I'm not a world traveller. The list of countries I've visited is, by comparison to most you encounter abroad, minimal. Still, I've been places. Some international, some not. I consider myself exceptionally well-travelled within Canada. Particularly within my home provinces of Ontario and Québec. I've been to diverse regions of the United States, I've seen four countries in Europe (Italy, Switzerland, Austria, and Slovenia), and I recently returned from South America, where I spent two weeks in Chile.
This post is the third in a short series about my adventure to Chile. In my first post I detailed my personal experience with seeing South America. In the second, I talked about the socio-economic realities of modern Chile. This post is the one I was looking forward most to writing: I'll be discussion the dynamics of travel in the globalised capitalist world.
The logical starting point seems to be to talk about the evolution of travel. It is characterised by many as a modern phenomenon, but I don't believe that's a good fit. Here's why. In a Western context, travel has always existed, though those who could travel were almost exclusively society's elite. It was a function of wealth, since those with little resources could not afford to pick up and leave. It was similarly a function of social status, where only those who were particularly well-known would be able to cross borders without much trouble. As a result, travel was privilege. The only experience that most people would have with travel would be moving, which was an uprooting experience felt by many who were rich and poor. Some were forced, such as Palestinian Resettlement, the Acadian Expulsion, the Trail of Tears, or the Boers interned in South Africa. Others made more voluntary moves: In the eighteenth century German farmers would relocate to urban areas, in nineteenth century America settlers would move west, and in twentieth century Britain, tens of thousands would leave by ocean liner.
Notions of travel changed with the so-called creation of the middle class. In the 1920s most western societies became stratified based on income and a middle class emerged with access to resources and, more importantly, free time. Travel at this point consisted of being able to go from town to town, something which became all the more common with the Great Depression. Riding the rails became a means not only of finding work, but also of experiencing a world larger than that of your farm or neighbourhood. This was a generation finding itself through easy-to-access travel. In the post-war period, the car became the way to experience travel. Most developed countries established networks of highways, like France's Autoroutes and the United States Interstate System. People could travel further and faster, and with more flexibility, but now it required more privilege: access to a car. In the 1980s it was all the hype for North Americans to go to Europe to "find themselves". Backpacking around Europe became a rite of passage to adulthood, one awarded to predominately white, middle class, North Americans. Several decades later, it's now Thailand, Vietnam, or Korea. Again, it's a reflection of privilege. You have to be able to afford flying.
Having just flown down to South America, I can safely say that airfare is a significant financial obstacle. A round-trip flight to Santiago was over one thousand dollars. I had to absorb this large cost, something which my privilege afforded me, allowing me access to South America, where my currency has strong buying power. This allowed me to travel very cheaply. Taking intercity bus rides for about five dollars, having dinners that cost less than ten dollars, and staying in hostels for fifteen dollars per night.
I was aware of my privilege in travelling - that historical forces had created an uneven world that allowed those with the advantage to experience the world. However, I felt as though this didn't strike my fellow travellers. We all made more impacts on the societies we visited than we might realise. From jet fuel, to supporting black markets, to reprioritising how resources are allocated, travelling damages the planet and society at the local and international levels.
All this to say, I'm aware that our generation is one raised in a travel culture. The message to relatively affluent North Americans is that the world is there to be discovered. Look on your Facebook news feed and see how far you can go without seeing someone's pictures for a recent trip, someone talking about travelling, or an ad on the side telling you about hotels or flights. It's difficult, but it's a representation of the value that's placed on travel in our society, something that is instilled into us in order to support a massive international industry.
Is This Progress? This Is Progress.
Thursday, 28 March 2013
Wednesday, 20 March 2013
Modern South America
This is the second of three entries about my recent trip to Chile. My first post looked at my personal reflections on visiting South America for the first time. I intend to discuss here my perceptions of Chile's socio-economic realities. I'll argue that South America is widely misunderstood by the West, and that it straddles the traditional North-South divide, making it in incredible place to visit as a reflection and distortion of the modern neoliberal archetype.
Chile's history is fascinating, and it's truly a shame that so few people know anything about the nation's past. A significant part of this is our longstanding Eurocentric worldview, which dictates that what happens in the "West" is more important. The people, places, and events in Western society are thought to be the only relevant parts of our global consciousness and trajectory, and thus the exclusive focus on North America and Europe was standard practice until a few decades ago. The rise of India, China, and societies in the Middle East and Africa has informed new ways of teaching and learning history. When I was an undergraduate these fields were relatively new, and historians studying these regions were teaching introductory courses and honours seminars on topics as diverse as the Chinese Cultural Revolution and Decolonisation in Africa. These collections of narratives and points of analysis are now part of a larger whole, the study of history.
However, non-Western history may be flourishing at the post-secondary level, though it's not actively part of the curricula in North American public institutions. When it does make an appearance, it is an insertion to describe the development of other, presumably more important, societies like Canada. Chile, like the rest of South America, seems not to have enjoyed the interest of the academy and popular history. It's fascinating to me, particularly since I just read the 1972 watershed piece, Open Veins of Latin America, by Uruguayan journalist Eduardo Galeano. While there is no clear answer why South America remains the "forgotten continent" there is, unsurprisingly, much silence about the rich and terrifying history of South America. Even when substantial events occur, like the death of Hugo Chávez, media attention is remarkably scant. This is, in my opinion, partly because the death of Venezuela's leader was viewed as irrelevant, and partly because the radical new socialism was so unbelievably threatening that it was best left unmentioned.
I like to come at history from the position as an insider (as an historian) and an outsider (as a political economist). My training from all disciplines has led to me to be an active seeker of information. I can never get enough of reading, listening to radio debates, or watching documentaries. My knowledge of the world is small, but it's a functional patchwork of facts and analyses, one that's always in flux. The historian in me is interested in the way in which we talk about the past. The questions I most ask myself is, "whom do we find to be credible and why?". As a political economist, I like to examine this question through the lens of the relationship between the economy and society.
