tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26798612751747093302024-03-13T18:54:01.080-04:00McCallumGary McCallumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07968615249948463073noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2679861275174709330.post-48512931081125389342011-08-23T10:33:00.000-04:002011-08-23T10:33:42.493-04:00Is the tide turning against Toronto Mayor Rob Ford?<h4 class="heavyseriflbl heavyseriflblbold sm" id="articlelabel">Marcus Gee</h4><h2 class="regserif entry-title" id="articletitle"> Is the tide turning against Toronto Mayor Rob Ford? </h2><div id="articlemeta"> <span class="articlebylinethrow"> <a class="heavyseriflbl sm" href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/toronto/marcus-gee/" title="Go to MARCUS GEE’s columnist page">MARCUS GEE</a> <span>|</span> <a class="sans sm" href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/toronto/marcus-gee/" title="Go to MARCUS GEE’s columnist page">Columnist profile</a> <span>|</span> <a class="sans sm" href="mailto:mgee@globeandmail.com">E-mail</a> </span> <h5 class="sans sm updated"> <span class="articlecreditline">From Thursday's Globe and Mail</span> </h5><h5 class="articledateline sans sm">Published <time datetime="2011-07-27 20:58 -0400" pubdate="">Wednesday, Jul. 27, 2011 8:58PM EDT</time> </h5><h5 class="articledateline sans sm">Last updated <time datetime="2011-07-28 11:44 -0400">Thursday, Jul. 28, 2011 11:44AM EDT</time> </h5><aside class="articleseealso articleseealsoheader"> </aside><div class="ad s2of12" id="minisky"> </div><div class="articlecopy s6of12 fl entry-content"> In the first seven months of his four-year term, everything went Rob Ford’s way. His moves to trim minor expenses, cut an unpopular tax and expand the contracting-out of garbage pick-up sailed through with relative ease. Kept under tight control by his staff, he avoided the verbal bloopers and dubious behaviour that marked his 10-year run as a dissident city councillor.<br />
<span class="hdivider"></span> <aside class="articleseealso entry-content-asset"> <header><h4 class="regseriflbl large">More related to this story</h4></header> <ul><li><a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/toronto/council-girds-for-marathon-as-the-people-speak-on-budget-cuts/article2112264/" name="&lpos=Inline Article Related Links&lid=top - 1">Council girds for marathon as the people speak on budget cuts</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/opinions/editorials/margaret-atwoods-inspiring-defence-of-torontos-libraries/article2112073/" name="&lpos=Inline Article Related Links&lid=top - 2">Margaret Atwood's inspiring defence of Toronto’s libraries</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/toronto/doug-ford-blames-union-marching-orders-for-public-criticism/article2110691/" name="&lpos=Inline Article Related Links&lid=top - 3">Doug Ford blames union ‘marching orders’ for public criticism</a></li>
</ul></aside> <span class="hdivider revhdivider"></span> <aside class="articlesidebar s3of12 entry-content-asset" id="articlesidebar"> <div class="fpmedia "> <a class="fpanchor fpimage col-3 " href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/video/video-rob-fords-finger-flipping-misunderstanding/article2111356/?from=2112268" name="&lpos=Widget - Inline Article Related video&lid=Image Link" title="Jul 27, 2011 11:08AM EDT - The Toronto mayor did not answer a question about a hand gesture he allegedly made to a Toronto motorist."> <img alt="Mayor Rob Ford, pictured while speaking duringa ceremony to honour a Toronto Police Service officer who died in the line of duty on Wednesday, January 12, 2011." height="123" src="http://beta.images.theglobeandmail.com/archive/01302/rob_ford_1302286cl-3.jpg" width="220" /> <span class="typeoveraly col3 type-video"></span> </a> <h6 class="heavyseriflbl sm ">Video</h6><h3 class="serif med "> <a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/video/video-rob-fords-finger-flipping-misunderstanding/article2111356/?from=2112268" name="&lpos=Widget - Inline Article Related video&lid=Headline Link" title="Jul 27, 2011 11:08AM EDT - The Toronto mayor did not answer a question about a hand gesture he allegedly made to a Toronto motorist."> Rob Ford's finger flipping 'misunderstanding' </a> </h3></div></aside>In the past few weeks, though, things have been going sideways. The mayor’s inexplicable decision to boycott all of Pride Week gave off a whiff of intolerance and alienated many voters. His ham-handed conduct of the budget review at city hall is making even fiscally conservative residents wonder about his leadership.<br />
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City councillors are hearing from voters who are alarmed over all the talk about cutting back on street cleaning, closing children’s attractions such as Riverdale Farm or shuttering some libraries. Reacting to more than 300 messages against library closings, TTC chair Karen Stintz, a leading member of the mayor’s administration, made a point of declaring publicly on Wednesday that she could not support shutting library branches.<br />
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“A week ago somebody came up to me on Mt. Pleasant and said, ‘What the heck is this guy doing?’ ” said North Toronto Councillor Josh Matlow. “ ‘I voted for lower taxes and no service cuts. That was what I was promised. Meanwhile, the mayor is suggesting more taxes and lower services.’ ”<br />
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If things were not bad enough for the mayor’s camp, his brother, Councillor Doug “The Smart One” Ford, poured oil on the book pile by declaring he would close at least one Etobicoke library in a “heartbeat.” Reminded that novelist Margaret Atwood had joined a save-the-libraries campaign, he declared that “she could walk by me, I wouldn’t have a clue who she is.” It did not help that he has the habit of dropping one of the R’s when he says “libraries,” pronouncing it “lie-berries.”<br />
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The next day, he tried to explain himself to Global News. “What I was saying is, everyone knows who Margaret Atwood is. But if she were to come up to 98 per cent of the people, they wouldn’t know who she was. But I think she’s a great writer and I look forward to her input.” Ms. Atwood must be grateful for the endorsement.<br />
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The very same day that Doug Ford was getting in hot water, his brother the mayor was caught up in the affair that Twitter is calling “fingergate.” A local artist, Ottilie Mason, says she was driving on Dundas with her young daughter when she saw Mr. Ford talking on his cellphone in his van. When she made a thumbs-down gesture to indicate he should obey the law against phoning while driving, she says he gave her the finger.<br />
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The mayor’s press secretary now admits that he was on the phone – “He is a very busy guy; the phone is ringing constantly” – but “he did not give anyone a rude gesture. That’s where we believe the misunderstanding took place.”<br />
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Of course, when Mr. Ford was caught shouting drunken insults at an out-of-town couple during a 2006 hockey game, he denied that too, only to admit it later and apologize. An extended middle finger is not easily misunderstood. Someone is not telling the truth here.<br />
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The mayor’s handlers seem to realize that things are getting out of hand for their guy. As city hall prepared for a big meeting on budget cuts, they sent Councillor Giorgio Mammoliti to the press gallery to try to explain the mayor’s driving lapse and change the channel back to budget issues.<br />
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Unlike many public officials, Mr. Mammoliti explained, the mayor drives himself around in his van and can’t make calls while others chauffeur him. Mr. Ford, he offered, is a “different” kind of mayor. <br />
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He can say that again.<br />
</div></div>Gary McCallumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07968615249948463073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2679861275174709330.post-70718405324609937102011-08-23T10:27:00.000-04:002011-08-23T10:27:28.476-04:00Minister rejects concerns about judicial discretion<h2 class="art-postheader"> <a class="PostHeader" href="http://www.lawtimesnews.com/201108228613/Headline-News/Nicholson-rebuffs-CBA-critics">Nicholson rebuffs CBA critics</a><br />
