Jihadi Judgment

Shell-Shocked Satire

The Quiet "Angels" Among Us

  

 I saw a film tonight called "Nicky's Family"-  a docudrama that recounts the humanitarian deeds of Nicholas Winton -  described as the English "Schindler" -  who organized the rescue of over 600 Jewish children out of Czechoslovakia prior to World War II.
  This was a powerful and inspiring story that urges viewers to walk away with deepened understanding of the scale of wartime suffering and the value of humanitarianism. It shows this through the combination of actual interviews with survivors and dramatic re-enactments of events.  It's narrated by a retired Canadian news reporter, Joe Schlesinger, who lends authority and credibility to the project, as he, himself, was one of the many children spirited out of his homeland by the efforts of Mr. Winton.  
   Although the film bears testament to some heart-wrenching personal accounts, the message is ultimately one of optimism  --  not of the naive or insincere kind -- but a kind of hard-won optimism born of the rigour of integrity, self-sacrifice and unrelenting courage in the face of evil. Those of us  born after the war into a comfortable peacetime, can only imagine the horrors that were endured.
   The film communicates on multiple levels. One of the primary  messages is that heroic acts are not always flashy or demonstrative but but more often than not, realized through seemingly quiet, behind-the-scenes actions guided by a genuine concern for the welfare of others, especially those who do not have a voice.
   The theme of torn-apart families has been catalogued and examined by countless films and literature on the war and it is easy for one's eyes to glaze over at yet another account contributing to the already existing heap. The atrocities re-visited in this film reveal nothing new, yet this film is profound in the sense that it reminds the viewer that the "angels" among us are often ordinary folk who rise to the occasion and whose actions can have a ripple-effect significance. Perhaps, on another level, Nicholas Winton exemplifies that trademark British character of unassuming and dauntless perseverance -- one that proved triumphant over the Nazi machine.
    The "hero" and subject of this film, -  an accountant, who, by his own admission, had no initial altruistic impulses, found himself in the middle of unfolding events of Europe before the outbreak of World War II, and was plunged into the position of helping hundreds of Czech Jewish children obtain asylum from the shadow of German occupation and the near certainty of their death. He accomplished this through hours of methodical paperwork and the dogged pursuit of official channels to seek a safe haven for the children. His efforts were frustrated repeatedly by bureaucracy and the closed-door immigration policies of western nations at the time with the exception of his own country, Great Britain, where he managed to place the children in good foster families.
    Particularily poignant were the interviews of these same orphaned children now as elderly adults who, after all these years, still fight back tears as they remember those final moments when their train pulled away from the platform, as they frantically exchanged goodbyes with their parents -- most of whom they would never see again. These scenes really resonate, as I am mentally preparing myself to be a parent and although the birth of my child is still "abstract" rather than "real" for me,  I am beginning to experience a glimmer of parental bond to a child and can only appreciate how monumentally cruel it must be seem to have it broken.
   The film also forced me to pause and reflect on the whole concept of "good deeds," and to review my own record -- an area I'd like to improve in.  Like many of my generation,  I have enjoyed the comforts and privileges that others died to preserve and it's so easy to lose sight of this. A film like "Nicky's Family," reminds me that we are beneficiaries of the brutal and bloody progression of history and that all of the conveniences and excesses of modern life have been paved with a trail of bodies. Not an exactly uplifting thought, however, the film suggests that as individuals, we have the agency to effect change, not by epic grandiose gestures but by the small, unheralded ones in our own corner here and now.  I think it is important to be reminded of this because most of us spend our lives rushing around thinking in the "first person" and get wrapped up in the relative mundanity of our own existences.   For me, this "first person" narrative is about to be broken permanently with the arrival of my child in October -- but also, I hope that this will give me a new appreciation of putting my own needs second and considering the needs of others more.

The Beautiful Game Returns...

 Incredibly, four years have crept up on us and the World Cup is back and in full gear. In the spirit of the event, I thought I'd re-post a blog that I'd written about the World Cup, during the last one in 2010...

