with a mix of emphasis on government accountability, "no-one-left-behind" rhetoric, and the sheer incompetence of the Bush administration. Although foreign policy was widely percieved as a weakness in his platform, when he did speak of it, he expressed a need for the US to play a less impulsive, more responsible role in the world, with much more respect for its allies and multilateralism in general. It almost seemed as if he thought his country needed to "set a good example".

As observed by my pot luck friends, this mindset came out much more explicitly in the inauguration speech. In the text account I just linked to, the BBC appropriately places the heading 'Ready to lead' on one of the sections around the middle of Obama's speech. I'm going to paste a couple lines from this section - as well as the following one, subtitled 'Era of peace' - for your examination:

"And so to all the other peoples and governments who are watching today...know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman, and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and we are ready to lead once more."

"...our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint."

"We are the keepers of this legacy [speaking of the 20th century fight against 'fascism and communism']."

"...America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace."

"...but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist [directed at aggresive nations]."

Most will recall that Bush's speeches (if you can call them that) were primarily concerned with America's security and prosperity, although justification for foreign intervention took on a markedly more "liberating" tone following the failure to discover WMD's in Iraq. Even then, if you look at Bush's 2004 address, there's much more about America walking alongside friendly nations, or giving them the opportunity to help themselves. To me, it seems as if Obama is much more assertive in identifying the direct agency of the US in areas such as nation building, human rights enforcement, and development. As I outlined earlier, after searching for a word for the tone he evokes, the best one I could come up with was "paternal". If there's one role in traditional Western society - indeed, in my own life - that could be typically described using terms such as "leading", "force of example", "tempering quality of restraint", "extending a hand", it's that of the father within the nuclear family.

I predict that in the coming months and years, America's image will subtly shift from that of the cocky, rough-and-tumble cop, to the wise, firm, responsible father figure, who is both gentle and strict. The newly apparent neccesities of economic regulation will play a big role in this shift, as will Obama's eagerness to distance himself from the previous administration's foreign policy legacy. Although it may not make an immediate entrance into undergraduate geopolitics textbooks, something along the lines of a theory of "international paternalism" will become increasingly prominent. Unlike the overtly uneven relationships described in concepts of dependency theory and economic imperialism, the embodiment of international paternalism will involve America taking a much less pronounced position of moral/ethical leadership (for example, expect Obama to push for the US' signing on to the International Criminal Court). As it's economic and military hegemony shrinks, America will begin searching for a new niche that keeps them at the top. Indeed, Obama seems to be leading the way; whether it be for it's own benefit, or out of a genuine concern for the state of the world (both are very real explanations), America isn't budging from that big fireside La-Z-Boy it's become so accustomed to. The only difference is, it's calling the kids over to sit on it's knee.

"The Nobodies" by Eduardo Galeano

"Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog, and nobodies dream of escaping poverty: that, one magical day, good luck will suddenly rain down on them - will rain down in buckets. But good luck doesn't rain down, yesterday, today, tomorrow or ever. Good luck doesn't even fall in a fine drizzle, no matter how hard the nobodies summon it, even if their left hand is tickling, or if they begin the new day on their right foot, or start the new year with a change of brooms.

The nobodies: nobody's children, owners of nothing. The nobodies: the no-ones, the nobodied, running like rabbits, dying through life, screwed every which way.

Who are not, but could be.
Who don't speak languages, but dialects.
Who don't have religions, but superstitions.
Who don't create art, but handicrafts.
Who don't have culture, but folklore.
Who are not human beings, but human resources.
Who do not have faces, but arms.
Who do not have names, but numbers.
Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the crime reports of the local paper.
The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them. "

- Eduardo Galeano

So much is contained in those lines, that I'm already exceeding my bandwidth; hence, I'm not really going to add any insight of my own. One thing that did come to mind by the end of the poem, though, was Joseph Stalin's astute observation that "When one dies, it's a tragedy. When a million die, it's a statistic".