<div class="subtitle">Minister rejects concerns about judicial discretion</div></h2><div class="art-postheadericons art-metadata-icons"> Law Times</div><div class="art-postheadericons art-metadata-icons">Monday, August 22, 2011 | Written by Michael McKiernan | <a href="http://www.lawtimesnews.com/201108228613/Headline-News/Nicholson-rebuffs-CBA-critics/Print" rel="nofollow" title="Print"><img alt="Print" src="http://www.lawtimesnews.com/templates/lawtimesfeb243/images/printButton.png" /></a> | <a href="http://www.lawtimesnews.com/component/option,com_mailto/link,aHR0cDovL3d3dy5sYXd0aW1lc25ld3MuY29tLzIwMTEwODIyODYxMy9IZWFkbGluZS1OZXdzL05pY2hvbHNvbi1yZWJ1ZmZzLUNCQS1jcml0aWNz/tmpl,component/" title="Email"><img alt="Email" src="http://www.lawtimesnews.com/templates/lawtimesfeb243/images/emailButton.png" /></a> </div><div class="art-postcontent"> <div class="art-article"><div id="itp-fshare-left"> <div id="itp-fshare-tw"> </div><div id="itp-fshare-fbsh"> </div><div id="itp-fshare-lin"> <span class="IN-widget" style="display: inline-block; line-height: 1; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="display: inline-block ! important; font-size: 1px ! important; margin: 0pt ! important; padding: 0pt ! important; text-indent: 0pt ! important; vertical-align: baseline ! important;"><span class="IN-top IN-empty" id="li_ui_li_gen_1314109373728_1-container"><span class="IN-top" id="li_ui_li_gen_1314109373728_1"><span class="IN-top" id="li_ui_li_gen_1314109373728_1-inner"><span class="IN-top" id="li_ui_li_gen_1314109373728_1-content">0</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="display: inline-block ! important; font-size: 1px ! important; margin: 0pt ! important; padding: 0pt ! important; text-indent: 0pt ! important; vertical-align: baseline ! important;"><span id="li_ui_li_gen_1314109373719_0"><a href="" id="li_ui_li_gen_1314109373719_0-link"><span id="li_ui_li_gen_1314109373719_0-logo">in</span><span id="li_ui_li_gen_1314109373719_0-title"><span id="li_ui_li_gen_1314109373719_0-mark"></span><span id="li_ui_li_gen_1314109373719_0-title-text">Share</span></span></a></span></span></span> </div></div> </div><div class="art-article">HALIFAX — Federal Justice Minister Rob Nicholson brushed off a barrage of criticism for his tough-on-crime policies during his annual appearance at the Canadian Bar Association’s conference in Halifax last week.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="multithumb caption" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://www.lawtimesnews.com/images/stories/2011/August/August22/rob-nicholson.jpg" rel="gb_imageset[]" target="_blank" title="Justice Minister Rob Nicholson faced tough questions at the CBA conference last week."><img alt="" height="143" src="http://www.lawtimesnews.com/cache/multithumb_thumbs/b_191__16777215_0___images_stories_2011_August_August22_rob-nicholson.jpg" title="Justice Minister Rob Nicholson faced tough questions at the CBA conference last week." width="191" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="mtCapStyle" style="height: 0px; width: 191px;">Justice Minister Rob Nicholson faced tough questions at the CBA conference last week.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Earlier, the CBA’s council passed a string of resolutions sponsored by its criminal justice section calling for the federal government to tone down legislation expanding mandatory minimum sentences for certain offences by inserting a so-called safety valve in Criminal Code amendments. <br />
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It also asked Nicholson to reconsider the policies in the light of their costs through increased imprisonment and their effects on the aboriginal community and mentally ill offenders.<br />
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But Nicholson stood firm under questioning from lawyers and reporters, insisting that lawmakers are entitled to give guidance to the court and that voters had endorsed his approach during the federal election in May.<br />
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“That is our job. We set the guidelines where we believe they are appropriate. There are a number of mandatory minimums already existing in the criminal justice system. I would suggest the ones we have introduced are reasonable and appropriate under the circumstances. <br />
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I think that’s part of our mandate that we are given as legislators. We set maximum sentences, and in some cases where we believe it’s appropriate, we set minimum sentences.”<br />
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Manitoba lawyer Josh Weinstein attempted to extract a compromise from Nicholson through one motion at council that called for a safety valve allowing judges to consider other sentencing options “where injustice could result by the imposition of a mandatory minimum sentence.”<br />
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According to Weinstein, the safety valve could kick in when offenders have mental illnesses or other conditions, including fetal alcohol spectrum disorders. He said legislatures in Britain, Australia, and South Africa have all implemented similar provisions alongside mandatory minimum legislation.<br />
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“Judicial discretion allows judges to take into account a number of factors in relation to sentencing an offender, taking into account both the offender and the offence. With the imposition of mandatory minimums, that is eroded and in some cases absolutely gone. <br />
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It’s hopefully a starting point of an approach that we could take with the government to deal with injustices that are occurring with respect to sentencing.”<br />
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Montreal litigator Simon Potter said he worries the government is showing a lack of trust in judges to do their job, something he calls a “very dangerous path” to tread.<br />
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“To throw in what is merely a safety valve to allow a justice as a last resort and as a matter of simple justice in a particular case to go back to judging is a minimal step we can take to preserve some balance,” he said.<br />
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But Nicholson shot the idea down at the conference, claiming judicial discretion remained intact. “I think we’re giving that discretion to the courts. We set the maximum, which is our obligation to do, and in some cases we set a minimum, and within that framework, the judiciary can decide what’s appropriate,” he said.<br />
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Supporting a separate resolution, Brad Regehr, chairman of the CBA’s national aboriginal law section, said he feared an increase in the number of mandatory minimum sentences would exacerbate the overrepresentation of First Nations peoples in Canada’s jails. <br />
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In Manitoba, where he works, 75 per cent of inmates are aboriginal despite making up just 15 per cent of the population.<br />
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“Mandatory minimum sentences are doing absolutely nothing to resolve this ongoing crisis,” Regehr said, adding that the government’s policies may be at odds with the Supreme Court’s decision in R. v. Gladue. <br />
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It requires judges to give special consideration to the unique circumstances and challenges facing aboriginal people in the justice system. <br />
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“My fear and the likelihood is that these changes will impact aboriginal people the hardest and most disproportionately and simply add to a problem which stains Canada’s international reputation.”<br />
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But Nicholson said it would be hard to predict the effect of the legislation on rates of aboriginal incarceration ahead of time. “Mandatory minimums apply to everyone,” he said.<br />
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In addition, Nicholson touted the success of his department’s aboriginal justice strategy. “It does reduce the recidivism rate when people get involved with the strategy,” he said. “I wouldn’t support the aboriginal justice strategy if I didn’t think it was making a positive difference.”<br />
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Another avenue of CBA attack came from the projected cost of tougher sentences. <br />
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Backing a resolution that called on the federal government to reveal the cost of its crime bills, Saskatchewan prosecutor Loreley Berra told the CBA council she had “no doubt that the public supports the stance of tough on crime” but called it “uninformed support and uninformed consent on the issue.”<br />
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She pointed to a report by the parliamentary budget officer estimating the cost of Nicholson’s truth-in-sentencing bill at around $5 billion over five years. That’s roughly twice the official government estimate.<br />
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“Where are these funds coming from? Is it coming from health care, the environment or other resources?” Berra asked.<br />
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Nicholson reiterated the government estimates and said some other measures, including his megatrials bill to streamline large-scale prosecutions, would actually save money. <br />
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“Canadians are very clear that they are prepared to pay the cost of keeping individuals that shouldn’t be on the street off the street,” he said.<br />
<hr /> For more on the CBA conference, see <a href="http://www.lawtimesnews.com/201108228616/Commentary/Editorial-Bar-drops-ball-on-national-class-actions" target="_blank"><em>"Bar drops ball in national class actions."</em></a></div><div id="jc"> <div id="comments"><h4>Comments<a class="rss" href="http://www.lawtimesnews.com/feed/com_content/8613" target="_blank" title="RSS feed for comments to this post"> </a><a class="refresh" href="http://www.lawtimesnews.com/201108228613/Headline-News/Nicholson-rebuffs-CBA-critics#" title="Refresh comments list"> </a></h4><div class="comments-list" id="comments-list-0"> <div class="even" id="comment-item-4058"> <div class="rbox"><div class="rbox_tr"><div class="rbox_tl"><div class="rbox_t"> </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Gary McCallumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07968615249948463073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2679861275174709330.post-71628256518796109542011-05-08T10:43:00.002-04:002011-05-08T10:43:56.317-04:00Table of Contents1. Random Quotes<br />
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2. "Ochocinco, Classy in Cincinnati", by Baiden McCallum <br />
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3. "Seedfolks, Guy Levesque", a vignette by Baiden<br />
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4. Regarding an unpublished novel by Robin Wood<br />
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5. An unpublished story, "Of Snakes & Turtles"<br />
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6. Softball player, two photos<br />
