Tuesday, January 25, 2011

DO WE REALLY WANT TO GET ALONG?


Four Sikhs, scheduled to make a presentation at Quebec's national assembly, were denied entry to the legislature on January 18, 2011, because they refused to remove their kirpans. They were there in a spirit of solidarity, to support the right of Muslim women to wear facial coverings. They had checked with security prior to making the trip from Toronto and had been made aware that their kirpans could pose a concern. They chose to make the trip anyway and just see what happened. Well, that’s what happened; they didn’t get in.

A kirpan is a dagger, carried by baptized Sikh men to symbolize their readiness to defend themselves and others against injustice. I understand that, according to most Sikhs, it is not intended for offensive purposes, it is not worn to intimidate or threaten, it is a spiritual symbol of dedication to truth and justice. Therefore, it seems to me a kirpan is no more a weapon than is a Scottish piper’s dirk (dagger), or a carpenter’s chisel, or an electrician’s screwdriver. In other words, it’s a metal object that could be used to inflict considerable damage on someone and, as such, it is obviously a security concern. The fact that it’s religious, ceremonial, symbolic, defensive, or required apparel explains why a Sikh might want to wear it, but all that’s irrelevant from a security point of view. As long as it could be used to inflict injury surely anyone can understand why it might be a problem.

Of course none of this settles the matter. The question remains as to how the concern should be resolved. Perhaps it’s not actually necessary to ban all sharp, metal objects from legislatures, courtrooms and schools. We don’t, as yet, ban them form shopping malls, libraries or theatres. There is still a mace in Parliament, even though someone could pick it up and wield it as a weapon, which is, after all, what a mace actually is. The Sargent at Arms also wears a symbolic sword. – Nonetheless real, but symbolic in that no one expects him to defend the parliament with it. – Someone could seize it, of course, and go on a rampage, but I assume the security folks have somehow made provision for that possibility. So, perhaps it’s enough, in some situations, for security to know who has a kirpan, a chisel, a screwdriver, a ceremonial sword, etc., and just keep an eye on the situation.

Surely, if we really want Sikhs to participate in our society, we can sort this out. But, if we or they really don’t want that, there will be no limit to the opportunities for conflict. The question is, what do we really want?



Friday, January 21, 2011

JUST ONE LITTLE WORD

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is one of my favourite books. It’s a great story, written by Mark Twain, one of the finest story tellers America, or any other nation, has ever produced. It’s filled with wonderful characters: Huck, the Widow Douglas, Aunt Polly, Injun Joe (actually from Tom Sawyer) and, of course, Huck’s travelling companion, Jim. But Jim is, and always has been, a bit problematic. You see, he’s the other main character in the story, and a runaway “nigger”, so that word just keeps popping up. According to one commentator it appears 219 times. That’s almost once a page, which is more than I recall, but perhaps not noticing after a while is one of the concerns.

Now, according to Dr. Alan Gribben, a professor of English at Auburn University in Alabama, the problem is not really the word itself, but the fact that it’s keeping the book out of most classrooms in America. So he is in the process of publishing an expurgated version of this great classic, replacing “nigger” with “slave”. Needless to say, this has stirred up a firestorm of controversy.

On the one hand:

- It’s understandable that a teacher, particularly a Caucasian teacher, might be reluctant to risk teaching this book in it’s present form.

- And it’s a terrible loss for kids, particularly American kids, to miss out on studying this great American classic simply because this word appears so often.

- And it’s quite understandable that a professor who loves the novel, and desires to expose young people to its profoundly anti-racist subtext, might wish to remove the offending word in order to do so.

But, on the other hand:

- This word is integral to the story. (Jim’s life is at risk, not merely because he’s a slave, or even a runaway slave, but because he’s a runaway “nigger” slave.)

- And the constant repetition of the word underscores the great lesson in the book. (That the social stratification of the South, so deeply oppressive and hurtful to everyone, was rooted in a profound and pervasive racism, kept in place by a system of oppression ranging from extreme violence and the constant threat of violence, to the continuous employment of countless, casual, verbal indignities.)

- And Jim’s trust in Huck, and Huck’s love for Jim, are colossal human triumphs precisely because of the racist context of their lives. (I doubt that that context could really be understood apart from the constant repetition of this word. At least Mark Twain, who knew far more about it than I do, didn’t seem to think so.)

In the end, I suppose, something might be accomplished by introducing young people to even a bowdlerized version of Huck Finn. Indeed, if the book is clearly presented as such, it may afford students a great opportunity to learn who Thomas Bowdler was, and of his attempts to tidy up Shakespeare, and other classics of his day. We all do it. The term “N-word”, which some of you may prefer to the word I've been using, is itself a modern day bowdlerism.

But then again, wouldn’t it be nice if we could just help students become literate: learn to read with empathy, understanding, grace and maturity, the words on the page; learn to comprehend the context, meaning and purpose of literature, not just the words; learn to talk openly with one another about the power of words to hurt and heal. Then they would be able to read the “N-word” in Huckleberry Finn, the “F-word” in Catcher in the Rye, and even hear that other “F-word” in the Dire Straits hit Money for Nothin’ without taking offence.

To paraphrase a famous statesman whose birthday will be celebrated in America in a few days: I have a dream that one day literature will be judged by the content of its characters, not the colour of its words. But, until then, perhaps Dr. Alan (Bowdler) Gribben is the best we can do.