                                       

   I'm trying to get back into the habit of maintaining a semi-regular blog although it's not a sure bet as I have a hard time remembering tasks that aren't staring me in the face. I have been gathering up the resolve to sit down in front of this computer and write for some time now but I'm always fighting off the temptation of another external stimulus, in the case of this month, it's World Cup Soccer, which I have been engrossed in.

The game is aptly named the 'beautiful game' -- it has symmetry, grace, a mesmerizing flow and artistry, not to mention strategy. I count myself as a recent convert to the ranks of World Cup soccer enthusiasts even though my familiarity with the game itself reaches back to my childhood where I played it (although I was not much of a competitor). It's a game that hasn't caught on in North America because winning is almost secondary to skill -- and because victory itself is hard-fought and of such a low-margin that it doesn't appeal to the North American impatience with process. Soccer, (or Football) is also, hands-down, the world's game, and it brings nations together to revel in their tribalism for a brief-period every four years.

I've heard the predictable refrain that international competitions like this, are divisive and manifest crass expressions of nationalism. Some of this may be true, but who can deny the outcome of a match won fairly between two talented opponents? In the end, people are brought together by the love of a well-played spectacle.

In this post-feminist age, men are being culturally emasculated. The hunter-instinct is being legislated out of existence. In light of this, team sports serve as the last outpost of the warrior code where the ancient ritual that exults male prowess is provided a safe venue.

Once again, the critics of the male domain of team sports are completely wrong. Our biological evolution has not yet caught up with the social and political strides that have been made in the last four decades, although the purging of instinct through social engineering is well underway. In the absence of noble masculine virtues such as honour and gentlemanly conduct, a troubling trend has been developing in the western world aided by young men who are growing up to embrace thuggish, idiotic role models in the vacuum of traditional male role models. I believe we're looming over the cliff of our social evolution in which the human progress is in direct tension with the confusion and decadence that it engenders -- and at times, the latter appears to be tipping the scales. 
   This is very often confirmed when I am subjected to the brute thumping of techno or rap, which are defended by some who believe tolerance outweighs taste, as somehow a legitimate "cultural" expression right up there with Mozart or Miles Davis. Sports offers a constructive 'directing' of our collective aggression and that's not going to change anytime soon.

The nature of masculinity in the west, especially in the younger age group, appears to be caught between two poles -- on the one hand "wimpishly" effete or psychotically macho, and the shades of grey in between seem more inconsequential. Team sports has become hijacked with the pressures of the marketplace and an ego-driven, win-at-all-costs mentality has replaced the quaint civilizing values of character-building and teamwork. 
     Despite this, a well-played World Cup soccer match is a far less-destructive means of channeling our testosterone than UFC fighting which is merely a barbaric, Road-warrior-like theatre of the primal. Soccer is about the collective and the individual supporting each other in the interest of an advantageous outcome, like components of a machine working in unison, it is simple in it's application and rules and only requires minimal investment vis-a-vis equipment. A third-world village has a greater chance of producing the next Pele than it does the next Wimbledon champion, and it's mere accessibility alone is testament to the sport's enduring appeal.

The World Cup is universal because developing countries have as equal an opportunity to shine in the limelight every four years as their richer counterparts. Unfortunately, the results of the matches often underscore the economic disparity of the world as the poor African countries competing in the tournament, rarely stand a chance against the wealthier European nations. How does one explain the perennial success of the South Americans? It's an obsession verging on religion down there and the economic and political instability in South America, I'm willing to bargain, is still relatively less than in sub-saharan Africa. Economics does have alot to do with sports and obviously in a country like Nigeria or Cote d'Ivoire, there are simply fewer resources available for promoting and nurturing football talent compared to places like Europe or Brazil for that matter.

I had been cheering for the African nations all the way and was disappointed that Ghana, the last remaining African side in the tournament, was eliminated by a pesky Uruguay. A Ghana win, psychologically, would have been a substantial boost to pan-African morale and on this level, the game is epic -- it becomes a symbol of an entire continent's pride.

