Public opinion and Meng Wanzhou

Since they started being widely reported at the end of 2018, I’ve sporadically been hearing and reading about the Meng Wanzhou extradition proceedings and the two Canadians, Michael Kovrig and Michael Spavor, who were arrested in the People’s Republic of China (PRC) in apparent retaliation to Meng’s arrest in Canada.i Through this exposure, I’ve had some misgivings about the way the cases were discussed, but I wasn’t able to really develop my thoughts about these concerns until reading an article in the February 2021 issue of Maclean’s.1 In it, the author discussed the cases generally and focused on Kovrig’s family and their attempts to free him, while presenting Meng’s case as a fight pitting ideals against practicalities––the principle of due process and the importance of resisting hostage diplomacy on one side, diplomatic pragmatism and empathy on the other. In this way, the article cultivates something of an oversimplified picture––which likely comes across as an odd bit of criticism given that many important complexities of the cases are laid out in the article, but I’ll explain myself. This type of reporting can ultimately serve to politically constrain the possible outcome of Meng’s extradition case and, with it, the fates of the two Canadians.

Most of my argument relies on the public perception of the cases and how this forces decisions politically. There is a tendency within the public to absorb these types of stories in a somewhat cursory fashion, only picking up on salient points or details, and not necessarily that well. (I won’t pretend to know exactly how widespread this phenomenon is, but I know that I and almost everyone I’ve spoken to about these cases have been guilty of such a problem.)ii This pertains not only to specific facts reported, but also to the general portrayal of the cases. In this way, the conflicting principles presented in the Maclean’s article are attached to Meng’s extradition proceedings in a way that holds important implications. The author lays out the problem of whether it’s right for Canadian officials to circumvent due process in order to free two citizens, whether they owe it to their citizens or if it will unnecessarily endanger others in the process. The problem I see, much in line with most of what I’ve read and heard about this, is that these considerations are intimately attached to the decision to either extradite or intervene in Meng’s case. In the eyes of the public, when such attachments are created, extraditing Meng for whatever reason becomes seen as upholding justice, whereas halting the extradition for whatever reason becomes seen as giving in to hostage diplomacy for the sake of our citizens. Here public opinion frames an allowable outcome in the case. If the public strongly leans on the side of justice, then halting the extradition becomes politically damaging. If public opinion sways to the side of compassion, then extraditing Meng becomes similarly damaging, so long as no other path to bring the Canadians home arises. From the messaging of current government officials presented in the article, they seem to have read the public as being more strongly on the side of justice, and so have taken a firm stance of continuing the extradition proceedings at this time. The push for international solidarity to put pressure on China could be viewed as acknowledgement that there’s a sizeable enough segment of the public on the side of compassion that it can’t be neglected, though it could simply mean public officials are doing what they can for these two in the face of public pressure to resist capitulation.

With the role of public opinion in shaping government response at play, it makes sense for Kovrig’s family to speak out in an attempt to humanize him in an attempt to sway public opinion further to their favoured “side.” While doing so, however, releasing Meng is being presented to the public as the path to free the two Canadians, which serves to more strongly attach the Canadians’ fates and the principles in conflict to the outcome of Meng’s case as a result. If public opinion doesn’t budge far enough onto the side of compassion, then this unfortunately makes halting the extradition more politically dangerous, even if justice truly demands it. It doesn’t mean that it can’t happen, but it does mean that there can be increased political pressure on the justice minister to extradite.iii

An alternative tactic to attempt to get these Canadians their freedom by freeing Meng would be to at least try and detach these principles in conflict from the outcome of the proceedings. In theory, two things are likely necessary to accomplish this. First, we probably need to more often discuss the Meng case independently from Kovrig and Spavor, which can create some distance between them for the public. This can hopefully allow for a more nuanced understanding than simply either upholding the law and extraditing or bending the law in order to save our citizens. Secondly, this simplistic dichotomy needs to be challenged. The only apparent way I can envision this being done currently is by better shining the spotlight on decisions made in favour of extradition but that can be interpreted as ignoring the rule of law for political reasons, such as continuing the proceedings in spite of comments from the U.S. president implying a political motive behind the extradition request.iv If this separation can be accomplished, it gives politicians space to better justify these decisions to the public without getting voted out or forced to resign amid public backlash. And this kind of tactic can be employed along with the current attempts at humanizing the detained Canadians, as both tactics could work in concert. In this way, more of the public favouring compassion makes halting the extradition more acceptable to the public that still attaches this to the extradition outcome, while improving the public understanding that halting extradition doesn’t necessarily equate overriding justice allows the justice minister to do so while effectively justifying it to the public. On top of this, those on the side of justice should be in favour of promoting the rule of law throughout the process, because it better allows for justice free from political influence, which also means that the detachment of these conflicting principles from the outcome of the proceedings should be acceptable on both sides.

But what can we take away from everything that I’m suggesting here? Probably a few things. Am I suggesting that writers are responsible for the public’s understanding of these issues? In part, but only in that it would do writers well to understand potential ramifications of the ways they’re reporting them. Individuals are ultimately responsible for their own education on current events, so we shouldn’t place too much responsibility on the shoulders of journalists. I am suggesting that it would do well for those pushing for a sort of prisoner exchange to consider what I’m arguing to better create a space where this option is even tenable politically, but this largely hinges on both finding my analysis a bit reasonable and on feeling that there’s a good chance that Meng can go free if the courts are left to do their thing when free from outside meddling. And it also might not matter. Canadian officials could be doing everything they can to not disturb our relationship with our largest trading partner, and it could all just be a show to sell this position to the public.

My honest feeling is that the right thing to do is try as best we can to shield the extradition proceedings from political interference, but it’s plausible that it’s already too late. Hopefully decision makers can find a way to do the right thing, whether that means extraditing or not; hopefully this can involve Kovrig and Spavor finding their way home safely in the near future; hopefully we can emerge from this without too much lasting diplomatic fallout with either the U.S. or the PRC; and hopefully officials can justify everything to the public at the end of it all. Somehow, this seems like asking a lot, so we’ll see which of these remains intact as we emerge from this quagmire.

