A lesson on Appreciation, and why I only seem to "get it" at certain times.

I cannot help but ponder my own mortality as of late. It's nothing new; I've been doing it intermittently since my entry into adolescence. These past few days, though, mortality has become salient in my mind. Perhaps it has something to do with the young girl in Toronto killed by a bullet - in my old neighbourhood, no less - for the mere crime of smoking a cigarette outside a bar at the wrong time. Or perhaps it has something to do with my ailing neighbour who spends each day of the work week in a hospital being bombarded by radiation to send his cancer into remission. Perhaps a combination of both, or, just maybe, ever pervasive thoughts on why I am here and what I am doing.

Lately, it occurred to me that, in an instant, I could be no more: this fleshy exterior will no longer touch; these ears will no longer hear; this tongue and nose will no longer taste and smell; these eyes will no longer see; this brain will no longer think; this body will no longer feel. The reel of this epic film played before me can so easily grind to a halt, and the light on the projector snuffed out. One day, I can wake as usual, proceed through my morning ritual, leave my home to venture to school and be struck dead by a passing motorist; or I can wake to learn that I am stricken with a terminal illness; or I can simply not wake at all.

Pondering one's own mortality is an amazing thing, for it prompts the individual to see the surrounding world very differently, with a heightened sense of awareness. For instance, as I sat on the bus, I gazed out the window and observed all the beauty unfolding before my eyes: the trees swaying in the wind, children playing in a park, women and men in deep thought at the bus stop, and so on. It's rather unfortunate that the prospect of never perceiving these sorts of things again through this set of sensory inputs serves as the impetus for my living in the present moment; then again, perhaps it isn't such a bad thing to perceive oneself as a fragile, mortal being who will one day leave this form, for it is this fragility that gives meaning to our lives (thus spoke Ray Kurzweil, I believe).

Furthermore, it also prompts me to wonder what I'm doing with my life, and what I've accomplished. True, I haven't been here that long - twenty-eight and one-half years, to be precise; how "long" it seems depends on whom you ask, I suppose - but nonetheless, it is a long enough period of time to have done something constructive; so what exactly have I done? Become "educated"? What does that mean? Spend so many years in such-and-such institution, paying a hefty sum of money for the privilege of reading books and performing for tokens of accomplishment? Work? What sort of "work" did I do, aside from collecting a pay cheque while sitting at a desk? Service? Sure, I dropped a few dollars into a few cups over the years, and I signed a few cheques to a few charitable organizations as well, but was that really meaningful? Did I really engage the society that needs my help? During my twenty-eight-plus years of taking, did I give anything back?

Moreover, furthermore, also... argh, I'm no good with syntax. I suppose that's why my communication skills are so poor. Alas, I'll get on with it.

As I write this, I also think of the mortality of my loved ones, as well as how my own mortality affects them. What would I do should I receive a telephone call or letter informing me that so-and-so is now deceased? Would I weep knowing I would never see, hear, be in the presence of said person again, for as long as I shall live? More importantly, did I cherish the time with this person while s/he was still alive? Did I make every effort possible to span time with her/him? Did I demonstrate my appreciation for having her/him in my life? Or did I merely take her/him for granted, as I so readily do with so many people I know? Worse, did I deliberately avoid her/him for fear of letting this person into my life? And how would my loved ones react to my passing? Did I care enough about them to have an uplifting impact on their lives? Did I care enough about them to do all that was within my power to stay alive, stay healthy for them? Or did it simply have to happen?

Coming to terms with the inevitable end ought to motivate me to get myself in gear and do something meaningful, for every moment I spend here, every breath I take, is precious, even if it spent on something as seemingly diminutive as calling a friend or relative to see how things are going, or assisting a stranger in need while walking to the bus stop. For so long, I have sought to make excuses for not doing something to better serve my fellow being and the home we share; how many more excuses will I be afforded before my time runs out?

Conversely, maybe there is only so much I can do in this form; maybe the demands of this world are overwhelming for my current physical body, for I have allowed my life to be riddled with anxiety and depression and diffidence and insalubrious habits to a point where I am debilitated beyond repair; maybe I will better serve this world in another form. I don't know if this should be cause for alarm; I hope I can continue for many more years in the form in which I currently exist, but what if that simply cannot be? I have come to believe that I am not the machine of flesh and bone I use to navigate through this medium we call "existence", so perhaps my contribution to the betterment of society is not measured in this, but across several lifetimes, and that I should not be so concerned if this rickety old shit box one day craps out on me.

