Reads--2016

My reading list for 2016 is an ECG of my life.  Since 2013, I have been keeping track of the books I read, to have an accurate inventory of how many (or, sadly, sometimes, how few) books I have read during the year.  It’s not complicated—just the year, and under that, the month I finished the book, along with the title and the author.  Sometimes I remember to include the publication date, if I think it matters.   For two Januarys now, I have posted an inventory of my favorites, in case they might interest you.

At the evolution of this year’s record, I am astounded that, without even looking at the months, I can pinpoint when my husband suffered his heart attack and underwent cardiac bypass surgery.  My reading list parallels the narrative of my life!

In the first three months, I read non-fiction, exclusively.  I devoured the New York Times columnists, especially Paul Krugman, Charles Blow, Frank Bruni, and Nicholas Kristof.  Their columns, were they bound into an anthology, could count as a read.  The lucid and courageous comments of those columnists steadied me through the flux and darkness of 2016, and I continue to count on them for courageous commentary.

As well, I was immersed in divergent books about religion.  Ron Rolheiser’s Sacred Fire, a Christmas gift, and the sequel to The Holy Longing, that I read a few years ago,  focuses on maturity, especially our responsibility, as aging adults, to give our lives away.  Rolheiser suggests how we might do this and why we might want to do it, and offers some principles (ten) that would provide direction.  To tantalize you, here are a few of those principles:

Live in gratitude and thank your Creator by enjoying your life.

Transform jealousy, anger, bitterness, and hatred rather than give them back in kind.

Let suffering soften your heart rather than harden your soul.

Live in a more radical sobriety.

In contrast, The Dark Box: A Secret History of Confession by John Cornwell elucidates the motives behind the push for confession in the Catholic church, a perspective I needed to read.   Like some books that reveal a dark side heretofore unrecognized in people, practices, or institutions, this book disillusioned.  I realize that, even at my age, I have innocence to lose.  

A counterpoint to those themes, two books connected to one of my passions, human nature.  Malcom Gladwell’s David and Goliath  explains the advantages of being the little guy, and why the little guy often wins.  Daniel Pink’s To Sell is Human explores the idea that everyone is in sales, and the principles of sales can buttress any career.   Unbroken, the story of the World War II pilot, Louis Zamporini, especially his years as a Japanese prisoner of war, picked up threads of both the nobility of the human spirit and the degradation of which it is also capable.  I had to read this book in very small doses, and without eating or drinking, that’s how disturbing it was.

All the books after Unbroken are fiction.  That’s when my husband was hospitalized.  To manage the stress of his illness and the ugliness of the politics around me, I needed to escape.  So, I went to my Books to Read list, and reconnected with the online ordering service of my local library.  Fiction saved me.  I didn’t come back to Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking by Susan Cain until June, and then, only to finish it and return to fiction. 

From that list, I would recommend :

Black and Blue by Anne Quindlen,   a gripping novel about spousal violence.

The Dinner by Herman Koch, the unsettling story about the impact of family secrets on children.

The Rag and Bone Shop by Robert Cormier, another powerful commentary with a shocking ending on the influences that can shape a young person growing up, especially relations with both peers and adults. 

Annabel by Kathleen Winter, that grapples with people’s responses when the unimaginable happens.  A child is born a hermaphrodite (with the both male and female reproductive organs).  What might be the implications for the child?  the mother?  the father? the doctor? grandparents? teachers?  Who knows and who doesn’t?  What factors might cause people to react the way they do?

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls, a memoir that poses the question, How do children cope when parents struggle with addiction and narcissim?

The Color of Tea by Hannah Tunnicliffe, a stunning and captivating novel about the effects of work and friends on a marriage.  The prose is incandescent, like gossamer.  The story and its portraits are woven of simple words brought together in an original design, and set off with unusual and evocative comparisons. It’s an unassuming book I’m so glad I transfered to my own list after finding it on someone else’s.