Notes

i. The most clear analysis of retaliatory nature of the cases I encountered was provided by Stephen McDonnell, the BBC’s China correspondent, immediately after Kovrig and Spavor were formally charged with spying (18 months after they were originally detained): “Though the Chinese government has not absolutely, explicitly linked the cases of Michael Spavor and Michael Kovrig with Meng Wanzhou’s extradition proceedings in Vancouver, it has certainly given large dollops of nudge, nudge, wink, wink references making this connection. At the foreign ministry’s regular press briefings, the various spokespeople routinely mention the fate of the Canadians and that of the daughter of Huawei’s founder in the same response, whether they’ve been prompted to do so or not by reporters. The Communist Party’s media outlets have been more specific. Canada: if you want this former diplomat and businessman back, you know what you have to do… release Meng Wanzhou.”2

ii. With most people I’ve spoken to, there seems to be confusion about Meng’s extradition charges, with people commonly believing she’s being charged with some sort of spying. I assume at least part of the confusion stems from the fact that Huawei was charged with the stealing of trade secrets at the same time as Meng was charged with fraud, though the former charge has nothing to do with Meng’s extradition.3 In my case, I was so sure that either Kovrig or Spavor was previously convicted in PRC on drug charges but, when attempting to find information on this detail that never seemed to be reported, it became clear that I was confusing their cases with things I’d briefly read previously about Robert Schellenberg, another Canadian who was sentenced to 15 years imprisonment in PRC for drug trafficking, and whose case was brought back to trial shortly after Meng’s arrest, when his penalty was upgraded to a death sentence.4

iii. Top federal officials have potentially shown a willingness to encroach on the independence of the justice minister in the past, as during the SNC-Lavalin scandal, so this strikes me as a reasonable thing to anticipate at least to some degree in this instance.

iv. The argument has been put forward in the Maclean’s article and elsewhere that the political motive behind the extradition request could be used as justification to intervene. It’s explicitly listed as a reason to not grant extradition in the Canada-U.S. extradition treaty,5 so this would be reasonable if such a political motive could be proved. In this case, shortly after Meng’s arrest, then-president Trump was explicit in an interview that he would be willing to use her as a bargaining piece in a trade deal with China,6 which is at least one important point to consider in this regard. In the Maclean’s article, the justification given for the lack of intervention by Canadian officials was because there was concern that doing so could anger Trump and serve to derail NAFTA negotiations. My biggest criticism of such reporting is that it presents the detail not only as almost a passing thought that can easily be disregarded, but also with an implication that it was acceptable. Clear expression of what happened along with a change in tone on how it was reported could have made a point that should be important for both proponents of justice and of compassion more obvious to readers: that Canadian officials may have circumvented the rule of law due to entirely political motives, and not in order to halt extradition.

References

  1. Proudfoot, Shannon. “A promise to Michael.” Maclean’s, Feb 2021, pp. 26-33.
  2. McDonnell, Stephen. “Michael Kovrig and Michael Spavor: China charges Canadians with spying.” BBC News, www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-china-53104303. Accessed 8 Feb 2021.
  3. Chinese Telecommunications Conglomerate Huawei and Huawei CFO Wanzhou Meng Charged With Financial Fraud. U.S. Department of Justice, Office of Public Affairs, 28 Jan 2019. www.justice.gov/opa/pr/chinese-telecommunications-conglomerate-huawei-and-huawei-cfo-wanzhou-meng-charged-financial. Accessed 27 May 2021.
  4. Wang, Yanan. “Canadian man sentenced to death in China has appeal hearing.” Global News, 9 May 2019. globalnews.ca/news/5257482/robert-schellenberg-death-sentence-appeal-hearing-china/. Accessed 27 May 2021.
  5. Government of Canada. “Treaty on Extradition Between the Government of Canada and the Government of the United States of America.” E101323, Can TS1976 No 3, www.treaty-accord.gc.ca/text-texte.aspx?id=101323. Accessed 10 Feb 2021.
  6. Mason, Jeff, and Steve Holland. “Exclusive: Trump says he could intervene in U.S. case against Huawei CFO.” Reuters, www.reuters.com/article/us-usa-trump-huawei-tech-exclusive/exclusive-trump-says-he-could-intervene-in-u-s-case-against-huawei-cfo-idUSKBN1OA2PQ. Accessed 10 Feb 2021.

Klara and the Sun: a working-class fable (with spoilers)

I’m a huge Kazuo Ishiguro fan, so you can probably imagine how excited I was when I found out a new book of his was out. The prospect of actually reading Klara and the Sun1 got me to agree to write a book review in The Walleye again after so long away. I figured that not only would this provide a bit of healthy pressure to get me reading it immediately rather than just adding it to the pile of books to neglect for years, but also that, after so much experience writing in that format, it shouldn’t be too tall a task, so I should be able to fit it in reasonably well in spite of the new direction my writing’s taking. That said, I also hoped that reading the book would provide fuel for my essays. Typically, when I’ve written reviews in the past, I’d accompany the brief piece in The Walleye with a longer review I’d post online, but this time I thought I’d try something a bit different and write a more focused, in-depth analysis on specific aspects of the story. And it thankfully worked out, for I was hit with the thought while reading that, while the aspect of Klara and the Sun questioning what, if anything, separates humans from thinking machines should be readily apparent, how the author uses this to comment on human society may be less obvious. While racism does factor into his commentary, I want to more specifically analyze what Ishiguro suggests about contemporary, working-class social conditions mainly through his portrayal of Klara and her interactions with others.

In Klara and the Sun, Klara is an Artificial Friend (AF), a thinking and feeling robotic humanoid intended as a youth’s companion, but seeing her as representing the worker opens up all sorts of interesting ideas and interpretations. Let’s start our analysis from the beginning: the AF store. The way Ishiguro describes Klara’s experience before she’s purchased evoked aspects of a working-class education or a low-level worker in a service industry trying to find her footing, for multiple important reasons. Though it’s likely not as severe a flaw as readers may initially think, the biggest weakness Klara has throughout the story is arguably her ignorance. This most strongly stems from her isolation, and we see how this develops and is maintained at even this early stage. Apart from her own assessments of her surroundings, her main source of information is other AFs, who presumably piece together all they know from their similarly limited perspectives. She does learn things from the store’s manager, but this is complicated. Manager is often impressed at Klara’s observational skills and understanding of the world around her, so she’s occasionally forthright in her explanations, but this appears to only be true of brief exceptions, where she quickly understands that a misstep occurs and she retreats back into cautious talk.i More often, she spends her time grooming Klara and the other AFs to be docile and obedient in order to appear desirable to prospective buyers and eventually, “properly” serve them.ii These concepts mirror working-class reality, where individuals are shaped into conforming and obedient subjects useful to the upper classes, starting early on and continuing throughout life.iii And the way Ishiguro describes this here is fitting. Workers will often listen to mentors who have reason to direct the worker’s development in a way that benefits owners over the worker, even to the worker’s detriment. The presentation of filtered information to this end will often be acceptable enough to the worker to maintain their docility, but occasionally something comes through that the worker mistrusts.iv In these cases, unable to get a reasonable explanation from the mentor, workers need to rely on the advice of peers who are unfortunately subject to the same sorts of conditions. In these ways, workers can arrive at ideas they find satisfactory, but their isolation and resulting ignorance means these ideas may be terribly misinformed.