In actuality, I'm not really attached to any outcome in this tournament because in reality, no matter who wins the World Cup, it's an opportunity to feast on dazzling skills and breathtaking drama. And, I can't help but think that a fraction of Canada will win the World Cup. There are hyphenated-Canadians from every continent flying the flags of their countries of origin and whoever the two teams are in the final match, there will be a roar of celebration by one ethnic group in one neighbourhood and the moans of defeat in another.

When all is said and done, it's about watching the very highest-level competitors trying to out-think and out-run each other, this is the evolutionary contest at its very finest.

Manifest Nastiness

  

 I try to keep a skeptical distance from news media --  yet some events stand above the others in terms of the awfulness of their scale and tragic consequences.  It's hard to remain immune from the high incidence of reportings, in the news, of mass shootings. These events that have multiplied so much recently that the collective psyche is becoming resigned to them.

  The pattern is predictable -- a disaffected, lone perpetrator (usually a young male) with a mental illness or a seething hatred toward some injustice in the world, secretly plots his revenge, easily acquires automatic weapons and then wanders into a school or shopping mall and indiscriminately empties rounds at innocent bystanders (or selected targets). Either he is stopped by his own bullet in the process or commits suicide "by police." This has become an all too familiar cliche story arc lately.

  Up here in Canada, we like to remind ourselves that we are removed from the rampant violence of U.S. gun-culture. We point to stringent gun laws and take pains to declare how "horrified" we are by the brutality south of the border.  We find reassurance that we are more moderate and restrained than our American cousins. So it's worrying to note that the subculture of gun-loving, anti-government extremism, has crept across the border into boring old Canada.  That sobering realization hit home last week with a gunman's rampage in a small city here  that resulted in the deaths of three police officers.

     Sharing a border with the behemoth to the south has always meant more immediate economic ties that inevitably translate into a cultural influence spilling over. Our historical ambivalence, either towards or away from greater association, reflects our complicated and sometimes uneasy relationship to the U.S.  

   In this moment of our history, however, the unfiltered deluge of U.S. popular culture and media is pouring in, wave after wave -- at nano-speed -- the internet has brought us many positives but along with that, it has exposed every creepy cyber-nook and cranny and sentiments that belong littered on the walls of bathroom stalls are catapulted to the mainstream.  We are subject to an undifferentiated mass influx of excess, exulting  in the profane, the self-indulgent, the crass and the shallow. 

   How can any "border" stand up to this? 

    So it's now a revelation (but not surprising) that we are seeing 
the disturbing rise of anti-government militia "types" who have 
bought into the psychosis of their extremist counterparts south of 
the border. These "angry" outsiders - infused with libertarian dogma -- feel victimized for what they believe is their struggle to  defend their "freedom" from being usurped by governments under the control of shadowy puppetmasters.
   This paranoid fantasy finds its appeal among individuals who are suggestible. Take any unstable young man with limited education, fed a steadily venomous bias by right wing media,  frustrated by his economic prospects, probably unsuccessful in dating, -- he starts to nurse a grudge against the world, refuses to take responsibility for himself, and, all around him, he feels betrayed by society. As one commentator points out -- alot of the profiles of these mass shooters reveal an "entitlement" complex and a feeling of not having their expectations met of what should be their "due."
  Extremist philosophies, in these instances, have an appeal for already isolated and distraught young men and we ignore them at our peril.    

