I recently watched the following fourteen minute film, which was taken from deleted scenes from the longer and (from what I’ve heard) excellent documentary, entitled “Occupation Has No Future.” Here’s the video, and I suggest you watch it:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DpaO9DNlAF8&feature=player_embedded]
I was struck by the point made by former members of the IDF, regarding the ways in which sensitive and humanitarian people become incorporated into participating in the actions of a brutal and oppressive occupying force. Thus, one fellow found himself thinking, “It’s better that I go, with my disapproval of the occupation and my humanitarian impulses, than somebody else go who is filled with hate and eager to have a gun in his hands.” However, this fellow also goes through a further awakening: “Even if I’m giving out flowers to women at checkpoints, I’m still standing somewhere, with a gun, ready to kill people, in a place where I absolutely do not belong” (NB: these quotes are my paraphrases).
However, as a friend of mine pointed out, it is interesting to extend this way of thinking from the context of the military occupation of Palestine, to our own context. Instead of thinking about soldiers, it is interesting to carry this trajectory of thought into our reflections upon the (increasingly militarized) police forces that operate in our own cities. In many ways, the police are an occupying force who serve, not justice, but the interests of those who have the power to make laws. Furthermore, just as much of the post-military service discourse in occupied Palestine focuses upon the good moral character and sensitivities of the IDF soldiers, so also much of the reflection upon police forces focuses upon the good moral character and sensitive humanitarian nature of some police officers.
I don’t mean to deny any of that (I personally know some very kind and moral people who went on to become cops), but that focus misses the broader point. The police enforce oppressive social policies. They (sometimes legally, sometimes illegally) act violently towards those who are marginalized within society and towards many of those who try to act in such a way as to bring about more just social arrangements. So, sure, you can be sensitive and be a member of the IDF and, yeah, you can also be kind and be a member of the police. The catch is that, at the end of the day, you are still a part of an occupying force that prioritizes the desires of the elite over the needs of the people.
This is part of the reason why it is fully appropriate to say “fuck the police” (without also meaning, “fuck you, Officer X”).
August Books
Finished off a number of books this month. Mostly lighter stuff, as I’ve been writing again (Hello, Paul-and-kinship-honour-patronage-economics-and-power-chapter! It’s nice to finally meet you!). Too lazy to proof-read right now… will follow-up later.
1. Come Be My Light: The Private Writings of the “Saint of Calcutta” by Mother Teresa (ed. with commentary by Brian Kolodiejchuk).
Throughout her life, Mother Teresa made it a point of always submitting to the Roman Catholic hierarchy and chose to view her bosses as though they were Christ himself. She would make her requests, plead her case, and then totally submit to their decisions — which they would make based upon criteria other than those Mother Teresa had chosen.
The publication of these private writings — letters, retreat notes, and so on — are a fine example of that sort of submission and authority. Mother Teresa had begged her bosses to destroy these documents (she was always wishing for less and less of a focus upon herself as an object of any sort of interest) but they chose, instead, to publish them after she died. They decided that the ways in which the writings would edify others trumped any thoughts Mother Teresa had about sharing her most intimate reflections.
Of course, like a vulture, I swooped in, disregarded what Mother Teresa requested, paid my money to the authorities who also disregarded her, and read the writings. And, my goodness, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt as connected to a “religious” or “spiritual” text as I felt to this one. Now, don’t get me wrong, I ain’t no Mother Teresa but, shoot, her reflections on godforsakenness absolutely capture what I have been experiencing the last three years.
Because this is what few people knew about Mother Teresa during her lifetime: ever since she founded the Missionaries of Charity at the end of the 1940s, she felt as though God had completely and utterly vanished from her life. This feeling continued unabated until her death in the ’90s. Part of what made that so devastating for her was that, prior to founding the Missionaries of Charity, she felt as though she was in constant intimate communion with God (and it was this communion, in their conversations, that drove her to founding the M.C.s). This was the cornerstone of her life so when God vanished, she was left with a wound that never stopped hurting her. Now, I won’t claim anything like what Mother Teresa experienced but, this is what I’ve been feeling as well. The emptiness of the last three years has been hard, not just because they are empty, but precisely because I know what the alternative can be like — as she writes: “this darkness and emptiness is not as painful as the longing for God.”
Thus, she remains constantly on the edge of breaking — and speaks of no longer feeling any love or trust or faith — yet she persists with her labour, she continues to serve others, she tries to smile more and more… and for some reason those who come near to her feel as though they are closer to the presence of God. A funny twist, no?
In thinking through the work Mother Teresa did and the changes she helped to create, it was startling to see how totally submissive she was to the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic church (which, we should recall, is just as death-dealing and corrupt as pretty much any other political or corporate hierarchy). The catch is that it was (partly) be means of her submissive to this oppressive hierarchy that resulted in Mother Teresa being able to do what she did. For those of us who want to more actively resist the death-dealing Powers this is a somewhat disconcerting observation…
Anyway, this is highly recommended reading.
2. The Twenty-Piece Shuffle: Why the Poor and Rich Need Each Other by Greg Paul.
A little while ago, somebody left a comment on my blog suggesting that the primary people saved by liberation theology are liberation theologians. The theology they develop is ultimately their own road to salvation. This comment came to mind while reading Greg Paul’s book — although full of many good stories, and obviously written with a lot of love for a lot of people — because it seems to me that the implicit theme of this book is really Greg’s defense of his own lifestyle in light of the work that he does.
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with writing such self-reflective books (indeed, I think this is the implicit theme of a lot of writing — even outside of the realm of memoirs or autobiographies). However, I do think Greg’s conclusions are problematical. Before saying why, however, I should mention how much personal respect I have for Greg and the folks at Sanctuary — the place he helps to organize and run in Toronto. I really to think Greg is a wonderful man and Sanctuary is one of two churches-that-call-themselves-churches that I think do an excellent job of actually being the way that churches should be (the other being The Mosaic here in Vancouver… in comparison to these two churches, every other one that I have attended falls far short).
That said, Greg’s argument in this book is pretty bad. He remains strictly at the personal level of analysis and never moves beyond that to anything structural. In fact, by writing in this way, Greg’s argument fits easily into the perpetuation of oppressive social structures. This happens because Greg thinks that the poor and the rich need each other. He shares stories about the brokenness of people on both sides of that divide, and he shares stories about how people have their lives enriched on both sides when they cross that divide and get to know others from different socioeconomic backgrounds. Hence, their need for one another.
What Greg never does is challenge wealth and poverty, what creates it, what maintains it, in any sort of thoughtful manner. In fact, his focus on the personal level of things, his assertion that the poor and the rich need each other, leads pretty straightforwardly to the conclusion that we need to live in a world (or in local communities) where there is always wealth and poverty. According to this argument, there is no point in challenging that, no point in looking at moving beyond wealth and poverty to a community wherein there is neither poverty nor riches but enough for everybody (the sort of community that was to exist in Israel according to the Law and the Prophets, that was developed by Jesus in Palestine, and that Paul tried to expand into the Roman Empire). Such a suggestion seems totally foreign to what Greg writes in this book. Instead, Greg focuses on life stories, the personal divorced from the structural, and — despite many of his more “radical” stances — ends up writing a basic defense of the forms of charity that make a difference in the lives of individuals but end up perpetuating and strengthening the death-dealing status quo.
Finally, on a personal note, it’s interesting to observe how different it is for me to read stories like these now, compared to how I used to read them ten years ago. When I was first getting involved with homeless folks, I read a number of journals or memoirs written by folks associated with this population. Truth be told, at that time, a lot of the stories struck me as romantic, exotic, wonderful, and exciting. Adventures dripping with pathos, ruptured by the in-breakings of Death or Life. It’s a bit shameful to admit this (if I ever felt shame anymore…), since I was actively engaging in a process of Othering, dehumanizing and exploiting an already oppressed and vulnerable population by reading in this way. Thankfully, I realized that I no longer read stories like those Greg offers in this way. Having moved more and more into the context of the street-involved (in both “personal” and “professional” ways), the romance and exoticism have disappeared. That’s probably a good thing, since what remains, more and more, is just people. Peoples is peoples, to quote a character from one of the Muppet movies.
3. The Diaries of Louis Riel by Louis Riel (ed. by Thomas Flanagan).
So, given that I’ve been exploring more about the history of Canada’s First Nations’ people, the topic of the Northwest rebellion has always lingered around, and I stumbled onto Riel’s diaries in a bookshop and picked up a copy (I’d already read Chester Brown’s pretty fascinating graphic novel about Riel). It comes through quite clearly in Riel’s diaries is that he was obviously very much committed to his religion (which began as Roman Catholicism, morphed into something of his own creation, and then kinda sorta returned to Catholicism in the end when he was trying to avoid execution). The other thing that comes through pretty clearly is that Riel was a self-absorbed prick who thought he had some sort of divine calling that justified him in being a self-absorbed prick. He speaks penitently and contritely about his “gluttony” or his drinking, but all this humility just masks (probably from Riel himself) that he seems to be largely motivated by a desire for wealth, status, and power. God make me rich and smite my enemies! Egad. And all the time acting like he is on the side of the Natives, when really he only cares about the Métis (probably only because he is a Métis), and he has no vision of the Natives being present in the new nation he wishes to create. Even then, despite all his revolutionary talk, he was still secretly writing letters to John A. MacDonald offering to sell-out the revolution. Double egad.
It’s interesting to compare the diaries of Mother Teresa with those of Riel. Some folks might be inclined to see them both as nuts based upon their visions, ecstatic experiences, voices or signs from God and so on. Both also claimed to want to try and make a positive difference in the lives of people who were suffering and oppressed. The major difference, is that Mother Teresa tried to abolish any sense of pride she had, whereas Riel was so in love with himself that he couldn’t even recognize how prideful he was. I’m not saying that this is the only factor leading to the different end results they experienced (it’s not!), but I think it’s an interesting comparison.
