We respect a formidable foe -- and we learn that we are that formidable foe.
Chief of Army message regarding unacceptable behaviour
This video makes me feel very relaxed and sane. If only more people in authority could deliver sane messages about human relations, the world would suddenly improve.
Purists
Monday Link Encyclopedia and Self-Promotion | Clarissa's Blog
Upbringing it huge. The best thing my parents did for me was to give me adequate resources (food, room to explore, schooling) and leave me alone. To the degree they didn't leave me alone, the outcomes were poor.
I did manage to achieve a lot of changes on my own, though. As I said to a recent ape, "You can see by the outcome that my efforts toward personal transformation were excellent." Some people, though, embrace an ideology whereby they see any change as a betrayal of one's ontological structure. Even if you explain to them that the opposite is the case -- that survival necessitated change -- they will keep on insisting that personal transformation is immoral indeed, and driven by criminal motives.
So there are a lot of people, I have figured out, who would have preferred to see me not survive. They're ontological purists who want everything in life to stay that same. If not, they will simply kill the changed object.
The reasoning seems to go: "You must be very angry if we've treated you that way, so we need to terminate you."
This is something I get from Christians and conservatives.
He is absolutely right, though. His children’s success or lack thereof in every area of life is in no way dependent on their parents’ money or education. It is dependent on how psychologically healthy their upbringing was.
Upbringing it huge. The best thing my parents did for me was to give me adequate resources (food, room to explore, schooling) and leave me alone. To the degree they didn't leave me alone, the outcomes were poor.
I did manage to achieve a lot of changes on my own, though. As I said to a recent ape, "You can see by the outcome that my efforts toward personal transformation were excellent." Some people, though, embrace an ideology whereby they see any change as a betrayal of one's ontological structure. Even if you explain to them that the opposite is the case -- that survival necessitated change -- they will keep on insisting that personal transformation is immoral indeed, and driven by criminal motives.
So there are a lot of people, I have figured out, who would have preferred to see me not survive. They're ontological purists who want everything in life to stay that same. If not, they will simply kill the changed object.
The reasoning seems to go: "You must be very angry if we've treated you that way, so we need to terminate you."
This is something I get from Christians and conservatives.
The Full Text of David Guterson's Controversial Commencement Speech | Slog
The Full Text of David Guterson's Controversial Commencement Speech | Slog
and if you are a woman or gay or a person of color, your society will make it even harder for you by tilting the playing field so you have to walk uphill, and by confounding your inner life in ways white men don’t have to face.
But perhaps I enjoy walking uphill in a way that white men do not face? The additional pressure on me produces a different texture in life and gives me quite unique estimations about reality.
Love the life you have to live.
and if you are a woman or gay or a person of color, your society will make it even harder for you by tilting the playing field so you have to walk uphill, and by confounding your inner life in ways white men don’t have to face.
But perhaps I enjoy walking uphill in a way that white men do not face? The additional pressure on me produces a different texture in life and gives me quite unique estimations about reality.
Love the life you have to live.
Moral authority
If you want to have moral authority, you need to criticize the things that matter. Many lament that they feel they have lost the moral authority they used to have in ancient times, but it is obvious they only care about their group and will not address difficult issues that extend beyond group identity.
These people have the sort of respect they have earned.
These people have the sort of respect they have earned.
REPOST Who is Dambudzo Marechera and what does he mean to me?
Not too many people outside of Zimbabwe have heard the name of Dambuzo Marechera. While many have heard of Chinua Achebe, whose 1958 work, Things Fall Apart, was hailed as the definitive African novel. For Marechera, as well as for me and so many others of the generation whose parents fought the second Chimurenga or Rhodesian civil war, things fell apart, as well, in more ways than we could have told. We were the children of our parents – and therein laya problem. Neither Marechera nor I had any choice in the matter. Marechera was born in 1952, into a rural community in what is now Zimbabwe. When he was about to turn 16, I was born. His awareness of politics and the world around him would have been taking form in his teenage years, when the white colonial regime of Rhodesia declared its independence from Britain, thus crystalising the political structure of the society as a system which would probably be white-ruled for a long time to come. I was born three years after pronouncement of white independence. Five years before I was born, the country had seen the beginnings of a guerilla war – for there were those who wanted their independence from the whites, whereas the whites wanted their independence from Britain. So, I was born into a situation that had a backdrop of guerilla war and suppression of black ‘insurgency’. I was born on the white side of the fence, in glorious and expansive rural style suburbia. Marechera was born into rural huts and ultimately into the black ghetto of Vengere Township. Given these obvious differences, what can we have in common?