South America is generally considered part of the of the Global South. Like most definitions that are set up to place the world into categories, it's jargon. Perhaps the most immediate way to realise this is to note that in some instances, Chile is considered to be part of the Global North, and in some instances, the Global South. The lines are blurred, as they should be, but in the West we make inferences and assumptions about countries based on the categories they belong to. We're therefore taught to believe that Pakistan is full of terrorists, while Germany is full of wealth. These labels may be helpful in starting conversations or framing comparisons, they are not absolutes and become exceedingly dangerous when projected that way.
The North-South divide has a massive historical context that could itself be a series of posts. I'll be brief. Westerners, long before they gave themselves that label, have categorised the world throughout history. The terminology has changed: Europe as an idea, then Christendom, then the West, then the First World, then the Developed World, and now the Global North. This discourse will change as patterns of political, military, and economic hegemony evolves. Suffice to say, it's complicated, but it always serves to develop a binary when no such thing truly exists.
Each of these changes above can be described by changing realities on a global scale such as the spread of Christianity, the Industrial Revolution, and the Cold War. In recent decades, the primary for changing the fabric of societies has been globalisation. Again, this is a tricky word, and I'll steer away from defining by pointing out that there are numerous congruent and contradictory perspectives. What's important is what has transpired since the 1980s in a global sense, and that has been the deregulation of national economies, the adoption of free trade, and the increased prevalence of private property. Together, these strands form neoliberal economics, and are the primary way in which the world is organised - though not ubiquitously.
A large part of this comes down to the question of "can we quantify development?". The answer is, to a certain degree. And that's, finally, where Chile comes in. As mentioned above, there seems to be minimal consensus about where Chile fits on the spectrum of development. This is an impression that I first noticed when I arrived in Chile, and then became all the more confusing as I went along. My first footstep in Chile was into a multi-billion dollar aeroport, followed by a bus ride through some very sketchy neighbourhoods. Once in downtown, I was affronted by beautiful skyscrapers and clean public spaces located in close proximity to dilapidated buildings and a repulsive canal. Underneath Santiago was a state-of-the-art metro system. Above was a cloud of smog.
In other words, what I encountered in Santiago was a copy of what you might see in any North American city. Inequality was everywhere. Likewise, urban areas were substantially more developed than the rest of the country, something that would be noted visiting Canada. Environmental degradation existed everywhere, caused by industry, infrastructure, and travel, much like you'd experience in the West.
The longer I stayed in Chile, the more I realised that I was experiencing a culture that reflected my own more than it did produce alternatives. I was pleased to see a greater saturation of co-operatives, a lesser dependence on cars, and a greater sense of community. However, the reality is that Chile is governed by politicians who guard economic growth as sacred. There's litter on the street, homelessness is a serious concern, and inequality is steadily increasing.
Chile also felt very safe and appeared not to have any more corruption than other Western societies. People were engaged with work and seemed entrepreneurial, though they simultaneously made sure to not let work dictate their lives to them. Nothing operated on a clear schedule, which was madly frustrating to me at first, but then became an acceptable norm. The constraints of rigid times were not entirely disregarded, but there was never a push to respect them in the interests of efficiency. As a result, Chileans seemed content and much less likely to be stressed.
While the world may be a sprawling expanse, it is becoming more homogeneous through numerous forces like increased communication, easier travel, and free trade. My short trip to Chile certainly helped me think extensively on the subject of development, allowing me to write this rather longwinded post. I hope you found it interesting. Next week I'll be writing about travelling and privilege with further reflections from my trip to Chile.
Chile's history is fascinating, and it's truly a shame that so few people know anything about the nation's past. A significant part of this is our longstanding Eurocentric worldview, which dictates that what happens in the "West" is more important. The people, places, and events in Western society are thought to be the only relevant parts of our global consciousness and trajectory, and thus the exclusive focus on North America and Europe was standard practice until a few decades ago. The rise of India, China, and societies in the Middle East and Africa has informed new ways of teaching and learning history. When I was an undergraduate these fields were relatively new, and historians studying these regions were teaching introductory courses and honours seminars on topics as diverse as the Chinese Cultural Revolution and Decolonisation in Africa. These collections of narratives and points of analysis are now part of a larger whole, the study of history.
However, non-Western history may be flourishing at the post-secondary level, though it's not actively part of the curricula in North American public institutions. When it does make an appearance, it is an insertion to describe the development of other, presumably more important, societies like Canada. Chile, like the rest of South America, seems not to have enjoyed the interest of the academy and popular history. It's fascinating to me, particularly since I just read the 1972 watershed piece, Open Veins of Latin America, by Uruguayan journalist Eduardo Galeano. While there is no clear answer why South America remains the "forgotten continent" there is, unsurprisingly, much silence about the rich and terrifying history of South America. Even when substantial events occur, like the death of Hugo Chávez, media attention is remarkably scant. This is, in my opinion, partly because the death of Venezuela's leader was viewed as irrelevant, and partly because the radical new socialism was so unbelievably threatening that it was best left unmentioned.
I like to come at history from the position as an insider (as an historian) and an outsider (as a political economist). My training from all disciplines has led to me to be an active seeker of information. I can never get enough of reading, listening to radio debates, or watching documentaries. My knowledge of the world is small, but it's a functional patchwork of facts and analyses, one that's always in flux. The historian in me is interested in the way in which we talk about the past. The questions I most ask myself is, "whom do we find to be credible and why?". As a political economist, I like to examine this question through the lens of the relationship between the economy and society.