Another concept that is presented early on in the story but is reintroduced throughout is the “othering” and belittling of AFs by humans, mirroring such behaviour occurring between classes in the real world. The first we encounter of this is Klara’s incredulity when a customer talks about an AF’s mechanical issues right in front of him as though he wasn’t there, and as though it seemed perfectly normal to the customer to do so. Klara experiences such treatment in time, as well as being subject to a myriad of similarly belittling exchanges.v It may appear that the occasional measure of kindness or respect somewhat offsets this, but this is complicated. Kindness afforded to Klara throughout the story is almost always accompanied with comments or actions that demonstrate things like the selfishness or emptiness behind the gesture. Humans will often ask her permission, which at a surface level appears respectful, but this is misleading. Klara will often not be in a position to refuse and the asking humans presumably know that she’s designed or trained to be helpful and agreeable. As such, they likely have an expected response in mind when they ask, meaning this should likely be viewed more as an illusion of autonomy. One of the few exceptions to all this is with Josie, Klara’s companion and owner, who appears genuine in her kindness, though this does change as the story progresses and Josie both gains personal resentment toward Klara and becomes more influenced by social norms.

Another person who has a unique relationship with Klara that to some degree goes against these norms is Rick, Josie’s best friend.vi Rick is more open and honest with Klara than most. We’re introduced to this behaviour during Josie’s interaction meeting, when he sticks up for Klara after the teens gang up on her cruelly and then the two speak alone afterwards. It becomes clear that Rick identified with Klara after the youths’ treatment of her mimicked their recent treatment of him. In this way, Rick is the important bridge between machine and lower-class worker in Klara and the Sun because Rick is both considered socially inferior to other youths and his experience holds many similarities to Klara’s—an important reason this analysis holds credence, suggesting that it was intended by the author rather than just a possibility because nothing contradicts it. Rick is the only youth we knowingly encounter who isn’t “lifted” (genetically altered) and, on account of this, he’s considered less capable in ways that have important ramifications. He is reminded that he doesn’t belong within polite society, not only from the very obvious, direct words of the parent at Josie’s meeting,vii but also by the way he’s treated by the other teens—Josie included—who seem to believe that they’re being kind to him even when they single him out, talk down to him, and talk about him to his face as though he isn’t there.viii But this discrimination runs deeper into society than just this kind of social prejudice: Rick’s prospects are limited, also on account of his genetics. Atlas Brookings, the university Rick’s repeatedly pressured to apply to, is presented as one of the few that accepts students who aren’t lifted and, even there, more than ninety-eight percent of the students are said to be lifted. The social interaction Ishiguro presents here mirrors superficial kindness masking hostility working-class individuals are subject to from those who believe they’re “better”—frequently belonging to the upper classes or those in positions of authority, more commonly when under pressure from or within the safety of their peers, as Ishiguro shows here—while the lack of prospects available to Rick directly relates to the opportunities withheld from the lower classes.ix

And this brings us back to the central theme: What, if anything, separates humans from thinking and feeling machines? The crux of Ishiguro’s discussion is put most plainly by Josie’s father, Paul, to Klara, whether there’s such a thing as “[t]he human heart. … Something that makes each of us special and individual.” While it’s possible that the author intended to pose this problem as presented on a superficial level, a class-based commentary also presents itself when considering how such an idea relates to both Klara and Rick. In Klara’s case, people appear to assume ways in which she’s different or lacks human traits largely due to preconceptions and superstitions they have regarding both robots and humans, though we also witness characters actively suppressing their thoughts when they begin to see these differences fall away.x As for Rick, by the nature of the difference between him and the lifted children being genetic or biological, it seems as though it’s deeper, demonstrable, and important. But he’s shown to be intellectually gifted, which suggests that it holds little practical difference between him and the others and, as such, may simply be another form of superficial justification for the discrimination he experiences. Both cases suggest that others are searching for reasons why they’re different—why they’re better—than our worker stand-ins, that they believe it from the get-go, that they’re able to convince themselves of this without good evidence to support it, and that they can easily disbelieve evidence to the contrary. Because this is directed only at our worker stand-ins, the implication seems to be that this is a common attribute of the upper classes, that they want to believe that something innate separates them from the lower classes and serves to justify the advantages they enjoy.

And yet, in spite of this, both Klara and Rick are offered paths of entry into the upper class, though each comes with its price. For Klara, it means revoking everything about who she is in order to replace Josie if she dies. For Rick, it means becoming and remaining submissive while his mother is humiliated in order to appease Vance, his mother’s contact who has influence in the selection process at Atlas Brookings. Both instances suggest something that Ishiguro has to say about class mobility. Submission is in line with the expectation of the worker as a docile and obedient subject, but here the author implies that climbing the social ladder can destroy the worker’s individuality—which Ishiguro seems to suggest the upper classes don’t believe in or at least don’t care about—and that disrespect for one’s roots may be intimately and uncomfortably tied to the quest for “a better life.”xi Both Klara and Rick ultimately reject their offers, but to different ends. In Rick’s case, he abandons the prospect of a formal education. Though we don’t get to see his eventual fate, he appears to be happy, stable, and moving forward in the world when we last encounter him. As for Klara, instead of simply performing her duty, she spends the majority of the story attempting to find a cure for Josie and, well beyond the expectation of everyone else, she succeeds. Despite doing more for her owners than they could imagine possible, she still ends up outliving her usefulness and is subsequently abandoned. Here, we see how the worker, no matter how capable they are and no matter what value they may have previously brought to the upper classes, can expect to be abandoned if and when they’re deemed no longer useful—when their labour is no longer marketable. Being a good employee isn’t enough to save you.

