Disservice to the Discourse

I've already tipped my hand about What Is America, by Ronald Wright.* (To recap: I'm not a fan.) But after hearing comments about this book at a book club meeting over the weekend--a book club that contains perfectly lovely, educated people--I want to explain why I think this book does a disservice to American-Canadian political discourse.

For those of you who haven't read the book, here's what you're missing. The author, born in Britain and now a writer and lecturer in Canadian universities, puts forth the following argument: “[T]he New World made the modern world and now threatens to undo it” (p. 1). After a short introductory chapter, he chronicles the various waves of European contact, colonization, and/or settlement of North America through the centuries. Written before Barak Obama won the Democratic presidential nomination and published before he won the 2008 election, the book ends with the suggestion that the best hope for real leadership now comes from the European Union.

Wright tells an ugly story. The continent's history is one of greed, conquest, and relentless domination of the indigenous people. It is a story of people--Europeans, some Spanish but mostly British who become Americans--who use and abuse natural resources until they are spent, and then move on to take advantage of the next resource. It is, in short, a story of people. And it's a story that can't continue in this way. There are precious few “new resources” left on this planet.

I don't dispute the story Wright tells, even as he moves into recent events. I agree that George W. Bush was a disastrous leader and that his “war on terror” has been terrifying indeed. Two years after Wright finished his book, we're watching President Obama struggle with an obscene tangle of economic, political, and social consequences of the Bush administration.

But I still say that this book does not provide any benefits to the political discourse in Canada about the U.S. and the Canadian-American relationship. I think this book, and others written on this same pattern, in fact harms that discourse, for four reasons.

1. Readers deserve a book based on scholarship they can see and trust. This book doesn't make its case. It is set up to look like a carefully researched history--but it's not. The subtitle, “A short history of the new world order,” also suggests history. The book includes 226 pages of text and 142 pages of notes and bibliography. It has all the earmarks of a history, but not the substance. On close inspection, the book doesn't add to the base of knowledge. The information in the text itself was part of the university courses I took in 1982 and before. The notes show that many of Wright's “sources” are not original; they're quoted in someone else's analysis of empire in the U.S. (for example). That's not good, convincing scholarship. Other notes fail to provide a source for the statement in the text. Many contain information of only distant relevance to the material it's supposedly supporting. Many statements of statistics have no footnote at all.

Therefore, it's not a book that can be taken seriously for its scholarly approach to its material, even though the information in the book may well be new or shocking to Canadians. In fact, because the information may be new to Canadians, it should be available in an academically rigorous (yet, ideally, readable) book. Canadians readers would do better to take Wright out of the loop completely and read a few of the books cited in the bibliography.

2. Readers deserve to be told the truth about themselves. The kind of “history” in this book just allows Canadians to feel smug--mistakenly so--about their own past. Although Wright says “the America of my title has two meanings: the great republic most of the world simply calls 'America' and the American landmass as a whole” (p. 12), he focuses mostly on the “great republic,” and secondarily on ancient civilizations in what are now Central and South America. Precious little of his attention goes to Canada--though comments at the book club discussion suggest that perhaps it should have.

One comment at the meeting: “I've always been proud that my ancestors came from England to North America in the 1600s....and now [after reading this book] I'm so glad I don't have dual citizenship.” But until 1815 (or arguably 1776), Canadians and Americans were all British (except for those who were Native or from another European country). In fact, you could argue that Canadians weren't truly Canadians until 1867, by which time the pattern Wright describes--killing off or exploiting Native peoples and taking their wealth and land--had been in full force for nearly 400 years. The 140 to 200 years in which the two countries have had decidedly different histories total only two-fifths to one-fourth of the total time Europeans have been taking advantage of this continent.

Another comment: “I don't know how they [Americans] live with themselves.” The context for this statement was the treatment of native Hawaiians, particularly the last monarchy in the 1880s. Nowhere in the book does Wright mention Canada's 20th-century residential schools for Natives. And he dispatches Canada's history of western expansion and its relationships with Native peoples, including the war against Louis Riel, in two sentences with the remark that the processes in both countries “were all quite similar,” although there was “less fighting” in what is now Canada (p. 166).