By fall, I thought I could redirect to reality again.  I picked up Lawrence Hill’s The Illegal, timely in that it had just won Canada Reads, and its theme dovetailed nicely with our parish refugee sponsorship project, which I co-chair.  With apologies to Hill, my state of mind did not do the book justice. 

I’ve come full circle, really, having just finished The Return of History: Conflict, Migration, and Geopolitics in the Twenty-First Century by Jennifer Welsh.  The author contests the thesis of American political commentator Francis Fukuyama in his essay, "The End of History," who posits that, with the spread of Western liberal democracy after the end of the Cold War, "traditional power politics and large-scale conflicts" would diminish, leaving a "path toward a more peaceful world."  Welsh suggests that, in fact, history, that is, the sequence of authoritarianism and conflict, is returning.  Her explanations for this phenomenon mirror my own theory that feudalism is enjoying a renaissance.  A tribute to Welsh, she goes beyond a description of the phenomenon and offers solutions for the ordinary person.  This is a must-read.

Still on my desk, bookmarked, begging to be finished:  Hitler’s Willing Executioners:  Ordinary Germans and the Holocaust by Daniel Jonah Goldhagen that I fished out of a give-away bin at the curb of a Calgary suburb, and La porte du ciel by Dominique Fortier, a shot-in-the-dark by a prize-winning author. 

My reading life sustained me and challenged me during 2016.  Just in case some of my selections might do the same for you, I share them.

Discourse

Careless memes  often appear in my Facebook feeds.  You know, the kind that target a political figure the page owner reviles, accuse the individual of destroying a province or country, label the person an idiot, and call for support for these ideas from the public.   Most of the time, I ignore them.  That’s not a wise course of action, though.   As they circumvent the principles of discourse, these memes subvert our political process.  They are dangerous.

I understand why people resort to this kind of expression. 

·  It’s easy.  Just take a photo, add some bold print, some expletives, a generalization or two, and some inflamatory names. 

·  It allows venting that needs no thought.

·  It often gets a reaction.

·  It requires no knowledge of the issues, no information on various perspectives that impact on the issues, no details or support for any of the accusations levied against the person.

The meme is a missed opportunity for discourse.  So too is ill-advised action.  As an example, let’s consider the actions of some members of the youth wing of the Canadian LabourCongress at an October 25, 2016, Q & A with Prime Minister Justin Trudeau.  You may remember that some attendees at this dialogue session with Trudeau turned their backs on him as he spoke.  They wanted to underline that he had let them down, that he had, in effect, turned his back on them, and they were giving back in kind.  Even when one of those protesters had an opportunity to ask a question, he kept his back turned to the microphone and to Trudeau.   The Prime Minister expressed his disappointment at the rudeness, you may recall, and indicated his willingness to answer the question when the individual would face him.  The individual maintained his pose, and the question went unanswered.   

I admire Trudeau’s response in that situation.  (If you read on, please press pause on your assessment of Trudeau and his government’s first year in office. This post is not that analysis.  Its purpose is rather to focus on the ramifications of the choices we make to express disagreement in a democracy.) In staying calm and answering the questions of other attendees, Trudeau highlighted the importance of discourse.  For government to work, elected officials must connect with their electors often to hear their concerns, to obtain feedback, to get ideas, and to keep people engaged.  Citizens must, in turn, share their opinions with their representatives.

Discourse does take work.  It means that, as citizens, we must :

·  do our homework, and be informed;

·  let our opinions be known;

·  be open to sources of information that comment on all sides of the issue, even those we don’t agree with;

·  take the time to articulate views, resisting the temptation to use attack strategies;

·  adopt a problem-solving stance, remembering that generating a thoughtful and sustainable solution to an issue is more important than perpetuating an ideological view;

·  maintain an open mind;

·  keep partisanship at bay;

·  remember that problem-solving takes time.  Issues that have existed for decades can’t be solved in a year or two or even three.   There’s no magic bullet, no matter what some might want us to believe.