4. Hope Dies Last: Keeping Faith in Difficult Times by Studs Terkel.
Studs Terkel is an historian who interviewed a good many of interesting people around America over the span of the twentieth century. In this compilation — very roughly structured around the theme of hope — Terkel interviews everyone from politicians to priests, union organizers to veterans, activists to workers. There are some big recognizable names who did big recognizable things, but there are also a good number of people who are unknown to the broader public who did just as big and exciting things. It’s really a beautiful collection. I often think there should be more work done to document and share the news of those who work in their own communities to create life-giving changes. Personally, the section I think I found most interesting was when Terkel interviewed people — both students and (mostly illegal migrant) workers who became involved in in the movement for a living change for workers at Harvard, which occurred from around 1997-2001. Like all major universities, Harvard (despite its billions of dollars in funding) employed migrant workers to do the cleaning and cooking and so forth. These workers did not receive a living wage. The students coordinated a number of efforts to try and change this policy and, after reviewing everything that was submitted the President of Harvard essentially said: “That’s an interesting idea but, no, we’re not going to give the workers a living wage.” This prompted a moment of less-legal direct action, wherein about fifty students occupied some of the main admin space in the university for over twenty days. The police tried unsuccessfully to remove them. The President tried unsuccessfully to over to negotiate with them if they left (they refused — having already seen what happened with that kind of negotiation).
Along the way, and this is what I found so incredible about the story — the workers and the students united with each other. Previously, the workers had been like an invisible non-human slave force to the students, and the workers had viewed the students as a bunch of rich assholes. However, once students realized the humanity of the workers and once the workers realized the sincerity of the students, a wonderful community of creativity and resistance was born. The end result? A living wage for the workers. And this caused a ripple effect throughout university campuses in the United States. Wonderful stuff. Now if only the students, or young activists, could be doing more in our time to be co-ordinating their efforts with the working classes and the poor…
5. Holocaust Poetry compiled by Hilda Schiff.
I’ve been trying to read a little more poetry lately, since falling in love with Rilke’s writings, and I figured it had been enough years since I touched this genre and, who knows, I might end up connecting with it more deeply than I have in the past. Anyway, I don’t know if this collection was the best place to turn — it’s terribly sad and it feels almost sacrilegious to read and even more sacrilegious to review… so instead I’ll just post one poem from the collection, written by Lily Brett. I think I was drawn to it because it circles around the unspeakable, without quite speaking it but, by doing so, thereby communicating something of it. It’s called “My Mother’s Friend”:
my mother
had a schoolfriend
she shared the war with
my mother
looked after her friend
in the ghetto
she laid her out
as though she was dead
and the Gestapo overlooked her
in Auschwitz
she fed her friend snow
when she was burning with typhoid
and when
the Nazis
emptied Stuthof
they threw
the inmates
onto boats in the Baltic
and tried
to drown
as many as they could
my mother
and her friend
survived
in
Bayreuth
after the war
my mother’s friend
patted my cheeks
and curled my curls
and hurled herself
from the top
of a bank.
6. Baltasar and Blimunda by José Saramago.
I enjoyed reading Blindness awhile ago, and so I was feeling like a change of pace and tone (what with working through Proust) and so I thought I would pick up Saramago again. I can’t say that I enjoyed this story all that much. There were some moments when it felt like it had potential (especially early on) but nothing ever really materialized… it almost felt like Saramago didn’t really know where he was going with the story and so was just having fun rambling on with his descriptions, and lists, and names, and so forth. I would suggest giving this one a pass.
7. Duino Elegies by Rainer Maria Rilke.
Speaking of Rilke, I decided I would reread the Duino Elegies. I think they just get more rich and breath-taking with every reading. There’s no point in even making little marks in the margins — the pages would just fill up. I’ve decided that this is probably the closest thing to a perfect piece of writing that I have ever read. Stunningly good.
8. Possible Side Effects by Augusten Burroughs.
A friend recommended this autobiographical series of sketches to me. It’s in the same sad/comedic vein as some if the things written by David Sedaris. Although I didn’t laugh a ton (when do I ever, right?), there were definitely parts that made me chuckle and Burroughs does a pretty decent job of entwining the painful or sorrowful with laughter and courage. I liked it enough that I decided I would read his more famous book — Running With Scissors. My wife told me to read it years ago, so I’ll see how that goes.
July Books
1. St. Paul Among the Philosophers edited by John D. Caputo and Linda Martín Alcoff.
This is a good collection of essays based upon the papers presented at a conference by a series of heavy hitters — from Badiou and Žižek to Dale Martin and Ed Sanders. It was fun to read philosophical appropriations of Paul engaged explicitly by historical appropriations of Paul. Especially interesting, were the moments of exchange tcaptured in the roundtable discussion that is recorded as the final chapter of this volume. This collection of essays seems to stand above others in this genre (like the one edited by Douglas Harink). It’s clarity is admirable and the contributors don’t feel like they are constantly stretching to create connections, nor do they feel like they are simply having a bit of fun showing how smart they are and how capable they are of playing around with conceptual short circuits. I felt that Dale Martin’s contribution was the strongest (perhaps because I think he demonstrates the greatest knowledge of the discussion or perhaps because his understanding of things seems similar to mine?). All in all, a decent read.
2. A National Crime: The Canadian Government and the Residential School System — 1879 to 1986 by John Milloy.
This is the sort of book that not only should be required reading for every person who lives within the imagined borders of something called “Canada,” it is also a book that should be read by any member of the Anglican, Catholic, Methodist, and United Churches. It is a damning report on the history of the death-dealing practices of colonialism as those practices found expression in this nation, by means of the State and the Church working together to “solve the Indian problem” (although the business community was and remains part of the motive and means by which this is addressed today, that community was not very involved in residential schools so I will leave them aside for now).
For those who don’t know, the indigenous people of Canada were subjected to ongoing and sustained campaigns that intended to destroy their cultures, their identities, their family structures and (if all else failed or if it was more convenient) their lives, in order to assimilate them into white, Christian society and ensure that they were contributing productively to Canadian economic development.
One of the ways this occurred was through the development of residential schools. Indigenous parents were legally required to surrender their kids to residential schools that were far removed from their family homes. These schools intended to “kill the Indian in the child” and so the children were not permitted to dress, eat, wear their hair, or speak as they desired. Their hair was cut. Their clothes were changed. They were fed proper white food in proper white settings. They were taught Christian doctrines. They were taught in English or French. They were taught white ways of owning property and working as wage labourers or farmers.
However, the schools were never properly staffed, funded or managed and so even this (horrendous) colonial goal of assimilation was never accomplished. Instead, the schools became the stuff of nightmares. The buildings were run down and not heated or ventilated properly. The clothing provided was inadequate. There was never enough food and the food provided was often of a despicable quality. “Discipline” was harsh. Children were regularly beaten, locked alone in dark places, whipped, and so on and so forth. Sexual abuse was also rampant. Studies suggest that 100% of children at some school were sexually abused. It was not uncommon for children to die because they tried to run away and find their way home… in the middle of winter… with no jackets on their backs or boots on their feet. And these were not the only kids who died. The studies reveal that anywhere between 30-65% of the children who attended residential schools died while there due to the mixture of these conditions and other things like TB or influenza outbreaks. In British Columbia, it is estimated that over 80% of the kids died. Not to mention the people who later went on to die due to substance use, at their own hands, or at the hands of others, because of the scars left be this experience. Not to mention the ways in which this abuse and trauma has then been based on to the children of survivors.
In other words, what Milloy documents is a fucking Holocaust, one that still impacts people today, one which has never been properly addressed and, indeed, one which is sustained today by other means. Anybody who proudly claims the titles “Canadian” or “Christian” should pause and think again after reading this history. This is a must read. Not only that, but it should prompt action.
3. Broken Circle — The Dark Legacy of Indian Residential Schools: A Memoir by Theodore Fontaine.
Moving from academic reflections upon the historical records of Canada’s history of residential schools for indigenous children, I thought I would also read some of the personal memoirs written by survivors and victors. Fontaine’s story exemplifies some of the common threads found in the stories that have gained publicity — experiences of violence, sexual assaults (one of the priests would regularly wash the genitals of the younger boys because, he said, they did not know how to properly clean themselves), experiences of being torn away from family and having that rupture manipulated in such a way so that the children would blame their parents or siblings and not the priests, nuns, or school administrators. However, unlike many others, Fontaine was able to gain the right to attend school without residing there — he ran away twice, the second time after having his face seriously bloodied, and when his dad took him back to the school and spoke with the head priest, it was arranged that Fontaine would no longer live at the school. I suspect that this is part of the reason why Fontaine was able to heal more than some others.
In reading some of the reviews on the back cover of this book, and in the front pages, it is interesting to note how the commentators are quick to praise Fontaine for writing about his experiences but for doing so without being vindictive or overly angry. I’m curious why people feel that this is praiseworthy and what the expression of this sort of praise communicates to the public and to others who have stories to tell. Personally, I feel that it would be fully appropriate for Fontaine to be vindictive, if he chose to be that way. Others should not be denied the space to speak or act in this way. Given the atrocities committed, liberal Settler society need to suck it up and move beyond the flowery language of “reconciliation” and admit that restitution and vindication may be more appropriate avenues towards a better future. Thus, by praising Fontaine’s account for lacking a vindictiveness, I feel that stories of residential school experiences simply end up being twisted to meet the interests of the ongoing oppressive system of power and exploitation that continues to exist in Canada in relation to the indigenous people.
4. Wasáse: Indigenous Pathways of Action and Freedom by Taiaiake Alfred.
Speaking of the ongoing oppression and exploitation of the indigenous people of Canada, Taiaiake Alfred — a member of the Kanien’kehaka (Mohawk) people — turns to exploring ways in which this people can resist oppression and, moving beyond resistance (or submission) to resurgence and new life. The title, Wasáse, refers to the warrior dance of unity, strength, and commitment to action, and much of what Alfred writes comes out of his reflections upon what it means to be a warrior in today’s world. There is a great deal of depth and richness in Alfred’s text.
Really, this book deserves it’s own post… and I’m actually hoping to post an interview with the author. For now, I will say that this is very highly recommended reading.
5. In the Garden of Men by John Kupferschmidt.
This book was actually written by the brother of a friend whom I love and respect a great deal. It was the winning submission of the three day novel contest a few years back. And it’s a really good book. The author tackles some pretty grand themes — good and evil, submission and resistance, beauty and meaning — and wraps them together in a wonderful tale about a paper-pushing somewhat embittered nobody working under the Communist party in Czechoslovakia. Recommended reading (and quick reading, too!).