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7. <i>Animal Farm</i> and <i>Flowers for Algernon</i>: A ComparisonGary McCallumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07968615249948463073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2679861275174709330.post-71692334052153082432011-05-08T10:40:00.008-04:002011-05-22T13:35:17.538-04:00Random Quotes"[...] when a reporter in Milan addressed him as 'the recognized leader in modern music', he responded, 'Perhaps, but here are <i>good</i> and <i>bad </i>musicians. I am Stravinsky and that is enough.' " <br />
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Robert Craft on Igor Stravinsky in <i>The Company They Kept: Writers on Unforgttable Friendships</i> (2006)<br />
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"A: According to [Julien Benda author of <i>La trahison des clercs</i>, 1927], this delicate balance of force and thought shifted in the first part of the twentieth century. Intellectuals gave up on serving philosophical ideals and became masters of justifying the status quo.<br />
"Q: Still true?"<br />
"A: Certainly still relevant. I would say that the problem today is less intellectuals abandoning the Enlightenment in favour of nationalism, though that still happens, and more the embrace of capitalism as the only framework of meaning. The most successful are the ones who parrot sociological evidence in smooth deployment of 'ideas' that sound kind of neat, a little obvious, but are given catcthy new labels, and so manage to challenge nothing and nobody even while creating the illusion of being 'smart.' Never mind if there are jaw-dropping errors here and there.<br />
"Q: Malcolm Gladwell?"<br />
"A: Malcolm Gladwell."<br />
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Mark Kingwell, "What Are Intellectuals For?: A Modest Proposal in Dialogue Form", <i>Queen's Quarterly</i>, Spring 2011, p.58.<br />
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Malcolm Gladwell obvious? One of the main themes of <i>Outliers</i>, presented with the astonished tone of one having just uncovered a long-buried secret, is that people are formed largely by their history -- their experiences, their upbringing, their opportunities, their culture. Obvious? I mean, what kind of drug is Mark Kingwell on? That's heady stuff, that proposition that people, for better or worse, are the sum total of their life experiences (leaving aside heredity). Deep.<br />
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"While incarcerated, [Conrad Black] became an English tutor four days a week, expanded that to include teaching inmates U.S. history and social economics on a volunteer basis and he served as the keynote speaker for African American History Day. His efforts contributed to a 67% increase in the high-school graduation rate of the prison’s inmates and that impact, according to his court filing, 'was nothing less than astounding'."<br />
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<i>National Pos</i>t, Saturday 14 May 2011 p. A5.<br />
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I know the <i>National Post</i> is his newspaper and I know the information likely came from his lawyers, but still ... if true, he deserves commendation.Gary McCallumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07968615249948463073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2679861275174709330.post-21446105843047011692010-11-11T17:46:00.006-05:002011-01-11T23:43:56.793-05:00Ochocinco, Classy in Cincinnatiby Baiden McCallum, North Toronto Collegiate Institute (02WIL)<br />
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Michael Vick, Tiger Woods, Lebron James. These are some of the people Chad Ochocinco keeps company with – at least on the list of America’s most hated athletes. <br />
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The Q Scores Co., which conducts popularity polls, has Chad Ochocinco, star wide receiver for the Cincinnati Bengals of the NFL, ranked as the fourth most disliked figure in all of sports today, behind the likes of Michael Vick, Tiger Woods and Terrell Owens, and in front of Kobe Bryant and Lebron James. <br />
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Most of the six names on the list deserve to be there, but does the fourth really belong?<br />
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It’s understandable that Michael Vick, a felon who was imprisoned for funding a dog-fighting operation, is there. Also deserving their spots are Tiger Woods, the face of his sport and one of the many faces of sporting-goods company Nike, who cheated on his wife with what seemed to be two floozies for every day of the week; Kobe Bryant, a notoriously arrogant person in his youth, who feuded with Shaquille O’Neal publically and also supposedly raped a woman about a decade ago; Lebron James, the reigning NBA MVP, who paraded his arrogance with his nationally televised heart-stomping of Cleveland, infamously dubbed “The Decision”.<br />
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The only other person in the top six who doesn’t seem to belong is Terrell Owens. Granted, Owens is a diva and a seemingly clinical narcissist who had constant fights and feuds within his organizations, prompting him to be shipped from team to team. This behaviour is scarcely worthy of being one of the top five hated athletes, but it’s understandable why he would be disliked by many. Ochocinco on the other hand has been with the Cincinnati Bengals his entire career and, while somewhat of a diva himself, still is an upstanding guy to everyone, everywhere he goes.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>The demographic that was polled was not released, but I assume it was just random people, or casual sports fans, the fans that will tune into ESPN and see that Ochocinco has received yet another fine for an over-the-top touchdown celebration. What they don’t read on ESPN is that Ochocinco pays the fine and then regularly donates a matching amount to charities such as hillview.org and feedthechildren.org.<br />
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Not only does he donate thousands upon thousands to charities each year, he is also probably the best athlete out there at interacting with fans. An avid user of Twitter, Ochocinco regularly tweets messages such as “Going to the movies, first 100 fans at X theatre get free tickets to Transformers”. Also a self-proclaimed McDonald’s addict, he will buy random people burgers and fries when he goes to get his fix. He even tweets his Xbox Live gamer tag and plays Madden NFL with anybody willing to challenge him.<br />
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Just this year Ochocinco made good on his promise to treat a New England Patriots season-ticket holder and his wife out to dinner while in town for the Patriots-Bengals season opener. Another time, not knowing anybody there, Ochocinco, on impulse, bought dinner for 64 people in an Indianapolis steakhouse.<br />
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It’s understandable that some people don’t like his attention-seeking attitude, but are his reality shows – he has appeared on Dancing with the Stars amongst others – so bad that he is hated more than Ben Roethlisberger (multiple rape accusations), Barry Bonds (indicted for perjury) or Ray Lewis (murder), who were all left off the list? Maybe it’s because his last name, which reflects the numerals on his jersey in Spanish, is incorrect. It should be ochenta y cinco.<br />
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“Estaban 85 is my gamer tag! estaban 85, retweet to the world so I can takeover madden like pinky and the brain” – OGOchoCinco via TwitterGary McCallumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07968615249948463073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2679861275174709330.post-34728672263849293102010-09-12T22:56:00.002-04:002010-10-09T18:34:15.607-04:00"Seedfolks - Guy Levesque", a story<i>Grade 8 classroom assignment</i><br />
<i>Baiden McCallum, Island Public and Natural Science School</i><br />
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Until a few years ago, I lived in the beautiful suburbs of Paris, France. My father was the owner of a humble restaurant named “The Lady of the Camellias”. He became quite wealthy by playing the stock market smartly. I didn’t have a mother, never really did. She died when I was four months old. I didn’t feel bad or empty not having a mother, for my father was always very kind and supportive. My father and I would invest in a promising company, or take a chance and invest in a fairly unknown one, and see what the result was. We became fairly rich and well-off. <br />
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We lived in a nice neighbourhood, with big houses, big cars, big trees, you know, the usual rich-person neighbourhood. It was a nice quiet place to live. Very peaceful. I was never one of those snooty rich people, though. Didn’t like them, never did.<br />
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About two years ago, we invested in a very promising company called Enron. The stocks kept going up, and the CEO kept saying they would continue climbing in value. My father believed him and bought a large number of Enron stocks when they were at $90. We were horribly mistaken. We lost almost everything. We became bankrupt and had to sell our house and just about all of our luxurious belongings. <br />
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My father had enough income from the restaurant to support us, but he decided to sell it and use the money to start a new life in America. I always liked baseball, and my favourite Major League Baseball team was the Cleveland Indians, so we decided to move there.<br />
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That was almost two years ago. It seemed like an eternity. I wasn’t really enjoying myself here in Cleveland, and as far as I could tell, neither was my dad; actually I think he still doesn’t. He works at a McDonald’s restaurant as a floor manager about a block away from our building. He thinks American food is a disgrace, “les ordures” he calls it, nothing compared to the French dishes he would make at his old restaurant, but he needs the job.<br />