South America is generally considered part of the of the Global South. Like most definitions that are set up to place the world into categories, it's jargon. Perhaps the most immediate way to realise this is to note that in some instances, Chile is considered to be part of the Global North, and in some instances, the Global South. The lines are blurred, as they should be, but in the West we make inferences and assumptions about countries based on the categories they belong to. We're therefore taught to believe that Pakistan is full of terrorists, while Germany is full of wealth. These labels may be helpful in starting conversations or framing comparisons, they are not absolutes and become exceedingly dangerous when projected that way.
The North-South divide has a massive historical context that could itself be a series of posts. I'll be brief. Westerners, long before they gave themselves that label, have categorised the world throughout history. The terminology has changed: Europe as an idea, then Christendom, then the West, then the First World, then the Developed World, and now the Global North. This discourse will change as patterns of political, military, and economic hegemony evolves. Suffice to say, it's complicated, but it always serves to develop a binary when no such thing truly exists.
Each of these changes above can be described by changing realities on a global scale such as the spread of Christianity, the Industrial Revolution, and the Cold War. In recent decades, the primary for changing the fabric of societies has been globalisation. Again, this is a tricky word, and I'll steer away from defining by pointing out that there are numerous congruent and contradictory perspectives. What's important is what has transpired since the 1980s in a global sense, and that has been the deregulation of national economies, the adoption of free trade, and the increased prevalence of private property. Together, these strands form neoliberal economics, and are the primary way in which the world is organised - though not ubiquitously.
A large part of this comes down to the question of "can we quantify development?". The answer is, to a certain degree. And that's, finally, where Chile comes in. As mentioned above, there seems to be minimal consensus about where Chile fits on the spectrum of development. This is an impression that I first noticed when I arrived in Chile, and then became all the more confusing as I went along. My first footstep in Chile was into a multi-billion dollar aeroport, followed by a bus ride through some very sketchy neighbourhoods. Once in downtown, I was affronted by beautiful skyscrapers and clean public spaces located in close proximity to dilapidated buildings and a repulsive canal. Underneath Santiago was a state-of-the-art metro system. Above was a cloud of smog.
In other words, what I encountered in Santiago was a copy of what you might see in any North American city. Inequality was everywhere. Likewise, urban areas were substantially more developed than the rest of the country, something that would be noted visiting Canada. Environmental degradation existed everywhere, caused by industry, infrastructure, and travel, much like you'd experience in the West.
The longer I stayed in Chile, the more I realised that I was experiencing a culture that reflected my own more than it did produce alternatives. I was pleased to see a greater saturation of co-operatives, a lesser dependence on cars, and a greater sense of community. However, the reality is that Chile is governed by politicians who guard economic growth as sacred. There's litter on the street, homelessness is a serious concern, and inequality is steadily increasing.
Chile also felt very safe and appeared not to have any more corruption than other Western societies. People were engaged with work and seemed entrepreneurial, though they simultaneously made sure to not let work dictate their lives to them. Nothing operated on a clear schedule, which was madly frustrating to me at first, but then became an acceptable norm. The constraints of rigid times were not entirely disregarded, but there was never a push to respect them in the interests of efficiency. As a result, Chileans seemed content and much less likely to be stressed.
While the world may be a sprawling expanse, it is becoming more homogeneous through numerous forces like increased communication, easier travel, and free trade. My short trip to Chile certainly helped me think extensively on the subject of development, allowing me to write this rather longwinded post. I hope you found it interesting. Next week I'll be writing about travelling and privilege with further reflections from my trip to Chile.
Thursday, 14 March 2013
An Adventure in Chile
I just arrived back in Canada from two weeks of travel in Chile. On
the numerous flights back from South America I thought that it would be a
great idea to blog about my experiences there. I realised that what I
needed to say could not really be expressed in one blog; instead, I'd
need to cover it in a short series. There were three major threads to my
trip, and I'll address each of them in the next week or so in separate
blogs. The first will be my impressions about seeing Chile and South
America. The second will be about the socio-economic realities of Chile
and my insight as a westerner. The final post will talk about privilege
and travel.
I hope you'll take the time to read some of my material whether or not you've travelled or know anything about South America. As I mentioned, this post will look at my individual experience with Chile. It'll be the most informal of all the posts as I'll be effectively reflecting on two weeks of soaking in a beautiful and misunderstood country.
I stepped out of the aeroport in Santiago into the warm air. It was sunny, and I was surrounded by green. While flying down, I peered out of the tiny porthole beside me to notice that Santiago was a beautiful island enclosed by towering green and white mountains. The city appeared to perched on a desert, brown and sandy. When I was on the ground it was a grassy paradise. We took a shuttle into downtown, along the way passing shantytowns and parks. Once at the terminal, we shunted ourselves into the Santiago Metro, which is an amazing public transit system. It was clean and busy, at no matter what hour. I noticed that people sat with their smart phones and were listening to English pop music. Once I emerged from the metro station I was standing in a beautiful plaza with statues and trees. Cars navigated the roundabout and I stared up at towering apartments and offices. I felt as though I was in Venice and Vancouver.
I only managed to convince Kelly that we stay in Santiago for one night. I was enamoured and intrigued by the bustling city of nearly six million. It was the first time I was in a place that people might consider non-western or developing, and I wanted to see what the city had to offer. The most vivid memory I have is of standing at the gate to the national stadium. Used by Pinochet in the mid-1970s as a site to torture dissidents, the stadium is unassuming. There is no plaque, no statue. No commemoration and, sadly, no mention of its terrifying past. I stared at the field, locked behind red bars, and I thought about the tens of thousands who disappeared, many of whom had been held here. It was shocking to me to see the degree to which the suffering was erased, disavowed. In the aeroport two weeks later I watched Universidad de Chile play there while the crowds cheered in delight some four decades after the arena was host to crimes against humanity.