Regardless of what might happen to me, there is still and will always be beauty in this realm worth preserving; regardless of how long I am permitted to experience it - ten years ago, while mired in melancholy, I would never have envisioned myself saying this - I am grateful for having experienced it.

I hope I wasn't a complete screw-up.

Wait, did I just write my own obituary?

What are we really learning?

"Schools are a continuation of toilet training.
"Taking an exam is like taking a shit. You hold it in for weeks, memorizing, just waiting for the right time. Then the time comes, and you sit on the toilet.
"Ah!
"Um!
"It feels so good.
"You shit it right back on schedule--for the grade. When exams are over, you got a load off your mind. You got rid of all that shit you clogged your poor brain with. You can finally relax.
"The paper you write your exam on is toilet paper."
- Jerry Rubin

Yesterday, I successfully leaped through the latest in the series of hoops required for admission into graduate school: I wrote the psychology version of the Graduate Record Examination. This week, another application for funding is due, well before my applications to graduate school. Six weeks ago, I wrote the general version of the GRE. This week, I have two midterms. Soon, a term paper will be due, followed shortly by the first draft of my honours thesis. Then more exams. Then a two week break during which, upon instruction, I will dash to the stores and consume for my loved ones.

I find it apropos that I delivered a seminar on obedience this past week. The class was given a discussion question on the necessity of obedience in child-rearing, particularly when and how much was appropriate. The same can be asked about our education system: how much obedience is necessary? at what age should we expect students to think reasonably for themselves?

Come to think of it, do we really want our students thinking for themselves? Would our education system be what it is if they did? Are students rewarded for thought, for awareness? After spending a grand total of twenty years as a student, I can say there have been a few bright spots in which I was afforded opportunities to express some semblance of creativity, but by and large, year after year, I've been trained to cram load after load of shit into my brain and regurgitate it onto the test paper; my reward, a token letter grade next to my name, an indelible brand I can show to prospective advisors and employers. In essence, I have learned to do as I am told, and am rewarded handsomely for it.

Seeing as how I am not alone on this path I trod, I have made many acquaintances leading up to this benchmark we call the GRE. We talked at great length of the countless hours we each sacrficed in preparation for these three-hour-long exams, and whether or not we would ascertain scores high enough to seduce would-be academic supervisors. I met these wonderfully bright people who became so frenetic hoping to measure up to someone arbitrary standard set by an entity interested in sucking dollars out of the pockets of seemingly credulous students.

I can relate this to what I saw at my past job: students, fresh out of university, spending enough time in the company to see the gaping flaws in its operation, yet not having the confidence to approach anyone about it, simply waiting for the next task to be assigned to them. I, myself, was of the same ilk, forever waiting to be told what to do next, never having the confidence to let my voice be heard. I proposed to a colleague that our company let recent graduates gain insight into how the outfit is run and be encouraged to share any ideas they may have about how things can be improved. Oh, if only our superiors had the time to act as suitable mentors...

It pained me to see our blossoming youth frantically marching to the beat of some administrator's drum. It pained me to see myself doing the same.

The very morning I was to write this latest exam, I read the above excerpt on the train ride downtown. Since summer, I had been preparing for this day, wondering whether or not I would manage to remember the breadth of information accumulated over a full year of psychology courses; then my eyes meet the words at the top of this page and I sit agog in my seat. Why have I chosen this path? Why am I jumping through these hoops? To do the same once I'm a certified "graduate student"? Or when I'm a professor, kowtowing to governments and corporate entities for research grants?

What are we really learning? Are we really gaining acumen into how our world works, and how we can contribute to its well-being? Are we really learning to be the "leaders of tomorrow", to be the benevolent force for our neighbours, for our own children? Or are we merely learning to be instruments of some external authority, committing bits of information to our memories and barking them on command? Is my ability to score in the ninetieth percentile on some standardized test indicative of my ability to conduct academic research? Does my score on a multiple-choice exam limn my acumen in psychological principles and theories? Or am I simply performing for treats in a Skinnerian token economy?

Fifteen years ago, Perry Farrell said we'll make great pets. Perhaps he should have rephrased: we always have.