The nobodies may not all be dying. The sad truth is, though, that for the amount of attention we pay them, they might as well be.

A bit of Lewisian erudition

I'm currently reading C.S. Lewis' autobiography "Surprised by Joy", and just came across a passage in which the author effectively articulates my thoughts in my last blog posting ("Ideas etc.". In this excerpt, the young student Lewis has just moved to Surrey in England, and is describing one of his first walks in the area:

"Meanwhile, on afternoons and on Sundays, Surrey lay open to me. County Dawn in the holidays and Surrey in the term - it was an excellent contrast. Perhaps, since their beauties were such athat even a fool could not force them into competition, this cured me once and for all of the pernicious tendency to compare and to prefer - an operation that does little good even when we are dealing with works of art and endless harm when we are dealing with nature. Total surrender is the first step towards the fruition of either. Shut your mouth; open your eyes and ears. Take in what is there and give no thought to what might have been there or what is somewhere else. That can come later, if it must come at all." - Lewis, "Surprised by Joy" (Glasgow: Fount, 1955) p. 118

Taken literally, Lewis is talking about appreciation of nature here; the passage doesn't appear to be a salient metaphor for thought processes such as moral reasoning. Indeed, anyone who's read Lewis to even a modest degree realizes that he rarely hesitates to make a strong distinction between "right" and "wrong". However, I think this excerpt speaks to the danger of making that distinction too hastily, notwithstanding the fact that it ultimately does need to be made.

Now, for a bit of autobiographical content on my part: I arrived in Perth, Western Australia yesterday, after a relatively long and arduous plane journey (I don't think it would be hyperbolic to compare a pan-Pacific plight on United Airlines to passage to Australia on a convict ship in the 1780's). As was the case in India, I don't intend to bore anyone with chronological updates; rather, most of my postings in the next couple weeks will consist of the random musings and outlandish allegories that you've come to expect in this blog. I'm pretty sure they'll be more numerous than they have been for the past couple months - there's something about travelling that brings out the blogger in me!

Cheers,
Tom

Ideas: nasty little brutes, aren't they?

I've been thinking lately about ideas.  I'm not talking about specific ideas, such as how I'm going to swing free meals on Monday, Tuesday and Friday to compliment my current freeload on Wednesday and Thursday, or what it will take to even come close to meeting the 78 servings of veggies a day commanded by the Canada Food Guide (don't even get me started on that one).  No, I'm getting at the very idea of ideas in general: how people come up with them, communicate them, and judge them.  More specifically, I've recently been impressed by the incredible diversity of ideas that I hear every day.

I know what you're thinking: this post already reeks of the potential to put you to sleep faster than intravenous melatonin.  I fully understand and empathize, since I'm actually falling asleep as I type the bloody thing; however, I'd really appreciate it if you put in the effort to slog through it.  As well as offering my typically humble outlook on the world around us, I think this entry will give you a basis to more fully understand me as a writer, friend, and creepy-guy-who-hangs-around-at-your-house-all-the-time-for-no-apparent-reason (you know who you are).  

You see, while I've always loved hearing other people's ideas, I've always struggled with how to handle them in my mind.  There's just so damn many of them out there!  Whether consciously or subconsciously, in the past I've usually felt the need to gather them, label them as good or bad, and stuff them into some cognitive filing cabinet.  I'm sure that a big part of this desire can be attributed to the materialistic "quest for knowledge" that I seem to constantly be embarking on, hoping to eventually reach a destination of bliss, a paradise island of intellectual superiority in the middle of a vast sea of ambiguity.  As I've mentioned before in my blogs, I constantly seem to foolishly convince myself that fulfillment can be found in academic proficiency, or the mastery of the scope of ideas.