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We now live in an apartment in the downtown area. It’s diverse around here; people speak Spanish, Italian, Iranian, Tagalog, but no one else that I could find speaks French. I didn’t really have many friends, partly because everyone kept to themselves. But lately people have become more social. The mood of the whole neighbourhood seems to have changed from solemn to almost happy. I think it’s related to this new garden that has appeared in the lot next to our building.<br />
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The last few months, people have been paying me a few bucks to watch over their plants in this garden.<br />
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“Guy, would you weed my zucchini while I’m at work? My back, you know, it aches.” <br />
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“Bien sûr. Happy to do so.”<br />
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I’m a fairly husky sixteen-year-old, and certainly no pushover, and I guess others think that too. I find looking after the garden quite peaceful. In Paris we had a gardener, and all we had were roses.<br />
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Recently, Raul, who grows tomatoes, whom I’ve recently befriended, offered me a few feet of his garden that I could use. He said the tomatoes he was growing there died, and that he didn’t want to go to the trouble of planting new ones. I talked to my dad about the space, and asked if he wanted to grow anything in particular. “Camellias,” he replied without hesitation. “Camellias were your mama’s <i>fleurs favorites</i>.” He said that he would like to plant them in memory of her. En affectueux souvenir d’elle. Apparently, when my mother and father were dating, she would plant camellias in my father’s garden. It was very touching. My father then brought out from his desk drawer a dusty envelope with few camellia seeds that he had kept for several years, in fact since my mother died.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://hoppinjohns.net/images/camellias.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://hoppinjohns.net/images/camellias.jpg" width="200" /></a>We planted those seeds and –<i> un miracle!</i> – they grew; they grew tall with lustrous leaves and large, lovely flowers, white flowers and pink ones and red. The larger the flowers grew, the more curious I got about my mom, and for the first time I asked my dad about her. <br />
<br />
“Dad,” I began quietly, “what was mom like; tell me, please.” He looked at me for a moment and then looked away without speaking. I could see his eyes moisten. It took a few days more but eventually he began to talk about her, about how they met, what she was like, her favourite songs and books, how she wept for joy when I was born. “J’ai gagné le gros lot,” she used to say, rocking me in her arms. Over the evenings, I came to know my mother, a little bit anyway.<br />
<br />
The camellias brought everyone who worked in the garden to our spot. They admired the wonderful flowers and they congratulated my father and me on such a success. I never knew my dad was so thoughtful, and that after 16 years he still cared so much about my mother.<br />
<br />
For the first time in two years, I’m actually kind of glad I live here. It’s beginning to feel like home.Gary McCallumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07968615249948463073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2679861275174709330.post-47699683855538618392010-09-12T22:45:00.010-04:002011-05-08T12:15:27.391-04:00Regarding an unpublished novel by Robin Wood<div class="stream-content"><div class="main-stream"><div class="post-asset asset" id="asset-6a0123ddfc699d860b0123de1162d1860c"><div class="asset-inner"><div class="asset-content"><div class="asset-body preview-links"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ohkrapp.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/robin-wood-film-critic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://ohkrapp.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/robin-wood-film-critic.jpg" width="212" /></a><a href="http://www.bfi.org.uk/sightandsound/images/exclusive/420/robin-wood_420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>As many of you are aware Robin Wood died on 18 December 2009 at the age of 78 after an exceptionally productive and engaged life. Robin's creativity and industry were not restricted to film criticism. He also wrote novels and screenplays, which were of a piece with his film criticism, both being centrally concerned with the ways in which the current structures of society are inimical to the full flowering of people's lives, are inimical to, indeed, Life itself, as Robin (and Dr. Leavis) defined that term in their respective writings.<br />
<br />
Robin's estate will be privately publishing one of Robin's novels, the one that appears to have been most personal to him and, perhaps for that reason, the one he was proudest of. The novel will be sold by reservation, and publication is scheduled for 01 June 2011. The novel will be published in quality paperback with an introduction by his long-time friend John Anderson. The price has yet to be determined (although it is expected to be in the vicinity of CDN$30.00 including shipping). <br />
<br />
For those who wish to reserve a copy of the novel, please notify either Gary McCallum or Richard Lippe by means of the contact information below or the comment box on this blog. Once the price has been determined, purchasers will be notified and payment requested in advance of shipment.<br />
<br />
Gary J. McCallum Richard Lippe<br />
Barrister & Solicitor 705 - 40 Alexander Street<br />
18 Aitken Place Toronto, Ontario<br />
Toronto, Ontario Canada, M4Y 1B5<br />
Canada, M5A 4E5 T: 416-964-3534 <br />
T: 416-862-7435 E. rlippe@yorku.ca.<br />
E: garyjmccallum@gmail.com <br />
<span style="font-size: 1.25em;"> </span></div></div></div></div></div></div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">For more information s</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">ee: http://friendsofrobinwood.blogspot.com/ </span>Gary McCallumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07968615249948463073noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2679861275174709330.post-40473075318585485632010-09-12T22:42:00.010-04:002010-10-09T10:39:41.142-04:00An unpublished story, "Of Snakes and Turtles"<i><b>Of Snakes and Turtles </b></i><br />
<br />
When I was growing up our family lived in the suburbs. Our particular suburb was located on the westerly edge of town. It was an early post-war suburb, new and handsome for its day but not affluent in the manner of later suburbs. I remember that the roads, for example, were never surfaced with anything more extravagant than crushed stone spread over hot tar. And it took a long while before sidewalks were laid down. When eventually they were, a no-man’s land immediately sprang up – the grassy verge between the sidewalk and the roadway. Although the verge was city property, it was the homeowners’ responsibility to keep the grass mowed; because it was city property, the homeowners never bothered. As a result the grass grew unchecked the summer long, the weeds flourished, and we kids had a jungle to play in.<br />
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When after a time that jungle became too small for us, we turned our attention to a larger one nearby: the woods that lay behind my house, a stone’s throw the other side of the creek. Our attention, however, was not unambivalent. On the one hand these woods excited our imaginations, our youthful lust for adventure. On the other hand they were a dark and scary place, filled with black flying things, staccato cries, lugubrious moans. Once little Jamie Jones, who later entered the priesthood, was lost in the woods overnight. He swore on the bible that he had been held captive by demons and evil spirits. Naturally no one believed him. But if we were timid about venturing near the woods before, we were even more timid afterwards.<br />
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Consequently, when one afternoon during religion period, Eddie, the oldest and hence biggest boy in our class, handed me a note proposing we go snake-hunting in the woods Saturday, I was of mixed feelings. The allure of adventure contended with the fear of the woods. In the end I assented: adventure won. The note was duly passed around until, despite one mishap, we mustered a contingent of about eleven volunteers. The mishap was that Russ Connelly was caught with the note and ordered to recite five “Our Father”s as punishment.<br />
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The rest of the school week – Wednesday, Thursday, Friday – passed uneventfully as we made our plans. For instance, we prepared a checklist of necessaries: rubber boots, because the earth would probably still be soft and wet in the woods; bag lunches, for a hunt of this magnitude could easily last all day; a wicker basket – with a lid – for the captured snakes; windbreakers (our mothers insisted); pocket knives; and so on.<br />
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Come Friday night excitement was running at a high pitch. Ralph Forbes, the class smart guy, fanned the excitement with tales of the magical properties of snakes. The snake that tempted Eve we knew about, but he did relate one story about the luck of coming across two snakes coupling (“Coupling?” “Getting it on”) that was new to us. It appeared that one gained spiritual insight, everlasting wisdom if one smote them with a stick. Mind you, added Ralph, you would first be struck physically blind. Although this seemed a decidedly unfair exchange, we were nonetheless keen to find two snakes coupling. Any qualms we might have felt about any aspect of the hunt were quickly forgotten in the rush of adrenalin. We saw ourselves as an intrepid lot, game for anything.<br />
