Interventions

I wanted to write about the current situation in Burma at the moment, because it's frightening and big and all over the media. But it seems too big for me to get a handle on, so I'll take a more oblique look (that is, talk about something almost entirely different).

When things such as Burma's protests happen, something that comes up a lot is the idea of international intervention: just how much should the rest of the world do about something going on in another country? There are wars going on across the whole planet caused by one government's trying to intervene with another, or one group attempting to impose its idea of Right upon another. War is generally not a good thing, so we might say that extreme intervention (involving waging war) is Wrong (because it impacts too much upon people - civilians - who have no real power to change their country's situation). On the other hand, though, I do think that some things are just unacceptable and that a lack of intervention (of come kind) is reprehensible. Obviously this means I do not adhere to the belief that everyone should be able to do whatever the hell they like, regardless of the impact on other people - it's a possible standpoint but not, in my view, a valid one. I do, therefore, think that intervention (of some kind) is a necessity.

But when?

This is a bit twee, maybe, but that's not important. A very well-known poem by Martin Niemoller quietly highlights many problems:

First they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the Communists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for me
and there was no one left
to speak out for me.

Of those "many", though, the one that interests me is the end result of the lack of intervention. Not really the fact that eventually "They" will come and get "me" (that doesn't really factor anywhere in my thinking about this, probably because I'm fortunate enough never to have been victimised in the large-scale way this poem is concerned with), but the downward slope, caused by lack of intervention, leading to the victory of "They".

So take a smaller example. In the pub last night there was a young Polish woman working behind the bar and a (probably) drunken bloke walked in and started hurling abuse at her (I say "probably" drunk, because it explains his disproportionate behaviour - though obviously doesn't justify it). This abuse centred on three traits: (1) Her professionalism [refusal to serve him because he was already pissed, and very rude]; (2) Her sex; (3) Her non-Englishness. The disagreement about (1) I can understand (if not sympathise with) - he was drunk, prior to his arrival, and wanted more alcohol; the abuse relating to (2) was offensive but could perhaps be passed off as just a standard way to insult women - it annoyed me, but only because it was generally insulting (i.e. he was drunk, and expressing himself in the coarsest way possible. Fine). But when he got onto (3) I decided that was enough; probably because it was, by then, personal to the person he was attacking. It seems a bit odd that (3) provoked me into action, despite the fact that what I have in common with her is (2). I'm not sure why that is.
This was all happening extremely loudly and quite physically, in a pub that was in complete silence otherwise (his shouting saw to that). So, at the point (3) reared its head, I got up and asked him to leave - which he did (though probably not because I asked him - he could easily have knocked me out, I don't have the figure of a bouncer...), after calling me a "Medieval whore"*.
None of this made me angry. What made me angry was the group of business 'gentlemen' standing around the bar the whole time this was going on, and not one of them said a word. They stood, glasses in hand (and sober), watching in silence. That was it, that was their reaction; to watch it. The ignorant, drunk, yelling bloke was just that (a fairly harmless, though volatile, arsehole) but the silentwatching 'gentlemen' were, to me, morally disgusting and socially dangerous. On the bloke's exit from the pub one of the besuited businessmen made some cute placatory remark to him -- WHY? (I actually think the answer to this is that he was scared of being hit). I hope at least one or two of those blokes feels suitably embarrassed that they didn't step in, even when it was beginning to get physical.

Was I overreacting? Should I have stood and let it happen like the others? Did I take too much of a risk? (Probably, physically speaking). Am I right in being furious about the others' apathy/cowardice? Is self-preservation more important? I believe in freedom of expression...but does that belief extend to expressing yourself in such an offensive and disruptive way (I was, after all, trying to enjoy a nice evening in the pub!)? Do I have any right to get on my moral high-horse? (Probably not) Why did it bother me anyway?

Lots of questions.
As I said above, I think intervention (of some kind) a necessity; a necessity, that is, for retaining a sense of our own principles. There comes a point where everyone will make a stand (even if only for themselves, eventually), and it is that point, I think, that helps define us. It's not a linear thing, and not everyone's priorities will be in the same area, but it's where we say "no", isn't it, that makes us more than automatons? The point at which I say "no" isn't necessarily a Right one, but I'm reassured that I at least have one. I suspect Stanley Milgram would have had something to say about those gentlemen-in-suits...oh wait, he already said it: we're screwed, probably.

Of course it's a whole different can of worms to ask how we know if our principles/interventions are the Right ones. If we follow a principle of luxurious self-gratification we'd take a different tack to someone upholding the importance of the biological (reproductive) imperative, or a societal ideal of one kind or another. Who's to say which is the Right one? For now, I'd just like to think that everyone has some kind of guiding principle - that would be a start.

