"Be you angels?" - Putting Marion Davis' money where my mouth is

In my last post, I mentioned the Auckland City Mission Be An Angel campaign. To recap, the Marion Davis Memorial Trust has put up $10,000 to be released to the Auckland City Mission Christmas Appeal in $5 increments for each person to have their photo taken with the charitable angel wings dotted around Auckland, and posted on the campaign's Facebook page. I figured there's not much point simply subjecting slacktivism to the scrutiny of logic, if I'm not gonna walk the talk. So I walked around and had my photo taken in order to release a little bit more of the donation, and helped out by pointing out something distressing to the campaign coordinators. I understand not everyone has the time to track down angel wings and get their photo taken, and apparently there's folks living in NZ outside of the greater Auckland area, but I have no excuse not to have a delightful day out and about, so I gave it a go. This was yesterday, and the events are detailed as follows.

The plan was simple! I would travel by rail-car through the inhospitable South Auckland Wasteland, a lucrative trade route through a region of great poverty and desperation. The intention was to go on an adventure with my partner-in-crime, Curvaceous Dee! Although this was to be an adventure, sadly we were not destined to reach Candy Mountain, but we settled on a destination almost as rich: Newmarket. We were to rendezvous at the quaint rest-stop of Lumsden Green, a tranquil oasis in the harsh commercial landscape of Newmarket CBD. From this point, we would travel upland to be received at the court of the King of Bûrghar where we would dine on exotic refreshments and rare salts, and plot our course for the impending expedition. Tragically we were unable to locate any Sherpas, so we were forced to travel light and make do with whatever provisions we could forage. With great anticipation, we were prepared to set out on our Great Expedition! We would locate no fewer than eight Angels, and photograph ourselves with the trophy wings placed upon the wall, and all would know the prestige of the intrepid hunters! But alas, it was not to be, for Angels are wily prey, and much sought-after. It appears they have been hunted near to extinction in Newmarket.

Here we are bedecked in our safari gear. Lady Dee was equipped with a Pretty Purple Parasol, to ward off the interminable December sun, and to lure out any angels or, failing that, fairies in the immediate vicinity. For my own protection and personal safety, I wore a Santa Hat, a talismanic symbol of the commercialization of Christmas, which as we all know is anathema to angels. We both wore black formal trousers and cleavage-revealing tops, in order to blend in with the local fauna. If we happened upon an avenging angel, our clever disguises would allow us to easily elude its pursuit. Behind us you may notice a tastefully appointed containment unit where we could deposit the Holy Spirit if we encountered it (a tough call as we were lacking our proton packs).

We set out for the first leg of our journey. Our guide, Google Maps, had shared with us local knowledge of angel habitats, where we might stalk and locate our prey. We journeyed down the Broad Way, bypassing the renowned Khyber Pass, and came upon a region known obscurely as 'Teed St'. Entering the desolate lands of Teed St, our progress was cloaked in an ominous silence. Ears pricked like vigilant hounds, we advanced, soft footfall after soft footfall. Further and further we progressed, until we feared we may have circumnavigated our goal entirely without a sighting. We would not let despair overtake us, for we knew, in our heart of hearts, that we were mighty hunters. And then we heard it. A rustling behind us! Standing stark at attention, we whipped around with snake-like reflexes to see the feathered beast resting upon the wall, plain as day, taunting us! The beast sought to rend my pride with the obviousness of its placement, but I was unmoved in my arrogance certainty! We locked eyes in a battle of half-wits, neither daring to look away or drop guard for one second. This exercise in banality was curtailed in short order as Dee struck the wing a savage blow with her parasol, and all animation left this illustration. Having bested our foe, we posed for celebratory photographs. Dee may be posting pics of angel wings on her blog at some point, but as her blog is DEFINITELY NSFW I'll see if she'll consent to a re-post here... sorry to anyone that accidentally stumbled upon nudity.

From here, our journey continued South of Eden, hoping we would find an angel upon the Morrow. We searched high and low for our goal, covering much ground in a state of increasing agitation. The summer heat, swimming in humidity, buffeted us with waves of vitae-sapping discontent. This was indeed a harsh, unforgiving land. We had to break off our pursuit of the Angel of Morrow, resolving that we would return to find and slay this wicked beast when we had dealt with its six remaining kin.

Or so we thought.

Journeying West upon the Mortimer Pass, we crossed the idyllic Coventry, and pursued our next target with dogged determination. Long we tracked it, and to no avail. The angel had taken wing, and left us bereft of photo ops. Disheartened and aggravated, we began to know despair. How could we great hunters miss two of our targets? How could they elude us so easily? Their absence was not only mocking, it was malicious. For the angels, they had heard of their hunters, they had learned much. And they had set a trap. We did not find an angel in the Mortimer Pass, instead we found the Devourer of Time; a BOOK STORE! Lady Dee stumbled into this shifting pit of time-consuming literature, and began to sink, dragged under by curiosity and the knowledge that Christmas Is Coming And A Good Book Would Be Just The Thing For... Luckily I was able to find a vine to throw around my companion, and I dragged her to safety before she was able to purchase anything. Had she done so, all would have been lost in a world of imagination.