In the end, Klara is visited by Manager, who offers superficial comfort and reassurance that all is well and as it should be, reprising her role as a mentor who encourages ignorance and docility. The well-trained worker that she proved to be, Klara obediently accepts her fate.

Notes

i. Out of the few instances where this type of forthright discussion occurs between them, the most telling to me was when Klara noticed that some children who came to the window were briefly sad or angry. Here, Manager betrays that owning an AF, especially of the calibre sold at their particular store, is something of a mark of prestige or affluence prohibited to the lower classes––going against Klara’s understanding that an AF’s purpose is to avert loneliness, though Klara apparently fails to understand this.

ii. The importance of obedience above all else became apparent during the incident with the girl with short spiky hair, when she chooses Klara but Klara fails to respond appropriately and the girl ends up leaving with a newer model instead. Though Manager admits that Klara may have been correct in her assessment and that the outcome was positive, she still reprimands Klara for her disobedience. Here, we see the importance placed on obedience: It’s better to be obedient and lead to a potentially poor outcome than to have some measure of autonomy in order to bring about something better.

iii. This largely occurs through the influence of disciplinary techniques and systems, but is also caused by the maintenance of ignorance through the control of information by educators, employers, political leaders, and other gatekeepers of knowledge alongside contributive working conditions, such as the forcing of thoughtless labour. I plan to expand on these concepts in future essays.

iv. There are a small number of times Klara or other AFs are shown to mistrust Manager. The most apparent is that all the AFs sought the front alcove in the store above all other positions in spite of Manager’s repeated assertion that AFs were as likely to be chosen no matter where they were situated.

v. Klara is constantly exposed to a kind of low-level hostility, often presenting as humans talking down to her, ordering her around, or outright ignoring her presence, but two specific encounters come to mind as particularly striking. One is when Rick’s mother, Helen, muses aloud to herself in front of Klara that she doesn’t know how to greet her, wondering if it’s proper to treat her like a vacuum cleaner, and goes on to ask a favour of her as though nothing inappropriate occurred. The other is when Josie’s mother, Chrissie, refuses to believe that Klara has feelings even after Klara attempts to explain that she does. The former stood out simply by being a more extreme example of what seems to be shown to be relatively common human behaviour; the latter stood out because it came from someone who believed she was growing closer to Klara at the time, and later went on to believe, or at least suggest, that she could love Klara “like nothing else in this world.”

vi. Rick does periodically mistreat Klara or demonstrate that there are ulterior motives for his kindness. This often has more to do with his relationship with Josie than anything to do with Klara. For example, at the time of his initial coldness toward Klara, he mentions that Josie got an AF despite previously saying that she never would. When taken together with later events—such as his expressed concerns that Josie becomes a different person when interacting with different groups of people or his suggestion that she hides her true self during their “bubble game”—his poor reaction likely stems from his worries that Josie is changing, becoming more and more influenced by society and growing away from him.

vii. “You shouldn’t be here at all.”

viii. The sudden cruelty Chrissie shows Rick near the end of the story also suggests that her continual kindness toward him up to that point may not have been meaningful, that one of the few people from the upper class who we got to see treat him well may have been harbouring resentment toward him for some time.

ix. The case for class-based inequality in the UK’s education system is presented clearly in an interview with Diane Reay in The Guardian from 2017.2 A 2019 Maclean’s article by Shannon Proudfoot looks at the issue in Canada more specifically3—though in the case of the latter article, disadvantages working-class students have to contend with are glossed over more in favour of the psychological and emotional impacts that come with class mobility for those starting from within the working class.

x. Paul is explicit with Klara that he is afraid that humans don’t have anything in them to make them special, but he desperately wants to hold onto the belief that they do. Though it’s never explained overtly, I suspect that Chrissie’s horror she experiences when observing Klara impersonate Josie is similar: that she begins to see what little separates them, but she recoils in her refusal to accept it.

xi. And Ishiguro’s commentary here resembles what Proudfoot describes in the aforementioned Maclean’s article.3

References

  1. Ishiguro, Kazuo. Klara and the Sun. Knopf Canada, 2021.
  2. Ferguson, Donna. “ ‘Working-class children get less of everything in education – including respect.’ ” The Guardian, 21 Nov 2017. www.theguardian.com/education/2017/nov/21/english-class-system-shaped-in-schools. Accessed 1 Jul 2021.
  3. Proudfoot, Shannon. “What does it mean to be working class in Canada?” Maclean’s, 16 Jul 2019. www.macleans.ca/society/what-does-it-mean-to-be-working-class-in-canada/. Accessed 1 Jul 2021.

In favour of prejudice

I suspect that this is going to be a difficult argument to make, especially since it feels wrong to me, untrue, on some level. And so it not only takes a lot for me to break through these feelings to arrive at the actual logic that leads me to the idea, but I also suspect others are going to have similar difficulties believing me. Nonetheless, I’ve come to think that prejudice can be good and should be employed to the benefit of the prejudiced individual, though only in certain instances. To better explain myself, I want to discuss the differences in harms that come from prejudices when the ideas of oppression and privilege factor in.

It’s probably worthwhile to start with some definitions, for the sake of clarity. When I talk about oppression, I’m talking about a fairly standard definition, where people are governed or controlled in an unfair way, that results in unequal freedoms and opportunities between groups. In a similar way, systemic oppression refers to a power structure that creates and maintains these sorts of unfair advantages economically, socially, or politically. People are said to have privilege when they benefit from this unfair system, whereas the unprivileged derive no demonstrable benefit from such a system. There’s significant overlap between those who lack privilege and those who are oppressed and exploited. On the other side, this kind of relationship is complicated, because the privileged don’t necessarily actively, directly oppress or exploit––usually lacking the power or influence to do so––but the advantages enjoyed by the privileged incentivize them to maintain the status quo, thereby allowing the oppression and exploitation to continue. With an understanding of these ideas, we can start to see how harms from prejudice will be not be equivalent when varying levels of privilege are considered. The privileged effectively possess a safety buffer within the system that favours them. This protects them both directly––harmful words and actions toward them are unlikely to be tolerated within and are more likely to be punished by the system––and indirectly––advantages enjoyed by privileged groups are significant enough to render harms to them coming from the unprivileged less meaningful. In the same way, lacking such luxuries renders the unprivileged more vulnerable to negative words and actions directed at them, made even more pronounced when acting in concert with systemic oppression or coming from those with the power or influence to direct such oppression.