The next day we trekked by bus to Valparaìso and Viña del Mar, two beautiful cities along the Pacific coast. They hug the shoreline, bounded to the sea by the sprawling mountains. Valparaìso is an industrial port city, and it has all the grime despite being adorned in the most beautiful reds and oranges and yellows, all set against the green and blue its surroundings. It is a city rich in character and culture - a site for immigration and the entry point to Chile for most of its existence. Only twenty kilometres away is Viña del Mar, which is a flourishing resort community full of flashy cars and European tourists. The feel is completely different than that of its neighbour, though it's something to appreciate for its uniqueness. It's commercial, unlike anything else I saw in Chile, including the capital. Wealth is displayed virtually everywhere, in the architecture, in the public gardens, in the people. It was truly fascinating to see these two cities, stuck side-by-side.
For the rest of the trip Kelly and I were in the southern reaches of Chile, in Patagonia. We visited Punta Arenas before taking the bus north to Puerto Natales. After spending some time in the small community, we headed to Torres del Paine, one of South America's most famous natural wonders. The park is a massive sanctuary, but it's full of hikers from the global north, myself included. I felt a sense of freedom being away from civilisation, though I never escaped thinking about the degree to which tourism was damaging this fragile natural environment. Nevertheless, the trekking and camping was unforgettable. I saw my first iceberg, marvelled at the wildlife, and was surrounded by towering mountains and pristine glacial lakes.
Sadly, visiting those six locales took up my two weeks, and I headed back home to Canada. Chile was a place I'll always remember fondly, and I already look forward to going back there sometime. The flight home was bittersweet as I longed to remain in my new habitat, but I found myself ready to come back to my real life. In the dying hours of my trip, I made a commitment to myself to write a short series of blogs about my experience. I hope you enjoyed this one, and stay tuned my next post which will examine the socio-economic condition of Chile.
I hope you'll take the time to read some of my material whether or not you've travelled or know anything about South America. As I mentioned, this post will look at my individual experience with Chile. It'll be the most informal of all the posts as I'll be effectively reflecting on two weeks of soaking in a beautiful and misunderstood country.
I stepped out of the aeroport in Santiago into the warm air. It was sunny, and I was surrounded by green. While flying down, I peered out of the tiny porthole beside me to notice that Santiago was a beautiful island enclosed by towering green and white mountains. The city appeared to perched on a desert, brown and sandy. When I was on the ground it was a grassy paradise. We took a shuttle into downtown, along the way passing shantytowns and parks. Once at the terminal, we shunted ourselves into the Santiago Metro, which is an amazing public transit system. It was clean and busy, at no matter what hour. I noticed that people sat with their smart phones and were listening to English pop music. Once I emerged from the metro station I was standing in a beautiful plaza with statues and trees. Cars navigated the roundabout and I stared up at towering apartments and offices. I felt as though I was in Venice and Vancouver.
I only managed to convince Kelly that we stay in Santiago for one night. I was enamoured and intrigued by the bustling city of nearly six million. It was the first time I was in a place that people might consider non-western or developing, and I wanted to see what the city had to offer. The most vivid memory I have is of standing at the gate to the national stadium. Used by Pinochet in the mid-1970s as a site to torture dissidents, the stadium is unassuming. There is no plaque, no statue. No commemoration and, sadly, no mention of its terrifying past. I stared at the field, locked behind red bars, and I thought about the tens of thousands who disappeared, many of whom had been held here. It was shocking to me to see the degree to which the suffering was erased, disavowed. In the aeroport two weeks later I watched Universidad de Chile play there while the crowds cheered in delight some four decades after the arena was host to crimes against humanity.
The next day we trekked by bus to Valparaìso and Viña del Mar, two beautiful cities along the Pacific coast. They hug the shoreline, bounded to the sea by the sprawling mountains. Valparaìso is an industrial port city, and it has all the grime despite being adorned in the most beautiful reds and oranges and yellows, all set against the green and blue its surroundings. It is a city rich in character and culture - a site for immigration and the entry point to Chile for most of its existence. Only twenty kilometres away is Viña del Mar, which is a flourishing resort community full of flashy cars and European tourists. The feel is completely different than that of its neighbour, though it's something to appreciate for its uniqueness. It's commercial, unlike anything else I saw in Chile, including the capital. Wealth is displayed virtually everywhere, in the architecture, in the public gardens, in the people. It was truly fascinating to see these two cities, stuck side-by-side.
For the rest of the trip Kelly and I were in the southern reaches of Chile, in Patagonia. We visited Punta Arenas before taking the bus north to Puerto Natales. After spending some time in the small community, we headed to Torres del Paine, one of South America's most famous natural wonders. The park is a massive sanctuary, but it's full of hikers from the global north, myself included. I felt a sense of freedom being away from civilisation, though I never escaped thinking about the degree to which tourism was damaging this fragile natural environment. Nevertheless, the trekking and camping was unforgettable. I saw my first iceberg, marvelled at the wildlife, and was surrounded by towering mountains and pristine glacial lakes.
Sadly, visiting those six locales took up my two weeks, and I headed back home to Canada. Chile was a place I'll always remember fondly, and I already look forward to going back there sometime. The flight home was bittersweet as I longed to remain in my new habitat, but I found myself ready to come back to my real life. In the dying hours of my trip, I made a commitment to myself to write a short series of blogs about my experience. I hope you enjoyed this one, and stay tuned my next post which will examine the socio-economic condition of Chile.
Wednesday, 20 February 2013
On the Culture of Consumer Debt
It's no secret that western societies are becoming ever the more crippled with debt. In Canada we have an interesting television show about debt, and I imagine there are numerous more in the United States. Til Debt Do Us Part is a spectacle of how out of control debt can become for average middle class people. Hosted by Gail Vaz-Oxlade, it explores the downward spiral into debt that families often find seemingly insurmountable. With budgeting, lifestyle changes, and re-education about money, the families find their way back to financial security. If only it were that easy.