   I have experienced in my past, a similar sense of alienation that these perpetrators have felt. Luckily, I have grown past it and have a child on the way, so it is giving me purpose and cause for joy. But I know what it is like to be aimless, poor,  frustrated surrounded by the tantalizing temptations of consumer culture yet unable to partake. I  don't have the wherewithal or the personality to knowingly take out my frustrations in such a destructive fashion, but I know what it's like to experience the kind of humiliation some of these individuals have suffered and yet I also know that we are ultimately responsible for our actions. 
   I have always been over-sensitive to my environment and easily prone to indignation. This can be an unhealthy combination if there is nowhere to release it. I was (am) fortunate that I have had a  set of values instilled in me that delineate right from wrong and that I have found my outlet in self-expression -- art and music and increasingly, exercise.  I am also fortunate that I can articulate my negative feelings (although some would rather not hear them.) 
   This is not the case for a lot of these young angry men who, being products of moral relativism,  are not held in check by ethical considerations. In fact, just like indoctrinated jihadists, these individuals are able to convince themselves of the righteousness of their grievances and actions by projecting their resentments onto an external group.  Unlike jihadists though, these gunmen often act alone. Our culture places a premium on self-reliance and individualism and this winner-take-all ethos breeds solitary onlookers in the shadows desperate for attention.  

    The ignored loner -- the bullied kid --  these profiles have one thing in common -- they tend not to be the self-confident "jocks" or "bad boys" who are practically worshipped in popular culture. I'm not condoning these embittered outcasts for their cowardly acts,  but it's evident that those who have been made to feel that they are "losers" feel much more driven by a resentment to act out in extreme ways. Combine this with the profound sense of inadequacy that derives from economic and sexual powerlessness in a culture that links a man's desirability to women directly to his status. Add the proliferation of first-person shooter video games and Hollywood's love affair with the gun-toting, macho rebel into the mix and you've got the recipe for a walking time bomb.  Again, this is not to in any way, justify the actions of rampaging mass murderers, but it is an attempt to underscore the social influences that create this kind of alienation.
   I wouldn't want to be a young right now.  The economic outlook for recent graduates is not promising and competing for jobs in industries that are in constant flux requires that workers adapt or face unemployment. Companies show very little loyalty nowadays resulting in  a grim future for job security. These are some larger systemic pressures but of course, in our attempt to understand the motives behind a massacre of innocent strangers, we can simplify or spin all kinds of theories. It's important to note that there doesn't seem to be a one-size fits all explanation.
   Given all of these influences, I can see how the homicidal-maniac-in-the-making would, over time, allow dark fantasies to take root and fester in his psyche to the point where he can rationalize his act as a way of "going out in glory" -  or -  rather "notoriety."

    Throw in the easy availability of guns and you've got a lethal combination.   The ever present "frontier mentality" still resonates to this day in U.S. culture and even the suburban "loner-types" in 2014 have inherited this dangerously romantic myth.

    Is it any wonder why there have been two separate shootings in the last week in which the victims were police?  These perpetrators really believe they are at war with society and feel that they can somehow attract more sympathy if their targets are non-civilian. The whole notion that they are killing other human beings doesn't even cross their path. They have become so comfortable with the hatred that they profess that the end -- any end, justifies the means. 

    What is perhaps more alarming about this whole trend is that we are becoming accustomed to it and shrugging it off in helpless indifference.  We are starting to accept the possibility that these random mass shootings will become another danger that we have to live with like getting hit by a car or disease or an earthquake.  When we tolerate something as heinous as mass murder as inevitable, we have retreated from our responsibility to engage and handed the perpetrators a hollow victory.

Play on...