6. The Captive and The Fugitive by Marcel Proust.
Shoot, this bit of “In Search of Lost Time,” was easily the worst part yet. I know I’m dealing with sections that Proust had not fully edited before he died, but I’m not bothered simply by the incompleteness and the lack of those beautifully polished sections and sentences that Proust used to produce with more frequency in earlier volumes. Beyond those details, its the subject matter itself that I found dull and unattractive. Hundreds of pages of reflection about jealousy, revealing the protagonists pettiness, insecurity, mommy-issues, and so on (and on and on and on). I’m actually kinda nervous to now read the final volume. After starting so strongly, this story has taken a major downward turn in the last two installments and I’m wondering if that slide continues or if Proust pulls it together and pulls off the sort of conclusion that the first three volumes deserve.
7. Paying For It: a comic strip memoir about being a john by Chester Brown.
In my life and work, I have encountered a lot of different voices speaking about the morality and legality of sex work — I’ve gotten to know a number of sex workers over the years, I’ve known some who worked independently but most of them were pimped (and I’ve known a fair number of pimps). I’ve also read some of the feminist literature on the subject, and have heard opinions of ex-sex workers, supports, advocates, social workers and that of other members of the community with some concern or interest related to the subject (seems like everybody has something to say about sex work… actually everybody seems to have something to say about everything…). However, what I have not encountered a lot is the voices of johns — those who pay to have sex with others. Of course, I have known johns (both through my work and in my personal life… I suspect that they might be far more common than most people think) but they don’t seem to be as involved in the public conversation about the matter of sex work.
Therefore, when I stumbled onto this autobiographical graphic novel by Chester Brown (who gained fame previously for the biographical graphic novel he created about Louis Riel), I picked it up with some interest. I’m glad I did. Brown is, in many ways, a model john (although I suppose that some will say that is an oxymoron). He has also spent a lot more time thinking and reading about sex work and the legal and moral issues involved. For the most part, I actually agree with his conclusions regarding decriminalizing (but not regulating) sex work in Canada. I also agree with a lot of the conclusions that he draws related to the morality of paying people money for sex (i.e. that, in an ideal situation, it isn’t a big deal).
However, Brown still ends up being somewhat naive and a little self-serving in some of his arguments. I don’t think he takes seriously enough the issues of pimping, human trafficking, and exploiting those who have been traumatized and have fallen into sex work from a very young age — for example, fourteen is the average age of entry into the trade in Vancouver (forty is the average age of death) — and for less than ideal reasons. In the world that Brown imagines exists, everybody is a fully developed, fully rational, and fully willing participant in the exchange of sex for money. This is simply not the case and, here is my biggest issue with Brown’s narrative, for the most part the john has no way of ascertaining what is or has gone on with the sex worker. Based on his stories, I strongly suspect there were times when he visited women who were being pimped, and quite possibly women who had been trafficked (although he finds ways of drawing conclusions different than mine, despite the evidence… although he likely lacks the eyes to discern what sort of evidence builds a compelling argument in this regard).
It is also these issues that makes me think that decriminalization is a more complicated matter than Brown makes it out to be. Law-makers should be cognizant of the ways in which laws impact the most vulnerable members of a community and while decriminalization may be of immediate benefit to a minority of sex workers (women who work independently and make quite good money for what they do) a good many other women and may find that this makes it that much more difficult for them to break free from pimps or traffickers. Thus, while I do favour decriminalization, the process must be done with this in mind.
Anyway, there is quite a lot more I could say about this book but instead I’ll just recommend it to the reader. At times it can be repetitive, but it is a quick read that should spark a lot of thought and discussion. I think it would be especially appropriate for reading groups.
A Daughter
A week ago, Ruby Violet Beloved was born. Like her brother, Charlie, she was born at home, but unlike Charlie the labour was relatively short and Ruby was born in the water (also unlike Charlie, she actually sleeps, only cries when she is hungry, and is pretty much the perfect baby). All is well with my wife and our daughter.
The other day, I think she looked me in the eye, gave me the finger, and pissed her pants all at the same time. This could get interesting if that sort of thing continues into her teenage years…
(I will now return to my regular irregular blogging routine.)
June Books
Well, I was hoping that Reno might write back regarding my response to his article about “the preferential option for the poor,” since I emailed him a copy of what I wrote and invited him to dialogue. Unfortunately, he has not responded (despite the fact that my article now appears twice on the first page of google search results for “r.r. reno”). Regardless, when I did my May book reviews, I promised to do two posts before writing more reviews and those are now completed. Here, then, are the books I read in June.
1. Prison Memoirs of an Anarchist by Alexander Berkman.
In many ways, this was a a groundbreaking book when it was first published almost one hundred years ago. In it, Berkman, who was imprisoned for shooting a (literally) murderous corporate boss bent on busting the organization of labour in the United States, reveals the extent of the abuse and corruption found within American prisons while also speaking about other forbidden subjects like homosexuality within the context of prison.
Initially, Berkman isn’t a very likeable character. Because he views himself as something of a martyr and political prisoner who laid down his life for a cause on behalf of “the people,” he looks down on other criminals as leeches on society. When other labourers disagree with his actions, he wonders if they deserve the death penalty. When some speak of homosexuality, he considers such practices disgusting and inhuman. And, although he says he is acting in solidarity with the working class, when working class people wish to speak with him (like on the train when he is on the way to shoot Frick), he would rather pretend to read than have any actual interactions.
It is interesting, then, to see how his positions on all these issues change and mature during the years he spends in prison. He learns true solidarity. He learns to empathize with other inmates and realizes criminals are not the problem but that social structures (and prisons) are the problem, and he develops some truly deep feelings for other inmates (he even shocks himself to discover that he would be thrilled to have the opportunity to kiss one particular fellow). It was good to see Berkman’s character develop, although I can’t say he ends up being completely likeable… he still comes across as something of a pompous ass… the sort of fellow you don’t really want representing movements for life-giving change…
Still, I found this book to be a fascinating study and I would consider it to be recommended reading. Furthermore, lest anybody think that Berkman’s prison experience is far different than the experiences of contemporary inmates — abusive authorities, the pimping of prison workers as cheap labour for corporate interests and so on — one only need to read something like this article to recall that things aren’t much different today.
2. The State of Exception by Giorgio Agamben.
One hears a lot of talk about the notion of “the state of exception” due largely (as for as I can tell) to a resurgence of interest in the writing of Carl Schmitt. Given the ways in which it is frequently employed, I wasn’t sure how much I was going to get from this book by Agamben, but I’m very glad I read it. For some time I’ve been thinking that the next piece of writing I want to do is a more detailed study of Paul, the Law, and the anarchy of grace (continuing the trend of those who read Paul’s references to “the Law” as including reference to the Laws of society and not just some sort of Jewish religious Law) and texts like this one are very relevant.
One of the things I found interesting as I was reading this book is thinking about the ways in which anarchism differs from the Law. Of course, anarchists are in/famous for rejecting the Law but, given that the Law itself is based upon the state of exception, I was wondering if it is the anarchists who are actually the true legalists. This may be so in some ways…
Anyway, this is recommended reading.
3. Zettel by Ludwig Wittgenstein.
I should confess that I often find Wittgenstein more difficult to understand than other philosophers. Perhaps this is because I’m reading truncated pieces from journals that were never published in his lifetime, perhaps it’s because he really is harder to understand (although I wonder about that since I’m working through Being and Time write now and feel that I understand it better than this collection…), perhaps it’s because he really isn’t going on about anything all that fascinating in this text. I’m undecided. I do believe that Wittgenstein has played a significant role in my own development — in my understanding of language and in my own thoughts on meaning — but I can’t say that this particular text moved me very much.
4. The Laxdaela Saga.
Well, I continue to chip away at the Icelandic sagas. I can’t say I enjoyed this one as much as the previous ones. It felt a bit more choppy and haphazard in parts, although the last half that developed around a prophecy related to one woman and the four husbands she would have in the course of her life was pretty good. Regardless, I continue to find it fun reading literature from worlds that died a long, long time ago. It also makes me grateful for modern amenities… indoor plumbing, central heating, anesthetics, antibiotics… life ain’t so bad these days. Back in the day, those were some tough mothafuckas. Men and women (and that’s one of the things I like about the Icelandic sagas — the female characters are just as strong as the male characters).
5. A Woman Trapped in a Woman’s Body by Lauren Weedman.
I stumbled into this book one day when my wife was going through some of the thing she had in storage. I didn’t even notice the title — just picked it up and started reading (which made her ask me if I was going through “another lesbian feminist phase” when she noticed what I was reading… long story). Anyway, Weedman is highly praised as a comic — she worked on The Daily Show, a reviewer calls her the next David Sedaris only better, and so on — but I can’t say I particularly enjoyed the book. I suppose I’ve worked with too many people with personality disorders to find it funny to read about somebody who strikes me as displaying characteristics of being borderline.
On Hockey Riots and Anarchism
During his reign, Augustus Caesar attempted to push through a number of legal moral reforms in order to try and restore traditional Roman values related to sexual purity, family values, modesty, and piety. Some of these reforms met with some success. Others, especially those related to trying to restore traditional family values, were less successful. In fact, some of the laws created by Augustus were so universally disregarded that they were abandoned or annulled by his immediate successors.
When reading Roman reflections upon these things — the imperial push for traditional moral practices and the widespread disregard of these laws and the ongoing presence of vices that were (officially) despised by Roman traditionalism — one discovers an interesting bit of counsel offered to the Emperors (I can’t remember if I came across this in the writings of Tacitus or the essays of Seneca). Essentially, the Emperors are advised to practice a great deal of mercy and not focus too much upon those who break lesser laws. The reason for this is the fear that overly rigorous efforts to prosecute immoral people will actually reveal to the public that the immoral and the law-breakers actually far outnumber the moral and law-abiding. If this was revealed, it was feared that a state of total imperial collapse would result and that the majority would over power the minority. Hence, the need for caution and clemency.
I was thinking about this the other day, when reflecting upon the hockey riots that occurred in my city last week (I’m sure most people have seen the images but this will give you an idea of what went on). Immediately afterward, the Mayor of Vancouver along with the Chief of Police rushed to blame “anarchists and thugs” for instigating the riots and for engaging in the worst acts of property destruction (see this article for example). Apparently, this anarchist activity caught the city off guard. As the Mayor stated: “Both during the G-20 [leaders’ summit in Toronto] and the 2010 Olympics these thugs were well known to be organizing and preparing to take action and criminal activities on the streets. There were no indications of that leading into last night.”