I doubt that all this is at all controversial as a vague concept, but controversy appears to come from applying the concept to society as we know it. For there’s significant disagreement over who the privileged actually are, and whether systemic oppression actually exists in the here and now. In this way, we can point at uncontroversial facts in an attempt to demonstrate both, but agreement breaks down when we attempt to explain them.i I want to unpack this a bit more in order to look at some of the drivers of prejudices and to suggest what goes into overcoming prejudices, all for good reason that will make itself apparent shortly.

Disagreements of the sort outlined above are outward symptoms of individual biases, and these are framed heavily by varying degrees of both solipsism––focusing on the truth in personal experience alongside an inability to understand or believe the experiences of others––and narcissism––the ability of the individual to believe in a personal good alongside an unwillingness to believe personal negative traits, often doing both in reverse when looking at others. Both factors make it more difficult for a member of a privileged group to see their privilege at work. They want to believe that the advantages they enjoy come from something good in them or something good that they did, whereas the harms they feel come from something external that negatively influences them, because it’s rare for anyone to willfully believe they’re actively causing harm to themselves or others. They may have started out with little––or at least less than they have now––and only feel that the advantages they enjoy came with hard work and perseverance, for example; it becomes hard to escape this way of thinking, because perhaps they did work hard and persevere through difficult periods, and it feels insulting to completely discount this thing that they lived through. They don’t want to believe that, in spite of the truth behind this, others may have started with less and barriers may exist for others that don’t exist for them; as a result, others’ hard work and perseverance don’t translate into the same advantages. This all does a lot to perpetuate these harmful biases. The privileged don’t want to believe that a harmful system props up their advantages on the backs of the oppressed and exploited; they more simply understand that the unprivileged lack something important that they have, and they could move into the privileged group by doing this good thing or improving their character in a way that emulates the privileged. They’re surprised at the unprivileged because of their inability to accomplish what they see as a relatively simple task, and so, with time, it becomes easier and easier to see the unprivileged as inherently lacking something important that is the cause of their lack of advantages, that the unprivileged themselves are at fault for this inequality rather than an inequitable system.

As I see it, the concepts of narcissism and solipsism are also important in understanding the process of overcoming prejudice, in that the stronger a hold they have over you the harder it can be to lessen personal prejudices. A lot has to do with trust and belief of the other––that they actually understand their own experience, that they’re actually able to vocalize that experience, and that they’re truthful when they do so. This becomes a difficult task when the expressed experience differs significantly from one’s own, and it’s only made worse or even impossible in the terribly narcissistic or solipsistic individual who struggles to imagine that they could be wrong or that their own experience could be of limited applicability to others.

Which brings us to the meat of the argument in favour of prejudice. The beneficiaries of an unfair system are incentivized to maintain the status quo by nature of the advantages they enjoy, and common biases exist within privileged groups to make it difficult to understand how unfair the system can actually be. With this in mind, consider what it means for the unprivileged to overcome their prejudice directed toward the privileged, understanding that overcoming it requires trust in the other. This means requiring the unprivileged both to trust in those who are incentivized to allow their oppression and exploitation and to believe things that make it harder to see that this oppression and exploitation is occurring, and why. It requires concessions to be made by the unprivileged that can destroy their own solidarity––revoking the power that comes with it––and their welfare more generally.ii Prejudice in this direction serves to shield the unprivileged from harm and, on top of this, harms to the targets of this prejudice are likely to be limited as a consequence of the relative advantages possessed by the privileged.

But I’m not suggesting that the unprivileged should never trust the privileged, for at least a couple of reasons. For one, there are privileged individuals who understand that society is unfair and who are trying to do something about it. And it’s not only those from outside one’s group, possessing greater privilege than oneself, who are unworthy of one’s trust: There are plenty of people within the group who are willing and able to harm others within the group for a multitude of reasons. All I’m suggesting is that prejudice is an important tool that the unprivileged possess to protect themselves from those benefitting from their oppression, but not as a replacement for a more general judgment. With time, experience, and enough exposure to individuals, those who are perceptive and honest can arrive at more reasonable decisions about trustworthiness than simply by holding fast to this as a rule. But all that is a process. I don’t think it’s possible to do that well with people you just meet, and no one possesses the time and effort to do this with every single person they encounter, so these quick and dirty rules are instrumental to survival. And, for those for whom the world doesn’t care––a world not set up for their success––even little tools or ideas like this can make a substantial difference, helping give them a chance.

Notes

i. Good examples of such facts would be that fewer Indigenous Canadians graduate high school than non-Indigenous Canadians,1 or that median income for Indigenous Canadians is consistently lower than that of non-Indigenous Canadians.2,3 It’s difficult to disagree with such data, but it becomes almost impossible to reach consensus when attempts are made to explain either disparity, keeping in mind the widely different preconceptions individuals of different backgrounds hold that influence this.

ii. An example that readily comes to mind is what results from the lack of class-consciousness within the working class in contemporary America. In a Noam Chomsky interview on Reader Supported News, he outlines the causes of this along with its consequences, including the attack on and loss of working-class rights.4 In putting their trust into their oppressors and the beneficiaries of their oppression, the unprivileged in this instance learn “not to think in terms of their own interests.” And the effects can be clearly shown. An analysis was performed by the Center for American Progress that demonstrated the increase in financial insecurity for working-class families over the period from 1989 to 2016, with a focus on the impact of the 2008 recession.5 This coincides with a significant decrease of union membership over the same period,6 on the back of demonstrable attacks by employers on worker organization,7 just as Chomksy asserts in the above interview.