 Insomnia --  my head is a busy intersection of thoughts and worry. Worry seems to be something I'm good at --  perhaps it's in the DNA or perhaps it's a learned behaviour that I've cultivated over many years.  I have to wonder why some people are compelled to feel anxious and to fear the worst case scenario all the time?  Is it because we have somehow overdeveloped the part of our brain that responds to fight or flight?  Do we instinctively sense the negative outcome as a perverse form of self-protection?
  I tend towards negative and defeatist thinking and have all my life, it has become so entrenched in my personality that I no longer consciously notice it but I have been trying to recognize it and head it off when it comes up more and more of late.
  It is an accepted fact that a negative mindset is not a sure formula for success in life, yet on the other hand, I've always thought that by expecting the worst outcome, I am psychologically buffering myself against it.  The problem with being overly negative is that it is used as a "crutch" to justify inaction and when things don't work then my bleak, despairing worldview is reaffirmed.  So, it's a nasty spiral that one can become quickly lost in.   I have allowed the fear of  failure to keep me in a state of complacent inertia all my life and it's become so reflexive that I really have to be alert in order to avoid falling into that trap.
    Being overly optimistic can have its perils as well -- often it comes from a place of denial. It is equally annoying to be around "joy addicts" -- people who feel the need to demonstrate their prolonged and easy cheery-ness. It's particularly off-putting if their hyper-positivity comes across as a shallow and vain facade rather than a more considered and authentic expression of one's being. However, happy-go-lucky individuals have "hope" and I believe it's healthier to be around that kind of personality than being around those who prefer to live under a permanent cloud of nihilism.
  I have a birthday coming up this week and it offers me another opportunity to take stock. The worry and negativity formula hasn't been working for years now yet it is a comfortable place I return to. How does one break this chain?
     I've dabbled in yoga which is supposed to realign your energy and it has had a soothing effect for me.  I've also thought more and more about meditation but it's something that one has to be more purposeful about making time for and my time, like most others', gets filled up quickly with the distractions of the quotidian.  Not to sound too "New Agey" but I've heard that meditation is very effective in calming the mind and putting you in touch with your "higher self."
   In a sense, I feel that I already practice a form of meditation when I play music.  As a musician, I sit down at my piano or play the guitar and get absorbed in a space where the chatter in my brain drops off and I am singularly enclosed in that moment when I'm connecting to the universal through tones and melodies. Music is a very satisfying therapeutic territory for me and helps me to access a higher plain while creating something very immediate and temporary  -- the impermanence of a musical note -- it's sustain and decay -- forces you to inhabit the moment.
   Recordings can't really do justice to live music because there is an energy to a musical performance in a specific time and  ambience. In listening to live recordings you can anticipate the idiosyncratic hi-lights of that given performance, but despite the quality of the recording and the repeated pleasure one gets from listening, it still lacks that vital sense of immediacy -- where you as an audience member -- are giving the performance your undivided attention and are part of something bigger.  It's not the same  as listening to a live recording at home on a Sunday morning over breakfast, despite the pleasure you might derive from the audio.
    I diverted into music to illustrate a wider point and that is that we have forgotten to live in the "now" -- especially those of us who are incessant worriers. I am anxious because I prone to existential panic. A fear of the future because the future ultimately leads to our finality and I have a struggle accepting that there an afterlife.
   Playing music with friends, for me, is like a sacred ritual that allows me to escape into the moment. What could be more about being present in the now than making music that is a filter for joy and camaraderie? or riding your bike along a sunlit path? or being physically active or having a creative interest?  I think that, we, as humans, need to have some passion or outlet that animates our senses and nurtures us outside of our routines.  I find that my life is more complete with hobbies, they help me to elevate my sense of being alive, now.

