Real Friends

In Washington, another exchange student once told me she could tell who her real friends were, not by how much they contacted her, but rather by how much she contacted them. An interesting postulation.

http://blogs.guardian.co.uk/environment/2008/07/bovine_burps.html

Can bovine burp research slow global warming?

Fun fieldwork for a team of Argentinan scientists who are measuring the levels of methane in cow belches in a bid to reduce greenhouse gas emissions

July 9, 2008 3:57 PM

Methane, produced by cows, is a more potent global warming gas than carbon dioxide. Photograph: Reuters

Scientists trying to find a solution to reducing the levels of methane in the Earth's atmosphere are using a handful of lucky Argentinian cows in a novel experiment involving bovine burps.

In a country famed for its cattle herds, scientists have strapped plastic tanks to the backs of cows in order to collect their belches and study their methane levels.

The scientists, from the National Institute of Agricultural Technology, say that as much as 30% of Argentina's greenhouse gas emissions could come from cows, and hope this study will find a way to cut down on emissions by changing the diet and lifestyle of the animals.

The grass that cows eat is hard to digest and broken down by bacteria in the animal's four stomachs. In the absence of oxygen, the bacteria turn it into methane. Contrary to common belief, most gas emerges from the front, not rear, ends of the cows.

Farmed ruminant animals are thought to be responsible for up to a quarter of "man-made" methane emissions, which researchers say is 23 times more potent than carbon dioxide when it comes to trapping heat in the atmosphere.

Scientists are working to develop new diets for cows that could make it easier for them to digest food, moving them away from grains to plants like alfalfa and clover.

A study last year found that the average dairy cow in the UK belches out about 100 to 200 litres of methane each day. Given that Argentina is one of the world's biggest beef producers, with some 55 million heads of cattle grazing on the famed Pampas grasslands, that adds up to a significant number.

"When we got the first results, we were surprised. Thirty percent of Argentina's [total greenhouse] emissions could be generated by cows," said Guillermo Berra, a researcher working on the project.

Berra said the researchers "never thought" that a cow weighing 550kg (1,210lb) could produce 800 to 1,000 litres (28 to 35 cubic feet) of emissions each day.

At least 10 cows are being studied, Berra said, including some in a corral whose burps are collected in yellow balloons hanging from the roof.

"We have done a preliminary study and have found that by using tannins, you can reduce methane emissions by 25%," said Silvia Valtorta of the National Council of Scientific and Technical Investigations.

Transitions

Nearly six weeks after my return to Canada from the U.S., I believe it's time to finally write a concluding post to the portion of my blog dedicated to my experiences in Washington, DC. Because of all the excitement that inevitably both precedes and follows a big transition like this one, this is the first proper concluding post I write about any of my experiences and I'm not doing it because I feel particularly inspired, but rather because I think it's important to properly celebrate my whole experience and also just because it's a nice way to record my initial reflections on the experience after it ended. So here goes nothing.

My last exam was on a Tuesday: Tuesday, May 6th at 8:30 am. Feeling rather pressured to get back to Sackville to begin the summer research project for which I was being funded from May 1st onward, I had initially planned to leave DC on Wednesday around 5 am. I had a train ticket booked to Buffalo and a bus ticket from there to Toronto; however, as my time drew to an end, I realized I was about to leave DC with so much left undone. And so, on a bit of a whim, I checked plane tickets, found a cheap one going directly to Moncton on Saturday, checked to see if I could cancel my plane and bus tickets, and made the switch.

Of all the planning I've done for different trips, that was probably one of the best decisions I've made. Those extra three days were exactly what I needed to properly finish off the year and to be able to leave without having to suffer through any of those "I really with I had..." moments.

Despite a little overlap, I think most trips can be divided into one's relationship with the place and one's relationships with people, and for me, the latter is always most important. Thus, during those last days, I had my last meals in the cafeteria with friends from campus, I went to check out the new apartments of friends staying in DC for the summer, I had a lovely lunch downtown with a good friend from off campus, I said goodbye to everyone at the homeless drop-in centre and left them the stash of grocery bags and pens I had been saving for them all year, I went to a raw oyster bar in Georgetown for happy hour with my roommate (and we had a bottle of wine and nearly three dozen oysters between the two of us!)... In short, I said goodbye; not a frazzled, last-minute "I've just spent the last 39 hours packing and have to get on a plane in 47 minutes but goodbye. I love you! [starting to walk away] I miss you! Keep in touch! [fading away] Gotta RUN!" kind of goodbye, but rather, a wonderful "this is why I'm going to miss you" kind of goodbye.

Nevertheless, there was also the "place" aspect of my experience that was thirsty for a bit of closure. So on top of a healthy amount of time dallying around Georgetown, I also took a day to see the monuments one last time and to visit the National Art Gallery, the Museum of the American Indian, and the Air and Space Museum. It too was just what I needed, like a final exam that proves to you how much you actually learned in a class.