Of course, the real reason why the police were unable to gain intelligence on “these thugs,” is because the anarchists weren’t the ones rioting or instigating the riot or running around setting cop cars on fire or looting from stores. The truth is that the rioters and the instigators were all just regular everyday people. Mostly young and middle class (for a better reading of the riots see this article by Andrew Potter and this one by Frank Moher). This has become abundantly clear given the ways in which people have been employing current technology in order to police one another (a scary enough development in social media, but people are then also punishing one another — people are being threatened, expelled from school, fired from work and even forced to move from their home). As the identities of participants have been revealed online, one has learned that they are pretty much all not thugs or criminals or anarchists, but are children of doctors, or elite athletes, or students at the University who volunteer for charities. Thus, as of today, the police have modified their statement about blaming the anarchists.
However, it is worth asking why the police chose to blame the anarchists and why a lot of people were so easily duped by the lie (sadly, a lot of people will remain duped as the accusation was made at a focal moment, whereas the modification to the statement — a retraction without being a retraction… which is about the most you’ll ever get from the police — came much later and did not receive nearly as much attention). This is why I thought of the parallel to the law and order maintained by the Roman Emperors. When attempting to maintain “law and order” (i.e. when attempting to maintain socioeconomic divisions and imbalances by maintaining a sacred belief in “private property” and ensuring that the profits of the wealthy are protected at all times), it is far better to encourage the public to believe that those who violate these laws are a small minority of black-hearted “anarchists and thugs.” It is far more terrifying, to the powerful and those who have bought into their ideology, to be forced to admit that any one of us, any average old do-goodin’ suburban kid, might be willing to violate those laws and morals at any time. After all, once everybody knows that pretty much everybody is willing to disregard laws about profits and property then people might get it into their heads that they could do something like this again. That would be disastrous and so the myth of a small group of instigators composed of “anarchists and thugs” is spread.
Of course, even the police knew from the beginning that this was a lie. This is why they admit that their intelligence gathering let them down this time. The truth is that their surveillance did not let them down. The truth is that it was not anarchists instigating the riots after the hockey game and both the police (and the anarchists) know this, but the value of the lie for maintaining the death-dealing status quo of law and order is what was crucial in the message fed to the media (who quickly and generally unquestioningly fed the official line to the public).
Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t think there was anything great about the hockey riots. Everybody knew they were going to happen (despite what the police said) and I did not support them nor did I participate in them (actively or passively). In fact, I thought they were pretty stupid and I never like to see people getting hurt (or to hear about parents wandering around looking for their kids in that madness… fuck, that makes me ill).
I have, however, participated in other protests that were composed of a great deal of anarchists — such has the Heart Attack protest that occurred during the 2010 Vancouver Olympics, which contained a black bloc of about two hundred people. The difference between that protest and between the hockey riots are numerous and significant, which is why anybody who knows about these things (police included) would know that the anarchists who were in the black bloc in 2010 would have no interest in rioting after the Stanley Cup finals in 2011. Unfortunately, the general public is incapable of telling the difference — in part because they have been fed so much misinformation about anarchism by the police and by the corporate media — so it is worth highlighting some of these.
First of all, while some anarchists sometimes engage in the destruction of property they generally do so to accomplish one of two things: in order to attain an immediate and urgent goal (e.g. blowing up logging machinery to prevent the destruction of an old growth forest) or in order to try and communicate a political message (e.g. smashing the windows of The Hudson Bay Company in order to draw attention to their rapacious and ongoing history of colonialism, imperialism, and theft). Violence is generally only employed as a tactic when the feeling is that it may be effective in accomplish one or both of these goals. Violence is never practiced simply for the sake of being violent.
The whole idea that “anarchy equals chaos,” or “anarchy equals destruction” is an illusion, mostly spread by those who are afraid that people might actually learn what anarchism is. A more accurate statement is that “anarchy is order” (to quote Proudhon). It is simply that anarchists believe that people should be able to sit down and agree amongst themselves what sort of order they wish to live within (as opposed to simply accepting the kind of “law and order” that permits a few to devour the lives of many). This, for those who don’t already know, is what the most famous anarchist symbol represents.
For this reason, when anarchists do gather in protests, one does not generally see random acts of violence, but deliberate acts that target corporations known for their rapacity (like The Hudson Bay Co. or Starbucks or international banks) but you do not see violence directed at people, at local small businesses, or at the property of individuals. Consequently, when you compare the acts of violence that occurred at the Heart Attack protest in 2010 versus the acts of violence that occurred in the hockey riots in 2011 and the differences are obvious. No individuals were attacked during the Heart Attack protest. When a security guard attacked a participant within the black bloc, and when that participant responded by defending him- or herself, it was other bloc participants who stepped in immediately in order to ensure that nobody was hurt on either side. When some other protesters wanted to get rowdy and do damage to parked cars during the Heart Attack protest, it was the bloc participants who convinced them not to do that. Such acts of violence held no value in terms of the goals set for that protest and so they were not pursued. Of course, in the hockey riots, those acts of violence — the random fights, the burning of cars, and so forth — had no real value either (they were neither effective in accomplishing an immediate goal, nor did they have any propaganda value) and that’s why you don’t see any anarchists there acting that way.
Secondly, it’s also worth pointing out that the few kids who showed up at the hockey riots wearing boots and black hoodies with black bandannas were acting in a way that showed no comprehension of the ways in which black bloc tactics are intended to be employed. The purpose of a black bloc is to gather a critical number of people who appear the same, thereby providing people with anonymity so that some are freed to engage in less-legal actions without fear of repercussions (there are other reasons as well — as a show of strength against the police, for example — but this is the primary purpose). Consequently, a small handful of people showing up in boots and black at the hockey riots would have exactly the opposite effect — rather than permitting people to vanish into the crowd, these people stood out like sore thumbs. I am convinced that those who showed up dressed this way were simply suburban kids who saw protesters on TV and thought, “hey, I want to go and smash some shit and look like a mothafuckin’ ninja while I do that!”
Finally, the element of looting is worth highlighting when comparing the hockey riots with the Heart Attack protest. During the Olympics, nobody was interested in stealing goods from the Hudson Bay Co., but it was looted during the hockey riots (as were some other large stores). Here is the difference: the anarchists at the Heart Attack protest wanted nothing to do with the goods sold by The Bay. They believed that those goods were stained with the blood of others and so were not interested in possessing those goods. That is why the windows of the store was smashed but the goods were left in place. The hockey rioters appeared to have no such moral qualms about the goods sold by The Bay. They didn’t seem to care if the store was death-dealing or if those goods were blood-stained. They just saw an opportunity to grab some free shit and so they did (and then later resold some of it). Another action that points to the absence of any anarchists.
Of course, all this is not to say that there wasn’t one kid in the crowd calling himself an anarchist. In fact, I ran into a few people that night who were calling for “ANARCHY!” When I asked them what that meant they said it meant chaos and lawlessness. When I asked them who they voted for in the recent federal election they said NDP and Conservative. That’s an interesting kind of anarchism… not one represented in any of the communities I have known or any of the literature I have read.
(Other anarchist voices and allies from Vancouver respond here and here).
R. R. Reno's "Preferential Option for the Poor"
1. Introduction
In Matthew 13.44-46, Jesus is recorded as describing the kingdom of heaven in this way:
The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.
There are many people who have found their field of treasure or their pearl of great value. Not everybody stumbles into this blessed curse (or cursed blessing) but for some it is a career they love, for others it is a partner or a child, for others it is power. The list could go on and on: sex, a sense of safety or security, drugs, a place to belong, fame, honour, a country to die for, a God to worship–these are all things for which people have given up everything else in their lives.
I often think of one particular young person whom I have had the privilege of knowing when I read these parables. His “pearl of great value” was a mixture of cocaine and heroin. For that, he sacrificed everything else — his health, his family, a place to sleep with a bed and a roof, all of his worldly possessions — until all he had left were the clothes on his back and his guitar. He loved that guitar. He referred to it as his soul. But then, one day, he pawned the guitar. “I put my soul in the pawn shop.”
With only the clothes on his back and the money he received for his guitar, he was able to afford a point of heroin (one tenth of a gram and just enough for him to get high). Having finally sold his “soul,” this was the pearl of greatest value.
Now, that’s where the parable cuts off, but continuing to track with my friend, something incredible happens. Having scored his heroin, he steps into an alley in order to shoot up and runs into another friend who is also a heroin user but who has no money, no drugs, and nothing of value to sell. What, then, does my friend do with his pearl? He shares it. He splits it — this treasure for which he has sacrificed all else — and he gives half away, without any thought of return. There, in an alley in Vancouver’s downtown eastside, my friend engaged in an act of generosity and self-sacrifice far greater in scale than pretty much every other act of generosity or self-sacrifice that I have seen practiced — whether by Christians or by others. Make what you want about drug use, the value of that pearl to my friend, and the extent of his sacrifice comes nowhere close to any act I have ever done.
Yet my friend is not alone in acting this way. In communities of drug users, as in other communities of poor people, a kind of grace-based economy of giving without thought of return is not uncommon (for more on this, cf., Philippe Bourgois and Jeffrey Schonberg’s aptly titled book, Righteous Dopefiend, wherein the authors explore the “moral economy of sharing” that exists in communities of drug users in San Francisco).
2. R. R. Reno’s Preferential Option… for “the poor”?
I thought of these things recently, because I came across R. R. Reno’s reflections about “The Preferential Option for the Poor” in the June/July 2011 issue of “First Things.” In this piece, Reno asserts that the true poverty of “the poor” (whom he admits to not knowing very well, if at all), is not economic but moral. Thus, he writes:
On this point I agree with many friends on the left who argue that America doesn’t have a proper concern for the poor. Our failure, however, is not merely economic. In fact, it’s not even mostly economic. A visit to the poorest neighborhoods of New York City or the most impoverished towns of rural Iowa immediately reveals poverty more profound and more pervasive than simple material want. Drugs, crime, sexual exploitation, the collapse of marriage—the sheer brutality and ugliness of the lives of many of the poor in America is shocking. As the Catechism of the Catholic Church reminds us, poverty is not only material; it is also moral, cultural, and religious (CCC 2444), and just these sorts of poverty are painfully evident today…
Preferential option for the poor. A Christian who hopes to follow the teachings of Jesus needs to reckon with a singular fact about American poverty: Its deepest and most debilitating deficits are moral, not financial.