The question might well be asked, and the most honest answer is that we were both children of our parents. Black and white we may be, but neither of us decided to afflict war on each other. That was a decision undertaken by those who represented our parents. Marechera and I were both in some sense born on the wrong side of the fence. The global community was for the black guerilla fighters and against the white oppressors, and yet, in actual fact, they were taking sides with one or other of our parents. We – the children of our parents – were never asked about our views. We were never given a choice. So, it was that Marechera, child of his parents, grew up struggling against the tide. Offered an education in English, he was keen to follow through in order to get out of his ghettoised environment. Meanwhile, his parents raged against him learning English, causing him to burn his school books in anguished confusion or protest. I, on the other hand, the child of my parents, was caused to emigrate a few years after the guerilla war had ended with the country falling into the hands of a black majority. Being the child of my parents, the war didn’t end there for me. In fact, it was only just beginning. For little did I realise that sacrifices do not go unrequited. The Rhodesian war only began for me, upon migration to Australia, when I had come of age. I was 16 at the age of my Zimbabwean exit. It was the year 1984. We had barely found our feet in an altogether different culture, when it was already time for me to requite the parental sacrifice.
It began with condemnation that I was both socially lost on one hand, and that I was adapting to what must have been presumed to be the nefarious and decadent values of the first world, on the other. Poor adaptation and the cultural values that I had adopted through partial assimilation meant that all my parents’ sacrifices to maintain an ideological purity had been entirely in vain. I was not growing up with the values that they had battled for against Dambudzo’s parents. So, I was worse than a traitor, from my parents’ point of view. I was somebody who was undoing history – and undoing them, in the process. Each difficult step I made towards adaptation to the new and foreign culture earned its punishment. To break me down and make me repent was my parents’ goal – the unspoken agenda they had against my growing up in ways which hadn’t been prescribed.
This brings me to why I relate so much to Marechera. Reading his works, I am made aware of how the simplicities of our parents – and indeed of the global community, in supporting one faction of our parents against another parental faction – have led to intellectually impoverished perspectives. Marechera and I have both revolted against moral, social and political oversimplifications, in favour of a level of understanding that takes into account the human elements of suffering, and what it means to be historically (and socially) contingent beings – the children of our parents. Reading Marechera’s works, I encounter the complexities of emotional life, in forms which do not compromise the meanings of experiences, in order to please the powers that be. Marechera writes in a complex manner and this complexity is his integrity, for as he says:
The question might well be asked, and the most honest answer is that we were both children of our parents. Black and white we may be, but neither of us decided to afflict war on each other. That was a decision undertaken by those who represented our parents. Marechera and I were both in some sense born on the wrong side of the fence. The global community was for the black guerilla fighters and against the white oppressors, and yet, in actual fact, they were taking sides with one or other of our parents. We – the children of our parents – were never asked about our views. We were never given a choice. So, it was that Marechera, child of his parents, grew up struggling against the tide. Offered an education in English, he was keen to follow through in order to get out of his ghettoised environment. Meanwhile, his parents raged against him learning English, causing him to burn his school books in anguished confusion or protest. I, on the other hand, the child of my parents, was caused to emigrate a few years after the guerilla war had ended with the country falling into the hands of a black majority. Being the child of my parents, the war didn’t end there for me. In fact, it was only just beginning. For little did I realise that sacrifices do not go unrequited. The Rhodesian war only began for me, upon migration to Australia, when I had come of age. I was 16 at the age of my Zimbabwean exit. It was the year 1984. We had barely found our feet in an altogether different culture, when it was already time for me to requite the parental sacrifice.
It began with condemnation that I was both socially lost on one hand, and that I was adapting to what must have been presumed to be the nefarious and decadent values of the first world, on the other. Poor adaptation and the cultural values that I had adopted through partial assimilation meant that all my parents’ sacrifices to maintain an ideological purity had been entirely in vain. I was not growing up with the values that they had battled for against Dambudzo’s parents. So, I was worse than a traitor, from my parents’ point of view. I was somebody who was undoing history – and undoing them, in the process. Each difficult step I made towards adaptation to the new and foreign culture earned its punishment. To break me down and make me repent was my parents’ goal – the unspoken agenda they had against my growing up in ways which hadn’t been prescribed.
This brings me to why I relate so much to Marechera. Reading his works, I am made aware of how the simplicities of our parents – and indeed of the global community, in supporting one faction of our parents against another parental faction – have led to intellectually impoverished perspectives. Marechera and I have both revolted against moral, social and political oversimplifications, in favour of a level of understanding that takes into account the human elements of suffering, and what it means to be historically (and socially) contingent beings – the children of our parents. Reading Marechera’s works, I encounter the complexities of emotional life, in forms which do not compromise the meanings of experiences, in order to please the powers that be. Marechera writes in a complex manner and this complexity is his integrity, for as he says:
The tyranny of straightforward things is more oppressive and more degrading than such idle monstrosities as life and death, apartheid and beer drinking, a stamp album and Jew-baiting. One plus one equals two is so irrefutably straightforward that the unborn child can see that even if man was wiped off the face of the earth one plus one would always and forever-equal two. [92]
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