At the National Art Gallery, as usual, the first thing I wanted to see was a few expressionist and impressionist works. As enthralled by them as always, I thought I should really move on and spend some time on the American stuff. That's what I was really there to see, and taking it in - the portraits, the city scenes, the country scenes, the modern stuff (from Rothko's abstract paintings to stacks of Campbell's soup cans) - I think the bottom line for me - the theme that had been drilled into my head over the last year - was that America has its own distinct culture. It's by no means simply a distinct lack of culture as people sometimes claim, but rather a complex combination of history, religion, institutions, language, art, etc. arguably more similar to the cultures out of which more "classic" works stem than their contemporary geographic homologues.

Next, at the Smithsonians, I realized how skillfully I had learned to identify the overriding feature of American cutlure: politics. To give a few examples:

-The first two floors of the Museum of the American Indian were stores (of products made by or related to American Indians) and the most famous (and probably most popular) part of the museum is their cafeteria that serves traditional foods of aboriginals from across the Americas.

-There's a huge wooden Haida(?) sculpture donated by the Canadian government front and centre on your way into the museum.

-Nothing was translated in the Museum of the American Indian while lots was translated into the languages of the most common visitors in the Air and Space Museum (the most popular Smithsonian). The container for donations was also practically overflowing in the Air and Space Museum and nearly empty in the Museum of the American Indian.

-Finally, a large portion of the Air and Space Museum was dedicated to military advancements in aviation throughout history. Two words: biased much? I guess the Cold War is still in too recent history to begin to look at things a little more objectively...

And on that note, I think it's time to put this post to bed with the rest of my reflections on the United States of America. My time in Washington, DC was fabulous (many thanks to the Killam Fellowships program!) and I do love to share my experiences with you, but there's so much more to it than I could ever blog about. So, as I've already said on a few occasions in this blog, next time you think about heading back to the splendid city of Montreal for another long weekend of adventures or next time you think of buying a couple packs of cigarettes every week for year, consider taking a trip to visit our Southern neighbo(u)rs instead. Who knows what you would think of them!

Quand était-ce donc?

Do you remember walking to school in the morning feeling like you were on your way to conquer the world?

Do you remember getting to play outside for an extra half hour and feeling like you hit the jackpot?

Do you remember going home for dinner after you were all tuckered out and feeling like not even a gourmet chef with his funny hat could top your mom's (or dad's) spaghetti?

Do you remember taking on a few of the BIG questions before going to sleep at night and feeling like you almost had things all figured out?


I do. I remember it from a time not so long ago...

Not Just This Poem

If I had a word
for every time
I wished that I
could make you smile
I'd write you a book
and not just this poem.
---
I got this poem published in the university's literary magazine last semester and felt inspired to post if for you, my dear friends and family (and a few strangers too, I guess), tonight.

Science and Happiness

In the long run, I don't believe scientific discoveries that extend life expectancy and improve "quality of life" actually do much for people's appreciation of life or overall happiness. On the other hand, I am entirely convinced that caring for people (sick or healthy) - even without offering any real "treatment - does wonder for them.

Would people be happier as a whole if nobody ever got the flu? if everyone lived 150 years? if no one needed wheelchairs?

Simply a Waste!

This is so frustrating! So many things have come up over that last two weeks that I really want to blog about, but I simply don't have time. So what I'm going to do is write a quick post about some ideas from this Friday, but with the promise to write about earlier happenings (i.e. my fantabulous Alternative Spring Break to the Tohono O'odham Indian Reservation in Arizona!) in the not-too-distant future.

In one of the many conversations with my grandma over Christmas, a peculiar side-effect of certain feminist activism promoting women's increased or equal participation in the "labour force" came up: the devaluation of parenting and of the stay-at-home parent in general.

On Friday night, as a very dear friend of mine and I were painting Ukrainian Easter Eggs and discussing our futures, that same issue came back into the picture. To it was added the issue that with today's divorce rates, it has become a pretty risky affair to be economically dependent on one's spouse.

So although we both agreed we'd love to have families, part of us would feel unfulfilled, as if we were wasting our skills if we'd didn't work too. Of course, we assured each other, that's foolish: raising kids (well) is as great a service to the community as any other! Now the thing about stating the matter so impersonally, is that most university students (ourselves included) don't really see it as applying to them.

So, pretty sure of what to expect, I still had to ask: "Do you think it would be a waste for me to be a stay-at-home dad?" She answered no. And once she said it (no doubt influenced by hour of playing with her two-year-old niece earlier that evening) I was filled such a happy, relieving, slightly exciting feeling.

No need to worry! I'm not going to drop out of school or forget about plans for after my undergrad... Part of my reaction comes from the fact that I do want family to be a central part of my life (even if I am working) and I guess, without knowing it, I was a little insecure about that, probably because, other than my parents, I don't think I've ever had someone so explicitly validate this goal.

But I'd be lying if I denied that another part of my reaction comes from the fact that being a stay-at-home dad is one dream from high school that seems to have quickly faded away in university and simply knowing that I could do that and it that would be ok is wonderful!

So if you dare, ask yourself: Do you think it would be a waste for you to be a stay-at-home parent? And if you're really brave, ask someone else!