References

  1.  “The educational attainment of Aboriginal peoples in Canada.” Statistics Canada, Government of Canada, 25 Jul 2018, www12.statcan.gc.ca/nhs-enm/2011/as-sa/99-012-x/99-012-x2011003_3-eng.cfm. Accessed 6 Apr 2021.
  2. “Chart 11: Median total income in 2005 by Aboriginal identity, population aged 25 to 54.” Statistics Canada, Government of Canada, 30 Nov 2015, www150.statcan.gc.ca/n1/pub/89-645-x/2010001/c-g/c-g011-eng.htm. Accessed 6 Apr 2021.
  3. “Aboriginal Statistics at a Glance: 2nd Edition: Income.” Statistics Canada, Government of Canada, 24 Dec 2015, www150.statcan.gc.ca/n1/pub/89-645-x/2015001/income-revenu-eng.htm. Accessed 6 Apr 2021.
  4. Steele, Chris. “Noam Chomsky: America Hates Its Poor.” Reader Supported News, 1 Dec 2013, readersupportednews.org/opinion2/277-75/20712-focus-noam-chomsky-america-hates-its-poor. Accessed 7 Apr 2021.
  5. Weller, Christian E. “Working-Class Families Are Getting Hit From All Sides.” Center for American Progress, 26 Jul 2018, www.americanprogress.org/issues/economy/reports/2018/07/26/453841/working-class-families-getting-hit-sides. Accessed 7 Apr 2021.
  6. “Union Coverage.” State of Working America Data Library, Economic Policy Institute, Feb 2021, www.epi.org/data/#?subject=unioncov. Accessed 7 Apr 2021.
  7. McNicolas, Celine et al. “Unlawful: U.S. employers are charged with violating federal law in 41.5% of all union election campaigns.” Economic Policy Institute, 11 Dec 2019, www.epi.org/publication/unlawful-employer-opposition-to-union-election-campaigns. Accessed 7 Apr 2021.

Big announcement today

I’ve been writing regularly again for a little while now, but it’s been different than what I’ve been posting in the past. I’ve been honing my skills at essay writing, and I think I’m about ready to start sharing, starting next week. The current plan is to post monthly, but I may do so more frequently if I get a bit of a build-up of finished pieces. (So far, each of my essays has taken quite a bit of reading, prep, and editing before it gets to the condition you’ll get to see, and the process definitely isn’t fast. I may get quicker eventually, but I suspect that my efficiency is unlikely to improve substantially on topics that require an in-depth reading and analysis of literature. This means that there are probably more obvious limits to the quantity of my posts, though hopefully not to the quality.)

I’m interested in writing about a wide variety of topics and issues, and I’m going to do my best to cycle through topics. So, if I hit on something that isn’t of great interest to you, hopefully that changes the following month. Although all this is different than what I’ve regularly written in the past, I hope those who have followed my writing will give these essays a try. I’m still learning and developing this form, so feedback is definitely appreciated. And please consider sharing pieces on social media when you enjoy them; it really helps me out.

All I Have Learned is Where I Have Been

by Joe Fiorito

All I Have Learned is Where I Have Been, a poetry collection, contains quick snapshots of vivid moments. Fiorito expands his focus from those on the outskirts of society who were almost exclusively his subject matter in his previous work, City Poems, to include the more mundane aspects of life as well. The pictures he crafts are encapsulated by a clear structure, clear both when the author employs the more obvious drivers of this, such as tight rhyming and alliteration, as well as the less apparent ones, like similar sounds that don’t rhyme.

My criticism toward the collection extends to two main concepts that suffuse most of Fiorito’s poetry to varying degrees. Firstly, the structures employed are often rigid and obtrusive, the harm here mainly involving the effect this causes on the rhythm and flow of the pieces. An illustrative example is the poem “Ocean Blues,” which is presented with a simple, song-like structure. The rhyme- and repetition-driven pattern gives the work an obvious and halting beat, which ultimately makes it feel unnatural. Most poems in All I Have Learned is Where I Have Been aren’t as rigid as “Ocean Blues,” but many possess this unnatural feel that can be attributed to structure. The more the author is able to loosen the structure, the more the rhythm and flow benefits, with “What the Butcher Boy Found” and “Modern Courting” being great examples where the sounds of the poems unfold more naturally. Understand, however, that neither is unstructured: A beat can be felt in each, and the source can be found by analyzing the repetition of the underlying sounds. It’s just more competently blended throughout the verses so it doesn’t stand out and trip readers up. And he even occasionally employs an effective combination of tight rhymes and sound-repetition to make verses resonate, as he did from my perspective in the first verse of “Lake Superior Lament (2),” though this is the exception more than the rule.

The second piece of criticism concerns depth and meaning, and it’s pretty complicated, so I hope I have the ability to unpack my feelings in a way that satisfactorily explains them. Fiorito deals with important subjects throughout, and this will likely do a lot to convince readers that his poetry is meaningful, but the subject itself being important doesn’t automatically inject any discussion of that subject with meaning. Fiorito focuses mainly on superficial description and imagery. This is an important exercise for the cultivation of verisimilitude, but it does little to add depth to his thoughts. Adding the briefness of pieces to this, it feels like the author isn’t giving his subjects the time and energy they deserve to adequately hit on this useful discussion. That so many pieces employ description or expression that feels designed to get a rise from the readers while lacking this strength of expression or thoughtful discussion, it feels like he’s attempting to draw a reaction that isn’t earned. (A good example of what I’m getting at here is the poem “Judy’s Bracelet,” on display in the synopsis. The description is ugly and gruesome, but the poem arguably has nothing useful to say about its subject.) And he relies heavily on his notes to also inject a false sense of meaning on pieces. Here, important details––details that could begin to add substance to his discussion or add further context to make his pictures come to life even more strongly––will be relegated to the notes, when they could have been in the pieces if the author was at least willing to explore outside this brief snapshot style, even a little bit.

That he felt the need to add such details to the notes, it strikes me that he understood that something was lacking, that he understood the need for at least further contextual information to turn the poems into something useful, but he didn’t stick with his ideas and flesh them out fully. When everything is taken together, it feels less like stylistic choices were at play here, but more that an author hit on a brief expression he liked but was too frightened to edit: to expand ideas, to cultivate the sound of pieces, to inject more life into his subjects.

Junebat

by John Elizabeth Stintzi

Junebat is a book of free verse poetry, with an underlying narrative and connected themes between pieces concerning the author’s struggles to understand their gender identity. It’s presented in the context of metamorphosis––their life before, the change, and afterward, with one poem directly comparing this with a caterpillar changing into a moth––and it felt particularly fitting, especially when clearly expressing the idea that the “they” from before is the same as the “they” from after, but that the important change rather involves the ideas of self they possessed.