·  relegate protest strategies to the next line of defence, should the grievance process built on discourse fail.

I wonder, though, if the people who post accusatory memes or resort to ill-timed protest realize how destructive those actions can be.  No matter who the politicians are, no matter their political views, mainstream or extreme, no matter the individual’s own position relative to those views, generalizations, attacks, name-calling and disrespect have serious consequences.  We stand to pay a very high price if we skip over discourse and head straight for protest. 

No matter your appraisal of Trudeau, we do have a prime minister who puts himself out there.  He makes himself vulnerable in various forums to answer people’s questions, and he does so regularly.  He knows going in that some people will be hostile.  No matter what people may think, the man is not naïve; he’s lived his entire life in the public eye, much of it in the age of social media.  Quite lucid about what he is about to do, still, he does it. 

Two things here.  One—we know full well what happens when a leader locks himself or herself up in the ivory tower and refuses even to have press conferences, never mind to engage with people in a situation that is not controlled. Two—Rudeness, sadly, is a common feature in assemblies on contoversial subjects.  In various professional forums I have facilitated, I have often had to answer questions and explain delicate positions.  It takes determination and strength of will to remain calm and professional in the face of personal attack.  So, then, if Prime Minister Trudeau continues to face rudeness and hostility rather than discourse when he interacts with Canadians, what would be his incentive to persevere?  Why not just retreat to the ivory tower? It’s a lot easier.  Isn’t it in our best interest to provide positive reinforcement to politicians who engage, not  treat them with scorn or disrespect?

After all, don’t we want the best and brightest to see a life of service in politics as a rewarding career option?  For me, that’s a no–brainer.  Of course.  Of course I want people who are clever, experienced, astute, honest, and charismatic to take a risk and run for office.  People who truly have a social conscience and want to serve,  and who might even have to sacrifice more money in the private sector.  If a potential candidate anticipates invective, personal attacks, ridicule, harassment on social media, or even threats on his or her family,  why bother?  People need gratitude and reinforcement, not abuse.  We will get the candidates and the politicians that our response deserves.

What if discourse doesn’t work?  What if efforts at rational argument are ignored, scorned, or worse, discarded?  Then, we must protest.  I am an idealist, though.  Even in protest, there’s no place for unsubstantiated claims, invective, name-calling, or threats.  Let’s do the work that civic engagement demands.  We are better than resorting to easy action and facile memes.


Image source:  Source:   https://www.smith.edu/discourse/

Dots

All through the last year, during the election campaign in the USA, and especially after November 8, I have struggled, as readers will know,  to understand how anyone could support a misanthropic, narcissistic candidate so obviously unqualified to lead a country.  How could people be duped into thinking Trump would have the back of working class America, even of working class white America?  How could people have so little astuteness or humanity?

Well, in the last few weeks, I've watched Oliver Stone's Untold History of the United States (2012),  a series available on Netflix.  Now, I understand.  Maybe Trump's election was inevitable, the logical outgrowth of mindsets and illusions moulded over the decades since FDR.  That possibility saddens me to my core.  I will stop there; viewers need to make up their own mind, without the distraction of someone else's opinion.

So, if you are interested in an additional perspective on American history since World War II, and you have some time, I would highly recommend this series.  Honestly, I couldn't tear myself away.  Now, this is not a feel-good viewing, and binge-watching is probably not possible, never mind a good idea.  Still, the series connected many dots for me.

I also realize this is a strange pre-Christmas post.  But it's where I am this year.

Dawn

Our new grandson will be the ninth child baptized in the ensemble my mother prepared for her children more than sixty years ago.  My sister and I were baptized in it, as well as our six combined children.  Yesterday, I took it out to freshen up before taking it to our daughter for the first wearing of the third generation.