Aufgeben

Auch wenn man nie in einem kommunistischen Land gelebt hat, bringt Claudia Ruschs Meine freie deutsche Jugend zum Nachdenken über viele wesentliche Fragen. Eine der Wichtigsten dieser Fragen ist: Wann sollte man entscheiden, eine schwierige Situation zu verbessern aufzugeben und einfach etwas Neues zu suchen? Obwohl es natürlich keine feste Antwort gibt, – sie ist anders für jeden – finde ich, dass meine Generation in Nordamerika eine Tendenz hat, sehr früh aufzugeben. Ein wichtiger Grund dafür, das ich nachweisen werde, ist das mit der Globalisierung angekommene Weltbürgergefühl.

Der Schwerpunkt der Frage erscheint in Meine freie deutsche Jugend mit der Nebeneinanderstellung Claudias Schlussreaktion auf ihre Unzufriedenheit mit dem Leben in der DDR mit der ihrer Mutter. Claudia will auswandern, obwohl ihre Mutter sich entschieden hat, dort zu bleiben, um zu versuchen, die Situation zu verbessern. Um diese Auswanderungsentscheidung machen zu können, musste Claudia sich gewissermaßen fühlen, wie eine Fremde in ihrer Heimat.

In den USA gibt es heutzutage verschiedene Gründe für Jugendliche (besonders Liberale) sich nicht zu Hause zu fühlen. Aber könnte die Situation so schwierig wie in der DDR sein? Wahrscheinlich nicht. Warum dann sind Jugendliche so „ortlos“, ohne Verbindung mit irgendeinem Ort – sogar ihrer Heimat? Ein wichtiger Teil der Antwort versteckt sich nicht in der Ortlosigkeit, sondern im Weltbürgergefühl, dass die Globalisierung mitgebracht hat. Wegen dieses Gefühls verlassen Jugendliche ihre „Heimat“ nicht, wenn sie auswandern: eine andere Stadt ist wie eine andere Wohngegend; ein anderes Land, wie ein anderes Bundesland.

Eine Bindung mit der ganzen Welt ist aber nie so stark wie eine regionale Bindung. Deswegen finde ich, dass oft, statt zur ganzen Welt beizutragen, diese Leute nach dem Verlassen der Heimat einfach weniger der Gesellschaft zurückgeben. Abschließend zusammengefasst würde ich meinen Gleichaltrigen empfehlen, sich ganz ernst zu überlegen, ob sie wirklich nichts mehr an ihrer Heimat finden, bevor sie sich entscheiden auszuwandern.

Limits of Reasoning

In the College of Arts and Science today, I saw a poster advertising an MA in Reasoning. This, combined with the juxtaposion of students carelessly playing frisbee and chatting on the quad with snip-its of intelligent though nerdy conversation between a professors and a Master's student I overheard, allowed me to finally put my finger on an idea I've felt for a long time but haven't been able to form into a meaningful statement until now.

Wow! With such and introduction, you're sure to be disappointed. Be forewarned, what comes next is no deep realisation.

I confess, I am a bit of an academic. I like ideas. This has given me a certain amount of admiration for other people with ideas (especially exciting, perceptive ones); however, throughout my academic career, I've come across a number of fabulous academics who, rather mysteriously, haven't managed to command my admiration.

Of course, this was simply because of shortcomings in other aspects of their lives that are more important to me, like family for example. Building on that, my realisation of the day is that reasoning abilities are totally unrelated to empathising abilities (duh! IQ ≠ EQ), so no amount of studying (even psychology or the like) can truly help people understand others on a personal level. One learns about people through people.

Spot the Difference

I know the changing roles of technology in our lives and societies has become cliché; still, this anecdote is just too bizarre not to share.

As some of you will likely have noticed, I've started posting reaction papers I wrote for my class on Literature of Modern Germany. The reason: I have a few German(-speaking) friends who read this blog and the reaction papers are basically written just like blog posts. Why not?

So here's how the story goes. At the bottom of all my emails, I have a link to my blog - among other things - just to discretely recruit unsuspecting potential readers. This has led to a wonderful variety of people mentioning to me that they've checked it out - and apparently sometimes even liked it!

But today, when I received an email from a senior administrator at Mount Allison (yes Graeme, I've learned to be vague enough to maintain people's anonymity) with whom I'd been corresponding about university politics, and at the end of the message I read: "I've been enjoying your blog, by the way, and particularly enjoyed your analysis of Der Vorleser," I couldn't help but think how uncanny the whole situation was.

Here's this apparently really important administrator I'm little more than acquainted with, whom I was unaware could even read German, who enjoyed a one-page "analysis" of an albeit popular German novel that I wrote for an undergraduate German Literature class at American University in Washington, DC.

Of course, it's flattering, but that's not the point. The point is that no situation remotely similar could ever have happened ten years ago.

Wer sollte wandern? Eine Reaktion auf Kerkelings "Ich bin dann mal weg"

Wenn man über eine Pilgerreise liest oder davon hört, kommen die Fragen heraus: Könnte ich das machen? Sollte ich das machen? Wer sollte denn wandern? Meiner Meinung nach ist es ganz leicht zu sagen, dass alle würden dadurch ihr Selbstverständnis entwickeln und deswegen sollten alle auf eine Pilgerreise gehen. Jedoch ist das für eine Analyse zu simpel. Ich werde in diesem Papier nachweisen, dass es verschiedene Arten das Selbstverständnis entwickelnde Erfahrungen gibt, dass das Wandern ein nicht besonders praktisches Selbstverständnis entwickelt, und dass diese Selbstverständnisentwicklung ein etwas selbstsüchtiges Ziel ist, das sich nicht alle leisten können.