Battered, yet unbowed, we set off with new-found resolve. We would find our angels, we would capture them in digital form, and all would know our prestige! Our collective fury would be unleashed upon the angels of Nuffield Street. And so we marched. And we marched. And we marched. Then I skipped... but resumed marching not long after, as to skip on a safari would be most unseemly. Quite.

With the eyes of a bat, the ears of an eagle, and the focus of an autistic child, we surveyed the concrete canyon of Nuffield Street for any sign of our feathered foe. Crestfallen, we pressed on with neither hide nor hair presenting itself to our beady little eyes. And I made a most gruesome discovery. Our angels were not simply hiding, they were slaughtered! I had to remove my glasses dramatically and exclaim "MURDER!" in an expression of being very much aghast! We documented evidence of this tragic fate that had befallen the fair angels, to present to the wealthy benefactors of our expedition, the Auckland City Mission.

Further along the road, a disheartening sight. A broken wing upon to footpath, trod under the heavy footfalls of an apathetic public. A sad sight, and a sad turn of events for our great hunt. Our elusive prey was an endangered species. Thankfully the Auckland City Mission has been carrying out a captive breeding program, and a new batch of angels have been released into the wilds, so these locations should hold a prize for enterprising explorers!

Returning to the Broad Way, my fellow hunter and I were able to track down the two remaining angels. This time we took more pity upon these troubled creatures, too few remained, too few. The look of cheerful benevolence expressed herein should convey this Stockholm Syndrome new understanding we achieved with our noble wall-bound friends. A far happier ending, photographed wonderfully, props once more to Dee!

Having completed our goal of obtaining trophy photos, we discovered we had an hour or two to kill before I was required to serve penance in the form of Service Industry Labour. Dee suggested we visit an equestrian supplies store, and in the absence of Sherpas I could see the wisdom of obtaining draft animals. En route, however, a discovery was made! We may have lost a few angels through the course of the day, but we had found A BUZZY BEE! After photographing the lovely miss Dee nestled upon the bee (who, it must gladly be, stated that he, was an entire bee), I mounted the valiant steed and displayed my war face... well okay, my disgruntled face. I still like to think it would scatter many enemies, all the same.

BAH HUMBUG! Anti-Claus will consume your festive spirits!

Having completed my delusions of multi-coloured pastel grandeur, we continued on our trek to the... hey look, a distraction!

A Muzzle-Loading Rifled Cannon! SWEET! It's just what I always wanted! Not only could I see off winged divinities through the gentlemanly art of fisticuffs, but with this newly discovered ordnance, I could repel invasion by the accursed Spaniards!

Unfortunately for my good self, or fortunately depending on how you choose to look at it, all this unbridled power went right to my head and I appeared to enjoy the thought of unleashing hell just a little too much...

But I calmed myself down in short order, and composed myself in a more dignified manner:

Having completed artillery training, we sojourned to the equestrian supplies store, which was every inch as cloistered and divorced from reality as I suspected it would be, and Dee did not disappoint by surreptitiously making a beeline for the riding crops. I'm a Philosophy student so my tolerance for pretension is pretty high, but an equestrian store is a little hard to swallow even for me. Interesting enough, and the owners were lovely, but just not exactly my scene.

After meandering a while longer, it was time for our adventure to head South (every bit as unpleasant as that sounds, all the way to South Auckland, Hole-Sweet-Hole), so we mounted Dee's automobile and made our way to South Auckland listening to the gentleman rhymer Professor Elemental, and the ultimate hardcore rock stars, The Presidents of the United States of America!

Arriving in Papakura, our outing was nearly at an end (accompanied by frantic phone calls from my manager... in a completely unrelated matter entirely, is murder still illegal?). Light refreshments were obtained, and I directed Dee to Papakura's premier hobby store, Steve's Model Shop, and we parted ways so that she could peruse plastic kit toys and so that I could go to work... I can't help but think she ended up with the better end of that deal.

Thus concludes my day of self-serving charitable action. For anyone who survived that onslaught of verbosity, I salute your constitution!

Charity at Christmas: Slacktivism part deux

We all know the score, Christmas is a time of giving, and good will to man. Christmas is charity, and charity is Christmas.

Previously on PACman Speaks...

In my last post, I had a go at 'slacktivism', the act of doing nothing in the name of a noble cause. The best argument for doing something inconsequential to the stated goal (opposing child abuse, in this case) boiled down to "what harm is it doing?" The harm it was doing, seemingly minimal, is muddying up the waters for legitimate campaigns. The 'awareness-raising' exercise of slacktivist campaigns draws attention away from actual charitable foundations and campaigns; raising awareness for a slacktivist campaign decreases awareness of movements that provide tangible benefits to society.

This is about Facebook again. Specifically, this is about the difference between useful things and useless things Facebook can do. You may be tired of me bleating about superficial social networking, but I'm not the one that made Zuckerberg Time Magazine's Person of the Year for his tireless efforts eroding trust in authority and decentralising power, unlike some talentless hacker who clearly has done nothing important in the service of truth or justice this year. But I digress.

Of all my Kiwi friends on Facebook, almost everyone I saw posting during the first week or two of December were re-posting the Change your Profile for Child Abuse! meme. It got exposure. What has failed to get any exposure on my Facebook friends list (except for the fantastically geeky Dee, and the cerebral Angie, who picked up on the campaign when I pointed it out) was the brilliant Auckland City Mission Christmas Appeal's Become an Angel campaign. Auckland City Mission is a brilliant little group, an organisation that feeds the underprivileged and those fallen upon hard times (common in the recession), run a detox centre for drug addicts/alcoholics, and the Calder Centre health clinic. And, of course, the Christmas Appeal!