Baby Express

By this time next year, if all goes as planned, the future me -- (if he finds the time to read these blogs let alone maintain them,) will probably chuckle incredulously at all of this writing in the 'first' person.  The use of "I" in a sentence, will look unfamiliar and self-indulgent -- that is, assuming that I adapt to my impending parenthood in the typically normal way - with complete devotion to my new offspring. So intense this devotion will be -- others have told me -- that I will simply have no time for my needs or wants and that they'll in fact, cease to be important anymore.  In a way, having a child is really an entry-point into the more universal definition of adulthood because whoever you were before your child was born, in a sense, ceases to be.  We symbolically shed our egocentric husk as the hard-wired mechanism of parental responsibility kicks in.  Everything that we had achieved, hoped to achieve or dreamed of -- ends (or at the very least is shelved) -- and is downshifted onto the next generation to carry, whether it is consciously instilled or not.
   Of course, objectively, this should be an exciting change -- and change is both inevitable and necessary for most of us. I am struggling to welcome this change though, as I feel that in order to embrace the new experience of being a father, I have to take advantage of this window of time, to find my direction, complete unfinished projects and say farewell to a life of relative freedom.
  Financial security remains a big question mark for me, but also a feeling of being unaccomplished.  I do not want to make the mistake of regarding my child as a vehicle for succeeding where I failed.  I hope I can avoid the trap of pressuring my child to overachieve in one area that I deem worthwhile while ignoring his/her personality and talents if they differ from what I expect. Yet, how can a parent avoid projecting onto their own child the dreams that they had to sacrifice in order to become a parent?  I don't want to approach parenting with the psychology of payback -- that my child is an  investment who will one day "owe" me.
    Naturally, I'll have expectations and concerns, but I really hope that the only thing that child will "owe" me is to find personal satisfaction in whatever it is that interests them and not to feel paralyzed  by the thunder above of parental disapproval.  I had well-meaning but very reprimanding parents who like most parents, insisted that we (my sister, brother and I,) pursue safe and respectable careers.  My father was a product of his generation and grew up fatherless, so he had very little first-hand knowledge, time or patience for his role as a father. 
   I hope that I can cultivate a  relationship with my child that is more loving, supportive and less-judgmental in order to give them the self-confidence they'll need to survive and succeed in the world.
    I  spent much of my young adulthood trying to define my own value system against the one I had been raised with. I rejected the conventional path of least resistance, instead opting to go a harder and more unrewarding route.  I ended up destitute, underemployed and resentful of the world. 
    None of this was made any easier by my quixotic desire to be an artist -- a vocation that requires an unbreakable will and ability to drown out the critics, in order to succeed. I have only really been "half" an artist all my life as I have not been able to summon the courage to leap into that world fully.  Clicheed - though not unfounded -  fears of being the "starving artist" prevent me from committing myself to artistic practice and it is a painful realization.  Creativity has always compelled me, and there has always been more validation for it from the outside than from within.
    All of this must sound like trite self-pity to those who might read this and think that I was a typical brat from a privileged upbringing who had been given too many options. And after years of fine-tuned self-loathing, I'd reflexively take your side on that assumption.  It's hard to relate to someone who was given much, feel sorry for themselves.  That was the second part of the self-defeating equation I had.
 The guilt.
   I felt guilty for being born into relative comfort.  I allowed the perception that others had of me  -- of being handed the silver-spoon -- to weigh on my conscience.  I felt a certain, judgment not just from classmates but from adult authority figures  -- teachers, coaches etc. who knew of my father's status and implicitly held us to a separate set of expectations or saw in me and my siblings, an  opportunity to direct their mean-spirited venom towards public figures. I felt guilty and embarrassed and apologetic for being the son of the Senator.  I always felt defensive that others whether envious or otherwise, were waiting for that "gotcha" moment when they could proudly expose the "class enemy" that I was. There has always been a sentiment among Canadian working class culture of "know your station" that distrusts success and ambition, and my father strongly manifested both qualities.  So naturally, to those who were unexceptional, this was intolerable.
    My father, was defined by growing up poor in the Depression and he never forgot it. He was uncomfortable being seen as ostentatious or hobnobbing too much with the upper crust. He believed that we should strive to maintain an ordinary appearance while all the same time demanding from us three children, the same extraordinary drive he had.
   These mixed signals created confusion in us three kids. Hence, we strove for the camouflage of mediocrity. Never excelling in anything for fear of being singled out or attracting attention. With my brother's high school theatre career as the exception, we were never really competitive and driven to achieve -- not standing out was the best way to survive high school.
   Fast forward to the present. A new monumentally important life event is on the horizon for me. It will signify a shift in my entire lifestyle and, consciousness.  Bringing a new life into this world -- a tabla rasa -- pure and unformed, will be both exhilarating and challenging.  I'm pretty sure that birth - like death  -  is something you can prepare for intellectually but that you can only profoundly understand once you've experienced it.   This is an opportunity for me to finally let go of the negativity and self-doubt I have worn as a shell all my life and embrace the unknown.