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* "Medieval whore" did make me laugh (though not at the time, as I was wondering at that instant if he was actually going to hit me). It's probably the best drunken insult I've heard - and a surprising one, given the 'type' of bloke it seemed to be coming from. I would perhaps have preferred "dissembling luxurious drab" (Troilus & Cressida), but beggars can't be choosers!

Nonsenses, plural.

One annoyance:
Why can't politicians just answer the occasional question with a Yes or a No, if one of those will suffice? That party politics has obscured sense is quite evident when a question such as "Do you agree with this very common-sense and really quite true thing?" is answered with equivocation, evasion, and another question.
I wake up to the Today Programme, which is most definitely the best reportage around, but it also has the unusual ability to get me riled before 6.30am. Impressive.

On a completely different note:
You know it's a good beginning of term when the first academic emails you receive include instructions to (i) Read Lewis Carroll, and (ii) Write an essay on a subject that includes ducks in hats.
We have lift off!

In which single-word subjects cease.

It seems the best way to get through academic work (as well as being the best way for me to retain it), is to chat about it with people. Really, that's the only way anything gets anywhere. And it exercises the vocal chords, too -- going days without speaking to anyone does happen on occasion, but then re-entering the social world is something of a stressful experience.

Why say this now? Mainly because I've recently been exchanging emails with a couple of People Wot Read. I'd got a bit stuck with the Interminable Essay and my ideas were going round and round but not turning off anywhere, and they've really helped -- not because they know more about the subject (for once), but because they ask good questions. It's all about the questions. Questions from people who know more about it are scary, and serve their very handy purpose -- but that's for later; at the moment, to thrash an idea out in its preliminary stages, just 'innocent' questions often do the trick. More often than not it just seems to involve defining and refining the terms -- just as well, really, or I'd never make any sense.

Talking to the cat is also good. He is very patient, and pretends to understand (or pretends not to -- not quite sure which). Though the fact his favourite toy is one of my old socks probably doesn't say much for his intelligence. Never mind; I was rather fond of that sock too.

Introductions

What is the purpose of an Introduction to a work of fiction?

I'm sure every editor has asked exactly that question before writing an intro (or before commissioning someone else to do so), but there certainly doesn't seem to have been an agreement anywhere. So it seems reasonable enough to ask it again. An introducing of something presumes -- doesn't it? -- that the thing being introduced, and the thing being introduced to have not met previously. Otherwise they'd be called "Reintroductions", or "Reminders". Reading decent editions of texts, though, often means being faced with (or outfaced by) a 'scholarly' introduction complete with obscure references to little things within the text, and a bamboozling array of facts (be they critical, historical, political, chronological or anything elseical). These very clever, very carefully researched critical essays are a great resource, but I don't think they serve well as introductions. They often don't make any sense whatsoever to readers coming to the text for the first time; which is surely self-defeating on the part of the introduction?

It very much depends on who is writing it. In the vast number of publications of the two editions I most frequently use (Oxford World's Classics, and Penguin) there is great variation in the apparent intentions, and end results, of the introductions. Some seem barely more than plot summaries (this is sometimes useful, because I am Not Good at remembering names of characters so it's a quick reminder; on the other hand, it doesn't tell you more than the text proper could); some are academic hard-ons (probably great fun for the writer, but a little uncomfortable for the audience); some get the balance better and provide information giving insight, but not so much that the all-important text itself is obscured behind academia so dense it causes all but the most trained eye to glaze over.

It must be a difficult balance to strike.
As I see it, an introduction should be like good gossip: more information than the original source can (or wants to) give you, but not so much sordid detail that you feel as if you're bitching unnecessarily.

Translations

This has nothing to do with Brian Friel's play of the same name.

I just noticed yesterday that I talk to myself, at great length, when I translate texts. This is embarrassing. Must remember not to do that in libraries.
And why? I don't chatter on when I'm doing other types of work. It's like the Medieval and Anglo-Saxon parts of my brain are situated somewhere outside my head, and I have to establish dialogue to use the informations therein. My floating languages brain. Strange.

Limax

Scattered things, from a bear of very little brain:

1) Limax means "slug". Somehow I find it very satisfying that such a strange little animal should have a Latin name (why I'm surprised, I don't know - but I've never wondered what that name was before). Next time I stand on one with bare feet (that is, me with bare feet, not the slug. It only has one foot), I shall exclaim: "Ghastly limax!" instead of the usual "Fucking slimeball". The study of slugs is "limacology". If I have a (dramatic) change of heart re: career, I might endeavour to become a limacologist. As it is, I'm heading more towards being "limaciform" [slug-like]. Fantastic word.