This year, the Marion Davis Memorial Trust, managed by Guardian Trust, stumped up a $10,000 donation for the Christmas Appeal, to be released as a result of public participation in the Become an Angel campaign on Facebook. The deal is this: Around Auckland, there are a number of Angel Wing stickers put up on walls, bus-stops, and other areas of heavy pedestrian traffic flow. They want you, yes YOU, to have yourself photographed in front of one of these wing-design stickers, and then to share that photo on the Auckland City Mission's Christmas Appeal Facebook page. For each person photographed and shared on their page, the Trust will release $5 of the $10,000 donation to the Auckland City Mission. That may not sound like much, but I can see the reasoning behind it. This is a profile-raising campaign, essentially a free advertising spot for the Auckland City Mission, and I suspect they're hoping for a bit of a 'viral' bump from hip, charitable young'uns of the social-networking generation (oh gawd I feel like a hack for writing that). 

This is 'slacktivisim' that may actually do something positive! All you have to do is have your photo taken, and upload it. Same thing you're doing anyway, right? You don't need to put any cash on the table, the Marion Davis Memorial Trust has that covered for you. And because this requires public participation, it raises the public profile of the City Mission. People tend to ignore the happy, smiley donation collectors on Queen Street, but pretending to be an angel on Facebook is something fun you might actually do... maybe. If you raise awareness for a charitable organization, there's a chance that someone will act on that knowledge and contribute to a group doing something to make the world a better place. Sadly, this campaign hasn't taken off with the same vigour that the cartoon meme did, probably because it requires a little bit of effort so it can't spread as easily (and because it's not a global meme). And perhaps the earlier slacktivism is partly responsible for siphoning away the altruistic will.

I'd like to add that it's not over yet! There's still a few more days until Christmas, you can still get out there and get snap-happy for charity. Failing that, you can let your Auckland-dwelling friends know about this. It can't hurt. And if you don't fancy the idea of making yourself an angel, you've clearly never seen Christopher Walken all Christopher Walken it up in the Prophecy movies.

Take care, all

Slacktivism and the Importance of being Earnest

Another day, another inchoate ramble, and once more the blame credit goes to Amy for forcing my hand, cracking the whip, and telling me to write.

This is one of those topics I'm bound to lose favour through. One people tend to get irrationally defensive about. It's so bad, so serious, that two shallow acquaintances Unfriended me on FaceBook! Facebook is a formidable opponent, and there's a LOT of people that would rather live without me than live without Facebook ;)

I want you to do me a favour. I want you to think of a crime or tragedy. Murder, rape, domestic abuse, corruption, famine, Justin Beiber's popularity, whatever. Got one? Good.

Now, I want you to look up at your ceiling and announce that you oppose this terrible thing.

Done? Great! You've just made the world a better place... right?

Well...

...in a word?

No.

You've just done nothing, and that's precisely as far as good intentions go. And now that the illustrative experiment is completed, let us pass on to the discussion.

Slacktivism: The Illusion of Action

No doubt you will have encountered the Replace your Facebook Profile Photo with your favourite cartoon character to raise awareness of Child Abuse meme doing the rounds a couple weeks ago. Either you use Facebook and it was therefore unavoidable, or you likely noticed it on Failblog or some other such source of mockery and social comment. For those unfamiliar, it was a body of text urging people to copy&paste the message into their Facebook status update, and to replace their profile photos with a cartoon character with the goal of having no human faces visible on Facebook until the 6th of December to show you oppose child abuse.

Some folks used it as an excuse to indulge their sense of nostalgia by replacing their photo with one of Voltron or The Snorks, an admirable trip down memory lane. Others, had very different ideas entirely. And then, of course, there were those who thought they were making a difference.

Here's my problem with that particular meme: It's an empty gesture. A hollow action. It's not merely that changing your Facebook profile photo and copying text into a status update achieves nothing, it's that it is, to some small degree, counter-productive. These empty gestures allow us to feel like we're involved in the solution, like we're helping, without actually furthering the cause one jot. It siphons off your social conscience by convincing you that you're part of the fight, that you're 'showing support', so you'll feel less inclined to actually do something to help. You get to enjoy the altruistic thrill of helping, without helping. Going through the motions and tricking yourself into thinking you've done something meaningful, when you've just forwarded the Facebook equivalent of a chain-letter to avoid the five years bad luck they warn you about. This is the part that so deeply offends people, we don't like being told we're not as altruistic as we think, we don't like getting called out for being lazy. And that's what this is: Slacktivism, making token noises of opposition to the bad things in the world without doing anything about it. I would be hypocritical to judge people for not doing enough to make the world a better place, I'm not part of any charitable organisation and don't take part in many food-drives or any such event. But that's not what I'm judging here, what I'm getting at here is that it's wrong to claim you're doing something when you're not. The satisfaction of charitable action must be earned.

Now, I've been told there's no harm in it. "My heart's in the right place, that's all that matters." Wrong. There are real children suffering real abuse and real poverty and real starvation, that is what matters. Whether you think child abuse is a tragedy or not is not the important issue, what matters is the fate of those who are suffering. Just thinking about the wee kids and saying "That's tragic" isn't going to help them one bit, and it's supremely arrogant to think your Facebook photo will in any way matter to them.