Instead of looking at individuals and blaming them for making poor decisions about spending, I believe it makes more sense to take a wider sociological angle at why we engage in the economy. A culture that's built on status symbols is a massive problem. People's idea of self is connected to what they own: the clothes they wear, the cars they drive, the music they listen to, the decor in their kitchens. In highly individualistic societies, like in Canada and the United States, there is a massive pressure on people to fit in by finding their own identity. This identity is less tied into beliefs than into the materialistic property that surrounds them. This leads people to make purchases, spending more than they can afford, largely because credit is available. This is something that I like to call "spending beyond reason".
But while the previous paragraphs really expose the degree to which people are spending in order to fit in, this actually makes up the minority of those who are in debt. The lower middle class and the working poor are generally in debt because they simply cannot afford the necessities of life. It comes down to many between choosing to pay for a tank of gas or groceries, and the only way to afford both is credit. Thus begins a cycle from which tens of millions of North Americans simply do not emerge intact. There are, infrequently, television shows about this because it's not glamourous and of course because it would really get people thinking that maybe personal choice isn't such a powerful component of one's financial standing. Effectively, it all boils down to the same principle, and that's that money is all around us but seldom understood.
So who, then, is at fault for this system of poor education around money, a climbing debt load, and a generally unsustainable economy? The consumer? The lenders? Government? I'd argue that they all play a significant role in creating a society that is consumed with the idea of consuming. How the system evolved to its particular manifestation is, well, anyone's guess, but I'd argue that maintaining it is a vestige of the elite: lawmakers and large financial institutions. Government is pressured by lenders, more so in the United States, to create favourable legislation around what banks and credit card companies can do. Individuals and groups in society, particularly those who are economically and otherwise marginalised, have such a limited voice against such powerful blocs of power.
Often the assertion is made, as in the documentary Maxed Out, that this is in fact leading to the destruction of the middle class. In almost occupy-esque language, the increased saturation of credit has deeply widened the gap between the rich and poor. In all fairness, it absolutely is the collapse of the American middle class. However, to frame the argument that way is inherently classist. It's effectively saying that nobody really cares that everyone is becoming poor, but only that the middle class is eroding. America, more than virtually any other developed country, has minimal sympathy for its working poor, namely because the American Dream is widely believed. The logic is such that those who have something got there through hard work and determination, while those who are in dire straits got there as a result of their poor choices.
Instead of looking at individuals and blaming them for making poor decisions about spending, I believe it makes more sense to take a wider sociological angle at why we engage in the economy. A culture that's built on status symbols is a massive problem. People's idea of self is connected to what they own: the clothes they wear, the cars they drive, the music they listen to, the decor in their kitchens. In highly individualistic societies, like in Canada and the United States, there is a massive pressure on people to fit in by finding their own identity. This identity is less tied into beliefs than into the materialistic property that surrounds them. This leads people to make purchases, spending more than they can afford, largely because credit is available. This is something that I like to call "spending beyond reason".
But while the previous paragraphs really expose the degree to which people are spending in order to fit in, this actually makes up the minority of those who are in debt. The lower middle class and the working poor are generally in debt because they simply cannot afford the necessities of life. It comes down to many between choosing to pay for a tank of gas or groceries, and the only way to afford both is credit. Thus begins a cycle from which tens of millions of North Americans simply do not emerge intact. There are, infrequently, television shows about this because it's not glamourous and of course because it would really get people thinking that maybe personal choice isn't such a powerful component of one's financial standing. Effectively, it all boils down to the same principle, and that's that money is all around us but seldom understood.
So who, then, is at fault for this system of poor education around money, a climbing debt load, and a generally unsustainable economy? The consumer? The lenders? Government? I'd argue that they all play a significant role in creating a society that is consumed with the idea of consuming. How the system evolved to its particular manifestation is, well, anyone's guess, but I'd argue that maintaining it is a vestige of the elite: lawmakers and large financial institutions. Government is pressured by lenders, more so in the United States, to create favourable legislation around what banks and credit card companies can do. Individuals and groups in society, particularly those who are economically and otherwise marginalised, have such a limited voice against such powerful blocs of power.
Often the assertion is made, as in the documentary Maxed Out, that this is in fact leading to the destruction of the middle class. In almost occupy-esque language, the increased saturation of credit has deeply widened the gap between the rich and poor. In all fairness, it absolutely is the collapse of the American middle class. However, to frame the argument that way is inherently classist. It's effectively saying that nobody really cares that everyone is becoming poor, but only that the middle class is eroding. America, more than virtually any other developed country, has minimal sympathy for its working poor, namely because the American Dream is widely believed. The logic is such that those who have something got there through hard work and determination, while those who are in dire straits got there as a result of their poor choices.
Wednesday, 13 February 2013
Scandal in the Senate
Surprise surprise: the Senate is embroiled in a rather delicate situation, with several members being investigated for various offences. The three offenders that stand out most right now are Pamela Wallin, Patrick Brazeau, and Mike Duffy, all appointed as Conservative Senators in 2008 and 2009. The scandal involves expense claims, perhaps most outrageously with Wallin's $350 000 travel budget during a two-year period.
However, as much as people would like to focus on the fact that this is a problem with the Conservative Party, it's distinctly non-partisan. Liberal Senators are in the same position, most notably with Mac Harb, who is accused of claiming residency outside of Ottawa in order to claim living expenses for work in Ottawa. It's evident that the problem is not necessarily with the Senators themselves, but with a system of appointments, where someone is handpicked to join the Senate and may remain there for, in some cases, decades.
Although the problem (even upon a quick glance) is very much a systemic one, political parties and the media are attacking individual Senators and claiming that they are the problem. While they may be emblematic of the abuse and unaccountability, these Senators are behaving in a certain way because there is minimal transparency and they are not held to account by the Canadian public through, for instance, voting. Justin Trudeau recently remarked that the problem could be fixed by picking "higher-calibre Senators". What that means, for one, is unclear, and it further contributes to an institution that is simply designed for people to not be responsible and open.