Erstens kann man doch sagen, dass eine Pilgerreise eine gute Erfahrung für alle wäre, weil man mehr ich-bewusst wird, usw. Trotzdem kann man das Gleiche über das Gehen auf Exerzitien sagen, oder über die Meditation oder sogar über das Plaudern mit Freunden. Manche haben schon eine Pilgerreise gemacht. Wäre eine zweite noch günstig? Ja, wahrscheinlich aber vielleicht nicht so sehr wie die Erste und etwas Anderes wäre günstiger. Die Eignung einer Pilgerreise hängt von der persönlichen Situation jedes Einzelnen ab.

Zweitens gilt das Selbstverständnis, das man vom Wandern bekommt, nur für manche Situationen. Zum Beispiel kann man auf einer Pilgerreise viel über die Stärke seiner Entschlossenheit lernen und wird wahrscheinlich auch vieles über seine Glaube und Gläubigkeit lernen. Aber dieses Verständnis ist nicht allgemein gültig. Wie wäre es, wenn man auf einer Pilgerreise mit einem 20-Kilo Rucksack ginge? Wahrscheinlich anders als ohne ihn. Zudem gilt das Selbstverständnis besonders für Situationen, in denen man allein ist. Setzten Sie, zum Beispiel, die Erfahrung einer Pilgerreise mit der Erfahrung einer einmonatigen Campingreise in der Wildnis mit einem Freund. Von der Campingreise würde man tatsächlich viel mehr darüber lernen, wie man sich mit anderen verhalten kann.

Zuletzt ist das Selbstverständnis immer etwas Gutes, aber durch eine Pilgerreise entwickelt man es auf Kosten vom täglichen Leben. Wenn man ledig ist, ist das Problem nicht so groß: man hat keine Kinder, keinen Ehepartner, usw. Aber dennoch muss man Freunde und Familie für eine Zeit allein lassen und kann sie nicht unterstützen. Deswegen, würde ich sagen, wäre es besser für manche Personen, tägliche Meditation zu machen, ein bisschen Zeit am Wochenende allein zu verbringen, u.Ä. Man muss vorsichtig sein, um nicht zu vergessen, dass das Wandern sich nicht nur auf die wandernde Person auswirkt.

Also wenn Sie sich fragen, ob eine Pilgerreise richtig für Sie ist, vergessen Sie nicht, dass es andere Möglichkeiten gibt, dass die Sachen, die man vom Wandern lernt, nicht unbedingt die Wesentlichen sind und, dass eine Pilgerreise sich auf Andere auswirkt.

Learning to Fly

I reckon a person who can walk and run and cycle and swim would imagine being in a wheelchair, without the ability to do these things, to be worse than it actually is. Moreover, if no one could use their legs, it seems obvious that few people would care to be able to walk 'like an ostrich'. It would be like not being able to fly in our reality; of course, people dream of it, but few are really bothered by the fact that they can't.

Now this dreaming has probably been vital to the survival and success of our species, and it has likely become such and important part of human nature, that it's essential for most anyone to be happy; however, when people become too fixated on these dreams, they seem to lose the ability to appreciate the magic of our current reality.

Let me explain with the example that got me thinking of this.

I recently decided to give me knees a break and start swimming instead of running. The first couple of times, I would try to do a certain number of laps, but after a while, I figured since I was just doing it to stay healthy, it really didn't matter, so I started just doing as much as I felt like and had time for.

Anyone who has done laps before will appreciate the fact that it actually takes a good deal of concentration to keep track of how many you've done. So when I stopped counting, my mind was suddenly free. And that's when I noticed that swimming is exactly like flying, but better. In fact, as I pushed off from the shallow end and the distance to the ground below me slowly began increasing, I was filled with the same thrill as when flying down a hillside in a dream. But I had even more control: I could stop in one spot, slowly go straight up or down, even go backwards! I wasn't an eagle, out of control; I was a masterful hummingbird!

All that to say, why save fantasy for your dreams, when you can live it everyday?

Success!

It is infinitely more benificial to be able to cope with failure than it is to succeed consistently.

Becoming yourself

In university, whether or not one admits it, a serious amount of selection and internalization of values occurs in every student. In the process, certain values are also downplayed and rejected - usually unconsciously. In my mind, one must make every effort to monitor this process since after university, it can only be reversed with much difficulty.

My reasoning - admittedly largely influenced by my drugs and behaviour class and somewhat neuroreductionist perspective - is as follows.

The older we get, the more we become accustomed to getting positive feelings or "reward effects" from certain activities. You study so you get that feeling of success you get from an A; you run for a runner's high; you write for a cathartic release; you party to wind down. And here's the catch: the older you get, the less willing (and seemingly able) you are to develop new skills (i.e. reward pathways) to fulfil your emotional/psychological needs. Maybe simply because adults have less time, they seem to need to experience certain feelings without much effort. Thus, though many people have always wanted to learn to play piano, few adults ever pick it up; they've already developed a creative outlet that now provides instant satisfaction.