Although Canadians are apparently Wright's intended audience (given the Canadian publisher), Wright does not effectively address his Canadian readers. He doesn't actively engage them in reflecting on their own history as part of the North American continent. Canadians could perhaps learn about their own history from the new biography series at Penguin Canada, Extraordinary Canadians.

3. Readers deserve a thorough, useful discussion of the major themes in a work. Yet Wright is ignorant of the history of religion in North America, beyond reading about (not direct reading of) the Puritans and beyond extensive quotation from Jon Krakauer's recent book about Mormonism.** Although Wright correctly identifies religion as a major cultural force in the U.S., he allows for no nuance in religious belief. “One in two Americans rejects the evidence for evolution; the rest of Christendom gave up fighting Darwin a century ago” (p. 16). I suspect this statistic comes from a general survey about religious belief, not specifically about evolution, but it's impossible to know--Wright gives no source for this statistic. (It's not even footnoted.) Wright seems not to understand that it is possible for (North) Americans to identify themselves as BOTH Christians AND scientists. He doesn't even acknowledge, much less explore, the deep divisions in mainstream Christian denominations in the U.S. For the past 150 years, progressive believers have struggled with fundamentalists, like those whose views Wright dismisses as archaic, over issues such as racial equality and marriage rights. These struggles form an important part of the culture and politics of the U.S.--but to Wright, they don't exist.

Another comment at the discussion: “What scares me is that someone who believes in an afterlife has his finger on the trigger of a nuclear device.” Wright's dismissal of nuance in religion lets his readers conclude (or continue to believe) that anyone who believes in an afterlife necessarily holds Earthly life less dear and is thus on the verge of annihilating the planet. Wright, like anyone else who writes about culture, politics, or society, had the opportunity to challenge the fundamentalist atheism of this comment, yet he didn't. Instead, he limits his consideration of the religious history of the North American continent to those aspects of Christianity that he seems to find puzzling or frightening.

Without a more complete picture of the role religion plays in the U.S., across faiths and denominations, and considering how each intersects with political and social perspectives, readers can't fully understand North America's present, much less engage in its future.

4. Which brings us to the future. Readers deserve a book that goes beyond fingerpointing. But in this book, Wright offers no real solutions--he doesn't even offer questions. Yes, Bush's administration was a nightmare for Iraqis, Afghans, and uninsured Americans, for starters. Yes, the North American continent has a long and sordid history. To which I ask: Now what?

Wright offers very little in response. The positive alternative he cites as the next possibility for “the world's best hope,” the European Union, is “discussed” in less than three full pages (pp 223 – 226).

The sad thing is, Wright missed a golden opportunity to speak meaningfully about the future to Canadians--who live in one of the countries that still has, arguably, a “frontier.” Canada's economy depends largely on its natural resources. Technology will continue to make it easier to extract oil from tar sands and to find and extract natural gas and minerals from previously inaccessible regions. In the next half-century, climate change could drastically alter the Canadian landscape, expanding the amount of arable land and triggering an influx of settlers from the south.

What if Wright had, from his expertise on the perils of colonial expansion, considered explicitly how Canada could create a different future? How could Canadians apply his accumulated knowledge, and the knowledge he draws on, and avoid perpetrating the mistakes of the past? Would it be possible for Canada to be the next “world's best hope”? Wright apparently didn't even entertain the notion.

Another comment from the discussion: “Why should we read books like this, that just offer apocalyptic views of the past and no hope for the future?”

My answer: we shouldn't. Instead, we should demand rigor from our writers, avoid national smugness, embrace nuance, and look for solutions instead of endless analysis. We should should read original sources, learn our own history, reject fundamentalist beliefs in whatever guise they come, and apply what we learn from the past to the future.

That's the biggest disservice Wright did to the Canadian-American discourse: He had the opportunity to write that book. And he squandered it.
~~

* Wright, Ronald. What is America? Toronto: Alfred A. Knopf Canada, 2008. Page references are to the hardcover edition.

** Krakauer, Jon. Under the Banner of Heaven. Rev. Ed. New York: Anchor, 2004.

Unexpected

To truly appreciate a holiday like Christmas, it's important to remain open and alert to the possibility of meaning in unexpected places.