"But it's raising awareness, awareness is important!" Who isn't aware of child abuse? What practical or informative purpose does "oppose child abuse!" serve, what does it tell you? Nothing you don't already know. We know, white people love raising Awareness, but if all you're saying is 'child abuse exists', you're not helping. Gather anecdotal evidence from the newspaper, point people in the direction of the Department/Ministry of Welfare studies on domestic abuse and child poverty, so they have some inkling of how prevalent or worrisome child abuse is in their corner of the world. Better yet, if you can't contribute anything substantive to the 'fight against Child Abuse', instead of just telling people child abuse is wrong, point them towards organisations that can help! It takes about as much effort to copy and paste Facebook status updates from your friends list, as it does to google for local/national campaigns against child abuse. I did a quick search for charitable groups, and at the very least I can inform you that Women's Refuge, Plunket, and The Auckland City Mission Christmas Appeal are all groups trying to make life better for disadvantaged children. You can even support the Auckland City Mission campaign on Facebook. If you watch TV, you've probably seen the "It's not okay to hit your kids... it IS okay to ask for help" ads, and the thing that sets those apart from the Facebook status update trend is those ads point out resources to make yourself informed, places you can go to for help, it gives you an opportunity to contribute to a group active against domestic abuse. This is what advocacy actually is.

These awareness-raising groups that are also doing something to help curtail child abuse solicit for donations on the streets of Auckland. Give them your spare change, your shrapnel is better used ending child hunger than buying your Big Mac.

At the very least the Pink Profile campaign a month or two back had a corporate backer, there was charitable action behind it.

Support is more than just saying you're supportive.

"It's important to show you oppose child abuse." You... you racist!

What? You didn't say you oppose racism. While you were taking a stand against child abuse, you weren't opposing rape, murder, racial discrimination, terrorism, oppression, political disenfranchisement, genocide, homophobia, corporate corruption and graft, and animal abuse.

What's with the presumption of guilt?

It can be taken pretty much for granted that people generally oppose child abuse. Despite the interwebs being serious business, it's not important to show your Facebook opposes child abuse. You see, I assume you don't fancy the idea of beating a defenceless child until he or she requires hospitalization, even if you hadn't changed your profile photo and 'taken a stand'. In fact, I don't believe those heathens who don't use Facebook actually support child abuse either, even though they have no way to say so, being non-Facebook-using heathens. I actually assume pretty much everyone knows that child abuse is wrong, and don't require a declarative statement of them. At the very least, I assume people are aware of the social contract that is The Law states that child abuse is wrong and that you really shouldn't be doing it. I'll thank you for acknowledging that I'm a rational human being of sound mind and capable of empathy, and therefore disagree ethically with abuse of any sort.

So what I'm saying is, cartoon nostalgia trips are all good, and it's really good that you think child abuse is wrong, I'm happy to hear that =)

Just don't take credit for something you haven't actually done.

Sincerity
This is the other one I've run into problems with, and I just can't understand why it's such an alien concept.
It's less factually-based, more focussed on what I personally feel, but I feel it's a point worth raising.

So what am I complaining about this time? (Don't worry, I advocate a positive position here too, but it's the flipside to what I'm decrying so it necessarily requires a critique to justify it).
Another Facebook meme.
Copy this message into your Facebook status if you have a boyfriend/brother/sister/mother/father/child that exemplifies any given characteristic of this long list of platitudes.

What the advocates of this meme think: I want to show the person that fills the relation to me signposted by this meme what they mean to me and show that I'm thinking of them, this is a good way of doing it.

What it actually shows: I want the world to know how lucky I am, I'll make a token gesture and pretend it is a meaningful act despite the fact I've just forwarded CopyPasta, and I wasn't actually thinking about the person this applies to, I just saw it on someone's Facebook page and copied it onto mine.

There's a lot wrong with this meme. I have to preface this by saying I'm not trying to be a dick about things here, no doubt you have genuine and strong feelings for your friends and whanau, and your desire to let them know you appreciate them is almost certainly genuine. But you have to think about what you're presenting first, when you're thinking of others don't forget to actually think.

First Issue: It's lazy.

You saw a post on someone's Facebook page about their partner or their parents or siblings or cousins, or someone that passed away due to a terminal illness, something like that. You thought "Hey, I have a partner/parent/sibling/cousin/know someone that passed away through that same illness, I'll copy and paste this because it applies to me." So you copied and pasted it to show you too have this specified relationship. How much effort did that take? Pretty much none, right? Doesn't something mean more when someone has to make a modicum of effort? It's the thought that counts... how much thought did you put into it? Pretty much none, right? All the writing's already done, all you did was identify that it somewhat applies to you if you look at it in the right light. How appreciative does it make you appear to thank this great person I you treasure by wiggling your mouse, and then clicking the buttons a couple times? Ask yourself, what does that show? What does that say?

Second Issue: It's insincere.