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On Saturday morning the sun was shining bright and the temperature was a warm sixty-five degrees. Despite the fact it was a glorious spring day only seven of the eleven showed up, including me. There was Eddie of course. A bulky, sloppy boy with a wild tangle of curly hair, Eddie was something of a bully, resulting, I always suspected, from being held back a year in elementary school: he used brawn to make up for what he thought he lacked in brains. My two best friends, Russ Connelly and Ralph Forbes, had been the first to arrive (Ralph was always the first to arrive everywhere). Ralph was one of our class’s three scholarship boys and looked the part: earnest, gangly, wearing thick, thick glasses and a distracted manner – the stereotypical absent-minded professor, but as a youth. Russell was a good all-rounder: skilled at sports (but not too skilled), smart in school (but not too smart), and street-wise outside school (but not too street-wise) – which was to say, he was a lot like me, but fortunately for our friendship not more so. The fact that Jamie Jones showed up was a surprise; he didn’t usually associate with us on weekends. I liked Jamie but we were not buddies; there was always something too ... I don’t know, too angelic, too pure about him. When he was around you just couldn’t tell a dirty joke; if he was there, the joke suddenly wasn’t funny anymore. Rounding out the group were Peter Lawson and Jeff Gardner, best friends to each other but not close friends of mine.<br />
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By ten thirty we had assembled as arranged on the banks of the creek – pronounced locally as “crick” – to fashion willow whips. Some of us, Eddie in the forefront, clambered immediately up the trunks of the willow trees, whereas others preferred to keep their feet solidly on the ground. From the willows we broke off some of the long slender branches, which we then cleaned of sprigs and foliage with our jack-knives. The resulting branch acted as a whip in our hands; it possessed flexibility and resilience and made a loud snap if you flicked it just right. The idea was, the long whips would stun the snakes, we at the other end being a safe distance away. We figured this was a wise precaution since the woods were reported to be teeming with venomous snakes of every ilk and variety: copperheads and cottonmouths, sidewinders and bushmasters, black mambas and diamond-back rattlers...<br />
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Ralph’s shrieks of laughter interrupted our excited litany. The most unusual snake we’re likely to encounter, he stated, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, was the milk snake, as harmless as the day is long. “Is it true that milk snakes suck milk from the teats of sleeping cows?” “Stuff and nonsense,” he answered with a dismissive wave of his hand; “old wives’ tales.” Deflating as this news was, we retained our whips: despite Ralph – due to Ralph in fact, his stories – we knew better than to underestimate snakes. We were taking no chances; we were intrepid, not foolhardy.<br />
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We continued trimming the branches, and we frisked and romped and had great fun. The air was filled with our laughter, whoops, and hollers. Much of the pleasure consisted of these final preparations: the camaraderie, the clowning, the anticipation of an adventure. Who really cared what the adventure? What does one do after all with a basketful of stunned snakes? And who wants to be around when they become unstunned?<br />
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<a href="http://www.byronjorjorian.com/gallery/Airport%20Exhibit/12244.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://www.byronjorjorian.com/gallery/Airport%20Exhibit/12244.jpg" width="320" /></a>By the time we were ready it was approaching noon. So we decided to postpone the actual hunt until after lunch. We would penetrate the woods only so far as necessary to find a spot where we could eat comfortably. Then a curious thing happened. The minute we entered the woods, a hush fell over us. The mood of our bright, chattering band of explorers turned subdued, respectful. It was like entering an immense cathedral: full of haunting mystery, a sense of brooding power. The trees high up filtered the sunlight, the way stained-glass windows sometimes do, admitting light in long columns, in which an infinitude of dust motes hung suspended, like incense smoke. The circumambient sounds – the caw of the crow, the tree leaves rustling in the breeze, the murmur of the creek, and so many sounds we couldn't identify – served, it seemed, primarily to accentuate the profounder church-like silence of the place. These woods certainly had an uncanny way of getting to one. We almost felt afraid to speak lest we be shushed by some stern parent: “...And don't let me hear another peep out of you until the response!”<br />
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Without a peep we trudged through the undergrowth until we came to a small, sunlit clearing. Although this was our first trip to the woods, it was obviously not uncharted terrain: the clearing was littered with broken bottles, brown beer bottles, green Coke bottles; the black remains of a campfire marked the centre; paper debris was strewn about. Peter Lawson innocently picked up what looked like a white balloon. Eddie, laughing, told him what it was used for, and Peter quickly threw it in the bushes in disgust. We sat ourselves on the boulders or lounged on the grass and quietly munched our sandwiches. Mine was a peanut butter and jam: a lunchtime staple.<br />
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The food and the sun revived our spirits, and more normally noisy we pushed on, the very incarnation of the early explorers. Into the gloom once again, fearlessly, fearlessly.<br />
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Soon out, a snake was spotted sunning itself of a shelf of exposed limestone. “Hey, there’s one,” Eddie shouted and off we went at a gallop, all seven of us, a mad flurry of willow whips vainly flailing the ground, while the snake slithered off to safety. During this activity, little Jamie Jones’s willow somehow caught Eddie squarely on the back of the thigh, drawing a thing line of blood. Eddie yelped in pain and, his massive hands curling into fists, angrily turned on Jamie. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. Eddie glared at him threateningly for a long minute before Russ broke the tension by interjecting something to the effect that at least they found out how well the whips worked.<br />
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After that episode we didn't see any more snakes for an hour or so – chipmunks, birds, trilliums in abundance, but no more snakes. Then we arrived at an escarpment, dense with bushes. At the top of it, which was clear and grassy, we noticed a huge pile of haphazardly coiled rope. I thought this curious and was venturing nearer when a two-foot length of the gray rope slid off the pile and down the slope. Almost before this fact had registered on my mind, the cry “Snakes!” went up from behind me, and once again there was a rush of bodies and a flailing of sticks. The next instant the grass was empty. We had been frustrated a second time.<br />
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We tried not to let the frustration get us down, but we were not very successful. Our bad luck was plainly making us disgruntled – that in addition to the ponderous atmosphere of the woods, which was having its effect, making us restive and moody. Nonetheless we proceeded on, perhaps hoping to salvage something yet from the remaining day, perhaps unwilling to admit defeat. Conversation of a desultory nature was attempted as we walked. Anyone know the name of that tree? Peter asked, pointing. No one bothered to answer him: it was a birch, the idiot. Would the Yankees win the pennant? Why not? they do every year. Jeff, who wasn’t wearing rubbers, got a soaker at one point when he stepped into a deep puddle of water. With each step his shoes made a squishing sound; uncomfortable, he let the fact be known.<br />
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We stopped for a rest. Eddie, sweating profusely, stripped off his shirt and plopped heedlessly down on the ground. Ralph informed him that the green stuff he was sitting in the middle of was poison ivy. Eddie snapped back that Ralph should mind his own business, he didn’t know what he was talking about. Eddie and the rest of us knew, however, that Ralph always knew what he was talking about. <br />
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After that, it was obvious our hearts weren’t in the hunt any more. Eddie stood up and slid his arms into his shirt. “Let’s go on,” he said – it came out like a command. Little Jamie offered a counter-suggestion: “I’m bored with this. Let’s go home.” All of us agreed – we were bored too – all of us except Eddie, who did not appreciate the suggestion in the least. We had come to hunt snakes, and hunt snakes we damn well would. Hunting snakes had been his idea; it was a matter of face that we continue and be successful. His fingers seemed to manifest his ire as they fumbled in a fury at his shirt buttons. But he began the return trek with the rest of us.<br />
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Nearby was a small stream that Ralph surmised fed into the creek, and it was this stream that we chose to guide us out. Presently a pathway appeared alongside the stream. We walked it in silence for the most part. A couple of times Eddie tried to pick a fight with Ralph, who refused to be goaded, which infuriated Eddie even more. He was getting on our nerves, Eddie was. On top of this foreign country that was the woods, we didn’t need the added aggravation of him bullying and blustering. Stuff it, Eddie, for Chrissakes, will you? I longed to scream, but I didn’t. Suddenly the woods ended and we were out, all in all relatively unscathed, despite feeling dirty and ill-tempered and wearing a few cuts and scrapes, and Eddie haranguing and beginning to itch. The pathway had emerged from the woods quite close to the spot we had entered, within a dozen yards in fact, so the rest was easy: over the bridge and home for supper.<br />