This isn't to say we're forever doomed to stand on our hind legs when the prospects for accolades arise. We're better than that, and one day soon, very soon, it will manifest on the surface. The time will come when we will wonder how we ended up beneath the auspices of such an absurd system. No more will our youth be driven to neuroticism jumping through hoop after flaming hoop; the confidence they will harbour in themselves will supersede anything a standardized test could possibly elicit.

It's high time we actually nurtured the gifts in our young. Just think of the beautiful contributions to society they can make if allowed to flourish. Our obedience training has done none of us any good; the rotten state of our planet corroborates such an assertion. Not only are their lives ruined by it, but so are ours, as we will have no one to plumb our machinations with a critical eye.

I suppose, though, I'm one to talk, for here I am, sifting through page after page, hoping to etch as much of these factoids as I can into my brain, thereby improving my odds of gaining the establishment's stamp of approval.

I feel like crying now.

Quietly, I remain optimistic. It's what keeps me alive.

Leadership

Tonight, the citizens of Canada decide which political party - in particular, which clean-cut White individual - will act as "leader". As I write this, the polls in my time zone are eight minutes from closing, and thus will commence the counting of votes. I need not rehash how I feel about this exercise in futility for which our grandfathers maimed and killed each other; rather I wish to address a burning question in my mind: What makes a leader?

Are these five individuals fit to lead? For me, it's hard to say. I mean, they've paid their dues and taken their lumps during their ascent to the head of their respective parties, and they each have a vision for how our nation ought to conduct itself. They exhibit incredible poise while under the gaze of the media's inquisitive eye, and have the uncanny ability to attract a slew of disciples. But still, I must ask, are they fit to lead? Are their respective visions appropriate for us? In which direction do they wish to lead us?

It is widely accepted that a leader must harbour certain qualities, those exhibited by our five hopefuls. A leader must be the stoic face of the nation, one that exudes an image of resolve, of knowledge, of poise, particularly in pressing times as these. A leader must be the stentorian voice of the nation, ringing through every pair of ears within these borders and beyond, a voice that is unwavering. A leader must have a grand vision for the nation, and a plan to bring said vision into fruition. Most of all, a leader does this while atop his perch, looking down upon the masses. After all, because our leader knows what is best for us, he should be rewarded in kind.

Is that so? Does a leader need to "lead" in the conventional sense? Does a leader need her/his face or voice projected across all the land? I've always espoused the old axiom: Actions speak louder than words. Do we need our faces seen or our voices heard when we act? Need we sit snugly on a throne and preside over a kingdom to act as a benevolent force in our society? Need we recruit more and more devotees to flock to our feet, worshipping the ground upon which we tread, in order to influence the world in which we live? What stops us from facilitating change ourselves? Why wait for a rising phoenix and grab hold of her/his cloak, hoping to be led out of the wilderness, when we are capable of this ourselves?

The time is fast approaching when we finally grow weary of waiting for these so-called "leaders" to whom we traditionally turn, when we realize we do not need a handful of people to decide what's best for us, particularly what we can and cannot do and how our wealth ought to be distributed. Rather than expend our energy complaining about what our "leaders" have or have not been doing for us, we will retain control over these matters. The heads in the assembly over yonder will hem and haw all they want, but they will do nothing for us; fortunately, we will not need their instruction.

This nation of ours can only rely on a single leader for so long; soon, we will be a nation of leaders.

For the journalist, on Yom Kippur

For the journalist, on Yom Kippur 2008
by Bradley Burston

For the sin we journalists have sinned before thee,
Under duress and willingly

For the truth we have warped before thee
Through hardness of the heart
Through venality of the spirit

For the sin we have sinned before thee in passing judgment
And for the sin we have sinned before thee in the exercise of power

For the prejudices we have nurtured
For the hatreds we have milked
For the reputations we have sullied
For the names we have desecrated
For the guilt we have presumed
For the sides we have taken,
For the sides we have shunned

For the truth we have warped before thee
Hyped before thee, tailored before thee
Pimped before thee
Doctored before thee
For the sake of nothing more than a deadline or a headline
Or simply for our name's sake

For all these
Forgive us, pardon us, atone for us

For the sin we have sinned before thee
In throwing off the yoke of ethics
For the sin we have sinned before thee
Knowingly and through carelessness
For the sin we have sinned before thee
through cunning speech
through scorning with cleverness
through the bias of the narrowed eye, the haughty eye,
through entrapment, through gossip mongering

For the sin of currying favor, by keeping secrets that protect the powerful,
And for the sin of causing death, by revealing secrets that can identify targets

For the sin we have sinned before thee
In choosing the single picture over the 1,000 words
And for the sin we have sinned before thee
In feasting on the failings of those we choose to vilify
And in denial of the evils of those with whom we identify

For the sin we have sinned before thee
In the mining and selling of grief

For the sin we have sinned before this
In bearing false witness for ratings sake
And for the sin we have sinned before thee
In the manufacture and sale of fear
For the sin we have sinned before thee
In trading on the threats of our enemies
And, in doing do, creating new dangers

For the sin we have sinned against thee
In turning people against one another in baseless hatred
And for the sin we have sinned against thee
In using the Holocaust for bait.