Those aren't your words. Half of them probably don't even apply to the person you're writing about. It's something someone else is saying, and poorly at that. How moving is that? How would you feel if, on your anniversary, your partner took the birthday card you got them earlier that year, crossed out the word 'birthday' and replaced it with 'anniversary' and gave it back to you? Pretty insulting, right? If you're going to use someone else's words, at least be sure to use good writing. Find works by a poet, tracts of a good novel, something seemingly thoughtful, and use those. And if possible, make it personal, something with meaning to the person you're writing about.

Don't just listen to someone talking about their loved one and pipe in with "Me too!" and pretend you've just been powerfully expressive. Put your feelings into your own words and present them to the person you're thinking of, let them know how YOU feel about them, let them know what they mean to you. Don't just point at them and label them.

Third Issue: It's about you.

You saw the post, thought to yourself "This applies to me" and pasted it onto your Facebook page. You didn't tell the person you're copying&pasting about what they mean to you, you put it on your page. It's all about you.

Comprehensive Issue: Vanity.

It's lazy, insincere, and all about you. It's an act of vanity, buddy. That great partner, that deceased relative, that awesome friend... this wasn't for them. You made the laziest comment ever about how good YOU have it, so people can see YOU have a great partner, YOU have an awesome friend, YOUR relative passed away of this or that ailment. You're showing the relationship off to your audience as a status symbol. It's a trophy. If you were being sincere and expressing genuine sentiment, you would've used your own words, you would've actually told the person you appreciate instead of Friend List, at the very least you would've got rid of the part of the message that says "Copy and paste this into your status if..."

Don't tell someone else about the person you appreciate. Tell THEM and make THEM feel appreciated!

Have we lost the ability to communicate already? Has conversation been replaced so easily by Status Updates?

I am vehemently of the opinion that your relationship is unimportant, it's the person that you are relating to that is actually important. I don't care that I have a mother, a father, sisters, brothers, cousins, good friends, etc. What matters are my mother/father/siblings/cousins/friends themselves. And to show I care about them, I have to relate to them and tell them of the things that apply to us as individuals, not the labels or forms we loosely adhere to. The best way to do this is to spend time with them, to make an effort, to get to know them as people rather than as extensions of a specific relationship type, to know and understand WHO they are and be genuinely interested in that.

To make a connection with the people around you. No amount of proclamation or show-boating will ever, ever compare with actually sharing with another human being. Being genuine. Being real.

I'm by no means alone in wanting a world with better connections between people. As we're approaching Christmas, thick in the Holiday Season, a time usually marked by family gatherings and the expressions of sentiment we don't normally bother with during the year, it really is the thought that counts.

So when you're 'thinking of the ones you love', don't forget to think.

Notes on Theology

Not quite the full, riveting, in-depth (and hopefully concise) post I've been intending. Another filler.
I've spent half the night cleaning my study/BatCave, and found some of my lecture notes from the Philosophy of Religion class I took earlier this year.

I'll just preface this by saying I tend to be a little irreverent, and frequently found myself in the company of my good friends Clairebears and Megan (the former cynical, the latter staunchly atheist), and we tended to share our thoughts quietly and surreptitiously. And in my defence, the lecturer (with the entirely appropriate name of John Bishop, a friendly gentleman reminiscent of a marginally unfocused Stephen Fry) actively discouraged extensive note-taking in favour of mulling over the issues raised in an attempt to comprehend them. A surprisingly easy task for anyone that's studied much in the way of religion, philosophy, or Western history.

Lecture 5: The Argument from Evil

Can God make an argument so circular even He cannot bear it?

Argument: God is Omnipotent, Omniscient, and Omni-benevolent. If God is all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-good, there would be no evil.
Evil exists, therefore God is not all-knowing, all-powerful and all-good.
Rephrased Argument: If God is omnipotent and omni-benevolent, how is it that McLeod's Daughters exists?
Answer: Perhaps God is all-knowing, all-powerful, but a total flake?

Perhaps God is merely a mendacious cunt?

Perhaps God is all-good and all-powerful, but for whatever reason, chooses to allow (or cause) suffering to exist, for a higher good, for example.
What could be so good to allow a necessarily evil to exist?
Can't have Easter eggs without the Christian appropriation of Pagan festivals.

Good: Music
Necessary evil: Hanson

Megan (or Claire): Why does the Vatican have a lightning rod?
Me: To stab the devil in a giant Mecha duel

Ordered World Theodicy: evils exist as inherent operation of an ordered cosmos...
Image: cute little bunny sat beneath a falling tree
Poor Mr. Bunningsworth falls victim to an ordered cosmos...

Me: Note: Lecturer frustrated with tutor
Megan: LOL! Tutor is a DICK


University, it's so enlightened!

The problem with Peer Pressure cautions

"If all your friends decided to jump off a bridge, would you go and do that too?"

Well... in a word?
Yes!
See, I've managed to accumulate a few friends over the years (presumably out of pity or morbid curiosity, but I digress), and no doubt the same is true of you, dear reader. As a rule, my friends are intelligent enough to understand observations of cause&effect, statistical evidence, and the value of their lives and well-being, by and  large.

If you have at least three friends and they're not absolutely bereft of their wits, and they all happen to have jumped off a bridge sequentially, chances are this leap of faith they each in turn engage in won't kill or seriously injure you. Because you probably know enough people with the instinct for self-preservation, if they each took it in turn to jump off a bridge, after witnessing their more foolhardy associates' attempts, they'd only jump if it's unlikely to all go horribly wrong!