Here are a few memorable moments from this holiday weekend.

Christmas Morning
Mummy: WHAT IS THIS, POO? WHO? WHO POO-D??
All: Not me. Nope. No!
Mummy: OK then, HOW DID THE POO GET ON THE SMARTIES??

Driving Through the Woods to G's House
Mummy: Oh, look! Three deer! Aren't they beautiful? Oh, how sweet. (Etc.)
Isaac (aged 8 tomorrow): I wish I had a flamethrower.

Welcoming Prayer, Boxing Day
Minister: You have shown us Your love in the coos of a baby....
Choir member [thinking]: The poos of a baby?

See? Sometimes, the true spirit of Christmas requires you to accept that the box of candy you thought you wanted isn't such a great thing. That the urge to hunt will assert itself eventually, no matter how cute the object. That you see love in your way, and others see love in theirs.

So far, the poo is winning over the flamethrower, 2 to 1.

George VI

Not about the movie with Colin Firth that is getting such buzz. (No doubt deservedly so. And, yes, Colin Firth reading the phone book would be worth seeing.)

Instead, this is about something King George VI said in his Christmas message of 1939. Europe was at war.

A new year is at hand. We cannot tell what it will bring. If it brings a peace, how thankful we shall all be. If it bring us continued struggle, we shall remain undaunted. In the meantime, I feel that we shall find a message of encouragement in the lines which in my closing words I would like to say to you:

"I said to the man who stood at the Gate of the Year, 'Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.' And he replied, 'Go out into the darkness, and put your hand into the Hand of God. That shall be to you better than light, and safer than a known way.'"

May that Almighty Hand guide and uphold us all.

You can hear the King give this address at this CBC site. The full text of the poem, which is by an American, Minnie Louise Haskins, is available here. This quote was so meaningful to Queen Elizabeth (who became the Queen Mother) that she put it up on plaques at various homes; it was also read at her funeral.

This space tends to be a religion-free zone. However, many people I know are heading into difficult times or at least facing new experiences that have uncertain outcomes.

A friend shared this quote with me last night. It has helped me, an uber control freak, to remember that sometimes all we can do is trust and have faith--and perhaps it doesn't matter whether that faith is in each other, in our own resilience, in a specific external Deity, or in the power of love.

Happy 2010, and high hopes for 2011.

In Celebration of Our Wedding Anniversary

Dear Mother, to use the name you signed to the letters you wrote,

Sorry to bother you wherever it is you are. I suspect heaven, to be heaven to you, would include a class for you to teach, and you are probably pretty busy. But I think you're going to like what I am going to say. It was something I couldn't or wouldn't tell you while you were alive.

Remember how furious I was with you for selling the middle portion of the family property in the mid-1980s? Of course the property was yours to sell, and you had what you thought were good reasons to sell it. I did grow to appreciate the nice bathroom you added to the bigger camp, because it allowed us to take hot showers while still experiencing the rusticity of the original camp property.

However, the sale occasioned much wailing and gnashing of teeth on my part. Lots of “How could you?” and all that. While I grew quieter about it, I never really got over it. Partly I was afraid that you'd sell more of the property without consulting us kids. But mostly, I grieved the loss of the whole—our family legacy had been ten acres in the most beautiful place in the world, our Paradise, and now the middle was gone.

Not only that, the buyers bulldozed most of the trees and built a honkin' year-round home there. Who knows what nefarious plans they had that would change our experience of the place? And before I could relax about that, they had to sell to some other couple with two kids, all complete unknowns to us. At least these new people owned a canoe, let trees grow up, and left much of the shoreline natural, which we considered hopeful signs.

But still, as the years became a deacade plus, I
harbo(u)red a resentment, the one that starts “if only.” If only I had been older and presumably more flush with the money you needed. If only I had won the lottery or cured cancer or published a spectacular best-seller or otherwise amassed enough wherewithal to prevent that sale. Ah, I sighed, “If only.”

Well, I am telling you today what I should have known all along: you did the right thing. Not only is it okay that you sold the property. It was the wise and right thing to do, and I am grateful for it. You were right, an infinite number of times over.

Here's what happened. The family that bought the house endured happy times and sad times. The kids grew up and spread their wings. The wife grew sick and passed away, because sadness and death come, even in Paradise.