With reverence, I open the box and separate the tissue paper.  The knitted bonnet rests on top.  The ribbons, yellowed with age and crinkled from years of compression, need a wash and a warm iron.  I make a mental note.   The gown itself, with its fine lace and delicate bows, is a marvel of craftsmanship.  Each time I finger one of my mother’s creations, I marvel at her expertise.  Truly, her skill with a needle and thread is matched only by the magic she created with knitting needles.  The shawl, its fine wool and intricate patterns soft under my fingers,  does need a wash in readiness for the celebration.   As I caress the robe that my mother added to the ensemble in her seventies for our son, her first grandchild, I remember the baptisms of our own children, and my mother’s delight that her creations continued to play a central role in the milestones of the next generation.

Suddenly, I am immersed in the past.  As I swish the water slowly through the shawl, I think of my mother,  alone in the old house nestled in the coulee below the hills, two miles from the nearest neighbour.  I picture her, belly teeming with new life, filled with dreams for this new person as the needles click and the lines of wool snake from her bag through her fingers.  I see her updating my father on her progress, and I visualize his admiration, his pride, and his excitement.  This project would consume her days.

Still a spirit sitting next to my mother on the gray sofa of the old living room, I roll the wet shawl in the towel to squeeze out the excess water.   I realize I have stopped, mid-roll.    The fog of several decades lifts, and I see the events of a lifetime ago in spectacular light.  My mother used this ensemble for the first time for me.  But she knitted it for her first child, a son, my brother, who died at birth the year before I was born.  Why had I never considered that before?  In the abject grief of losing a child she carried for nine months, a grief I have never known, how much would packing away the baptismal ensemble into which she had invested so much love have added to her devastation? Already thirty-five years old, she might have asked herself if she would ever have another child.   I wonder, too, if, at each of the eight baptisms for which that ensemble was used, she would have thought of her lost son.  What images filled her mind when she looked at her work? 

She never said a word.  She never shared any details about her experience in creating that masterpiece.  For us, anyway, she focused on the living.  Imagine the strength that must have taken.

Yesterday’s experience haunts me still.  How could I not have connected the dots before?    What a comfort, at least,  that, in my sixties,   I continue to awaken to perspectives I had never considered and directions I had never thought necessary or possible.   Memories take on new meaning, new challenges loom, and life can still glow with the kaleidoscope of dawn.

Mission

I started watching X-Company on February 18, 2015.  The World War II CBC drama "follows the stories of five highly skilled young recruits – Canadian, American and British – torn from their ordinary lives to train as agents in Camp X [,] an ultra-secret training facility on the shores of Lake Ontario.”  The historical basis of Camp X, a little known fact from Canadian history, intrigued me from the get-go.   It’s clear from the opening scenes that these young people would rather not be involved in espionnage.  War and killing are abhorrent to them.  They try to circumvent the ugliness.  For example, Tom,  an advertising professional,  will try to talk himself out of a situation rather than follow orders to shoot.  Each team member feels compelled to help to stop the Nazi machine.  Alfred is terrified of noise and danger, but he too is determined to overcome his challenges to help the war effort.  The characters  simply cannot sit by and watch.

The episodes haunted me.  As I watched, I wondered what I would have done had I lived in post-1933 Europe or in post-1939 Canada. Would I have had the courage to speak out?  Would I have been prepared to give my own life to aid Jews being humiliated in the streets of Europe or sent to ghettos and  camps?  Would I have volunteered to take an active part in the war effort at home or abroad to help thwart a world threat to freedom?

I couldn’t answer the question.  Actually, that’s not really true.  I  have to say out loud that I would not have had the courage to put my life on the line.  In the depths of my cowardly heart, I was grateful that life, thanks to some fortunate star, had so far spared me those hard decisions.   Instead, it had shown me a panoply of issues I thought I could keep at arm’s length: racism toward First Nations peoples, famine in developing countries,  atrocities in El Salvador, Argentina, and Chile, genocide in Rwanda.  I was able to pay lip service to acknowledging those causes—learning about Treaties and dismembering myths, giving money for famine relief, reading about upheaval in Central America and Africa.  I was too busy with my life, my career and my family, however, to do more.   Someone else could do it.  Others were doing it.