If all my friends thought it was a good idea to jump off a bridge, and the anecdotal evidence supported it, damn straight I'd jump off a bridge.
Fun - 1
Mum - 0

Oh, and if all your friends decided to jump off the bridge at the same time... your friends are way more trusting and way less cynical than mine!


And sorry about the filler post, more engaging content should return shortly
Cheers!

BLOGTRON - 10/12/2013

BLOGTRON - Blog of the Future!

December 10, 2013.

Dear Blog,
So it's been kinda a messed up year. Like srsly, I still can't believe Palin got in. Really? Who'd have thought the "Barack Obama fathered a black baby" smear campaign would be so effective?
But anyway, real reason for this post...
I haven't been around for a little while, you may have noticed (probably not with how slack I am with updates, but even so). No doubt by now you're aware Peter Jackson released his post-production ultimate Director's Cut edition of the Lord of the Rings trilogy about a month ago.
Whelp, I managed to grab the deluxe set before the all sold out, and I've recently sat down to watch the entire series, back-to-back, in one sitting.

Best. Week. Evar.

Reflected upon Pike River

WARNING: I am incapable of getting to the point don't do 'concise'. I play with my words. Indecently. I'm no longer allowed within 100 yards of a thesaurus.
Don't say I didn't warn you...

I suppose I should open this with an explanation for any readers not native to New Zealand, as this news is pretty inconsequential in regards to the international news cycle ***Edit: Not as inconsequential as I'd suspected, this was picked up by foreign media*** The Pike River Mine disaster is a mining accident described in full by the online encyclopaedia Wikipedia. The tl;dr version is "there was an explosion at Pike River Mine that killed 29 men."

Why am I writing about it?
I blame Amy.

A little over a week ago I was chatting to Amy with the awesome hair, and she asked me what I thought about the Pike River mining disaster. And my answer was I didn't. It didn't really register on my radar, and why should it? I'm not trying to be insensitive, quite the opposite in fact, but why does my opinion on it matter as regards the loss of 29 lives? What opinion is there to express here that requires my input? However, the conversation with dear Amy did spark a bit of introspective curiosity, and I figured I'd tease it out into something a little more substantial, based on things I've been reading recently, in case it proves food-for-thought for anyone else.

Firstly, it has to be said, I've been asked about the Pike River Mine disaster quite a lot. It's national news, it's water-cooler discourse, friends and whanau use it as fodder for small talk. When I told one friend I honestly didn't pay it much mind, she informed me "the whole country's in mourning, but anyway"... and she was right. I could tell. Everyone was repeating the CopyPasta Pike River Miners Poem in their Facebook status updates. I haven't seen such an outpouring of grief since the finale of Outrageous Fortune. That wasn't a joke, I've watched with detached cynicism, and my friends mourn as much for television as for strangers... no doubt I'm the same, I'm still bitter HBO pulled the plug on Deadwood.

So what do I think of the Pike River Mine disaster?

I think it's tragic. Each loss of life is tragic, I wouldn't want to be in the position those men were, trapped after an explosion then slain by a second. I feel sorry for those who have lost loved ones. It is, all considered, terrible news. Death always is, no matter the circumstances. Life is precious, and even for those ready to leave, those they leave behind will always feel the loss.

But I don't need to say this.
You already know this.
You already think this.

You're confronted with mortality, and reflect on the loss that death represents. Because you aren't sociopathic, because you're capable of empathy, you understand pain and loss and suffering. And you understand that those around you who are not disturbed or challenged, also understand mortality and loss. You already know how I feel about the death of 29 men in a tragic accident, before you even ask me.

So why do you ask?

This is what makes me curious. Why do we feel compelled to dwell on it?
Why do you ask me?
It's not my tragedy.

I don't know any of the 29 men who died. I don't know the relatives or friends of the men, or anyone that works for the company operating the mine. I don't know anyone from the region, to my knowledge. And I'm unlikely to ever meet anyone involved in this tragedy, whether co-worker, neighbour or widow. And if I ever were to encounter a relative or friend of the untimely deceased, chances are this individual would rather not have their existence defined by a victim status, odds are they would not want their identity subsumed by an instance of tragedy in their past. This is not my tragedy, nor is it yours.

I have yet to see a single personal anecdote about this event, the grief and sadness and introspection I've seen or heard has been from people who are not involved. Collectively we're participating in something we have no part in, performing grief for someone else's tragedy. Replacing our profile photos with pictures of candles, attending candlelit vigils (or rather, claiming we will be attending candlelit vigils, slacktivism inaction... yes, I meant inaction, that was not a typo... you know who you are >.>), remembering after the fact that we were supposed to be observing 2 minutes silence for the departed.

Why?

Again, I'm not trying to be offensive here, but for every action there should be a reason to motivate it, and I wonder how much we really consider our actions. And this one seems to be an ingrained response, because people will assume it's 'the done thing'.