So what's the point?

Simple: if you tell yourself you don't have time for theatre, correspondence, exercise, fun, cooking and eating ("essen" nicht "fressen"), volunteering, music, dance, caring about people, etc. because you're a student and studies are your priority, chances are you will never have time for them until retirement.

Life starts now.

Caveat
Of course, so much of this learning process takes place during the nearly two decades preceding university (or any of the many other things that can follow high school), but it's only after high school that we become fully responsible for it.

I do.

Me: Are you married?
Anonymous Canadian diplomat: No. Are you?
Me: No. I'm only 20!
Anonymous Canadian diplomat: Yeah, some people -
Me: Yeah, I guess you're right.

And that's how you can tell if a Canadian has assimilated into a foreign culture.

---

Several people have asked me about this post so I decided I should probably provide a short explanation. It's simple (no offence to those who asked me about it): the U.S. is a much more religious country than Canada; marriage rates are 50% higher here and the average age at first marriage is much lower (26 here and 29 in Canada). So the bottom line is, it would be pretty weird to be 20 and married in Canada, but not so much in th U.S.

Die Comedian Harmonists: Das Ergebnis der Musik

Im Artikel „Rechtsextremistische Gewalt von Jugendlichen“ von Peter Sitzer lernt man, dass Musik ein rechtsextremistische Gewalttaten motivierender Faktor sein kann. Das ist nur ein Beispiel der Höhe des Einflusses, die Musik auf Menschen haben kann. Ich glaube, man findet ein anderes Beispiel in der Musik der Comedian Harmonists, und wegen dieser Aussagekraft ist sie so populär geworden und geblieben.

Jeder hat irgendwann leichtsinnige Glücksgefühle gehabt aber für niemanden sind sie andauernd. Deswegen müssen sich alle irgendwann nach diesem vergänglichen Glück sehnen. Meiner Meinung nach versuchen die Comedian Harmonists diese Gefühle in Menschen, die sie suchen aber sie eigentlich nicht finden können, wiederaufzuwecken. Sie schaffen das mit komplexen gehaltvollen Harmonien, leichten Melodien, neckischen Klangfarben und Texten mit einfachen Universalbedeutungen und besonders arglosen Wörtern.

Alle, die offen für diese Art Musik sind, können sich wahrscheinlich eine fröhliche Szene, wie die im Musikvideo von den Hannover Harmonists „Veronika, der Lenz ist da“, vorstellen, und danach ein bisschen lächeln. Zudem haben die Comedian Harmonists ihre Musik für spätere Generationen sehr wahrscheinlich nicht absichtlich komponiert; sie war für ihre Zeit und diesbezüglich ist es schwer für einen jungen Amerikaner (oder Kanadier) das Ergebnis der Musik – für die Leute ihrer Zeit – richtig abzuschätzten.

Abschließend finde ich die Musik der Comedian Harmonists nicht nur schön und witzig, sondern auch bedeutend. Sie hat ohne Zweifel ganz vielen geholfen, das Schöne im Leben zu sehen, als nichts recht zu sein scheint.

Gedanken zu Schlinks Der Vorleser: Warum beschuldigen?

In seiner Rede zum 8. Mai 1985 schlägt Weizsäcker vor, dass Schuld als etwas Persönliches und nicht Kollektives gesehen werden sollte. Er gibt aber wenige Gründe dafür. Mir hat Bernard Schlinks Der Vorleser die Sache gut erklärt. Die Geschichte zeigt – neben vielen anderem – wie viele Ursachen jede Handlung hat. Wenn man Schuld als etwas Kollektives sieht, dann überseht man alle die persönlichen Faktoren und malt ein befangenes Bild der Täter – ein Bild, das die Vergebung verhindert – und Schlinks Geschichte nach ist das unergiebig.

Wie gesagt zeigt Der Vorleser die Komplexität jeder Handlung oder Straftat und durch die Geschichte sehen wir, dass je mehr man versteht, dass jemand ein Straftat begeht, nicht weil er einfach böse ist, desto besser kann man vergeben. Michael war wahrscheinlich nicht der beste Vater oder Mann – er hat seine Tochter ins Internat gehen lassen und dachte immer noch an Hannah, als er sich entscheidet, zu heiraten – aber war er schuldig für die schlechten Erfahrungen, die ihn gedrängt haben? Hätte er als 15-jähriger vorhersehen können sollen, dass seine Beziehung mit Hannah ungesund sein würde?

Oder hat der Vater Schuld dafür, weil er sich anscheinend nicht viel um seine Kinder kümmerte? Hätte die Mutter bemerken sollen, dass etwas mit ihrem Kind los war? Ich deute nicht darauf hin, dass niemand selbst schuldig für etwas sein kann, sondern, dass wegen der vielen verschiedenen die Straftat beeinflussenden Faktoren, man nie sagen kann, dass eine Person völlig schlimm ist und Vergeben nie verdienen wird.