Well, no longer.   The Canadian election campaign of the summer and fall of 2015 jolted me.  During those months, proposals of a barbaric cultural practices tip line, hate memes directed at Muslims and stories of physical and verbal abuse of minorities in Canada made me wonder what had happened to the Canada I thought I knew.   Canadians rallied, though, and rejected the party of division and the past.  The hatred and resentment went underground again, to fester.

We were only picking at the scab on the sore then, it seems. The campaign of Donald Trump ripped the scab right off, exposing the rawness underneath.  His election to the presidency of the United States has made things even worse.  It has given angry people in Canada as well as the US permission to scrawl hate messages on synagogues and mosques, and to insult people on public transportation, and to attack individuals.   

My day of reckoning has arrived.  My hour has come.  I can no longer rationalize mere lip service.  I have to act, whatever the cost.  Inspired by columnists Nicholas Kristof and Charles Blow of the New York Times, who have both vowed to continue to speak out, I must call out hate in whatever form I see it, and share articles on the subject as well.   The same goes for the falsehood and misinformation that unscrupulous people use to advance their ideas, discredit their naysayers, and make themselves look good (see Trump and the Kentucky Fordfactory).  Third, in my own sphere, thinking globally and acting locally, I will continue to support refugees, defend First Nations and stand in solidarity with them, and work for social justice in my community.  

I intend to use this blog as well.  My life after "retirement" has taken an unexpected direction—activism.  Those of you who follow this blog know that I like to tell stories, to reflect on the human condition, and to find meaning in even so-called insignificant moments of the day.  Those posts will continue.  You may, however, find more posts with a political slant going forward.  I hope that my thoughts on the effect of events on my retired life will not dissuade you from reading. 

Sometimes, even the innocuous exploration of a new TV series can bring about a stark moment of life-changing clarity.   X-Company’s prescient context and themes mixed with unfolding political events to create a chemical reaction:  a bright light around mission at this stage in my life.  And, by the way, the final season of X-Company begins on CBC on January 11, 2017.  Season 2 is available online, and Season 1 on DVD.

Deal-with-it

"It's over.  He won. Deal with it,"  a Facebook responder replied to a comment about the message the cast of Hamilton delivered to Vice-President-elect Pence on Friday night.   Trump won the election.  So, the implication is, I guess, that neither he nor Pence ever need to deal with any protest.  Case closed.  Following that logic, the cast of Hamilton was out of line when they gathered on stage to remind the vice-president-elect, an audience member, that many Americans are worried about their rights and to be sure to govern for all.  Trump thought so.  "Apologize!" he tweeted.   In seizing the occasion to send a frank and professional message, however, spokesperson Brandon Victor Dixon and the cast were doing exactly what the comment author  recommended: deal with the election.  After all, deal-with-it is an equal opportunity obligation.

Yes, Trump won the Electoral College.  He will be president.  His administration will presumably try to enact some form of the measures he proclaimed during the campaign.  Those who voted against Trump do have to deal-with-it.  One part of that is reconciliation to the reality.  There will be no major do-over for four years; in two years, at the mid-term elections, there’s a chance to mitigate the pervasive power Trump was given.  The other part of deal-with-it, however, is action people will take in the face of Trump administration legislation and executive action.   Citizens have a repsonsibility to make the opposing voice heard.  People must remind their fellow citizens of their shared values.  They must proclaim their inalienable rights under the Consitution, and they must speak out against any actions that mean to impose limits on those rights.  Deal-with-it strategies need to be lawful, peaceful, articulate, and respectful. Deal-with-it in the community of voters who did not support Trump involves vigilance and action as much as it does acceptance.