So why are we doing this? Why are we talking about it and making public displays of sympathy for people who will never see them? What purpose does it serve to change your online photo, to post a poem about 29 miners helmets on pickaxes outside the Pearly Gates, to attend a candlelit vigil, and tell each other what we already know? The families and friends grieving for those they've lost aren't going to check out your Facebook/Myspace/Bebo page (especially not your Bebo page, my GAWD what were you thinking?). I really don't think a kitschy poem about mining equipment is going to do much of anything for the grieving families, who have lost fully-realized and multi-faceted people with personal histories and identities, not simply 29 miners. Our connection to this event is that it's a mining disaster in NZ that killed 29 men, whereas their connection with it is personal, they've lost a part of their life. Something tells me a poem praising 29 dead miners means less to the grieving than the memories of their loved ones outside of their profession, however well-intentioned it may be. I don't think they're going to be jumping online to read it, I suspect they'll be talking to real people and distant relatives instead. The candlelit vigils are at least an action, something substantive to show, and a communal activity; these public acts are what create culture and community. But again, unless it shows on the news, or it's local, and unless the grieving are watching the broadcast of any vigils, these acts are ultimately little more than sincere gestures that are for the benefit of those participating in them.

What I'm getting at here is, our public displays of grief are for our benefit, not for those actually involved in the Pike River Mine disaster.

I'm not saying we're bad people for public displays of grief over an event we have nothing to do with, as noted before we're functional human beings capable of empathy, and empathy is damn important for society as a whole. But we have to recognize that what we're doing, whatever good intentions are behind it, has nothing to do with the grief of those who have lost loved ones. We feel sorry for those who are grieving, but our public acts and private reflections will not touch them, they have more important concerns than the thoughts of strangers and it is not our place to intrude on their grief.

The question this raises, perhaps a leading question, is what right do we have to make a public spectacle of their private tragedy?

This question was prompted somewhat by an article shown to me by a most excellent friend of mine (who shall remain nameless until such time as this individual craves public infamy in relation to my soon-to-be-hated blog), of a woman's reflection on the loss of her brother in light of the recent media coverage of the Pike River Accident, titled My Brother was Shot in the Head on a Monday Night. Read it, it is a very thoughtful and thought-provoking piece, and as Julie Starr has experienced the sort of personal tragedy and the media focus that I'm contemplating here, unlike me, she has the anecdotal authority to make these claims without being called into question as a sophist or armchair moraliser. She's involved and experienced where I am an intellectualising fraud.

So I must ask again: What right have we to make this our tragedy?

I must reiterate, I'm not heartless. I understand loss and tragedy, if I dwell on the tragedy I will be upset, if I picture life without my father or my brothers (however distant they may be) it is a painful thought, so I have empathic, emotional access to the kind of tragedy considered here. But I believe all things should be questioned, especially those things we most readily take as true and right. If something is to be sacred, I feel it should be a truth so robust as to stand the challenge of honest and vigorous inquiry.

And I have to wonder what claim we can legitimately make to this tragedy. Because the more I think about it, the more uncomfortable I get professing public involvement in the grieving of those I have never met and have no tie to as if I am important in the narrative of this event. As Emma Woods said of the death of her child, in a public statement referenced in Julie Starr's article, the Pike River Mine disaster, for most all of us, is a headline that is here today, gone tomorrow... bar the odd televised dramatisation in about ten years time when television producers look back on NZ's tepid tragedies where tens of lives are lost.

My problem is, it's not our grief, it's theirs. It's not our loss, it's theirs. And it seems somehow arrogant or self-centred to feel we have some special claim to someone else's private tragedy simply because we're from the same country. A month from now, it'll be part of our review of The Year That Was, while the families and friends of the 29 Who Died will be celebrating New Years without them. Six months from now, we may read a news update on page 12 of the New Zealand Herald about the inquiry into the Pike River accident and think to ourselves "I remember that... that was so sad", while those who've lost their loved ones will be struggling to find answers. A year from now we might mark an anniversary and look back, whereas those involved will have looked back every day since the ordeal began. And after that, we won't recognize those involved, as they move past their loss and put their grief to rest, the sole aspect of their personalities we fixate on in this event will be hidden away at the back of their minds most of the time, and they'll be invisible to us again, as they were before the explosions.

Grief is personal, deeply personal, dictated by what the departed mean to you. The closer you are to someone, the keener the loss. And we are not close to these people, so our grief and public displays are necessarily hollow compared to the utter loss experienced by those who are involved.

And it feels horribly invasive to me to claim a tie to this tragedy, to claim the grief as my own. It feels offensive to me to claim this tragedy is in any way personal to me, like insisting on a public display of regret is an act of vanity on my part. I'll reflect on it privately if I'm so inclined, but it's not my place to make a spectacle of someone else's tragedy, nor to participate in a public spectacle that those involved never asked for.

And that's what it is. The media reported on it, seeking comment, trying to get as close to the tragedy as possible. It sells newspapers, it sells advertising spots, and I'm not trying to claim that news outlets are cynically profiteering here, but sensationalising the news draws attention, and attention draws profit. I overheard snippets of the preparations for the public memorial/'funeral' for the Pike River Miners, and it was at least a little sickening to hear the news crews boasting about their contributions to the event, as if it were some carnival, as if the funeral had a corporate sponsorship deal. I can't speak for those who have lost loved ones (and the sad irony of this post is the more I refer to them as such, the more I reinforce their status as public victims of tragedy rather than as multi-faceted individuals who happen to be grieving), but the beginnings of media sensationalism I'm seeing here are just a little disgusting.