However, I think that's only part of it.  For although I may derive a certain amount of satisfaction from garnering as many different theories and concepts as I can (gathering quantity), I'm also interested in scrutinizing them (analyzing quality).  I know I'm not the only one that has this obsession with categorizing ideas; indeed, whether you step into a university political science lecture, sit down in a busy coffee shop, or turn on "The View", you'll hear people identifying them as leftist or rightist, shallow or deep, stupid or profound.  The inevitably different opinions people possess often embody themselves in arguments or debate, themselves types of interactions that have been around since time immemorial.  

Why are we so intent of categorizing ideas as right or wrong?  As I think about my own tendency to do so, I think it has to do with the security that comes with forming - and reaffirming - a certain worldview.  The modernist philosophical tradition, which emerged out of the Enlightenment epoch that started in the 17th century, states that scientific proofs must be used to determine what is true and what isn't.  In this time period - also sometimes referred to as the Age of Reason - it was increasingly thought that if something couldn't be proven as undoubtedly true, then it didn't constitute acceptable knowledge: that is, it would be considered a "bunk idea".  This ultimately translates into an "all-or-nothing" mindset when it comes to "bases of knowledge", which could also be referred to as "collections of ideas".  Only those ideas that can be rationally proven in a very explicit sense (from an individual's perspective) deserve admission into a base of knowledge.  Worldviews - which are essentially consolidations of knowledge, or convictions - that are based on this staunchly empirical class of idea are probably attractive to people because they're very easy to define and identify with, and thus derive identity from.  Unfortunately, they also hold alot of potential for conflict, and don't tend to leave any room for ideas that are controversial, or shrouded in ambiguity.

For the record: I think it is immensely important for individuals to form strong convictions (read: have explicitly categorized ideas) on certain issues.  Although the idea of "objective truth" is indeed elusive, I think it does exist somewhere in the universe, with important bits of it periodically being revealed to us.  Certain types of moral conduct is one aspect of it that I think we need to get a good handle on; for example, it's important that it's universally accepted that murdering someone is a very bad idea.  However, if we accept too many of are ideas as being "absolutely certain", we risk immersing ourselves in stubbornness, which makes it very hard to relate to others around us.  More importantly, when it becomes increasingly clear that certain ideas that we've historically clung to are clearly wrong - e.g. racial discrimination - it can be very hard to disconnect ourselves from them. 

With these thoughts in mind, I've started to reconsider how I process different ideas.  Whereas I may have been previously content to use a standard set of qualifiers to determine their legitimacy - whether it be empirical reason, feeling, or the Ten Commandments - I think I'm starting to learn that it's immature to judge them based on their face value, or their most salient characteristics.  What if we trained our minds to realize that there's something good to be found in just about every idea (although in some cases very little - fascism comes to mind), instead of immediately throwing them onto our standardized "truth template" to make sure that all of the dots connect?  

I have a proposition.  All of you staunch atheists out there: what if, instead of writing off evangelical Christians as shallow wackos, you took the time to read the book of Matthew?  And all of you evangelical Christians: instead of writing off postmodernism as "morally relativist" or "pluralist", why don't you actually dig into the culture a little - after all, it surrounds us!  And instead of avoiding existentialism like a 19th century hymnal, why not try to swallow a bit of Kierkegaard?  Instead of being totally put off, you might actually find yourself constructively challenged about your current mindset - who knows?

Honestly, I really have no idea if what I've said here makes any sense at all.  Specifically, the paragraph in which I outline the historical emergence of modernism may be way off wack - it was closing in on 2AM when I finished it.  Hopefully, despite the inevitable inconsistencies in this posting, I've provided some food for thought and meaningful discussion regarding how we treat those troublemaking little things we call ideas.  As usual, commentary/scrutiny is welcome.

Cheers,

Tom

"On Our Watch": A documentary on Darfur presented by PBS Frontline

Hi all,

Check out this awesome PBS feature on Darfur.  Go grab a coffee, and give yourselves an hour - it's well worth it.