Trump and his administration have several realities to accept as well.  First, they did not win the popular vote.  They have to deal-with that.  More Americans voted against Trump than for him.  So, the administration starts with a lot of discontent and fear.   It can expect challenge and opposition.  Democracy depends on the dissenting opinion.  Second, Trump has to deal with the fallout from the vicious campaign he orchestrated.  He chose to insult and degrade Mexicans, Muslims, women, fellow Republicans, and, really, anyone who disagreed with him on any given day.   His intentions to deport millionsof undocumented migrants, and to prevent Muslims from entering the UnitedStates are recorded in his own words.  Now, having given people permission to be hateful and having modelled vulgarity and degradation, Trump and his surrogates have to live with the consequences.  (This is an immutable truth, my mother would say:  Quand tu craches en l'air, ça te retombe sur le nez, literally translated as, When you spit in the air, it falls back on your nose.)  His administration will have to deal with the violence that arises from hate.  Trump also has to expect that the communities he disparaged are watching and vocal.  In addition, Trump also fabricated « truth » throughout the campaign.  That trend has continued post-election.    Trump can expect that people will deal with that trend by calling out those lies.  To deal with his election, people will let Trump know what they think of his words and actions.

Deal-with-it, then, is not a maxim that applies only to the losers.  The Trump administration-in-waiting must deal with the effects of the hate sown during the campaign, as well as challenges, criticism, or protest.  It can also expect publicized fact-checks of its statements.  The powerful message that the cast of Hamilton delivered to Vice-President-elect Pence is only one such manifestation of deal-with-it.

Noise

In last week’s post, I asked the question, Can I dance when I don’t like the music?  My reply was that, with resolve and strength of will, dancing to music I don’t like is not only possible, but necessary for a joyful life.  That thought does sum up my own experience, and it is valid, but only to a point.  My post failed to address a key issue.  I’m surprised, actually, that no one has pointed out that missing piece.

It’s all well and good to talk about dancing when there’s music, whether one loves the music or not.  The only reason I have music to dance to is that I won the birth lottery.  I was born to parents who wanted me, who loved me, and  who sacrificed so that I would be safe, thrive on good food,  and have access to competent medical care.  Their selflessness meant that I had an encyclopedia at home before my school purchased one, that I taught myself to type when I was twelve, and then did the same typing exercises all over again when I was fourteen at school in Grade 9.  I learned to play the piano thanks to their vision, read books that never would have shelved in the school library,  and benefited from a great home environment and a chance know my extended family.   So I always had music.  Was it always my favorite?  Of course not.  But the option to dance was always there.   The birth lottery paid dividends my whole life—I had a university education and a satisfying career, the chance to raise a family, contribute to my community, and travel.

What about people who don’t have music?  What about people who must live in noise?  Because the opposite of music is not silence.  The opposite of music is noise.  Many people lose the birth lottery.  Nicholas Kristof of the New York Times  writes eloquently on the subject in "3 TV’s and No Food: Growing Up Poor in America" (and other countries like Canada by extension).   These people might have to climb out of abject and cyclical poverty.  They might live in neighborhoods or families that face addiction issues.  They might not have money for good food or books, and they might be starved for support and a leg up.  Some people do manage to dance in those environments despite the noise.  They make their own music, or they blot out the noise.  They have more strength of character than I could ever muster.    Many, though, are swallowed up in the din.

As a winner of the birth lottery, my life moves to music.   That good fortune carries obligation.   At some point, in ways large or small, I must  act to silence the noise for people who need music in their lives.  As my mother preached to us, "From those to whom much has been given, much will be expected" (Luke 12:48).  Or, as Hillary Rodham Clinton’s mother preached to her, “Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can.” (Methodist tenet).  My intention to quell the noise for even a few people continues to be a work in progress.

I do, however, own that opportunity is a function of the accident of birth.  Birth luck is the foundation of accomplishment; it determines whether noise or music accompanies life.  If I have the choice to dance or not, then I need to pay that forward and provide some music for others.