As evidence of this, Reno asserts that “[t]he lower you are on the social scale, the more likely you are to be divorced, to cohabit while unmarried, to have more sexual partners, and to commit adultery.” He then goes on to share two stories from people whom he has known who, unlike Reno, actually appear to have made (at least some professional) contact with poor folks:
A friend of mine who works as a nurse’s aide recently observed that his coworkers careen from personal crisis to personal crisis. As he told me, “Only yesterday I had to hear the complaints of one woman who was fighting with both her husband and her boyfriend.” It’s this atmosphere of personal disintegration and not the drudgery of the job—which is by no means negligible for a nurse’s aide—that he finds demoralizing.
Teachers can tell similar tales. The wife of another friend told me that her middle-school students in a small town in Iowa were perplexed by Hawthorne’s novel The Scarlet Letter: “What’s the big deal about Hester and Reverend Dimmesdale gettin’ it on?” It was a sentiment that she wearily told me was of a piece with the meth labs, malt liquor, teen pregnancies, and a general atmosphere of social collapse.
Consequently, while Reno wishes to affirm John Paul II’s assertion that “[t]he needs of the poor take priority over the desires of the rich,” he does so by claiming the what the poor really need is moral guidance and a shift of focus from “income inequality” to “moral inequality.” Of course, Reno does recognize the lack of (his form of) Christian morality amongst many “progressives” or “bohemians,” and so this moral duty falls upon Christians who are “bourgeios in the best sense.” Thus, he asserts that ” [i]n our society a preferential option for the poor must rebuild the social capital squandered by rich baby boomers, and that means social conservatism.” He then concludes with some examples of what it means to live out this preferential option:
Want to help the poor? By all means pay your taxes and give to agencies that provide social services. By all means volunteer in a soup kitchen or help build houses for those who can’t afford them. But you can do much more for the poor by getting married and remaining faithful to your spouse. Have the courage to use old-fashioned words such as chaste and honorable. Put on a tie. Turn off the trashy reality TV shows. Sit down to dinner every night with your family. Stop using expletives as exclamation marks. Go to church or synagogue.
In this and other ways, we can help restore the constraining forms of moral and social discipline that don’t bend to fit the desires of the powerful—forms that offer the poor the best, the most effective and most lasting, way out of poverty. That’s the truest preferential option—and truest form of respect—for the poor.
3. A Response to Reno
There are a lot of things that one could say about Reno’s efforts to reformulate theological reflections about a “preferential option for the poor” in order to transform it into an affirmation of the social conservatism of middle class Christians. I will limit myself to a few points. I will also chose to respond in a manner that tries to be “chaste” and “honourable” even though it would not be inappropriate to take a different tone when replying to an article that many would consider to be offensive and life-negating.
The first point I want to highlight is the ways in which Reno’s “preferential option for the poor” is one that arises outside of any interaction or relationship with poor people. Reno admits this, with some sense of trepidation at the outset of his reflection:
[Matthew 25.31-46 is] a sobering warning, and I fear that I am typical. For the most part I think about myself: my needs, my interests, my desires. And when I break out of my cocoon of self-interest, it’s usually because I’m thinking about my family or my friends, which is still a kind of self-interest. The poor? Sure, I feel a sense of responsibility, but they’re remote and more hypothetical than real: objects of a thin, distant moral concern that tends to be overwhelmed by the immediate demands of my life. As I said, I’m afraid I’m typical.
Now, this is a decent enough starting point (confession is often related to conversion, coming either before or after that event), but what is troubling about Reno’s article is the way in which his conclusion permits him to remain in exactly the same place… only with less trepidation or fear when he approaches the words ascribed to Jesus in Matthew 25. According to Reno, the way to act responsibly towards the moral concern presented by poor people is to focus on being well-behaved members of the middle class, instead of falling into the moral relativity or hedonism adopted by wealthy liberals. This requires no contact with poor people, and frees one up to chum around with the “[g]ood guys” who have careers and families, and who are somehow involved in their middle class communities. Guys (women are noticeably absent here) who put on ties, only have sex with their wives (single folks and gay people are also absent), and don’t swear or watch reality TV (not even on Jersday!). Thus, Reno is freed to think he is caring for poor people, even though he has nothing to do with them.
Of course, this is a complete betrayal of one of the fundamental tenets of liberation theology: the preferential option for the poor must be practiced — from start to finish — in the pursuit of a trajectory into lived solidarity with the poor. One is incapable of loving or caring for or serving those whom one does not know. One cannot love a remote, hypothetical “object” in the same way that one loves people. Indeed, although I realize I have very far yet to go on my own trajectory of solidarity, one of the things I have learned is how many of the things I believed would be good for poor people, where so wrong-headed. So, sure, like Reno I feel a “sense of responsibility” for poor folks but this is not because I believe they need my moral guidance, but because I’ve realized how much of my bourgeois life is premised upon stealing goods, labour, children, and life from those who are poor. My “moral concern” is not for them, but for the ways in which living a middle class life jeopardizes one’s salvation (a point well made by Jon Sobrino in a collection of essays entitled No Salvation Outside the Poor — the first text I will recommend to anybody interested in liberation theology). If Reno journeyed with poor people, he would learn how misplaced is his paternalism.
This ties into my second point, one that I first encountered in the writings of Jürgen Moltmann (I think the relevant passage is in The Way of Jesus Christ, but I’m not sure). While discussing the various ways in which poor people are marginalised and oppressed, Moltmann talks about political, economic, social and moral or religious factors. Essentially, the elites claim a monopoly not only over wealth, power, and social mechanisms and institutions, but also claim a monopoly on morality. The wealthy horde both goods and goodness. Thus, from the perspective affirmed by the elite members of society (the perspective affirmed by Reno) the poor are considered to be morally inferior. This, then, helps justify treating them as the sort of “objects” described by Reno. In this way, regardless of whether one is operating from charitable or honourable intentions, one is already locked into an ideological perspective that makes it difficult to encounter poor people as they actually exist. This also helps perpetuate the divide between the deserving wealthy and the undeserving poor (i.e. wealthy people who merit the benefits they experience in life due to their strong moral character versus poor people who are clearly suffering because of their inability to live morally — hence the litany of boyfriends, meth labs, malt liquor, and teen pregnancies Reno mentions over against his friends the good guys). In this way, a moral gloss is put upon what are essentially death-dealing and predatory socio-economic and theopolitical arrangements.
Once again, as one gets to know poor people, much about this perspective gets turned around one hundred and eighty degrees. That is why I began with the story of my friend who purchased “the pearl of great value” and then chose to share it with another. What an unheard of act of generosity for those of us who come from other backgrounds. I could multiply stories like that almost endlessly — people who have chosen to abandon a safe place to sleep, so that they were able to care for vulnerable friends, people who have jumped into violent situations and borne the brunt of the blows given in order to protect another, people who genuinely do follow the advice of Isaiah and provide food to the hungry (even when it means them going without), who bring the homeless poor into their homes (even when it means jeopardizing their own housing), and who clothe the naked (even when it means going naked themselves). I have literally seen all of these actions take place amongst poor people. Some on a very regular basis. Unfortunately, one does not see this kind of activity mentioned in Reno’s article. One is tempted to play a little with Isaiah’s text: The pious acts you observe today, the “fast” you choose — the wearing of ties, the chaste speech, the selective viewing of television shows — will you call this a fast, a day acceptable to the Lord? Is this the “fast” the Lord chooses? Is this breaking the yoke of oppression? Is this satisfying the needs of the afflicted?
(Short answer: It is not. Which may also be why we fast but the Lord takes no notice…)
Now, I mention these counter examples not to romanticise poor folks and treat them as objects of another kind. I’ve spent enough years journeying in various kinds of relationships with marginalised and abandoned people to know that anybody — from any background — is capable of doing great harm to others. I have seen equally terrible things done by poor people and by rich people. I have known girls who were raped in alleyways when they tried to score some crack and I have also known girls who were raped by well-to-do Christian parents. I have known poor people addicted to blow and I have known wealthy people addicted to the same substance. I have known gang kids who have inflicted terrible beatings onto others, and I’ve seen wealthy suburban kids who have come to “the ghetto” to beat the life out of a sleeping homeless person. People from every background are capable of engaging in acts of death-dealing violence. Still, it seems to me that the greatest acts of generosity, grace, and affection arise more often from amongst poor people. Reno would probably discover this as well, if he chose to spend any time journeying into relationships with folks outside of his circle of good guys.
However, talking about the degrees of morality I’ve witnessed amongst different classes still misses the point of what liberation theologians mean when they talk about God’s preferential option for the poor. The point of the liberation theologians — a point strongly backed by Scripture, although we lack the space for that here (you can click here from some examples of more detailed commentary on that) — is that God exhibits a preferential option for the poor, moves into cruciform solidarity with them, and calls those who worship God to do the same, not because poor people are more or less moral than others but because poor people are more vulnerable than others. The determining factor here is need, the threat of death, and the very limited access some people have to the sort of abundant life that God desires for us all.
Abundant life, it should be noted, that actually could be available to us all but is not because those with power and wealth (those bourgeois people of the best sort whom Reno mentioned earlier) horde and steal it from others. Whether or not they do so knowingly or maliciously is not the point. The point is that it is happening. And a focus upon the personal piety and bourgeois morality Reno terms a “preferential option for the poor” will only further entrench this theft of life. Social conservatism will only perpetuate and sustain structures and practices that are death-dealing. This is obvious to those who have seen the other side of society — who have witnessed the triumph of death as it works itself out in the life of family, friends, roommates or coworkers — but is harder to see from the side of those who are benefiting from the structures. Folks like Reno and his friends, who want to save America by wearing ties.
Thus, I will mention one final example of the moral superiority which poor people often practice. In middle class discourse there is a bit of a fascination with defensive violence. Employing violence to protect a loved one — to stop a daughter being assaulted, to protect a brother, and so on. Yet, structured into the daily lives of the middle class are many grievous acts of violence — our electronics, clothing, kids’ toys, and food are stained with the blood of children in the two-thirds world, our reliance upon fuel, oil and plastics is destroying many forms of life around the earth, our hording of property and wealth is continually assaulting neighbourhoods of poor people (gentrification and the legal criminalization of poverty are both exploding throughout North America), not to mention the fact that the Church Fathers teach us that the extra pair of shoes that we have does not belong to us but belongs to the person who has no shoes and should be rightfully restored to that person.