For the sin we have sinned against thee
In losing the ability to feel
And for the sin we have sinned against thee
In celebrating this as professionalism.

For the privacy we trample
For the mourners we exploit
For the good names we ruin
And the good works we ignore

For all these,
Forgive us, pardon us, atone for us

Why I will not be voting this year.

An open letter to the candidates for Member of Parliament, Scarborough Centre:

The last time around, I composed a list of questions for the candidates to answer and made my decision based on your responses. Some of you were able to take time out of your busy schedules to offer your thoughts, and for that, I am grateful. I was considering doing the same this year, but after much contemplation, decided against doing so, opting instead to draft this letter explaining why I will not be voting this year.

Since entering legal voting age, I've participated in three Municipal, three Provincial and three Federal elections. I never really knew why I was voting, or for whom; I just knew it was my civic duty to head over to the nearest polling station and cast my ballot. I always felt pressure to vote one way or the other, but didn't really know much about any of the candidates, except for their being politicians wanting my vote. The last Federal election, a colleague of mine at the time told me how he and his family were compiling a list of questions to ask their respective candidates and basing their decision on the responses they received - and then I saw the sign on his lawn, but that's beside the point - so I thought I would do the same, as it would afford me a great opportunity to be actively involved in our democratic process.

Sadly, I have decided this year to refrain from such practice, as I no longer see the point. Frankly, I've grown weary of all the petty jabs being thrown to and fro: it seems as though everyone would much rather kick dirt in her/his opponents' faces and seek to cast Canada in her/his own image than work together to build a beneficent society. I've grown weary of the seemingly endless stream of empty rhetoric, particularly from the two parties always in power; one who extols universal health care yet doesn't see fit to make it work, while sending us into war; the other calling for accountability yet acting as the most secretive government the likes of which I've ever known, culminating with an premature election call against which they so decried upon entry into office. What am I to do? Cast my vote for one of the other parties who have no chance of winning? And even if they did, would our Supreme Council of Billionaires allow them to govern?

I've noticed an alarming trend at all levels of government. It seems we elect a particular party, having become fed up with the incumbent party, only to do the same several years later, all the while not seeing much difference in our society, for we still have bills to pay and jobs at which to slave away, we still have dirty air and dirty water and bad food and bullets flying. I wonder if our governments have the power to do anything - I have a fairly good idea they take their marching orders from the wizard behind the curtain - or if this "democracy" is simply some fantastic ruse, we the people being the subject of some cruel joke. Suffice to say, I can no longer take seriously anything a politician says.

This letter isn't entirely doom and gloom, for I do have hope for a better future, though you might not like to hear it, for it will not involve our being duped into sending one of you to that posh office in Ottawa and the fat salary that comes with it. Not to worry, for you won't think anything of the personal perks you might be missing when you see a society functioning together. I have hope because I believe we can look out for one another; soon, we will see our government for the self-serving sideshow it really is and realize we have only each other on whom to rely. I wish to use this opportunity to extend the invitation to each of you to abandon your pursuit of this superficial mantle you call "Member of Parliament" and become an active member of the region you seek to represent in that ivory tower in Ottawa. As Oscar Wilde said, "We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."

I may seem rather crazy to you - perhaps I am, though we're all pathological, but that's a matter for another discussion - but I am a proponent of "democracy" in the truest sense, meaning participation by the citizens, as opposed to this wanton surrender of power to those who end up serving themselves. The voter turnout statistics say it best: too many feel their vote will not change a thing, thus abstain from casting one. I feel this will change very soon, as there will come a time when the politicking of today will fall on deaf ears, when the spirit of the masses awakens and the people see the force behind change within themselves.

I wish each of you all the best in your pursuit, though I firmly believe you are capable of much more outside the arena you call "Politics".

With fond regards,

G.