2) Fugues, fugues, fugues. I'm meant to be doing an English degree, right? Apparently this involves me teaching myself all that music theory again so I can attempt to form a coherent argument about a book. It is, of course, a good challenge and I'm enjoying it a lot. But I really wish I'd carried on with it earlier (ah, the joy of retrospect) - I only studied it up to the required level in order to continue with my practical instrumental exams...and that was when I was 12...Anyway, I've always hated playing fugues on the piano - have never been able to get my head (and fingers) round them when they're more than 3 parts. But playing with the theory is quite a different matter, and allows me to read brilliant books that aren't just about the music side of things (a Good Thing, because I am NOT doing a music degree!) . Particularly Hofstadter's Godel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid, which makes much more sense now than it did 7 years ago. (A relief). Leading to...

3) ...fugues, seuguf, fugues...An inevitable result of my reading about and taking apart fugues again is a renewed attempt to play them. It's not proving much more successful than before, but I'm enjoying it more (certainly the result of the non-presence of Evil Piano Teacher).

4) Volunteering to make the committee T-shirts for College seemed like a good idea months ago. Two weeks before going back it is no longer such a great idea. Whoops! I like my design, but getting it onto the shirts [a] in time and [b] without making a huge mess is going to be a hassle.

5) A warning from the Hofstadter book above, which rings worryingly in relation to my Interminable Essay (of which, without doubt, more later - it's not submitted till April, so plenty of time for dithering and moaning about it): "It is of course important to try to maintain consistency, but when this effort forces you into a stupendously ugly theory, you know something is wrong." Quite. I shall keep an eye out for stupendous ugliness. Good way of putting it.

Intolerability?

I've been thinking about the concept of tolerance recently, or more specifically the point at which things should or could become intolerable. Not the kind of 'tolerance' Slavoj Zizek refers to in his comment that 'Tolerance makes everything boring, we need more conflict!'; though he does have some very interesting things to say about political [in]tolerance and what that action/non-action/non-engagement (of any kind) means in the real world. 'Why is the proposed remedy tolerance', he asks, 'rather than emancipation, political struggle, even armed struggle?' (for more, you could look at this PDF - from which the latter quotation is lifted - although reading any Zizek is worth it, and more often than not raises similar themes). That type of tolerance is of course implicit in any notion of intolerance or - particularly - intolerability, but it's tangential rather than central to my musings.

No, what I'm wondering is possibly more personal, and more concerned with one's actions once we decide something is (comparatively speaking) intolerable. How is the 'intolerable' defined? Turning to the OED:

1) That cannot be tolerated, borne, or put up with; unendurable, unbearable, insupportable, insufferable:
(a) Physically
(b) Mentally or morally

My interest is in sense (b) - that of the mentally/morally intolerable.
The danger with words like this is to slip into hyperbole or overstatement. Doubtless I will, because very little is genuinely 'intolerable' - most things are, however unpleasantly, put-upable-with. In the case of physical pain, most often we lose consciousness or go into a deeper state of unconsciousness still and die; in the case of mental, the extreme includes going mad (a type of unconsciousness, or at least a different consciousness) or committing suicide.

Assuming that there is little we can do about the real mental intolerabilities, chemicals running rampant through our bodies and brains to an extent which no drugs or reason can touch, and that really cause madness in the sufferer - in which case that might be argued to be 'tolerable in a different state', as the mind is forced to entirely change in order to accommodate said rampant chemical or state; though of course if a complete and unalterable change must be implemented that probably means the thing that causes it really is intolerable, as if we can't keep some semblance of ourselves amidst our reaction we aren't really managing very well to do much but breathe and be an annoyance in society. So. Assuming that is the case, it's the moral intolerabilities that are interesting.

Essentially what I'm asking is, at what point do we stand up and say "No" to something we find abhorrent? When, "Stop"? When is the line crossed between personally offensive and societally worrying? Does one of these matter more than another? Who gets to deem something 'societally worrying', anyway? The government? (Hopefully not, or suicide really is the only option given I can't will myself mad). As is often the case, what provoked this train of thought was something superficially quite mild (though, as always, it boils down to The State Of The World etc.): The News. Media. Reportage.