Stintzi references the work of Wallace Stevens in the notes, which makes me believe he’s a large influence on the author, though I’m largely unfamiliar with his poetry and, as such, I can’t really make deeper comparisons between the two. From reading the few Stevens poems directly referenced along with the corresponding Stintzi pieces, the biggest thing that struck me was how much more accessible Stintzi’s work is, though don’t take this to be either a mark of praise or criticism––merely a thought. Another poet I know better whom I was reminded of while reading Junebat, however, was Charles Bukowski, and this was likely for a couple of important reasons. Firstly, because of the gentle, understated writing, where meaning is built up over the course of the pieces without an overt forcing. Secondly, because the work of both poets comes across as so thoughtful and honest. Though, the Bukowski comparison only really feels apt when looking at poems that look at a more grounded, personal experience; throughout Junebat, we move between this style and one that looks at more abstract concepts, with a bigger focus on imagery and symbolism. Here, things are more reminiscent of the Beats––probably not a novel observation, due to Allen Ginsberg being mentioned in the notes.

Because neither style ever fully takes a back seat throughout the collection, it allows the author to comment on difficult concepts without ruining immersion. But it’s more than that: That Stintzi can even do this suggests their incredible ability of expression, and I really feel the need to stress that this is probably their biggest strength on display in Junebat. Because they really hit me with a visceral sense of the depression and isolation they went through that I can relate to, and they so effectively explored internal and external barriers that prevent us both from seeing the truth and from living it comfortably and happily once we find it. Junebat comes highly recommended.

The Dishwasher

by Stéphane Larue

In The Dishwasher, we follow a mostly unnamed narrator as he tries to crawl out of the gutter of his life. The story focuses on his gambling addiction, how it controls him––mind, body, and soul––and causes him not only to fall further and further into debt and effectively drop out of college, but also to alienate basically everyone he cares about. Hounded by his unmet responsibilities to a heavy metal band who paid an advance for a cover artwork commission that he has yet to deliver and by an ex-roommate who still expects the rent payment the narrator ran away from, he takes a job as a dishwasher at a busy, high-end restaurant. While the intense pace of the work helps him to keep his mind off his troubles, it also introduces more sinister and dangerous elements into his life.

Superficially, The Dishwasher brings to mind a couple of books I’m hugely fond of: Bright Lights, Big City because of the depressing, downward spiral of self-ruin the author attempts to cultivate, and On the Road because of the focus on the narrator’s out-of-control friend––though the similarities fall away when you delve a bit deeper. The deeper similarities, to me, resemble something perhaps a bit more surprising: The Shining, for at least two important reasons. Firstly, because of perceived attempts to describe addiction honestly in both, and, secondly, in structure––both stories being exercises in foreshadowing and a slow building of atmosphere in an attempt to lead to something big.

While comparisons to such famous and influential works may sound like a positive, however, understand that having similarities to enduring stories doesn’t necessarily translate to effectively drawing out in your own book the things that actually made those stories enduring. There was a lot within Larue’s writing that I disliked. The narration leans heavily on tired clichés and weak analogies in an attempt to make an impact. The author makes the mistake of thinking he has to describe every little detail of every little thing, which can be a hard bit of criticism to understand until you become acquainted with authors who do great things when focusing on specific details that have purpose behind them. And the foreshadowing fails on more than one occasion by continually hitting the reader with ominous hints as to where we’re heading long past the point where we can predict where that will be, without moving the plot any closer to that point––apparent attempts to force a sense of gravity ultimately harming growth of this feeling.

The aspect in The Dishwasher I’m most torn about is the portrayal of the narrator’s addiction. When we started getting into it proper within the book, basically everything that was described seemed familiar to me with respect to things in my life that firmly took hold of me, that I obsessed over, but then he began describing things that weren’t reminiscent of my obsessions. This isn’t to suggest that the portrayal was at all unrealistic, rather that my bias that attaches a perceived realism to my perspective made me mistrust it, and it made me realize just how difficult it can be to make things relatable to readers. I wonder if there’s any way to avoid this, and suspect that the only thing you can do is be as sincere as possible. If the portrayal comes from a place of truth, which seems at least plausible in the case of The Dishwasher, it seems reasonable that more readers who share in the experience will relate to the writing. But there will probably still be some number of readers who don’t relate to at least a piece of it, so there’s probably major limits to how well you can avert this harming of immersion.

All that said, the description of the frantic pace and pressures of the narrator’s shifts as dishwasher was probably the thing I enjoyed most with the book, and that definitely doesn’t come from a place of personal experience. The key to making the story compelling likely has less to do with making things match exactly with readers’ experiences and more to do with other aspects of the writing that appeared to work during these passages, such as matching tone with desired responses or doing things for good reason, obviously working toward something, like plot or characterization.

The Glass Hotel

by Emily St. John Mandel

Jonathan Alkaitis made a vast fortune investing other people’s money. On one of his many trips to the hotel he owns––the dazzling Hotel Caiette, located on a remote British Columbia island––he hits it off with the bartender, Vincent, and carries her off into a life of luxury as his trophy wife. And he finds another investor at the same time, of course, because Alkaitis’ returns are unbelievably amazing. But there’s a reason he’s so successful. The longer Vincent spends by his side, the more she senses deceit in both his character and his business dealings. And then everything falls apart. The Glass Hotel is a story about the growth and the subsequent implosion of a Ponzi scheme, but it’s also much more than that. Throughout, St. John Mandel explores the lives of those connected to and affected by the crime in a commentary about what it takes to abandon one’s conscience, convictions, and better judgment.

I don’t think I’ve been so thoroughly impressed with a novel in a long time. The author writes with such insight, and this takes on various forms throughout The Glass Hotel. Frequently, compelling concepts that caused me to stop and reflect were presented simply, cleanly, and we moved on from them quickly. While this may cause readers to pass over profound moments without noticing them, it works to the benefit of the narrative when the author doesn’t pause to explain what happened. Effectively, the heart of the story gains weight without harming the pacing, flow, or plot––though it may take multiple readings to truly understand the impact. And sometimes these ideas get tied to characters, where they become especially interesting to me. Character thoughts sometimes echo things I’ve felt, usually creating verisimilitude in the process. Other times, they delve into finer details of subjects that I may not have previously understood, expressed in a way that feels like it offers a glimpse of the truth to an outsider. This gives a sense of specialized comprehension that the respective character has for the topic, making them become more alive in the process. The important piece of all this is that character emotions begin to feel real, which subsequently adds emotional weight to St. John Mandel’s arguments.

This isn’t to say that there weren’t any elements I disliked while reading The Glass Hotel. However, everything I didn’t like was small and superficial––the author leaning on an expression that felt overused, for example. It’s amazing to see how little something like that mattered while reading when so much in the outer plot and the inner soul of the book felt so solid.