I found this feature - produced by the CBC for PBS's "Frontline" documentary series - to be a well produced, context-filled analysis of a crisis I've heard alot about, but I realize I don't really know alot about.  Like so many other conflicts on the African continent, Darfur's plight is a microcosm of some pretty big dilemmas in global politics.  Although I got way too much out of this piece to write in one blog (that should scare you faithful readers of this web-novel!), I'd like to share a few key ideas that I pulled out of it.  I'm going to kind of list them from most discouraging to (mildly) encouraging, so if you're initially thrown into a pit of blog-pression, just keep both hands on the wheel!

I think one of the predominant themes that the documentary drives home the need for UN reform, specifically in the structure and operation of the Security Council (SC).  Although Darfur may not go down in history as the biggest interventionist-failure of the UN - the eventual deployment of 20 000+ troops, coupled with the unspeakable failure in Rwanda, may save it from this title - it has magnified the current limits on the body of dealing with human-rights atrocities.  In particular, it is mind-boggling how the SC manages to not react to circumstances that are, to everyone outside of their glorified think-tank, inarguably unacceptable.  Instead, the SC structure allows permanent-members (in this case, Russia and China) to individually "filibuster" - if not outwardly reject - motions that everyone else in the body may support.  I understand that when the SC was initially devised, this "veto" function was granted to atomic powers to prevent one of them from being pushed into a corner, ostensibly threatening nuclear war.  However, this logic largely crumbled alongside the Berlin Wall, and I feel like that the UN needs to put the nail in the veto's coffin by getting rid of it altogether.  "Easier said than done" doesn't take away from the fact that it needs to be done.

The second, and slightly more encouraging, observation that I took away from the feature is the fact that the US played a leading role in calling for action.  This fact - which was largely overshadowed on editorial pages by berating over Dubya's royal screw-up in Iraq - should be encouraging for every sensible person that acknowledges that stuff on this scale needs an American kiss of approval.  It's a sign that despite the legacy of waging proxy wars, petrol wars, and generally poopy wars throughout the 20th century, the US might be emerging as a kind of leader in a new universal human rights order.  I'm not sure if I actually believe this myself, but it's something to think about regardless.

I think my final point is the most important one.  The most influential countries in the world are - thank God - liberal democracies, meaning that their citizens have the power (theoretically, and I think in some cases more than others in fact) to shape the decisions that their leaders make on the global scale.  There are different ways that individuals can go about doing this, including, obviously, voting in elections.  Towards the end of the documentary, acknowledgement was made to people practicing another means of their entitled influence: free speech in the form of activism.  Now, many people - myself included - have often written off the effectiveness of protests and rallies such as the ones depicted in Washington in this feature, claiming that they're populated by "clueless, pot-smoking dreadhead hippies".  However, "On Our Watch" did the viewer a good service by explicitly outlining the positive effect that popular  protests, ranging from rallies to the "Genocide Olympics" rhetoric, had on influencing the high-level decisions that finally lead to intervention in Darfur. That should be an encouragement to all of us "average Joes" who don't have the key to the General Assembly chamber.

Alright, so I just made the decision that that wasn't my final point.  In writing all of this, I realized that I have foolishly overlooked the real importance of the documentary, which was to depict the violence and suffering experienced by the people of Darfur, who don't have a cozy home to lock themselves into, or a 911 number to call.  It's kind of silly that I can watch an hour long documentary with my heart slumping and my guilt swelling the whole time, and afterwards not immediately mention feelings of sorrow and despair as my initial reaction (which they were).  I suppose the academic "drive to analyze" sometimes has a way of crowding out true concern and empathy; characteristics which, undoubtedly, must be core motivators for action.

Hopefully, we'll see increased efforts made to save the people of Darfur in the days to come.  Until then, all we can do is pray, and encourage our neighbors to take off their shoes and imagine themselves shuffling through the sands of the eastern Sahara.