What's perhaps most interesting about this story is how it fits into the public image of Stephen Harper as harmless, practical, and looking after Canada's best interests. Widely viewed as a reformer (in the grassroots Reform Party vein), he was elected partially on a promise to democratise the Senate. Upon assuming office he has since (conveniently) forgotten about this promise. Of course it is reasonable enough to say that he hasn't done anything because it's a difficult system to change, but he has actively, not just tacitly, maintained the status quo with respect to the Senate. Since becoming Prime Minister he has appointed numerous new Senators, Wallin, Brazeau, and Duffy among them.
If that's not evidence enough that Harper has only limited desire to reform the Senate, consider this: Stephen Harper has been one of Canada's most undemocratic leaders. Two prorogations, allegations of electoral fraud, and a charge of contempt of parliament. Beyond this, he's muzzled scientists, labelled activists as terrorists, and changed the rules on who may ask him questions at press meetings. How serious can he be about promoting greater democracy?
Like many Canadians, I'm saddened by the degeneration of Canada's democratic institutions and I'm nervous about their ability to rebound. I have hope that there is a critical mass out there who is concerned about reviving accountability and transparency in our system.
However, as much as people would like to focus on the fact that this is a problem with the Conservative Party, it's distinctly non-partisan. Liberal Senators are in the same position, most notably with Mac Harb, who is accused of claiming residency outside of Ottawa in order to claim living expenses for work in Ottawa. It's evident that the problem is not necessarily with the Senators themselves, but with a system of appointments, where someone is handpicked to join the Senate and may remain there for, in some cases, decades.
Although the problem (even upon a quick glance) is very much a systemic one, political parties and the media are attacking individual Senators and claiming that they are the problem. While they may be emblematic of the abuse and unaccountability, these Senators are behaving in a certain way because there is minimal transparency and they are not held to account by the Canadian public through, for instance, voting. Justin Trudeau recently remarked that the problem could be fixed by picking "higher-calibre Senators". What that means, for one, is unclear, and it further contributes to an institution that is simply designed for people to not be responsible and open.
What's perhaps most interesting about this story is how it fits into the public image of Stephen Harper as harmless, practical, and looking after Canada's best interests. Widely viewed as a reformer (in the grassroots Reform Party vein), he was elected partially on a promise to democratise the Senate. Upon assuming office he has since (conveniently) forgotten about this promise. Of course it is reasonable enough to say that he hasn't done anything because it's a difficult system to change, but he has actively, not just tacitly, maintained the status quo with respect to the Senate. Since becoming Prime Minister he has appointed numerous new Senators, Wallin, Brazeau, and Duffy among them.
If that's not evidence enough that Harper has only limited desire to reform the Senate, consider this: Stephen Harper has been one of Canada's most undemocratic leaders. Two prorogations, allegations of electoral fraud, and a charge of contempt of parliament. Beyond this, he's muzzled scientists, labelled activists as terrorists, and changed the rules on who may ask him questions at press meetings. How serious can he be about promoting greater democracy?
Like many Canadians, I'm saddened by the degeneration of Canada's democratic institutions and I'm nervous about their ability to rebound. I have hope that there is a critical mass out there who is concerned about reviving accountability and transparency in our system.
Tuesday, 5 February 2013
And Remember, It's Not Sexism: It's Science
I was in Montréal last weekend and one of the local radio stations, 92.5 "The Beat" Montréal, was played an add several times that I thought was worth sharing. Unfortunately, I'm neither able to find the add itself or a transcript of it, and I have tried (unsuccessfully) to get anything helpful from the radio station.
The add is a conversation between a male and a female:
Female: "I should only have two drinks per day"
Male: "And I should only have three drinks per day"
Female: "I should only have ten drinks per week"
Male: "And I should only have fifteen drinks per week"
Together: "It's not sexism; it's science"
I was honestly rather confused in listening to this commercial, or more accurately, this strange public service announcement. It's unclear who sponsored this add, though it's clearly about moderation. While I do agree with the message that people should carefully watch their alcohol consumption (which is certainly a problem) I do not appreciate the message that we can essentialise based on gender.
While it is, in general, true that men can drink more than women, it is a false conclusion that all men can drink more than women can. This is true whether you're talking about sustained daily consumption or one night of excessive consumption.
In fact, other factors are probably more significant than gender. Age, weight, metabolism, tolerance, food consumption, medication, and many other considerations are all entirely relevant. Gender is obviously a factor, but it's one of many factors, and it is valuable for how it interacts with other factors, not just for its own sake. This might explain, for example, why most women can drink more than I can. It also explains why my ability to consume alcohol has not remained static or constant despite the fact that my sex has. The reality is, as unfortunate as this may seem for most people, that the effects of alcohol on an individual are very idiosyncratic and often unpredictable. For me, it's something like this, though it's certainly not constant.
And this is where science comes in. My claim about my own idiosyncratic and inconsistent drinking realities are, unsurprisingly, unscientific. But I don't claim it to be an objective scientific reality. In fact, science is all about contradictions, anomalies, and unpredictability. As such, claims about difference attributed to science are, at best, just sketchy. At worst, however, they play on our cultural ideas about the differences between men and women. As a result, it's both science and sexism: scientific sexism. This sort of values-driven science is best evidenced in evolutionary psychology, and is very similar to eugenics and scientific racism. Men and women are biologically different or socially different and thus act differently. This public service announcement is nothing different: women and men are just different and thus should behave differently. I intend to talk more about objectivity and science in the near future, so I'll leave it at that for now.
While the whole advertisement is problematic, what's more problematic is that it's a woman saying that it's not sexism. This is effectively co-optation and also the same as incorporating any marginalised person to speak on behalf of that group. It's disconcerting to say the least, giving the impression that sexism can be, and often is, just a harmless reality, not a purposeful product of a patriarchal system.