From the poor we have stolen their goods. We have stolen their communities and their land. We have stolen their labour and the fruits of their labour. We have stolen their youth and their health. We have stolen their children. We have stolen many of their lives. Yet how have poor people treated us? With what I can only term amazing grace. Poor people are not treating us with the same violence with which we have treated them. What we deserve from them is what Reno should find truly scary. Should they follow the laws of rights or of “an eye for an eye” we would be unable to survive. But this is not what is being practiced and it is not the response I have seen. In my own life, I have been welcomed and embraced, loved and celebrated by the poor people whom I have known. This is not because I’m an outstanding person — it is simply because grace is abundant here.
4. Conclusion
At the end of the day, I find myself wondering if it was worth writing a response to Reno. Folks and all sides of this discussion are so ideologically entrenched — and so determined by their own socio-economic and theopolitical contexts — that I expect nothing to change after I make these remarks. Lord knows, I’ve tried before. I’ve spent many hours trying every rhetorical angle in order to encourage chaste, honourable, decent Christians to care about those for whom God claims a preferential option. I have tried scholarly treatises, I’ve have tried appealing to emotions with sad stories, I’ve tried to gently encourage with “feel good” presentations, I’ve tried to upset people with the hope that their anger might spark them to reflection and change. After all that, no words, arguments, or rhetorical tricks seem more effective than any others. Mostly, people will cling on to privilege in whatever way they can and find a way to put a moral overcoding on top of that privilege in order to appease their consciences and feel like justifiably good people. Consequently, what I wrote here is likely going to be as effective as flipping Reno the bird and telling him to go fuck himself (seriously, the only difference is that Reno might consider the former rhetoric as deserving some thoughtful rejection, whereas the latter rhetoric wouldn’t probably even merit a hearing — either way, no new life-giving change is produced — aside: objecting to swearing is also a good way to bracket out the voices that arise from the margins).
The only thing that seems to produce conversions on any sort of regular basis is when people actually test the claims of the liberation theologians and move towards relationships with those who are poor. This, more than anything else, produces conversions and, in my opinion, gives a lot of credibility to claims that Christ is found in and amongst those who suffer marginalization and abandonment. The irony is that most are not convinced that this move is necessary, and the only thing that will convince them of its necessity is making the move! Still it does make sense in its own way: one can talk to others about God until one is blue in the face, but unless others are encountered by God, that talk isn’t going to make a lot of sense.
Still, we press on and hope that others will come and taste and see that the Lord is good and that goodness is abundant in the company of those who are poor.
May Books
I promise that I’ll write at least two other posts before I get to my next set of book reviews… although they’re not really proper reviews… and not everything mentioned is a proper “book.” Regardless, here’s what I got for May. [Proof-reading to follow later… sorry… can’t be bothered right now.]
1. Remember the Poor: Paul, Poverty, and the Graeco-Roman World by Bruce W. Longenecker.
One of the areas of New Testament that is developing strongly, and in some exciting ways, is the study of the socio-economic status of the members of the early assemblies of Jesus. About until the last ten or fifteen years, that area of study seemed to be a bit stagnant — those let Theissen, Meeks, and Malherbe had done a fair amount of work that turned into a fairly unquestioned dominant paradigm. THe resurgence of counter-imperial readings of the New Testament began to question this consensus and then in the last decade a number of important works have appeared — Meggitt’s somewhat reductionistic but still significant study, the thoughtful articles of Friesen, Oakes’ study of class and status at Pompeii during the NT period, and then this book by Bruce Longenecker appears and, in my opinion, delivers the final blow to the dominant position these matters. I think that Remember the Poor deserves to be just as paradigm-setting as The First Urban Christians (Meeks) or The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity (Theissen).
In this book, Longenecker establishes that concern for the poor was one of the primary actions associated with the Pauline Gospel (and with the spread of the Jesus Movement more generally), that the poor were prominent within the early Pauline assemblies, and that this concern for the poor was one of the more attractive elements in the spread of the Jesus Movement, given that Graeco-Roman society tended not to exhibit the same depth of charity (or, more properly, economic mutuality).
Like Oakes (in Reading Romans in Pompeii), Longenecker demonstrates the importance of the differences that exist between various populations of poor and less-poor people. Thus, he continues to further the nuancing of earlier descriptions of social status in the Roman Empire that tended to lump large groups of people together in a manner that was less conducive to the study of specific communities at specific times (cf. Meggitt’s Paul, Poverty, and Survival). As he does this, Longenecker relies upon the “Poverty Scale” crafted by Friesen (and then updated by Friesen and Scheidel), although he provides it with the more appropriate name of an “Economy Scale.” However, Longenecker is more optimistic than Friesen and, given that the scale provides a spectrum of percentages that may compose any given population, Longenecker places a higher percentage of people towards the upper ends of the scale. I remain unconvinced by this move (it is largely undefended, as Longenecker acknowledges) and prefer Friesen’s numbers, which place more of the population toward the bottom of the scale.
That said, this is really an exceptional book and one that should be recommended reading for all who are interested in the study of Paul. It’s definitely in the running for my “book of the year.”
2. Selected Lives by Plutarch.
I’ve really come to enjoy reading the various Roman histories. Although some of the same material is covered by a number of authors, I appreciate the diversity of perspectives and the different voices employed. Thus, to me, Suetonius reads more like an official record. Virgil reads like Scripture. Tacitus is particular good at adding subaltern voices into his histories, and Plutarch is great for providing multiple perspectives on the same story within a single text. Thus, for example, he recounts the famous story of how Romulus and Remus were said to have survived by suckling from a wolf. However, he also mentions that the word for a female wolf was also a term applied to women who “gave their bodies to men” indiscriminately. Plutarch further notes the the wife of the slave who carried Romulus and Remus away to abandon them was known as one such woman. Thus, he posits that the twins were possibly saved, not by a wolf, but by the slave family that took them in and disobeyed the orders they had received to kill the children.
Another reason I’ve enjoyed these histories are some of the little gems one discovers within them. For example, I learned the origins of the tradition of a newly married man carrying his bride over the threshold of their home. Back when Rome was first founded, it was mostly populated my male misfits, outcasts, and outlaws. In need of increasing their numbers, the Romans went to the Sabines and carried away( and raped), a number of women, thereby gaining families for themselves. Thus, began the Roman tradition of carrying a bride over a threshold — this act commemorated the initial abduction (and rape) of the Sabine women.
Anyway, all that to say that I enjoyed reading Plutarch and would recommend him to any NT folks, or others who are interested in this era. Another point of interest in reading him was the way in which Augustus was portrayed in the biographies of folks like Antony or Brutus. It’s a good counter-representation to the image of Augustus circulated by most others. Often, in Plutarch’s account, Augustus doesn’t come off looking much better than any other despot. Furthermore, Plutarch reminds the reader that Brutus actually defeated the army of Augustus (then Octavian) at Philippi, and Augustus was only saved because he fled his camp and because Antony overthrew Cassius (and later overthrew Brutus). No wonder this battle is not mentioned much in the Augustan ideology!
3-4. Agricola and Germany by Tacitus.
Having completed the Annals, I figured I would continue to chip at Tacitus. I’m glad I did as I both enjoyed these texts and found them to be useful for my own research. As I mentioned above, one of the things I enjoy about Tacitus is the way in which he permits subalterns to speak — and to speak in the ways in which I imagine subalterns would speak — within his texts. Thus, for example, in Agricola (a biography Tacitus wrote about his father-in-law, primarily focused upon his time governing Britain), one reads of rebels giving voice to the observation that Romans simply employ the rhetoric of peace and justice in order to engage in a rapacious task of robbing and enslaving others. Essentially, a good number of these folks (and it is surprising how many of them exist in Tacitus’ texts) are engaging in a counter-imperial or post-colonial deconstructive reading of the Roman ideology. Furthermore, in Germany, Tacitus provides an example of the more democratic form of rule that existed amongst peoples who were considered, by Rome, to be uncivilized barbarians. Thus, Tacitus writes that minor decisions are made by the chiefs while major decisions are made by the whole tribe. Furthermore, Tacitus observes how the chiefs have authority, not because they possess an unquestioned power, but because of the respect they have gained in the community. Even with this respect, the people are still able to disagree with their chief, and the chief would be required to listen to the voice of the people. Thus, Tacitus notes how the task of bringing “civilization” to others, was little more than a trap sprung to enslave them. Here, he is worth quoting at length, as the tactics he mentions are employed just as much today (say, for example, with the First Nations peoples in Canada).
For, to accustom to rest and repose through the charms of luxury a population scattered and barbarous and therefore inclined to war, Agricola gave private encouragement and public aid to the building of temples, courts of justice and dwelling-houses, praising the energetic, and reproving the indolent. Thus, an honourable rivalry took the place of compulsion. He likewise provided a liberal education for the sons of the chiefs, and showed a preference for the natural powers of the Britons over the industry of the Gauls that they who lately disdained the tongue of Rome now coveted its eloquence. Hence, too, a liking sprang up for our style of dress, and the “toga” became fashionable. Step by step they were led to things which dispose to vice, the lounge, the bath, the elegant banquet. All this in their ignorance, they called civilization, when it was but a part of their servitude (Agricola, 21).
I suppose that this would be a fine example of the “hidden transcripts” of the elite mentioned by James C. Scott. Texts written that lower the guard, cut through the ideology, and speak a little more honestly as they are not intended for non-elite ears.
5-6. On Mercy and Octavia by Seneca.
Two short texts by Seneca, the first an essay written early during Nero’s reign when Seneca was optimistic about the possible peace, justice, and Golden Age, Nero might bring to earth; the second a play written after that optimism had shattered and Nero’s tyrannical impiety had begun to unveil itself (in the elaborate murder of his mother, for example).
The essay on mercy is a pretty important text, given the role that mercy (or clemency) played within the ideo-theology of Rome. It provides an important insight in subjects like mercy, the law, and mercy as a form of “justice beyond the law.” Thus, the practice of mercy creates a “state of exception” but should also only be practiced by the emperor who is akin to the gods and who, therefore, is best suited to be the giver of life to others.