Ein anderes Beispiel, in dem Schlink zeigt, wie kompliziert man zu einer Handlung kommt, sind Michaels Gedanken über den Unterschied zwischen Denken, Entscheiden und Handeln. Die Meldung dieses Teils ist klar: man kann sich gegen etwas entscheiden, aber die Sache noch tun; das heißt, Straftäter sind nicht schlimme Personen. Die gleiche Moral ist auch klar in der guten Tat, die Hannah am Ende ihres Lebens tun will.

Schließlich hatte ich im letzten Kapitel das Gefühl, dass Michael eine bessere Person geworden war – für sich und für andere – nachdem er sich seine Schuldgefühle entladen hat. Deswegen könnte man sagen, dass in diesem Fall, wenn jemand Michael noch für schuldig halten würde, wäre das unproduktiv und vielleicht sogar schädlich für alle.

In Kürze geht es im Der Vorleser viel um die Frage der Schuld. Die Geschichte zeigt, wie viele Sachen einen zum Handeln bringen und was die Auswirkungen der Verteilung und Schuldgefühle sein können.

Cul-de-sac

Yesterday, Eddie - a 37-year-old homeless African-American - was walking towards the shuttle stop with me after my afternoon of volunteering at the homeless reception centre in our neighbourhood (www.cchfp.org). The shuttle was just leaving as we got there so we went into the sitting area of Whole Foods to chat for a while. During our hour of conversation I learnt so much! He just opened up to me way more than when we're at the center in a group.

Sometimes I wonder if my volunteering at this place is really worthwhile, and that afternoon totally justified it again for me: you have to have seemingly meaningless conversations and basically just be present in a given communal area for a certain amount of time in order to "prove yourself" and establish mutual trust before people will really open up to you and your relationships start to become more mutually beneficial.

So Eddie had told me before how he worked in contruction since he was 15 and used to have a nice appartment and three cars; and how one day he just got burnt out from the strenuous physical work and stopped, eventually becoming homeless; and how - now he says - the worst thing is to have nothing to do all day; and how he was going to get another job soon (in fact he has been doing day labour on and off when the weather isn't too bad); but I was never really clear on what was keeping him from getting back to work (except "pereza", as we say in Spanish, which is approximately "laziness"/"just not feeling like doing something" in English).

Of course, talking to a homeless, unemployed person about why they don't have a job is a bit of a delicate subject, but yesterday, during our fascinating conversation about race relations in the USA, the truth came out.

It's simple: since MLK and Malcom X, wages for trades in which African-Americans typically worked (e.g. brick layers) were on the rise (at least matching inflation). It seems like African-Americans had a sort of monopoly over these jobs and they figured out that if they didn't compete too much with each other and all refused to work for a less than a certain amount, their White foremen would just have to comply.

But then the 12 million Latinos came along - more in fact, since that number is only undocumented immigrants! And of course, they would work for less. According to Eddie, they could afford to do this because culturally, they could live more people in one appartment than African-Americans.

And so now, Eddie makes the same $50 a day that he did when he was 15 - and for what?! It's not enough to save up anything after living expenses; it simply replaces the things he has now learned to get for free: food (and not just junk), shelter, even movie passes, apparently! So despite the positive feeling of having had a productive day of work, working is also sort of degrading (most White foremen will pay a White labourer twice what they would an African-American or a Latino) and doesn't offer any benefits to being unemployed here.

That's the way my buddy Eddie told it to me anyhow. It sort of reminds me of the discussions that go on here about jails: if the conditions become too liveable, homeless people will try to get in jail to get off the street...

Gedanken zu Herzogs Rede Aufbruch ins 21. Jahrhundert: Auf Kosten von was?

Herzogs Rede Aufbruch ins 21. Jahrhundert bringt viele Fragen auf: Wie politisch soll der Bundespräsident sein dürfen? Wie kann man ein ganzes Volk ermutigen (wenn es sogar möglich ist)? Wie sehr soll eine Person in einer Autoritätsstellung auf ihrer eigenen Meinung drängen? In diesem Aufsatz werde ich alle diese Fragen erwähnen durch eine Diskussion über einige Herzogs vorgeschlagene Lösungen zur „deutschen Krankheit“.

Gewiss müssen die Bürger eines wirtschaftlich schwachen Landes mehr an die Gesellschaft denken und zu ihrem Wohl arbeiten. Angesichts dessen kann man Herzogs Vorschläge sehr gut verstehen, aber sogar während wirtschaftlich schwerer Zeiten darf man an sich selbst denken, seine eigenen Träume haben.

Also auf Herzogs Vorschlag, dass man nicht nur einen Beruf haben soll oder zu viel Zeit an der Universität verbringen soll, antworte ich, dass ja es insgesamt besser für die Wirtschaft wäre, aber wenn man nur – aber sehr – als Lehrer arbeiten will, wäre es wirklich kein Problem. Gleichfalls, wenn man an der Universität anfängt, ohne zu wissen was man als Beruf machen will – studierend nur wegen Interesse –, ist es auch kein Problem solange man versteht, dass seine Ausbildung ein Aufwand der Gesellschaft ist und man ihn später heimzahlen soll. Vielleicht wird diese Person, nach fünfzehn Jahren Universitätsausbildung einen wunderbaren Wirtschaftsreformplan oder eine Krebskur erfinden.