Seasons change. Eras come to an end. You knew this. You had watched your own parents age and, eventually, die. I heard you talk of it, but I didn't understand the consequences of the turning of the earth and accumulation of years. I know now.

As it happened, the man living alone in the house still knew himself to be Paradise, even in the sad times, even in the fallow time after his wife's death. While he waited for life and hope to grow again, he watched the fawns appear and grow until they lost their spots and even had fawns of their own. He saw a fox dancing with snowflakes. He skied over his property, and ours, and he walked carefully and lightly on it, and he saw that it was beautiful.

You'll recognize this, Mommy: “Reader, I married him.” How could I not—a man of such sense and caring, who shares my values so explicitly? Three years (thirty-six months) ago today, in fact, we stood on the beach in front of the little camp where I write this, which your father built 85 years ago. We cried through the reading from Ecclesiastes—“To every thing there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven”—and through our vows to ourselves and to each other. This morning, I woke up with my husband in the house you made possible some 25 years ago, when you sold the middle part of our Paradise.

I cannot say enough good things about this man. Get this: he likes the family. Really, he does! He welcomes friends and relatives, some of whom are virtual strangers to us both, and helps them enjoy our Paradise in whatever way they like best. He was my Mr. Knightley in the time of Daddy's sickness and death. He somehow accepts me as I am, with all my imperfections, and yet challenges me to be my best self.

I'm not sure what I do for him. Sometimes I bring him coffee or bake scones. When we go out in the canoe, I let him steer. He gets to do projects. For example, he put a new roof on the little camp and dug the piano out of the collapsing floor in the back room and shored up the floor and foundations. He has the fun of using his chainsaw on the trees that threaten the various structures here. These things seem hardly enough, yet he claims they are plenty.

Mom, I am not daft enough to imagine you could have foreseen this particular life for me. But you and Daddy were people of faith. You believed, among other things, in the inherent goodness of humanity. You believed that we all have the responsibility to do what we believe to be the right thing, even when that action is unpleasant, while trusting that doing the right thing is the best way to serve the greater good. So you showed that faith is a verb. You sold the property and you trusted in the outcome.

And that is the greatest lesson for me in all this. I can't see the future, but I read Ecclesiastes, and I know that death will come again to Paradise. As if I needed a reminder, gold leaves are falling from the birches as I type this. Someday, my husband and I, as well as the rest of your “kids” and grandkids, will have more decisions to make. They may be hard decisions. They may require active trust and faith in the process of birth, death, and renewal, of a time for every purpose under the heaven.

Fortunately, we have your example to guide us.

Best of all, we don't have to make those decisions today. Today, our only decision is whether it's a good day for canoeing, because in Paradise, the best way to celebrate one's third anniversary (or pretty much any day) is by going out in a canoe, or on skis, depending on the season. Or even for a walk, perhaps with a chainsaw or camera.

In closing, Mother dear, I'll say again: thank you—you were right.

Love,
Marion

Which?

It's a grey day here.

As it must also be in Poland.

Sometimes it's hard to know what you're looking at.

Reflections and gloom

can obscure

what's in front of you.

When is an accident a confluence of unfortunate events
among people with a long and twisted history--
a rock falling, just then--
and when is an "accident" not an accident at all?

Is it better to suspect or trust?
Precarious walking, either way.

Change of Mind(set)

I'm not a big fan of biz-speak but it is useful at times. "Mindset" is one of those words I suspect originated in a boardroom somewhere, but I like it. It describes that part of me that is hard to change. It's not so hard for me to change my mind. But my mind's default setting--that's something else again.

For those who remember the loon socks and issues of "hanging on too long," changing my mindset is a related-but-different phenomenon.

Recently, I was asked to appear in black slacks/skirt and white blouse. (Yes, this example is also about clothing. Deal.) Piece of cake. I have lots of white blouses from...from...huh. From back in the 90s, when I used to work in an office--and even then wore business casual and kept a couple of white blouses hanging around only because "they're a necessity." So said both Mr. Dress for Success and my mother, independently. Therefore, when I looked recently, I found a couple. One had yellowed. One had never fit. One was waaaaaay not something I would ever wear. So they've been disposed of.