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We were about to cross the bridge when a cry from Eddie and a pointed finger brought our attention to a common painted turtle basking in the last remaining rays of the sun. Before the turtle could slip off into the water and to safety, Eddie had scooped it up in his hands and was bearing it higher up on the grassy bank, where he set it down, beckoning for us to come share his find. It was getting late and we wanted to go home. We were also thoroughly fed up with Eddie by now; but by virtue of his size and age, he commanded a certain obedience. Hence we collected grudgingly around him and the luckless turtle – luckless, we knew, for Eddie’s eyes fairly glinted with meanness. He had been thwarted and frustrated all day long, and from experience we could tell that he was going to vent his accumulated anger on the turtle.<br />
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He began by riding on its back. The carapace was just large enough to support his two feet, so Eddie, his arms outstretched for balance, was urging “giddyup” and cackling meanly all the while. Since the turtle did nothing, Eddie started to bounce up and down on its shell. He was getting carried away, overexcited, and cursing the turtle: he wanted to hurt it and it wasn’t being hurt. “Come on, Eddie, lay off; the turtle never did anything to you,” ventured Ralph tentatively. In a reflex motion Eddie flung out his arm blindly, hitting Ralph a strong blow on the face, which sent his eyeglasses flying. When they were retrieved, both lenses were discovered to be broken. “You ...” Ralph restrained himself from uttering an obscenity, fearing that harsher retribution might follow. “What did you say?” taunted Eddie. “N-n-n-now I can’t see,” bleated Ralph instead. “Ask a couple of snakes to give you insight, then,” sneered Eddie, still teetering on the back of the turtle. “And don’t bother me with any more of your whining.” Then from beneath Eddie’s feet, a quick, sharp crack was heard. “N-n-n-n-now w-w-w-we’ll have to k-k-kill it,” said Ralph, whose stutter always returned under stress. “How do we do that?” asked another voice. I wasn’t sure who asked the question, for the gathering darkness was rapidly closing us off from one another’s sight. In addition we were all staring fixedly at the turtle, more to avoid the possibility of meeting one another’s eyes than for any other reason. We were ashamed of doing nothing to stop Eddie’s cruel antics. Another voice: “Ralph’s right. It’ll only suffer if we don’t kill it.” “There’s nothing wrong with the friggin’ turtle,” protested Eddie. Darkness and shame gave us courage. “Shut up, Eddie,” said a voice firmly, no nonsense, no argument, just shut the hell up. “And get off it. You’ve done enough harm.” Strange to my ears, the voice was mine.<br />
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Aware that he no longer held control over the crowd, the bluster in Eddie died out and he stepped off. “How do you kill a turtle?” the question was repeated. “Dunno.” “A stake through its heart,” someone joked nervously after a minute. This elicited some nervous titters. Then a second voice chimed in: “No, crucify him.” Again some scattered nervous laughter was heard, but it was less nervous this time, and continued growing less and less nervous until nobody was nervous any more and everybody was laughing freely. As feeble as the joke had been, it managed to relieve the tension that had enveloped the group. “Crucify him,” yelled another voice. “Give us Barrabas!” “Crucify him! Let him be crucified!”<br />
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The joke had told the shift in mood from shame to something else. We had conquered Eddie effortlessly. A sense of our own unleashed power surged through us. The power belonged to us now, and had we too not been frustrated that day? In the gloaming a figure was seen to bend over, heft a large rock over his head, and bring it down on the turtle’s shell. “Adulteress!” exclaimed with glee a shrill voice on the fringe of the circle. “The law says stone her!” A chorus went up – “Stone her, stone her” – as we found stones and hoisted them and threw them. We were enjoying this: eerie woods, no snakes, Eddie – we deserved a good break-out. The rocks bounced off the turtle’s shell, chipping it, cracking it. “Kill, kill!” we chanted; we chanted “Kill, kill!” With deadly accuracy the rocks hit one after the other: thud, thump, thud. Then a different sound: smash, a sickening sound: a smash; and the turtle emitted a faint squeak. We all fell silent. “And you creeps dare talk about me,” came Eddie’s voice, quiet with contempt, through the darkness. “The turtle’s dead,” someone announced, nudging it with the toe of his boot. We heard Eddie’s footsteps receding homewards over the bridge, as we stood there mutely, in full realization of the baseness of our actions. “I think I’ll go home.” “Me too.” Crossing the bridge, we all went out separate ways homewards.<br />
<br />
Later that night little Jamie Jones’s mother phoned my mother asking why hadn’t Jamie returned with the rest of the boys. The next day Jamie emerged wet and hungry from the woods, having been abducted a second time by the demons of the dark wood.Gary McCallumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07968615249948463073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2679861275174709330.post-22061195478571868632010-09-12T22:12:00.000-04:002010-09-13T21:46:38.210-04:00Softball player, 2 photos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCIgXGh2tXUrS1b0ixAXKagBZPw44x6z-XsIBwC3LgMWsO3FDhOXUgUYShnXeD0QdJ1GeQoRTt0hSo4T3DbGZuCFROMaio0nIVR4vvNN9PgLy-gKDreZr_D8QLgWNojJbuLcA67NBD9Ww/s1600/016+Baiden+4-49+edited+Picasa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCIgXGh2tXUrS1b0ixAXKagBZPw44x6z-XsIBwC3LgMWsO3FDhOXUgUYShnXeD0QdJ1GeQoRTt0hSo4T3DbGZuCFROMaio0nIVR4vvNN9PgLy-gKDreZr_D8QLgWNojJbuLcA67NBD9Ww/s320/016+Baiden+4-49+edited+Picasa.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPiWiY-KbaCkk13ypp8_CbCn3SZIhLbOtFV79pitAFSqqddMk1EcnGylkSVuHKMcKps_n1Bifzl652PtFMWvh4tfLYrQCQhT7wHw5gzI2R2SGZhT3g_9Qb7rRcPwxspENPBFCSaRtEPwc/s1600/280+Baiden+2-22+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPiWiY-KbaCkk13ypp8_CbCn3SZIhLbOtFV79pitAFSqqddMk1EcnGylkSVuHKMcKps_n1Bifzl652PtFMWvh4tfLYrQCQhT7wHw5gzI2R2SGZhT3g_9Qb7rRcPwxspENPBFCSaRtEPwc/s320/280+Baiden+2-22+edited.jpg" /></a></div>Gary McCallumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07968615249948463073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2679861275174709330.post-86886622107841723472010-09-12T19:48:00.007-04:002011-03-14T16:52:35.076-04:00Animal Farm and Flowers for Algernon, by Baiden McCallum<div class="entry-content"><div class="snap_preview"><i>Animal Farm</i> and <i>Flowers for Algernon</i><br />
by Baiden McCallum 01POM<br />
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[written as a Grade 9 assignment for North Toronto Collegiate Institute in Spring 2010]<br />
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<b>Preamble</b><br />
<br />
Our oral presentation is supposed to be around five minutes in length. The research I did for the presentation turned out to be much too much for five minutes (for better or worse, the research follows). In preparing the presentation I wanted to set out my ideas as fully as I could (I suppose to see where they led) and that meant taking a different approach from preparing just a five-minute presentation. I prepared the five-minute presentation but I also prepared this, which is what I based my five minutes on.<br />
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<b><i>Animal Farm</i> and <i>Flowers for Algernon</i></b><br />
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This paper discusses two novels – George Orwell’s <i>Animal Farm</i> and Daniel Keyes’s <i>Flowers for Algernon</i> – in order to determine which book would make the better subject for study in Grade 9.<br />
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<b>Similarities of Both Books</b><br />
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In some respects the books are similar, or at least have parallels. Neither is what would be called a realistic novel. <i>Animal Farm</i> is subtitled “A Fairy Story”. It has been called an allegory and a satire (more of which later). <i>Flowers for Algernon</i> is science fiction, which is sometimes referred to as speculative fiction.<br />
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Both books have been highly praised. <i>Animal Farm</i> makes most lists of the 20th century’s best novels. <i>Flowers for Algernon</i> has won several awards, both the novel and the short story from which the novel grew; the novel was filmed as <i>Charly</i> in 1968 starring Cliff Robertson, and has also been turned into a stage play (<i>Flowers for Algernon</i> by David Rogers), a stage musical (<i>Charlie and Algernon </i>by David Rogers and Charles Strouse), and a radio play (<i>Flowers for Algernon</i>, for BBC Radio 4).<br />
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Last and probably least, both novels feature animals: <i>Animal Farm</i> uses farm animals – pigs, horses, chickens, sheep – to carry the story; <i>Algernon</i> is a mouse, who is an important character in the novel.<br />
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<a href="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/28400000/28403440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/28400000/28403440.JPG" /></a><b><i>Animal Farm</i> – George Orwell</b> (1903 – 1950)<br />
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<i>Animal Farm</i>, published in 1945, is an allegory. An allegory is defined as “when the events of a narrative obviously and continuously refer to another simultaneous structure of events or ideas, whether historical events, moral or philosophical ideas, or natural phenomena”. The events outside <i>Animal Farm</i> that the events inside <i>Animal Farm</i> refer to, obviously and continuously, are those concerning the October 1917 Russian Revolution and its aftermath.<br />