Kurz glaube ich einfach, dass der Bundespräsident eine respektvolle Stellung hat und damit kann er Viele inspirieren – und er soll das versuchen. Trotzdem kann er auch Träume vernichten und muss er vorsichtig sein, um ein Ziel nicht auf Kosten des Glücks und der Gesundheit der Menschen zu erreichen. Gewiss wurde die Wirtschaft der USA die stärkste der Welt in der zweiten Hälfte des 20. Jahrhunderts, aber wie hat sich das Leben geändert? Vor 1905 haben nur 1% U.S. Amerikaner bis zum 75. Lebensjahr an Depression gelitten; von den nach 1955 Geborenen hatten 6% vor dem Alter von 24 an eine Depression gelitten.1

Schließlich erkläre ich, dass ich nicht andeute, dass ich oder irgendwer anders eine bessere Rede als Herzogs leisten konnte. Ich kenne gar nicht genug den Kontext und die Folgen der Rede, das zu äußern. Ich teile nur einige Grübeleien mit.

Gedanken zu Weizsäckers Rede zum 8. Mai 1985: Schuld und Vergebung

Letztes Semester habe ich einen Kurs über das U.S. amerikanische Gefängnissystem genommen. Als Kanadier war das Interessanteste der Klasse, die Meinungen meiner U.S. amerikanischen Kollegen über Gerechtigkeit lernen zu können. Ich war wirklich erstaunt darüber, wie strafend die Meisten waren. Natürlich tauchen diese Einstellungen nicht aus dem Nichts auf: sie haben ihre Ursache in der Geschichte des Landes.

Im Vergleich mit den U.S.A. hat Deutschland eine ganz andere Geschichte, deswegen ist es keine Überraschung, dass die Einkerkerungsrate fast 10 mal niedriger als in den U.S.A. ist. In der Weizsäcker Rede zum 8. Mai 1985 war ich am meisten beeindruckt von Weizsäckers hoch entwickeltem Verstehen der Bedeutung des Zweiten Weltkrieges für das deutsche Volk, besonders die Schuld, Verantwortlichkeit und Schicksale betreffend.

In der Einleitung der Rede erklärt Weizsäcker, dass, obwohl das Ende des Zweiten Weltkrieges erscheint für die Teilung Deutschlands schuldig zu sein, der Anfang des Krieges dafür verantwortlich ist. Danach kann er beitragen, dass der 8. Mai ja „ein Tage der Befreiung“ war. Trotzdem, wegen des Fehlens der Vollfreiheit für Ostdeutsche, ist der 8. Mai noch kein Tag zum Feiern für Deutsche.

Aber wie ist es dann mit den deutschen Soldaten? Sind sie denn an der Teilung – und so viele andere schreckliche Folgen des Krieges – schuldig? Weizsäcker erklärt die Sache so:
„Die meisten Deutschen hatten geglaubt, für die gute Sache des eigenen Landes zu kämpfen und zu leiden. Und nun sollte sich herausstellen: Das alles war nicht nur vergeblich und sinnlos, sondern es hatte den unmenschlichen Zielen einer verbrecherischen Führung gedient.“

Während der Rede setzt er dem Leser auseinander, dass alle, die mit den Nazis gekämpft haben, unmenschliche Leiden begangen haben und wir sie verantwortlich dafür machen sollen. Jedoch, in Anlehnung an Anne Frank, sichert er dem deutschen Volk zu, dass diese vielen Deutsche nicht übel gesinnt waren und ihnen vergeben werden kann und soll.

Außerdem „ist [Schuld], wie Unschuld, nicht kollektiv, sondern persönlich.“ Daher muss man dem deutschen Volk eben nicht vergeben, sondern nur den verwickelten Personen. Wenn die meisten Deutschen gleicher Meinung mit Weizsäcker über diese Sachen sind, dann wären sie ganz geduldig, rational und versöhnlich. Vielleicht wäre die post-Zweiten-Weltkriegserfahrung sogar stark genug, um die typische Gepflogenheit, 'Kriminelle' wegen eines Ereignisses abzustempeln, zu beseitigen.

Das wäre wirklich eine schöne Folge des Krieges und ich hoffe, dass es wahr ist, aber in Wahrheit weiß ich nicht wie viele dieser Meinung sind. Mindestens war es eine wichtige Tendenz als Weizsäcker diese Rede gehalten hat.

The Great White South

Yesterday, did it ever snow! (Well, it was actually a big mix of snow, slush and rain, but good enough to be called snow here.) I noticed that in the Great White South, they do things a little differently than in the Great White North.

-First, before the snow showed any signs of turning to rain, several people were using umbrellas, presumably to keep their hairdos all perfect. Others were sporting ever-so-cool flip-flops.

-The university's response was quite amusing: loads of salt were sprinkled on top of the melting slush (which was all gone by morning), and instead of mini-tractor-snowplough things to clear the sidewalks, they hald mini sweeping-mashines that are used in the Great White North to clear the sand in the spring.

Oh those crazy Great White Southerners!