Note: Mark Twain defined a “Classic” as a book that everyone wants to have read, but nobody wants to read. In using the word in reference to Huckleberry Finn I mean no disrespect. Words are such loaded entities.



Wednesday, January 19, 2011

SOMETIMES I WONDER IF WE’RE LOSING OUR CENSUS.

Lifelong activist and former Saskatchewan Green Party leader, Sandra Finley, has now been convicted of refusing to fill out her long form census in 2006. She is facing a maximum of three months in jail and/or a $500 fine. All this for, as the pro-census lobby keeps pointing out, “refusing to tell the government how many bathrooms she has”.

Of course it’s not really about bathrooms is it? It’s the principle of the matter. What if others also refused to share this kind of vital information? How long can we expect a nation to endure when nobody knows if people of colour have fewer bathrooms than those who are colourless, or whether Jehovah’s Witnesses take the bus more often than single, bilingual women over 50?

But seriously, the real issue is about the parameters we set regarding the kind of personal information the government can gather, as a matter of course, for no particular reason, under threat of prosecution. For example, should citizens face prosecution for declining to answer a question that would reveal their sexual orientation? And this is not something that could happen some day, such a question is on the 2011 census (short form), i.e., Are you in a same-sex, common-law relationship?

Personally I think this question goes too far, but when I am asked about my marital status: single or married, statute or common law, opposite or same sex, I will not refuse to answer. I am planning to refer the matter to the Federal Privacy Commissioner (PrivyCan?). I will be very interested to hear what StatsCan has to say about this, what PrivyCan has to say, and I’d especially like to be able to hear what they say when they talk to each other. Do they ever talk to each other?

It’s time Canadians had a serious discussion about all of this, and perhaps we can get such a conversation started. So, if you’d like to join this little experiment just take the census form when you receive it, answer whatever questions you wish, red-circle any you do not wish to answer, add a brief note explaining your concerns, and mail it to:

Jennifer Stoddart

Privacy Commissioner of Canada

112 Kent Street

Place de Ville

Tower B, 3rd Floor

Ottawa, Ontario

K1A 1H3

On her website she says, “My commitment to Canadians is to be passionate and persistent in defending their privacy rights ...”, so I’m sure she will be delighted to hear from us all.


Tuesday, January 4, 2011

EVERYONE NEEDS A GREAT GRANDMA

We have: the Great Flood, the Great War, the Great Depression, and Alexander the Great. Not many would say all these things are good, but nobody doubts they’re great. These comments sound a bit odd because we tend to associate greatness with goodness, and this because, for most of us, the really great things in our lives have been good. Indeed, were it not so we probably wouldn’t be here. Life is great and, for the most part, good.

Today I want to tell you about one of the great, good people in my life. Her name was Jessie Pluym and she died yesterday at the grand, old age of 98. She was not great in the way the world knows greatness: she wasn’t rich or famous, and if you google her name she doesn’t come up. But, at her funeral, I expect the church will be full, which is pretty good for someone who’s outlived almost all her contemporaries.

I met Jessie on May 31, 1998. I was candidateing at her church in Victoria, BC and, having met with the search committee, boards and staff, I was meeting with the entire congregation for grilling and desert.

The grilling went fine, though it did turn up some of the challenges that would dog us throughout our nine years in Victoria. But at about the halfway point this very impressive, elderly woman stood and introduced herself. “I’m Jessie Pluym,” she informed me, “but everyone calls me ‘Grandma Jessie’. I trust you won’t object if I speak my mind.” She then proceeded to speak her mind. I don’t recall, after all these years, exactly what she said, but I do recall that I discovered a few things about her then and there:

  1. This woman had a remarkable mind, a loving spirit, and a great heart.

  1. By the way she took command of the room I could see that this woman was the chief Elder of the church, not on paper, but in every way that really mattered.

  1. Grandma Jessie and I were going to be great friends for as long as we both lived. – You only meet a handful of people like her in any lifetime, and have few opportunities to be close to many. If I was going to be Lead Pastor of that church Jessie Pluym and I were going to be best friends, constant allies, and intimate confidants.

Throughout the years we spent at Western Community Baptist Church, Jessie was an invaluable source of insight and information. She was a loyal friend, even when it cost her dearly, but more than anything else, Jessie was a prayer warrior and a champion of young people and change.

The church so desperately needs seniors who have not forgotten what it means to be young, given their hearts over to the “good old days”, or grown weary in the practice of prayer. Jessie was that kind of woman, the kind we need in the church... no, in the world today. An Elder, not by appointment but just because she is. And everyone’s grandma.

When we celebrated her 90th birthday at the church many visitors came, but I noticed an entire row of people who had obviously arrived together; the staff of the Mac store next to the apartment building where she lived. This, I discovered, was where she met the neighbourhood: elderly, homeless, and the kids with, as she lovingly described them “spiked hair and all that metal in their faces”. She loved them all, she loved me and my family, and she’d have loved you too.

If you knew her, you were blessed to know her. If you didn’t, I wish you had. I did, and I’m glad I did.

Along with all the “Greats” in our lives we have “Great” Grandma Jessie! The kind of person I want to be when I grow up. And I still have some growing to do.