Decades have passed since a white blouse was actually a necessity in my life. They're also not necessary now--I rarely am asked to wear white and this just request happened to fall at the wrong time of the laundry cycle to haul out a sweater.

So my point is this: It's one thing to live for decades and change your life circumstances several times. It's something else again to change your mindset, and, with it, all the crap you tote around with you.

And because the personal is political, I'll ask these questions:

• Is it time for the people in a country to the south to change their mindset around health care? New legislation is one thing--how about doing the mental work necessary to understand that people should not receive health care based on how much money they make? Imagine all the energy that would free up, all the risk and growth, if entrepreneurs knew that they could get sick without requiring an employer for health insurance.
• Is it time for a church to change itse mindset around fear? Perhaps the Catholic church could stop being so defensive about the wrongs its leaders have committed (and perpetuate). (Hey, I can dream.) Perhaps local congregations could focus on the best ways to particpate in defining and fulfilling their missions in the community, instead of being afraid the institution itself won't survive.
• Is it time for the government in this country to stop being afraid of losing power? Hint: The Catholic church may yet understand that hiding information only exacerbates any crimes from the past. Learn from their example. Be open. Try aiming for respect from Canadians instead of popularity. You may be pleasantly surprised.
• Is it time for a city government to change its mindset and approach to economic development? How about putting resources into creating a city that's safe, pretty, and clean? People will enjoy living here. They will create and attract companies--and perhaps, eventually, tourists. Because stalking tourists doesn't make anybody very happy and doesn't appear to be successful.

Now that I've prescribed changed mindsets for the world, I feel better. As if I've cleaned out a closet--perhaps even a mental one.

C'mon, Rain

This is what Friday looked like.

Then we had a little rain on Easter afternoon.
Here's today. Same place, give or take.

Of course, some of the change is just wind blowing the ice away.

But most of the change is from the rain.

April really is the brownest month.

But, at least this year, today, it's also green...

and blue.

Happy Easter.

A Four-Day Weekend

That's Easter up here, for some: Good Friday and Easter Monday are holidays to bank and government types.

However, stores like Canadian Tire and Home Depot were open today (Saturday). The gym was closed Friday and Saturday but will be open on Monday. My hair stylist was off Friday, worked today (whew), is off tomorrow (they close Sundays), works Monday, and is off Tuesday.

Meanwhile, my little "shouldn't church and state at least pretend to be separated?" mind can't quite wrap my head around this. Back when I worked at a job in the U.S., I knew people who took Good Friday off as a holiday, but it wasn't an official holiday. (Of course, as a freelancer in any country, every day both is and is not a holiday, not that I'm complaining.)

In any case, since there's a holiday, I baked something (chocolate chip scones), and because the holiday is Easter, I am making devilled eggs. It just seems kind of funny, that's why.

Drawing the Line: Me/Not Me

What is there to say about the earthquake in Haiti, really, except that it gives new meaning to the term "horror," and let's all hope it moves us all to a new personal definition of "compassion."

And then. To add to the physical and emotional suffering, Pat Robertson chose to pile on with some spiritual claptrap: obscenity, profanity, blasphemy, whatever you want to call it. I don't want to legitimize what he said with a summary or even a link. Google it if you must.

However, I do think it's important to say this: Pat Robertson does not speak for me.

Yes, we share some features:

• I, too, am a U.S. citizen.
• I was born and grew up in a state below the Mason-Dixon line, which technically makes me a southerner, as he is.
• I am named Marion. Seriously. He is apparently one of those men named Marion who (yippee) choose another name, like John Wayne, born Marion Mitchell/Robert Morrison. Whatever.

I am also affiliated with Christianity, as Pat Robertson claims to be. My relationship to the faith is difficult to define, exactly, but it includes a history of belonging to Methodist churches. I now go to a church that is part of a Christian denomination: the United Church of Canada.

I have been uncomfortable saying "I'm a Christian" for a long time, in part because of the actions committed by people who are extremely comfortable claiming to be Christian. Like Jerry Falwell. Oral Roberts. Various popes. George W. Bush (also a Methodist, sigh). And now, like Pat Robertson.