I have to say that, fundamentally, we should all be concerned about how much we drink. But let's not delude ourselves into thinking that it has to do with our gender: we're smart people and we should understand that it's simply more complicated than that.
The add is a conversation between a male and a female:
Female: "I should only have two drinks per day"
Male: "And I should only have three drinks per day"
Female: "I should only have ten drinks per week"
Male: "And I should only have fifteen drinks per week"
Together: "It's not sexism; it's science"
I was honestly rather confused in listening to this commercial, or more accurately, this strange public service announcement. It's unclear who sponsored this add, though it's clearly about moderation. While I do agree with the message that people should carefully watch their alcohol consumption (which is certainly a problem) I do not appreciate the message that we can essentialise based on gender.
While it is, in general, true that men can drink more than women, it is a false conclusion that all men can drink more than women can. This is true whether you're talking about sustained daily consumption or one night of excessive consumption.
In fact, other factors are probably more significant than gender. Age, weight, metabolism, tolerance, food consumption, medication, and many other considerations are all entirely relevant. Gender is obviously a factor, but it's one of many factors, and it is valuable for how it interacts with other factors, not just for its own sake. This might explain, for example, why most women can drink more than I can. It also explains why my ability to consume alcohol has not remained static or constant despite the fact that my sex has. The reality is, as unfortunate as this may seem for most people, that the effects of alcohol on an individual are very idiosyncratic and often unpredictable. For me, it's something like this, though it's certainly not constant.
And this is where science comes in. My claim about my own idiosyncratic and inconsistent drinking realities are, unsurprisingly, unscientific. But I don't claim it to be an objective scientific reality. In fact, science is all about contradictions, anomalies, and unpredictability. As such, claims about difference attributed to science are, at best, just sketchy. At worst, however, they play on our cultural ideas about the differences between men and women. As a result, it's both science and sexism: scientific sexism. This sort of values-driven science is best evidenced in evolutionary psychology, and is very similar to eugenics and scientific racism. Men and women are biologically different or socially different and thus act differently. This public service announcement is nothing different: women and men are just different and thus should behave differently. I intend to talk more about objectivity and science in the near future, so I'll leave it at that for now.
While the whole advertisement is problematic, what's more problematic is that it's a woman saying that it's not sexism. This is effectively co-optation and also the same as incorporating any marginalised person to speak on behalf of that group. It's disconcerting to say the least, giving the impression that sexism can be, and often is, just a harmless reality, not a purposeful product of a patriarchal system.
I have to say that, fundamentally, we should all be concerned about how much we drink. But let's not delude ourselves into thinking that it has to do with our gender: we're smart people and we should understand that it's simply more complicated than that.
Saturday, 26 January 2013
Free
There are numerous basic tenets of modern society, not the least of which being our perceived rights to freedom. Freedom is a dangerously tricky word to define because it means different things to different people at different times in different contexts. It's complicated; and it should be. Freedom is a question that deals with virtually everything we do every day.
I'm writing this post because today I read an article in the National Post which attacks one of my friends, Arun Seamus Surinder Smith. He's an outspoken activist and a student of international human rights at Carleton University in Ottawa. Rex Murphy, one of Canada's most controversial political and social commentators, recently wrote a piece attacking Arun's ideology. The basic idea of the article is that Arun is an archetype of university students, removed from the real world. His ideas are fomented by other students and professors who obviously have nothing better to do than to deconstruct society and come up with a bunch of random "-isms". What scares me about this article is that it glosses over activism with a wide brush, dealing only with the abstraction that opposition to power in our society is misguided. In fact, Murphy didn't even bother to mention what specifically Arun was reacting to or why it was offensive or inappropriate: he simply characterised someone reacting to free speech as crazy or entitled.
This is particularly interesting because it paints the activist and university student, let alone the person challenging privilege, as entitled. Entitlement, however, comes from privilege. Those in society who have power (for whatever reason), generally feel that they have earned it and as a result they are entitled to act upon it. In our society, privilege comes in innumerable forms, though its worth noting for the purpose of this post that there are privileges that are social and ones that are economic. They are most certainly usually tied to one another, but they are not mutually exclusive. Moreover, both are inherently political.
Virtually everyone, myself included, gets defensive when their privilege is challenged. Most things in my life I've accomplished because of my location, whether social or economic. I've had many opportunities that eighty or ninety per cent of others didn't. I'm lucky. I'm not better than everyone else, I was merely dealt a better hand to play with that others were. That opens up to me certain avenues, and also limits me simultaneously. In other words, I'm privileged in some ways, and oppressed in others. We all are. That's reality. Sorting out particulars is important, and the particulars of this case are likely highly interesting, but since I don't know about them, I'd rather talk about the broader ramifications.
Firstly, understanding speech is not simple, and I won't pretend to know the best way to manage it. Instead, let me present you with some basic definitions. The notion that people are free to express themselves, in an historical or modern perspective, is core to the American identity. Free speech is considered to be the pinnacle of evolution on thought. The idea comes from the Enlightenment and was part of a changing tide in Europe: that maybe absolutism/autocracy wasn't in the best interests of humankind. This was also part of classical liberalism, the notion that humans should be more free to act as economic agents without the interference of cumbersome and often out-of-touch governments. When you think about it, it goes together fantastically:
For centuries American foreign policy has been rooted in the promotion of its core identities: democracy and capitalism. From its conception, the United States has been described as a beacon for letting individuals make choices, all under the name of liberty. It's part of the lexicon of American culture: the American Dream, Manifest Destiny, car culture, and reality television. The discourse is that anyone can make anything out of themselves. Freedom is the right to participate in a democratic socio-political system, and the right to participate in a capitalist socio-economic system.