The play about Nero’s first wife, Octavia (whom he murdered so that he could marry his lover, Poppaea… whom he later kicked to death while she was pregnant… and then made her divine after she was dead), is interesting because it is a text quite critical of Nero, written by a person who had been closer to Nero than most others (Seneca was Nero’s tutor and was one of two or three people closest to him at the beginning of his reign). Thus, although it is written as a play, one can imagine Nero speaking or acting in the ways in which Seneca presents him (although, given their subsequent alienation, leading ultimately to Seneca’s death, one might wonder if Seneca sometimes overplays his hand). One of the quotes I found interesting was when Nero asserts that he has no need to fear the gods, as it is he who determines who the gods are (by making Claudius divine, for example). This got me thinking about Brigitte Kahl’s argument in Galatians Re-Imagined, wherein she suggests that the imperial cult essentially made Augustus the greatest of the gods, thereby theoretically maintaining a form of polytheism while, for all intents and purposes, functioning as monotheism. Food for thought.
7. Sodom and Gomorrah (In Search of Lost Time, Volume IV) by Marcel Proust.
Well, I finally returned to Proust. I’m glad I did. I find his reading to be… soothing. Maybe that’s an odd word choice, but it’s true. It makes me feel calm to lose myself in his sentences, tangents, and stories. That said, I found this volume to be a little bit disappointing when compared to the previous three. The reflections upon homosexuality (a prominent theme… hence the title) weren’t all that great, some of what was interesting in earlier volumes began to feel repetitive here, plus the protagonist got a little less attractive in his relationships (particularly with his mother and his lover). Regardless, he still has a great way with words and some good insights. For example, I’ve been thinking about the following quite in relation to contemporary practices of charity:
I was beginning to learn the exact value of the language, spoken or mute, of aristocratic affability, an affability that is happy to shed balm upon the sense of inferiority of those towards whom it is directed, though not to the point of dispelling that inferiority… “But you are our equal, if not our superior,” the Guermantes seemed, in all their actions, to be saying; and they said it in the nicest way imaginable, in order to be loved and admired, but not to be believed; that one should discern the fictitious character of this affability was what they called being well-bred; to suppose it to be genuine, a sign of ill-breeding.
There’s so much in that text, that I should probably write another post about it. Until then, I’m looking forward to Volume V.
April Books
I apologize that book reviews are starting to monopolize my (infrequent) posts. I’m hoping to have another interview posted in the near future, and I have a few other ideas I would like to write down, but for now I’m focused on finished the chapter that I’m currently writing. Here are the books:
1. Living My Life (2 volumes) by Emma Goldman.
I think my wife now hates Emma Goldman because I developed a serious “dead girl crush” on her while reading her memoirs. Seriously, this woman, along with many of those with whom she was involved — anarchists, socialists, labour activists — are incredible because of their thoughtfulness, their work ethic (they would work soul- and body-crushing jobs for pennies during the day and then organize in the evenings), their fearlessness (people were killed for protesting in those days), and their unwavering commitment to bettering the world for all (not just for some). It is because of these people — people who were villianized and treated as terrorists and criminals by the authorities — that we have many of the “rights” that we have today–rights to free speech, to organize, to birth control, to an eight hour work day, a living wage, benefits, etc. (of course, many of those “rights” are being systematically attacked and destroyed today, but that’s a topic for another post).
Goldman, for those who don’t know, was a Russian Jewish anarchist who lived in New York, spoke and organized broadly throughout the states, spent some time in prison, was deported to Russia, fell out with Lenin and his cronies, and eventually ended up in Canada. Her memoirs cover her life up until a little while after she and Alexander Berkman left Russia.
One of the things I appreciate about Goldman’s memoirs is her honest reflection upon her own actions and the collective actions being taken by the various manifestations of resistance to power and the struggle for life and liberation. She often expresses doubt or frustration, feelings of impotence, questions about efficacy, all things that soothe my own soul a bit. I have often felt something like sorrow about the moment of history I have inherited, and looked back on the late 19th and early 20th centuries as one of the more exciting moments in recent history–a time when people actually seemed to have the opportunity to live as proper agents within history. However, reading Goldman reminded me that everybody probably feels, in their time, pretty close to the way I feel in mine. I don’t know if that’s encouraging (because maybe change may be created now) or discouraging (because maybe not all that much change was actually created then) but it was still a part of the book that I enjoyed.
This is strongly recommended reading. The more that one actually gets to know the “anarchists” the harder it is for any to vilify “anarchism.” Of course, the powers-that-be are aware of that, which is why anarchism is regularly misrepresented and cast-aside-without-being-considered in our political discourse and the corporate media.
2. The Annals by Tacitus.
I continue to work my way through Graeco-Roman literature and am enjoying it more and more all the time. Across the board, with some differences and nuancing, a pretty common moral vision seems to be communicated by the Roman historians — one that respects family values, tradition, nationalism, respect for the properly ordained authorities — so its fascinating to not only read the individual works but to read them in conjunction with each other.
The Annals by Tacitus cover the time period from the final years of the reign of Augustus to the middle years of the reign of Nero (which is just about perfect for a New Testament guy like myself — thanks, Tactitus!). A good chunk of material has been lost (the reign of Caligula and part of that of Claudius, as well as the end of Nero’s rule) but the reading is fascinating and rewarding.
3. The Disabled God: Toward a Liberatory Theology of Disability by Nancy L. Eiesland.
This is another of those books that impressed me when I first read it, and so I thought I would read it again (I mentioned earlier that I’m trying to reread some books this year). It was still a good read, and I still really resonate with Eiesland’s personal epiphany of the disabled god, who appeared in a sip-puff chair. However, when I first read The Disabled God, it was my first timing reading any sort of liberation theology relation to our perceptions of disabilities. Because of that, my first reading of the book was really exciting. However, I think I have since internalized a lot of what Eiesland was on about, so the second reading was less exciting. Even then, this book continues to be recommended reading.
February and March Books
These are well overdue… I’ve finished another 10,000 words on my chapter about Roman ideology and sociopolitical structures, but I seem to not have written much of anything else. My apologies.
1. The Complete Works of Horace by Horace.
Horace is probably most well-known amongst New Testament scholars because of his Carmen Seculare — his hymn to the New (Golden) Age inaugurated by Augustus and officially celebrated at the Ludi Seculares (the Secular Games) in 17BCE. It is an excellent poetic snapshot of many of the central themes of the theopolitical vision of Rome–referring to renewed fertility, peace, abundance, mercy, virtue, victory and so on.
However, Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus — a friend and client of Maecenas, who was a close friend of Augustus) wrote a great deal more than that hymn, and this volume also contains four books of odes, a collection of epodes, a famous essay called The Art of Poetry, two books of satires, and two books of epistles (including one epistle written to the Emperor). Taken together, the writings of Horace provide an excellent glimpse into certain elements of Roman life and values at the beginning of the first century CE. The more one immerses one’s self in this literature, the more certain themes — especially those related to patronage, status, virtue, election, and family values — gain in prominence.
2. The Human Faces of God: What Scripture Reveals When It Gets God Wrong (and Why Inerrancy Tries To Hide It) by Thom Stark.
I just reviewed this in detail here. Stark responds here. He has a tendency to try and refute critics by talking and talking and talking until nobody gives a damn about the subject at hand (I think he seems to be mistaking the silence of the opposition for something more than that [agreement?]… although maybe he is just happy with the silence). Regardless, I’m not convinced by everything he writes in his response (by the end of it, you’ll notice that my review never actually accurately reflects anything in Stark’s book… that made me chuckle!), but I am happy to give him the opportunity to clarify points that certainly were not clearly stated in The Human Faces of God.
3. My People is the Enemy by William Stringfellow.
Anyway, moving on to a fellow who really knew a thing or two about practicing his religion at the margins, I arrive at this autobiographical account of the time William Stringfellow spent living in Harlem in the 1950s and ’60s (many thanks to Robin at Wipf and Stock for this complimentary copy!).
Stringfellow is something of a darling amongst a certain group of Christians–i.e. those who appear to have come from a Conservative background and who still strongly value their Christian faith but who want to become more involved in culture, politics, and economics with an orientation towards justice. So, hey, Stringfellow writes fantastic theology, he was a lawyer engaged in sociopolitical and economic struggles at the grassroots in Harlem, he also organized within the church and, oh, he was gay. Perfect, right? Christians from this group can then just go around talking about Stringfellow and that changes their brand status without requiring them to engage in any sort of grassroots struggle for justice and without requiring them to actually know (or, gasp, fully welcome) any non-hetero people!
Okay, that’s my dig at Stringfellow’s audience (how many times has Halden mentioned him on his blog, but what are Halden’s views on sexuality and where is he rooted? Sorry, Halden!). I shouldn’t let that distract me from the book at hand. I should also remember that I am included amongst those groupies (to a certain extent), as I’ve loved the other books I’ve read by Stringfellow.
This book is structured in five parts: Initiation (into the community of the poor), Acceptance (by the community rooted there), Involvement (within and on behalf of that community), Premonition (about the magnitude of the economic and racial divide in America, one that goes far deeper than liberal platitudes are able to recognize), and Epiphany (which points towards a way for white churches and congregants to live more genuinely as Christians and move towards reconciliation with those who are poor or non-white or both). All in all, this book is full of a lot of great material and I strongly recommend it, not only to those who are accustomed to reading theology but to all readers. Stringfellow is able to expound upon serious matters in a way that sacrifices neither the seriousness of those matters nor the clarity of his explanation.
However, I do also want to raise a few critical questions. When he first moves to Harlem, Stringfellow realizes that there is not point in pretending to be something or someone that he is not. He cannot pretend that he is anything but a white, Christian male coming from a background of privilege and status (he studied law at Harvard). So far so good. I’m tired of “homeless chic” or those who slum it just for the sake of slumming it, that one finds amongst (mostly superficial) social activists and hipsters. However, Stringfellow then says this:
in order that my life and work [in Harlem] should have integrity, I had to be and to remain whoever I had become as a person before coming there. To be accepted by others, a man must first of all know himself and accept himself and be himself wherever he happens to be. In that way, others are also freed to be themselves.