But I see, finally, that the Haiti earthquake has created a situation analogous to the political situation in the U.S. during the previous presidential administration. I have said that it's impossible to have a real discussion with conservatives because of people like Ann Coulter, whose venom masquerades as thought. She and her ilk claim to speak for Republicans and True Conservatives. Until intelligent conservatives and Republicans say, "Wait a sec, she doesn't speak for me," we have to assume that she does. Few if any of the people she purports to speak for have taken her on, and political discourse in the U.S. is the worse for it.

It means nothing for liberals and Democrats to point out flaws in her thinking. Her opponents are automatically assumed to be misguided. Not worth talking to. Not worth the air they're breathing. And ignoring her, which some prescribe as the antidote, makes her more bold and shrill.

It's up to the people who she claims as allies to force her into irrelevance. They do this by drawing the line: This stuff over here, this belongs to me. I speak to it, I answer for it. That stuff over there: No. Hers.

So that's what I'm doing in relation to Haiti. As a person-with-relationship-to-Christianity, I must say this: Pat Robertson doesn't speak for me. I can't say that he is not a Christian, but the Christ he purports to know isn't the Christ I know of. The God he claims to serve is not the God I claim.

He has a bully pulpit and a following. But he stands over there, in that space of hatred and self-righteousness. That's his.

And I stand here, without explanation or blame for a disaster such as the earthquake in Haiti, and certainly no blame for its victims. I can do little that is of concrete value to them but give money. I can, however do that. This I claim.

As a side note: I am also extra grateful, these days, for the roof over my head and the Canadian Shield beneath my feet. It's snowing today. I watch the snow drift by and wonder--how long until I have seen 100,000 snowflakes, one for each person expected to die in Haiti?

O(dd) Canada

Now this is a story I have never seen in the U.S.

A precis: An elementary school principal in a small New Brunswick school has decided to drop the singing of "O Canada," the country's national anthem, as part of its daily routine. The reason? Some of the parents don't want their children to participate.

I'm not sure why--though possibly the line "God keep our land glorious and free" has something to do with it.

I don't get it. I can see objecting to singing the national anthem every day because that's time that could be spent reading or learning multiplication tables, or, God help us, for anti-bullying workshops. But dropping the national anthem because the principal wants "every student to feel welcome" at school? Hmm.

Of course, I'm from a different time (1960s) and place (the southern U.S.). In third grade, we memorized the 100th Psalm as a class. We also sang "My Country 'Tis of Thee," known in Canada as "the song that they sing that's really 'God Save the Queen.'" I think that was daily, too.

Furthermore, we bowed our heads as a class for the third verse, "Our Father's God, to Thee, author of liberty, to Thee we sing." And you'll notice that I remember these words some 40 years later. (I also know the words to the theme song of Gilligan's Island and most of the lyrics to songs from The Music Man, so don't consider this a patriotic feat.)

I don't think it was just that the lovely and adorable Mrs. Boothe, my teacher for third grade, was particularly patriotic. It was what one did at school. I think we also said the Pledge of Allegiance every day. I know in high school, at our weekly pep assemblies, we always sang the national anthem AND the state song of Oklahoma. But I think that was partly because our state song was actually a good song.

These experiences didn't brainwash me. Surely you don't imagine by now that I'm blindly loyal to the U.S. I certainly carp and criticize everyone and everything, including church teachings. I even grouse about things in my adopted country.

But these experiences did give me a sense of the "rules" that I had to play by to learn, live, and work in that community--in other words, they taught me about the dominant culture. I don't know what would have happened if my parents hadn't been okay with my participation in that part of the culture, but I imagine they'd have made sure I knew it. They certainly didn't allow me to participate in everything the neighbo(u)r kids did.

For example, when the local skating rink gave free tickets for report cards with As, my parents didn't let me go cash in. They thought I should get good grades for no reason and not expect rewards or bribes. Yes, my friends thought I was weird and that my parents were "mean." And I still can't skate. But I'm over it. Really.

The other thing is, I cannot imagine this conversation happening in the U.S. Have I just not been paying attention to U.S. news? Is it just that I don't have kids in school?

Stay tuned--I bet this will generate discussion among Canadians. It will be interesting to see how that goes.