Why do we do it? Why do we sensationalise tragedy with heavy media coverage? Why do we buy and consume death and misfortune? Why do we wish to get closer to this unfortunate event through our public pronouncements and participation in performed grief? Why are we seeking to claim ownership of the grief of others, seeking involvement in something that has nothing to do with us?

I wonder if it's to make us feel connected somehow. Here we are, most of us working away at jobs with awkward hours, or tending to growing families, or travelling off to somewhere new to take advantage of the greener grass encountered on the other side. We sit down at our computers to see what updates our Friend List provides, we fire off hundreds of text messages, absorbed in our flash phones and completely oblivious to the living, breathing humans around us. Our connections are fleeting, and frequently digital, we parrot catch-phrases and memes... there's probably no more than five of you devoted readers who bothered to make it this far through my introspective rambling. Grief, loss, tragedy... it's raw and emotional, death and birth are the two things we will all have in common. So it's something we share, something we can relate to, even if we aren't directly involved in a particular instance... and the event itself is notable enough to distract us from the mundane events of our daily lives long enough to contemplate mortality and loss and what it means to know people, to relate, to connect, to be human. I really can't fault this. Anything that gets people to relate genuine sentiment is a good thing. But I wonder how far this has actually touched people, and how far it's just performed by rote?

Perhaps it is informed by a desperate need to experience something genuine. We live in a degree of comfort and ease probably unimaginable in much of the world beyond Aotearoa's sandy borders, we have it so easy in our Pavlova Paradise. But we all die. It's easy to put that thought from your mind most days, living in ease, with abundant distractions. But there's nothing more genuine than mortality, we will all die and thus we can all relate. Perhaps we need to experience death and tragedy vicariously in order to feel alive, in our comfortable little life with our innumerable fictions and gadgets and cultural practices and vocations offering us largely inconsequential distractions. In Fight Club the unnamed narrator tours support groups to find genuine people and genuine experiences, vicariously experiencing tragedy in order to find release from a numbing, empty consumer existence devoid of direction and meaning, envious of those who are dying because "dying people are so alive". In Ruth Quiney's essay "Mr. Xerox," the Domestic Terrorist, and the Victim-Citizen, Quiney acknowledges "the revelation of vulnerability as foundational of the identity of the subject, and as necessary to "self-knowledge," has increasingly become a means for men as well as women to achieve public presence or collective acceptance." Roger Luckhurst explores concepts of a 'traumaculture', defined by absence and dislocation as regards a singular moment of utter tragedy that is unquestionably authentic. Our shared fascination with tragedy, from a good safe distance, may be the way in which we access something undeniably authentic in what is, in the delightfully secular and commercial world bereft of defining struggles and strong national identities, a largely meaningless existence. Rather than be Nietzsche's hated utilitarian herd, we vacation in the mortal tragedy that defines what Nietzsche instead appreciates about the religious: the existential sting of mortality.

NZ mourned the loss of Outrageous Fortune, we're probably busying ourselves with preparations for Christmas, there's always that work that needs doing on the car, or that next mission to beat on that computer game we just bought, and no doubt we're looking forward to getting completely obliterated every weekend for the next two months. And then 29 died in an explosion in a mine and we're suddenly given access to something far more significant and genuine than the meaningless crap we concern ourselves with on a daily basis. Momentarily things are put in perspective and we're conscious beings, snapped out of our daily condition. Maybe it makes us feel more alive. Maybe it reminds us to appreciate the world around us and the life we have. Maybe, if we have a partner, we hold them closer and see them better. Perhaps we're thankful that we're far away from the dangers of a mine (or the raging gunfights in the Middle East, in Africa, South America, and elsewhere) and that our grief is merely sympathetic, a token gesture our of respect for those who'll never see it.

I'm not passing judgement, because I understand that we're all expressing sympathy for those who are suffering, because we can empathise, even if we can't realistically say "I know how you feel" as grief is private and every loss is individual. Even though I'm not comfortable making public spectacle of grief for something I am not a party to, I know that none of us are being self-centred in our displays, we're not cynically seeking attention. Even the media is reporting something of national interest, even if they are veering closer and closer to entertainment rather than public service.

And as distasteful as public spectacle and intrusion on the grief of others can be, at least we are not appropriating the grief and tragedy of others to shamelessly promote political goals and stoke hatred, as in the case of the Cordoba House YMMA in New York, portrayed by ignorant xenophobes as a 'victory mosque at Ground Zero'. Politicians and xenophobes making an issue of something New Yorkers had little or no problem with, invoking the names of the families of those lost in the 9/11 attacks to attack the plans to build a YMMA several blocks from Ground Zero, plans supported or at least unchallenged by almost all of the families of those lost in the attack *EPIC FACEPALM*

I know this has been rambling, and I know it's lead nowhere. I know I've presented no answers nor any conclusive proof to back anything up. I've commented on a current event, poked sticks at the issue, and hopefully given cause to think about things.

No offence was intended, though I do not doubt a great deal was given. I feel it's probably best that I start this blog with something that may come across as controversial, because over the course of my writing, I'll be questioning many of the things held sacred. This is what interests me, to question everything, especially those things we most hold dear.

Ka kite, friends and whanau

Don't be strangers =)

Post-Script
In regards to the reason we seek to involve ourselves in 'national' tragedies, it could simply be a shibboleth, the way we affirm national identity is through appeal to nationally 'owned' events. Just a further thought that cropped up after the fact.