Simply Delicious

The other day in meal hall, they had steamed quinoa with (uncooked) sliced granny smith apples and dried cranberries - all locally grown organic and without any goopy MSG sauce. Sure they've got a bit more a budget here, but really, would that be so hard to reproduce at Mount Allison or anywhere else?

Stories from Sackville, Part VI: Cottage Country

Unlike in Ontario, cottages aren't very popular in the Maritimes. There's nothing to escape from here.

Stories from Sackville, Part V: Belonging

Looking out the window on the train from Sackville to DC (via Montreal and NYC) I'm filled with such a sad sense of leaving the place where I belong most. Every birch and pine, the old farms and fields, the ponds and marshlands, the birds, the snow, the churches and little white Maritime house, the hilly landscape and majestic dead trees, the empty winding roads, the villages – seen in their entirety from the train and understood as a single entity –, the cows and horses, the bilingual signs, the red mud of the Bay of Fundy and the simple bridges that span across it – all these things seem to tear a piece out of me as I pass by them, holding them ransom until my return. And what about all the people? And Sackville? They've definitely taken their share too.

Of course, I've left parts of myself behind in several other places, which makes it really heartwarming to return there as well, but I think there's more of me in Sackville than anywhere else. That's why I'd say it's where I belong most; it's where I'm most complete.

Stories from Sackville, Part IV: What's in It for Me

On the train to Sackville from Montreal, the attendant asked for two volunteers whom she could show how to open the door in case of emergency. After a couple minutes of begging, she resigned herself to showing only the one person who volunteered. After the “training” she put a sticky note with “AB” for “able body” at the volunteer's spot.

When I got onto the train from Sackville to Montreal, the attendant immediately put the “AB” note above my seat. Five minutes later, she came and “asked” if she could show me the procedure. This Maritimer rightfully knew that on a train full of other Maritimers, whomever she asked would be more than willing to help.

Stories from Sackville, Part III: Lunch with Mr. President

Last spring, when the announcement went around campus that I had been awarded a Killam Fellowship, my friend the university President emailed me a message of congratulations – addressed to “Nico” – inviting me to lunch. We tried to work things out, but I was simply too busy touring with the university's bilingual theatre troupe, Tintamarre.

So, when I decided to go to Sackville for the last week of my winter break (the first week of classes at Mount Allison) I wrote Dr. Campbell to see if he wanted to go for a run together – yes, he is an avid runner, even in the winter. He replied that he was busy with all sorts of conferences and things that week but that I should call him at his home when I arrived on Sunday to arrange a coffee date that evening.

I called a couple of times but couldn't catch him in. The third time, I left a message. I didn't get a call back so I assumed he was just too busy and that we missed our only chance.

Thursday night, I bumped into him and his wife on the street and he asked why I hadn't called. He hadn't received my message. We arranged to have lunch the next day. We went to Joey's, a nice Italian restaurant, had beer, the lunch special and coffee, and chatted for well over an hour about my experience, travelling and living abroad, Mount Allison politics, Canada-US relations, etc. all the while bringing peers and professors whom both of us always knew.

His treat.

Stories from Sackville, Part II: Fame and Fortune

During my five days in Sackville, I was continually thinking of how I could explain what was so special about that place, why I was so happy to be there. To someone at American University or from any larger city, this is what I would say.

After one or two semesters at Mount Allison, you're basically guaranteed to be a celebrity. This becomes particularly obvious after spending some time abroad. From the moment I arrived at the train station in Sackville to the moment I got onto the train back to DC, all I did was chat (in a real, not virtual sense) with dozens of people who all knew me: my hometown, my program, my extra-curriculars, my interests, my family, etc. Without any pre-arranged meetings, I easily saw over thirty of my closest friends: peers, profs, staff, friends at the nursing home, friends at the Special Populations Program, and other community members. Breakfast was the only meal I ever had alone.

Literally, every day, I would get up, have breakfast, go wander the town and campus and wait to be accosted. This is by no means an exceptional treatment; the same would happen to anyone visiting or returning to Sackville after any “prolonged” time away. Moreover, I sometimes noticed my friends first and quickly showed them how special they are to me. Honestly, I couldn't be any happier to see someone, even if they were famous by popular standards and I couldn't be any more flattered by all those excited to see me, even if there were the typical masses that greet “real” celebrities.

But that's just an explanation for city folks. For you confused hillbillies who aren't quite sure what I'm getting at, in laymen terms we say that there's a beautiful community in Sackville.

Stories from Sackville, Part I: Arriving in Sackville

After arriving at the train station in Sackville and chatting with a couple of friends who had come to meet others arriving by train, I made my way over to the house where I would be staying. As I was going down the street – ecstatic – I heard a whistling sound behind me; so I turned to see who it was, but there was no one there. After looking a little more closely, I saw the birds in the trees. You can nearly always hear them when you're outside in Sackville. This takes a little getting used to after a few months in DC.

Just before arriving at the house, I came across an older man shovelling snow. Not only did he greet me, but he also told me all about his time working as a janitor at Mount Allison, we talked about the friends I was staying with – he had just been to a little good-bye party at their place for one of them who is on an exchange in New Zealand this semester – and all sorts of other things for nearly a hour.

Oh Sackville!