While these notions certainly sound great, they are pretty far removed from reality. Oppression, in a society that tries to minimise redistribution and regulation, comes from numerous loci and allows only a select few to benefit from the free society. Freedom is often merely the freedom to be exploited. Americans, like many others in developed countries, are scared of governments for either social or economic reasons. Governments will often limit what people can do, but what that means depends on who is limiting whom.
Often when we think of limits to free speech its a question of it being simply "censorship". This is a vastly challenging thing to deal with, and it's key matter of political economy in that it deals with who has the power to make the decision. From the Western perspective, we often think of censorship and tie it to despicable regimes that were about as far away from democracy as imaginable: Nazi Germany, the Soviet Union, North Korea, or Iran. But it's obviously more complicated than that. These societies certainly placed harsh limits on members of society, but it wasn't in the interests of protecting the oppressed, like ethnic minorities, women, the poor, or political dissidents.
It should be the imperative of the state or government to protect those who are marginalised or who cannot protect themselves. The danger of "free" markets and "free" speech is that it gives the impression that everything is the best it could be and that it's fair. Moreover, it's as though if you can't compete, you don't deserve dignity or respect. This is predicated on the notion that free markets and free speech are both efficient and moral, the pinnacle of human development and certainly not in need of tinkering.
To take a critical stance on this position is to advocate for equity - that we are all not equal: whether before the law, or before the economy, or before one another. Building up regulation in justice, in finance, and in social interaction makes sense. People need to be protected, and that's what hate speech legislation is about. We have it, legally, in Canada, but application and enforcement are far from perfect. When you see hate speech, think about what's being said and challenge it.
I'm writing this post because today I read an article in the National Post which attacks one of my friends, Arun Seamus Surinder Smith. He's an outspoken activist and a student of international human rights at Carleton University in Ottawa. Rex Murphy, one of Canada's most controversial political and social commentators, recently wrote a piece attacking Arun's ideology. The basic idea of the article is that Arun is an archetype of university students, removed from the real world. His ideas are fomented by other students and professors who obviously have nothing better to do than to deconstruct society and come up with a bunch of random "-isms". What scares me about this article is that it glosses over activism with a wide brush, dealing only with the abstraction that opposition to power in our society is misguided. In fact, Murphy didn't even bother to mention what specifically Arun was reacting to or why it was offensive or inappropriate: he simply characterised someone reacting to free speech as crazy or entitled.
This is particularly interesting because it paints the activist and university student, let alone the person challenging privilege, as entitled. Entitlement, however, comes from privilege. Those in society who have power (for whatever reason), generally feel that they have earned it and as a result they are entitled to act upon it. In our society, privilege comes in innumerable forms, though its worth noting for the purpose of this post that there are privileges that are social and ones that are economic. They are most certainly usually tied to one another, but they are not mutually exclusive. Moreover, both are inherently political.
Virtually everyone, myself included, gets defensive when their privilege is challenged. Most things in my life I've accomplished because of my location, whether social or economic. I've had many opportunities that eighty or ninety per cent of others didn't. I'm lucky. I'm not better than everyone else, I was merely dealt a better hand to play with that others were. That opens up to me certain avenues, and also limits me simultaneously. In other words, I'm privileged in some ways, and oppressed in others. We all are. That's reality. Sorting out particulars is important, and the particulars of this case are likely highly interesting, but since I don't know about them, I'd rather talk about the broader ramifications.
Firstly, understanding speech is not simple, and I won't pretend to know the best way to manage it. Instead, let me present you with some basic definitions. The notion that people are free to express themselves, in an historical or modern perspective, is core to the American identity. Free speech is considered to be the pinnacle of evolution on thought. The idea comes from the Enlightenment and was part of a changing tide in Europe: that maybe absolutism/autocracy wasn't in the best interests of humankind. This was also part of classical liberalism, the notion that humans should be more free to act as economic agents without the interference of cumbersome and often out-of-touch governments. When you think about it, it goes together fantastically:
For centuries American foreign policy has been rooted in the promotion of its core identities: democracy and capitalism. From its conception, the United States has been described as a beacon for letting individuals make choices, all under the name of liberty. It's part of the lexicon of American culture: the American Dream, Manifest Destiny, car culture, and reality television. The discourse is that anyone can make anything out of themselves. Freedom is the right to participate in a democratic socio-political system, and the right to participate in a capitalist socio-economic system.
While these notions certainly sound great, they are pretty far removed from reality. Oppression, in a society that tries to minimise redistribution and regulation, comes from numerous loci and allows only a select few to benefit from the free society. Freedom is often merely the freedom to be exploited. Americans, like many others in developed countries, are scared of governments for either social or economic reasons. Governments will often limit what people can do, but what that means depends on who is limiting whom.
Often when we think of limits to free speech its a question of it being simply "censorship". This is a vastly challenging thing to deal with, and it's key matter of political economy in that it deals with who has the power to make the decision. From the Western perspective, we often think of censorship and tie it to despicable regimes that were about as far away from democracy as imaginable: Nazi Germany, the Soviet Union, North Korea, or Iran. But it's obviously more complicated than that. These societies certainly placed harsh limits on members of society, but it wasn't in the interests of protecting the oppressed, like ethnic minorities, women, the poor, or political dissidents.
It should be the imperative of the state or government to protect those who are marginalised or who cannot protect themselves. The danger of "free" markets and "free" speech is that it gives the impression that everything is the best it could be and that it's fair. Moreover, it's as though if you can't compete, you don't deserve dignity or respect. This is predicated on the notion that free markets and free speech are both efficient and moral, the pinnacle of human development and certainly not in need of tinkering.
To take a critical stance on this position is to advocate for equity - that we are all not equal: whether before the law, or before the economy, or before one another. Building up regulation in justice, in finance, and in social interaction makes sense. People need to be protected, and that's what hate speech legislation is about. We have it, legally, in Canada, but application and enforcement are far from perfect. When you see hate speech, think about what's being said and challenge it.
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