To come to Harlem involved, thus, no renunciation of my own past or of any part of it… where I happen to be and what I happen to be doing does not determine the issue of who I am as a human being, or how my own person may be expressed and fulfilled…
I crossed a lot of boundaries in the course of a day. This in itself is not important. What is very important is that in crossing boundaries of class and race and education and all the rest, a man remain himself. What is important is not where a man is, but who a man is, and that he is the same man wherever he is…
The issue for any man, in any place, is to be the same man he is in every other place (p.25-28).
Pardon the androcentric language, it will come up again — even the most liberating voices tend to have their blind-spots (something to bear in mind when reading the Bible as well!).
I disagree with Stringfellow on several points here. While I appreciate his emphasis upon living with integrity and not posing as something we are not, I do not think that it is necessary for a person to continue to be whomever this person has been in the past. In fact, I think the opposite is necessary: we are more “becoming” than “being” and so it is well worthwhile to pursue a life of ongoing transformation and development. This does not mean denying or abandoning one’s past, or one’s past selves (I agree with Stringfellow that others are more comfortable with themselves when we are comfortable with ourselves). It simply means that we need neither to be bound by our past, nor to have our identities rooted there. I also very strongly disagree with Stringfellow’s assertion that one’s location and actions have no impact upon one’s identity as a human being. On a very banal level this is true (where I live and what I do, does not change my genetic makeup), but one’s location and actions do have a very strong impact upon the kind of human being a person becomes. Here, I can’t help but wonder if Stringfellow is unaware of the way in which his own location — having studied a great deal and pursued higher education in the early twentieth century — has blinded him to the impact that locations have upon constructions of self (Stringfellow later recognizes the importance of place for the formation and practice of the law [cf. p44] but he doesn’t draw the same conclusion about one’s identity). Ironically, I suspect that Stringfellow is only able to see his identity as something isolated from place or deed, because he comes from a certain place. Thus, I also disagree with his prioritization of this “self” over concrete actions like crossing boundaries. What really matters are those transgressive acts and it is exactly those acts that will create mutations within your self. And that is a good thing.
More broadly, I also want to comment on Stringfellow’s understanding of what it means to be a Christian. He writes:
To become and to be a Christian is not at all an escape from the world as it is, nor is it a wistful longing for a “better” world, nor a commitment to generous charity, nor fondness for “moral and spiritual values” (whatever that may mean), or self-serving positive thoughts, nor persuasion to splendid abstractions about God [cf. pretty much everything related to theological aesthetics]. It is, instead, the knowledge that there is no pain or privation, no humiliation or disaster, no scourge or distress or destitution or hunger, no striving or temptation, no wile or sickness or suffering or poverty which God has not known and borne for men in Jesus Christ. He has borne death itself on behalf of men, and in that event He has broken the power of death once and for all.
This is the event which Christians confess and celebrate and witness in their daily work and worship for the sake of all men.
To become and to be a Christian is, therefore, to have the extraordinary freedom to share the burdens of the daily common, ambiguous, transient, perishing existence of men, even to the point of actually taking the place of another man, whether he be powerful or weak, in health or in sickness, clothed or naked, educated or illiterate, secure or persecuted, complacent or despondent, proud or forgotten, housed or homeless, fed or hungry, at liberty or in prison, young or old, white or Negro, rich or poor.
I find this to be a very moving understanding of what it means to be a Christian. Yet it is rather paradoxical, isn’t it? As far as I can tell, the way in which Christians actually witness the breaking of the power of death is by choosing to die so that others may live. The shitty thing about that, is that death is still pretty involved and pretty powerful. Somebody’s dying either way. Fuck, I’m tired of that. Oh, and the other interesting implication of this definition of what it means to be a Christian is that most of the Stringfellow groupies who accept it (myself included) should not dare to apply that title to themselves.
4. Thus Spake Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzsche.
Well, having read more than enough about Nietzsche, I thought I was well overdue to actually sit down and start reading the man himself. I plan to read a few books by him this year, so I figured I would talk things in chronological order. All told, this book was a decent place to start. A lot of prominent themes are present here — the will to power, the revaluation of values, the super man, and so on. However, I can’t say I loved the way this book is designed (the story of Zarathustra and the melodramatic nature of its telling). It’s almost as though Nietzsche was writing fan fiction… about himself. Despite that criticism, there is still a lot of force to his arguments. So, I’m happy to be on my way here and will be picking up Beyond Good and Evil next.
5. Time For Revolution by Antonio Negri.
I’ve gotta say that these two essays by Negri (“The Constitution of Time” [1981] and “Kairos, Alma Venus, Multitudo” [2000]) left me feeling a little uninspired. Maybe I didn’t really understand enough of what Negri was trying to do. There were, of course, exciting moments, like when he gets into talking about the love of the poor as the location of revolutionary potential (NB: this is not our love for the poor, but the love the poor exhibit amongst themselves… and a great gap separates those two loves), but as a whole, both essays left me flat (the former more than the latter). Half of the time I was wondering why Negri was struggling so hard to make a certain point, and the other half of the time I was unconvinced by the point he was trying to make (especially his emphatic desire to remain within “materialism” as much of his outlook strikes me as heavily ideological or theological in nature). I enjoyed the trilogy he co-authored with Michael Hardt much more.
6. 2666 by Roberto Bolaño.
This book, published after Bolaño died and before he finalized it, left me with mixed feelings. The first two sections were incredible, the third section felt too long and overdone, and the fourth section didn’t quote redeem the drift that happened in the third. It’s hard to know if the book ended the way Bolaño wanted (in the style in which the Coen brothers ended their adaptation of No Country For Old Men) or if it only ended that way because the author died. Regardless, this is still a pretty incredible piece of literature. I’m absolutely amazed by Bolaño’s breadth of knowledge. Some authors are massively intimidating when it comes to the amount of research they put into writing books (fuck that “write what you know” bullshit… more like learn what you want to write!).
Basically, the centrepiece of this novel is a small town in Mexico where a lot of women and girls are disappearing and getting murdered. However, to get there we travel through a circle of European literary critics, an American law officer, and a number of other characters, including an elusive German author. Really, it’s hard to do justice to the scope of this text. It is, however, recommended reading.
7. The Age of Reason by Jean-Paul Sartre.
I’ve hardly read anything by Sartre, but I’ve loved what I have read. I’m glad this book is the first volume of a trilogy, as I’m looking forward to seeing how things go with the characters and themes Sartre has developed. For some reason, I really connect with the existentialist French literature that cropped up during the World Wars (Camus remains one of my favourite authors).
In this novel, Sartre does a fine job of capturing the ways in which people are caught between their ideals and their lived lives, between freedom and relationships (both of which can be either life-giving or death-dealing… hence the bind), and in the general bullshit that comes to occupy our years. Maybe it’s dangerous for me to be reading Sartre at the same time as Nietzsche. Sartre reaffirms my feeling that life is just one fucked-up meaningless struggle, always ending in defeat, so Nietzsche then jumps in with a call to forget the struggle, forget everybody else, and go and seize what I want (unfortunately, I am too rooted in the company of the former and so I conclude that there is nothing meaningful worth seizing ; thus, this day-to-day existence is just as good and bad as any and every other alternative).
8. I, Superhero!! by Mike McMullen AKA “The Amazing Whitebread.”
Many thanks to the author and to Richard Ember at Kensington for this review copy!
A couple months ago, I had the privilege of posting an interview with Thanatos, a “real life superhero” (RLSH) who operates in Vancouver’s downtown eastside (and who just happens to be one of the most respected members of that movement, although I didn’t learn that till afterward when perusing the various RLSH websites and discussion boards). One of the fun things that came out of that interview was The Amazing Whitebread’s offering me a review copy of this book.
In it, he documents his own journey into the realm of contemporary super (or not so super) heroes and villains (I love that there are real life super villains… although I feel like they are not tapping into their full potential… which is probably a good thing and keeps them off of the FBI’s “Most Wanted” list). Thus, the book alternates back and forth from the author’s progression into being a hero to stories of various interviews that the author did with heroes like Geist, Master Legend, Amazonia, and Mr. Xtreme (who is the only member of the Xtreme Justice League–sweet!) and villains like the Joker of Chaos, Psycho-Babble, and Omniarch Supreme. One of the things I realized reading the book (and from the RLSH sites I mentioned) is how lucky I was to first encounter Thanatos. Seriously, a lot of the people associated with this movement seem genuinely delusional or are simply patriotic law-abiding assholes (who bully around kids who paint graffiti or who want to jump into bar brawls) or patriotic law-abiding losers. I like the loser guys more than the assholes (although I think that the delusional ones would probably be the most fun to hang around with on special occasions) but if they are going to serve “justice” then they really need to become more critical about the dominant script of America, which determines what is or is not “just.”
One of the major themes within the annals of superheroes is resistance to the abuse of power and corruption that is intrinsic to police forces, political parties, law courts, and the “justice system” as a whole. I don’t really see any RLSHs who are keen to step up and actually take on those Powers… because, you know, that tends to require an heroic effort. Instead, RLSHs are too busy chasing around petty offenders or pot dealers and simply furthering the dehumanization of those whom society has already dehumanized. Lots of these guys and gals in this movement just can’t wait to bash/beat/kill/whatever a sex offender. Now, I agree that sexual violence is a terrible, terrible thing but, again, it is generally the product of a certain environment and certain systemic structures. Victimizing somebody who has already been victimized (and who then goes on to victimize others) sort of misses the point. If you want to pursue “justice” then first find out what it is, instead of simply accepting the definition provided by those who benefit the most from our unjust status quo.
Anyway, I’ve gone off on a bit of a tangent there. All in all, this was a fun book to read. At times it dragged a little (mostly when the author was talking about his own transformation… reading about his diet and gym routine wasn’t the most gripping part of the book) but the characters assembled here are truly one of a kind. Also, I really enjoyed the author’s concluding reflections upon the RLSH movement, what it does and does not do, and basically calling out a number of claims made by the various members. I can’t say I agreed with his alternative (basically: “being in shape and being a good dad and husband makes me a real hero”) as I think that it gives up on the struggle for justice–a struggle that is still sorely needed. I admire the RLSHs for their commitments to that struggle and for their willingness to confront their own fears and make sacrifices as they engage in that struggle (even if their commitments are misguided). My hope, then, would be that those who engage in this movement eventually move beyond it, not to fall back into some sort of bourgeois lifestyle, but in order to move beyond it into grassroots organization in order to produce more life-giving ways of sharing life together and direct action in order to resist the death-dealing powers that confront us and others.