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In February 1917 the Russian Tsar Nicholas II abdicated his throne in favour of a provisional government, which in October 1917 was overthrown by the Bolshevik, or communist, government, led by Vladimir Ilyich Lenin (1870 – 1924), and aided by Joseph Stalin (1878 – 1953), who became leader of the Soviet Union after Lenin’s death. With the October Revolution the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic (“SFSR”) was born, to be replaced in 1922 by the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, a socialist and workers’ state, referred to as the “Soviet Union” or the “USSR”. The Soviet Union was a Commonwealth of 15 autonomous republics, with the Russian SFSR as the largest and most dominant.<br />
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Like Animal Farm, there was a time when the Soviet Union “had been regarded, he [Mr. Pilkington of Foxwood] would not say with hostility, but perhaps with certain measure of misgiving” (p.125), he states with disingenuous tact to Napoleon. Both Animal Farm and the Soviet Union were in fact regarded by their neighbours with hostility – regards the Soviet Union with justifiable hostility in light of the Soviet’s aggressive expansionist policies and Stalin’s Great Purge in the 1930s, the latter depicted with vivid economy in <i>Animal Farm</i> (p.83):<br />
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">They were all slain on the spot. And so the tale of confessions went on, until there was a pile of corpses lying before Napoleon’s feet and the air was heavy with the smell of blood, which had been unknown there since the expulsion of Jones [the farmer].</span></span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div>The allegory, the parallels to Soviet history, is clear in the broad outlines and in the particulars. In broad outline the animals, led by Napoleon and Snowball, revolt and drive Mr. Jones from his farm, take possession, and rename Manor Farm “Animal Farm”, creating a workers’ collective.<br />
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In the particulars the old Major, “the prize Middle White boar”, provides at the start of the novel the philosophical underpinnings for the farmyard Rebellion that follows; he talks of alienated labour taking control of the means of production – basic Karl Marx (1818 – 1883). States old Major (pp. 18, 20):<br />
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<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our lives are miserable, laborious, and short [...] Because nearly the whole of the produce of our labour is stolen from us by human beings. [...] Only get rid of Man, and the produce of our labour would be our own.</span></div><br />
Like Karl Marx, old Major did not live to see the Rebellion his teachings helped inspire. The Rebellion was effected by others – in this case, the smart pigs Napoleon and Snowball. Snowball appears to share characteristics with both Lenin and Leon Trotsky (1879 – 1940). Like Lenin, Snowball is a spellbinding orator; just as Trotsky was opposed to the policies of Stalin, so Snowball was antagonistic to Napoleon, who (like Stalin to Trotsky) exiled Snowball from the Rebellion he was instrumental in creating. Napoleon is a depiction of Stalin.<br />
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The Battle of the Cowshed, in which the animals repelled an attack by Mr. Jones, occurred in October, reflecting the date of the Russian October Revolution.<br />
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Napoleon repeats in miniature Stalin’s Great Purge (or Great Terror) of the 1930s, in which it is estimated that under Stalin’s rule 950,000 to 1.2 million people were killed between 1937 and 1938. In fact the book is not so much a condemnation of communism or the Soviet Union as of Stalinism. According to Wikipedia, “Orwell described <i>Animal Farm</i> as his novel ‘contre Stalin’”.<br />
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By the end of the novel the animals’ “life, so far as they knew, was as it had always been. They were generally hungry, they slept on straw” (p.119). As Mr. Pilkington said, “the lower animals [i.e. other than pigs and their dogs] on Animal Farm did more work and received less food than any animals in the country” (p. 125). The pigs by contrast had become indistinguishable from the humans the animals had rebelled against. The seventh and final of the commandments of Animalism was altered from “All animals are equal” to “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others”.<br />
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<b><i>Flowers for Algernon</i> – Daniel Keyes </b>(b. 1927)<br />
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Since we studied in class <i>Flowers for Algernon</i>, published 1966, I will not describe the plot in any detail but will leap right in with my response, which is not all that favourable.<br />
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<i>Flowers for Algernon</i> is profoundly negative in its outlook. Charlie’s mother protests that she wants “him to be like everyone else”, ignoring the reality of him. By the time she makes that statement (p.52), about a quarter of the way into the book, the irony is rich: it is clear that “everyone else” is despicable. Charlie’s elementary-school mates (e.g. Hymie Roth), his work mates (e.g. Joe Carp, Frank Reilly), his neighbourhood peers (the Howells Street gang) torment him. His sister, Norma, torments him. His father, in turn, slaps Norma when she torments Charlie. His mother strikes him for soiling himself, for wearing his sister’s clothes, for getting an erection – violence seems to be her natural response to frustration or annoyance. The husband of the woman in Central Park beat her on their wedding night: no explanation is given for him doing so. Violence, whether emotional or physical, is pervasive. Gimpy is a thief. Dr. Strauss and Professor Nemur are interested in Charlie more as a means to advance their careers and enhance their reputations than as a person; he is, to them, a laboratory specimen.<br />
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<a href="http://www.enotes.com/w/images/thumb/e/ea/FlowersForAlgernon.jpg/200px-FlowersForAlgernon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.enotes.com/w/images/thumb/e/ea/FlowersForAlgernon.jpg/200px-FlowersForAlgernon.jpg" /></a>Self-interest and cruelty are the two values most evident in “everyone else”, with some exceptions. Mr. Donner treats him decently but out of a sense of obligation to his now-deceased best friend, Charlie’s uncle Herman, rather than any affection for Charlie, and Mr. Donner easily abandons that obligation – and Charlie – when pressured by his, Mr. Donner’s, staff. Fannie Birden treats Charlie well but she functions mainly to chide others for not treating Charlie well, i.e. as a device to let the reader know (when Charlie doesn’t) that the others are out of bounds. But she, like Burt Seldon, does not present anything positive to counter the pervasive cruelty of others and is too minor a character to carry much weight. In fact she turns out to be an anti-intellectual, religious nut: “It was evil when Adam and eve ate from the tree of knowledge. It was evil…,” and so on (p.75). By the time Alice Kinnian starts to play a more central role (from teacher to love-interest to friend) it is too late for her decency to overcome the poisoned atmosphere of the book.<br />
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The most telling scene in the book is Charlie’s encounter with the pregnant woman in Central Park. It is telling because it serves no real purpose in the narrative, either in advancing the plot or in revealing Charlie’s psychology. Its gratuitousness and ugliness can only be interpreted as revealing the author’s psychology: his unfocussed disgust at everything and everybody – the sex the woman offers Charlie and the way she offers it, without affection, without intimacy, without pleasure, without even knowing the person she is offering it to, is unpleasant in the extreme; the story of her violent husband confirms what we have already witnessed – that everyone is cruel to everyone, not just the Charlies of the world, and cruel for no particular reason.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs50/i/2009/307/1/0/Flowers_for_Algernon_by_tranhc2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs50/i/2009/307/1/0/Flowers_for_Algernon_by_tranhc2.jpg" width="144" /></a></div>Keyes cannot see any positive values in people, in the world – no love, no selflessness, no generosity, no loyalty; people act from only stunted, twisted, ignoble emotions or motives. The latter are of course what the novel deplores; but at the same time the novel does not show us that anything else exists or can exist. There is no point in criticising something if you can’t show that something else may be nearby. The novel wallows in its own gloominess.<br />
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<b>The Preferred Book</b><br />
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<i>Flowers for Algernon</i> is moving book; it is much loved; it touches our hearts. <i>Animal Farm</i> touches our minds and our sense of righteous indignation. Both books are worth studying, though I much prefer <i>Animal Farm</i>. In the end I prefer it because its scope is a larger: it leads us more into the world – into history, into politics, into active engagement with the world.<br />
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There are several relatively recent figures who have had a major influence on the way contemporary societies think and act. These would include Charles Darwin, Albert Einstein, Sigmund Freud, and (for all the wrong reasons) Adolf Hitler, as well as others.<br />