Good Citizens Need Not Fear

by Maria Reva

Good Citizens Need Not Fear is, succinctly, a collection of connected short stories, but a fuller description is a bit more complicated. Set in a small, late Soviet-era Ukrainian town, the stories build upon the previous ones and often bleed into the stories that follow, creating an ongoing narrative that showcases the lives of a recurring cast as it approaches and survives the fall of the USSR. Centred on 1933 Ivansk––a building not registered in the record books and, therefore, officially, one that doesn’t exist––Reva explores how ordinary citizens adapt to desperate times within an uncaring system.

There’s a lot to like in Good Citizens Need Not Fear. A number of stories employ the narrative to explore and comment on a central concept in compelling ways. Reva takes a story about paranoia between neighbours in “Bone Music” to show the confining nature of fear. Another good example comes from “Lucky Toss,” where bodily harm is used to create a visceral portrayal of guilt eating away at someone. And characters within stories like “Letter of Apology” and “Miss USSR” have organic arcs that allow the narratives to build effectively to a satisfying payoff.

The awkward moment for me talking about Good Citizens Need Not Fear is that my least favourite story was probably “Homecoming,” the last one in the collection. And the reason I say it’s awkward is that it really feels like Reva tried really hard to bring everything together in a satisfying way, yet it didn’t work for me. I was looking to things like overtly exploring thoughts or a clumsy representation of concepts as plausible explanations, but I think that the incomplete nature of the story as an independent entity is closer to the most reasonable explanation I can arrive at. Much like the earlier story “Little Rabbit,” “Homecoming” feels more like a chapter in a novel than a short story. In the case of “Little Rabbit,” it serves to introduce one of the central characters, but it doesn’t have an obvious end before moving to the next story. “Homecoming,” conversely, is tasked at ending the larger narrative that permeates the collection. The difficulty of this task comes from bringing disparate elements from previous stories together in an attempt to create the build to this end because those were largely present within stories that wrapped up their respective plots. While these elements themselves may have been left unresolved, the act of ending these stories deflates the action and tension, meaning we have to start again if we actually want to get there. And this, I’d argue, wasn’t done, at least not effectively.

Could this have been avoided? Now that I’ve taken the time to really consider it, I’d argue it probably could have been, but I’d also argue that the difficulty lies in marrying the short story with the longer narrative, that each works differently, requiring different sets of writing skills. After finishing her book, I really believe Reva possesses those skills; it’s clear to see that she understands at least the short story well enough to create narratives that are interesting, straightforward, and smart. The problem comes when applying them in the best way to make something unique. And the base act of attempting an experiment like Good Citizens Need Not Fear itself holds value, mainly because it can be analyzed in order to shed light on what actually goes into telling a good story in important ways that otherwise couldn’t be understood from a book possessing a standard makeup or structure.

Ducks, Newburyport

by Lucy Ellmann

I wish people would be a bit more careful with literary comparisons. I understand the desire to relate new stories to others that readers are more than likely familiar with in order to quickly pitch the book, but superficial comparisons that set readers up for the wrong impressions seem to be increasingly common. (The example I keep coming across is a dystopian story drawing a comparison to Margaret Atwood or Cormac McCarthy simply because both have written famous dystopian books. But just being the same genre shouldn’t bring about a suggestion that a book’s written “in the style of” either of those authors, as was the case in Liz Harmer’s The Amateurs––a novel that had little in common with the voice or the style of prose or the narrative structure of anything I’ve read by either Atwood or McCarthy.) And I’d suggest that it’s worse––at least significantly more outrageous appearing from this reader’s perspective––when the comparison involves a landmark classic that completely changed the face of literature. For, in the case of Ducks, Newburyport, the comparison was to James Joyce’s Ulysses, which I should think would require a pretty good reason for being done repeatedly as it was, though I can only really see superficial parallels between the two after finishing Ellman’s imposing tome. (One blurb specifically compares the wordplay, which is sad to consider, especially since anything resembling wordplay within this story is much closer to the word association you can expect to see in something like Sean Penn’s Bob Honey Who Just Do Stuff. To be fair, Ellman’s writing is much better than Penn’s, so the style works much better here, but I think it’s a stretch to call this anything resembling Joycean wordplay.)

But, much as this is a problem that can majorly harm a reader’s perception of a novel, blurbs attached to the book aren’t the fault of the author and they don’t reflect on the actual writing, so we should probably talk about the book itself. In Ducks, Newburyport, we join an unnamed narrator, a stay-at-home mother of four who also sells her baking on the side, as she works through the mundane tasks of the day while taking us on long, stream-of-conscious tirades of her various anxieties about the contemporary world in run-on sentences that last scores of pages at a time. The main narrative is interrupted periodically by a secondary story about a mountain lioness preparing her cubs to survive in the world.

Though I found it initially difficult to fit my reading to the style without breaking the flow of the narrative, I discovered plenty to appreciate with the writing once I was able to make an adjustment. An effective amount of specific details make the narrator come alive, while Ellman showcases a sarcastic wit that makes early reading a pleasure. The author also pleasantly surprised me with her incredible confidence on display with the writing, tied to a great respect given to her readers. This takes the form of important details presented without ceremony and brief references to things previously discussed that pop up unobtrusively throughout the book. With the former, heavy concepts, such as the baggage that continually follows the narrator after the death of her mother, will get interrupted by worries about the mundane here and now almost as quickly as they’re introduced. (It strongly evokes the effective, humanizing moments in Art Spiegelman’s Maus, and it similarly humanizes and underlines the significance of the discussion with Ellman’s use of the strategy.) With regard to the latter, savvy readers are invited to consider parallels to previous concepts, but the guidance is so minimal, the touch is so gentle, that these references are likely easy to pass by; this effectively maintains flow while rewarding observant readers with additional layers of consideration, which likely contributes to a richness that could reasonably grow with subsequent readings.

As the story progresses, however, the discussion grows more and more repetitive and huge chunks of the book become tiresome to get through. I enjoyed what we built to by the end, and I appreciated the ways the intertwining narratives came together, but I was struck with a notion that Ducks, Newburyport greatly overstayed its welcome, that it could have been improved by editing it down to maybe one-third of its length. I respect the fact that this could arguably have the potential to kill a lot of what I loved, but I also acknowledge that the things I liked weren’t enough to offset the difficult wade through the book’s centre. Ducks, Newburyport is a convincing portrayal of someone overwhelmed by life, but it really needed some serious pruning before I could view it as anything phenomenal.