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Arguably pre-eminent among these is Karl Marx, whose teachings, especially as set out in <i>Manifesto of the Communist Party</i> (1948) (with Friedrich Engels) and <i>Das Kapital</i> (1867), have affected a large part of the world, including Vietnam, North Korea, the People’s Republic of China, Cuba, Laos, and numerous others. Before its dissolution in 1991 the Soviet Union was the largest and most powerful communist country – its landmass occupied one-sixth of the earth’s surface and incorporated what have now become some fifteen separate countries – that had been influenced by Marx.<br />
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Rather than attempt to summarize Marxism I will quote from the Wikipedia article on Marxism:<br />
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<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Marxism is a particular political philosophy, economic and sociological world view based upon a materialist interpretation of history, a Marxist analysis of capitalism, a theory of social change, and an atheist view of human liberation derived from the work of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. The three primary aspects of Marxism are: [...]</span></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://rlv.zcache.com/karl_marx_poster-p228300836381785930tdcp_400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://rlv.zcache.com/karl_marx_poster-p228300836381785930tdcp_400.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: small;">2. The critique of capitalism – Marx argues that in capitalist society, an economic minority (the bourgeoisie) dominate and exploit the working class (proletariat) majority. Marx argues that capitalism is exploitative, specifically the way in which unpaid labor (surplus value) is extracted from the working class (the labor theory of value), extending and critiquing the work of earlier political economists on value. He argued that while the production process is socialized, ownership remains in the hands of the bourgeoisie. This forms the fundamental contradiction of capitalist society. Without the elimination of the fetter of the private ownership of the means of production, human society is unable to achieve further development.</span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">3. Advocacy of proletarian revolution – In order to overcome the fetters of private property the working class must seize political power internationally through a social revolution and expropriate the capitalist classes around the world and place the productive capacities of society into collective ownership. Upon this, material foundation classes would be abolished and the material basis for all forms of inequality between humankind would dissolve.</span></div><br />
Marxism as a political philosophy has been discredited through no fault of its own – by the murderous actions of Stalin, Pol Pot, Mao Zedong, and others who call themselves Marxists. Of course blaming Marx for the excesses of Stalin is like blaming Christ for the Spanish Inquisition.<br />
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Marxism, or communism or socialism, has always been one of the great bogeymen in the United States, which seems to think that anything that hints at government intervention is an attempt to deprive the citizens of their god-given right to exploit whomever and whatever (which now includes the environment) in the pursuit of money and power (see for example <i>Wall Street</i>, the movie). A good example is the recent turmoil over President Obama’s health-care reform proposals, where his attempt to give health care to those who do not have it was compared to Hitler’s T4 Program.<br />
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The following excerpt is from an article by Nancy Spannaus entitled “Hitler’s T4 Program Revived in Obama’s Healthcare ‘Reform’”:<br />
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<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In July of 1939, a conference of medical professionals was held in Berlin, Germany. [...] The subject? What would be the criteria for determining what patients would be considered to have “lives unworthy to be lived,” and what was the most “practical and cheap” manner of removing them from being burdens on the health care system – by death.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Thus, the bureaucratic machine began to be cranked up for what is known as Adolf Hitler’s program of genocide through “euthanasia,” a program which killed hundreds of thousands of non-Jewish Germans, and eventually millions of Jews and non-Germans as well. [...]</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If that sounds familiar, it should. For the proposals which the Obama Administration has currently put on the table, follow them in virtual lockstep.</span></div><br />
Obama’s health-care reform is seen as socialist and socialism is by definition evil, and all evil is absolute; there are no gradations: if a person is evil, that person is the equivalent of Hitler. The nonsense of this logic, and where it leads – to Obama’s so-called death panels – would be immediately dismissed as insane by any reasonable person were the nonsense not so widely accepted (which does not, I suppose, prove that it is not insane).<br />
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Marxism sets out some of the most powerful political ideas of the modern world, and has affected a significant portion of the world’s population. Marx’s ideas have become more rather than less urgent with the passage of time, with, one should say, the greater entrenchment of capitalism, with all its brutality and excesses. Child workers are exploited in Vietnam so North Americans can wear trendy sneakers and feel smug about “just doing it”. The environment is being raped to the extent that we are now in the midst of one of Earth’s major extinctions – the sixth great extinction – surpassing the Cretaceous-Tertiary extinction of the dinosaurs, and as punishment for aiding this extinction British Petroleum made only billions of dollars in profit last fiscal quarter.<br />
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Something serious and drastic needs to be done. Marx’s ideas may be the ideas most worth exploring as an alternative to the capitalism that is quickly bringing the earth in the form we know it to an ugly end. They may not provide the answers but they are worth exploring, and to the best of my knowledge they are not explored in high school. <i>Animal Farm</i> is a means of introducing that exploration, and engaging students in the political process.<br />
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But <i>Animal Farm</i> is more than just a political tract; it is a darn good tale, told in a straightforward manner using plain language. It has all the thrills and chills any fifteen-year-old student could ask for. It has war and violence (the Battle of the Cowshed, the Battle of the Windmill), it has pathos (Boxer, whose motto is “I will work harder”, on whose work ethic everyone depended, who when he was too old to work was unceremoniously taken to the glue factory), it has deceit and treachery (Mr. Frederick of Foxwood bought Animal Farm’s wood with forged bank-notes), and it has sex (Napoleon has piglets with four different sows).<br />
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<b>Conclusion</b><br />
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If my preference can be summed up in a sentence is it that <i>Flowers for Algernon</i> passively accepts defeat, whereas <i>Animal Farm</i> rages against the very idea of defeat. Charlie wants to join a world that isn’t worth joining. Its soul is corrupt. Charlie joins the world for a while and then the book sends him back to the bliss of obliviousness, shrugging its shoulders hopelessly, saying, in effect, that’s the way life is – despicable, corrupt. <i>Animal Farm</i> contains a controlled fury at a world that would send a noble worker like Boxer to the glue factory after a life of devotion to the cause, that would subvert a noble ideal such as “All animals are equal” and a noble effort like the Rebellion that tries to enact that ideal. In <i>Animal Farm</i>, unlike <i>Algernon</i>, it is not the world that does this, it is not Life that is worthless, corrupt – it is a specific form of social organization and the corrupt people (Napoleon) who corrupt that organization.<br />
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Daniel Keyes suggests the way of getting through this life is to bury our heads ostrich-like and ignore the world’s problems; George Orwell suggests we identify the problems and act upon them. Keyes urges us to retreat from life; Orwell urges us to charge at it. The question is, which is the better approach for Grade 9?<br />
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- Baiden McCallum<br />
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Obviously I did not come up with everything in this paper by myself. I am more familiar with Groucho Marx than Karl Marx. My father gave me some names and ideas and directions to pursue, which I did, mostly on Wikipedia. Since a lot of the information did not come from me, I tried to document where it did come from. [Since footnotes did not transport to this blog, the documentation is unfortunately absent.]<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Can’t hear the waters of. The chittering waters of. Flittering bats, fieldmice bawk talk. Ho! Are you not gone ahome? What Thom Malone? Can’t hear with bawk of bats, all thim liffeying waters of. Ho, talk save us! My foos won’t moos. I feel as old as yonder elm. A tale told of Shaun or Shem? All Livia’s daughter-sons. Dark hawks hear us. Night! Night! My ho head halls. I feel as heavy as yonder stone. Tell me of John or Shaun? Who were Shem and Shaun the living sons or daughters of? Night now! Tell me, tell me, elm! Night night! Telmetale of stem or stone. Beside the rivering waters of, hitherandthithering waters of. Night!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div></div>Gary McCallumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07968615249948463073noreply@blogger.com0