I cannot stand watching the news. It makes me feel physically sick. Everything about it: the way the newsreaders speak; inane/insulting/ignorant questions asked of the 'roving reporters' or commentators; the images it's deemed fitting to show to accompany the godawful scripts; the intrusion of reporters/photographers into the lives of normal (or even not-so-normal) people; the priorities of headlines down to items less 'newsworthy'; the very concept of newsworthiness. I can't remember the last time I managed to watch the news without walking out in disgust (and it's always walking out or turning off - changing channel is never an option because I'm always too riled). If the ridiculous scripts don't get to me first, the images do: I find them disgusting, morally. I hate the desperate scrabble to be closest to the scene of the latest bombing or war (can't it be reported safely away from the flying mortars?); to be the first to interview the surviving relatives of a "tragedy" (sometimes they really are tragedies, but on most occasions the word is used by the media the situation is not Tragic - get a sense of proportion) with insulting questions - "How do you feel about losing your entire family in the fire?", "What do you think about the Islamic terrorists who killed your father?"...to take the most shocking pictures of things we can imagine quite well ourselves, thank you very much.

This has gone on for years. I keep up to date with things current and political by reading newspapers because - just about - I can filter through the crap at my own pace, and am not too often out-faced by the appalling presentation of the horrific state of the world as 'glamorous'. The financial pages are quite calming, I find - numbers, ups and downs, games of business. (Though in the recent stock market mess those boundaries became uncomfortably blurred). So I flick between 'real news' and finance to stay sane. I also refuse to have a 'regular' paper, and consequently rotate the main broadsheets more or less regularly. If a tabloid is around, I'll flick through it to see what's being said, but I will never buy one - they have too much money for their crimes already. Listening to Radio 4's Today is good, as there's rarely one person saying their thing for too long, and even if they are there's often someone there to argue with them. This doesn't stop the stupid questions being asked, but it does provide more real balance than any visually-broadcast programme (all of which are shorter).

The other worry with visual news is our desensitisation to those images, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (War, Famine, Pestilence & Death). When I watched the news regularly (I stomached it between the ages of about 14 and 17), I simply got used to it. Now, it repulses me - physically and morally - because I'm not used to it (and, now, refuse to get used to it), and probably because the boundaries of acceptability have also changed. I don't want to feel comfortable looking at these things; I don't want them to be in my face until I shrug and say "that's life" or "oh look there's another war"; I don't ever want to see those images on the screen, belittled already by stupid or badly-advised commentators and reporters, and to have a disinterest - caused by familiarity - enough to simply flick over the channel to watch something more interesting or entertaining.

The media, reportage, 'News', is something that makes me really and constantly angry. About other things - about education (a subject close to my heart, mind and irritation), religion, politics, people - about these things I get a wee bit cross, I might rant a bit and let off steam, I might occasionally let out a yell of frustration. But mostly these things annoy me because what they are (at any given time) doesn't make sense, or people aren't thinking practically or sensibly (ever the logician...). Few things anger me without fail, and I rarely fail to see the good in things. Except in this case (and maybe one other, but that's not coming into the equation here). I find this situation intolerable - I cannot accept it, I can't live with it, I can't get out of my head the staggeringly detrimental effect it must be having in so many ways. An immediate reaction is to avoid it, to avoid The News (particularly visual, remember) - but this isn't a solution; it's a bit like hiding under a bed when things are going wrong, as you remove yourself from the problem but don't remove the problem itself.

And I can't find a way away from that anger (or, for any length of time, its cause). I can't commit myself to changing the system, because to do that would necessarily mean getting actively involved with it - something I simply can't do. It's not like it's one-sided reporting I'm so against, so I can't set up a rival organisation in an attempt to squash it. My inclination, always, is to tolerate everything within reason, and when the edge of reason arrives to take positive steps to change the situation causing (or containing) the intolerable. Very often this is a practical solution, and remarkably easy to implement (on a small scale. I've not yet figured out how to stop people killing each other on a worldwide stage...). But with this I'm stuck: I can't tolerate it because I find it so unutterably wrong, but I can't find a way to solve the problem.
Which means, I suppose, that I'll have to live with its intolerability (that, or suicide). But that itself is tolerating it, isn't it? Or is anger, constant anger, enough to count as a stand against the intolerable? And is it our moral duty (in whatever sense you want to interpret that - I have my own way, you will have yours) to remove ourselves from the influence of that we find intolerable, or to stop it? If the former, suicide looks an attractive (theoretical) option; but I'm always inclined towards the latter - changing things that are wrong (I live in hope, you see...). But what if I believe I can't change that particular thing (assuming that's realism talking, not pessimism - a constant debate, that)?

It's all circular, curious and infuriating. Maybe the ultimate defence mechanism is to slide into a stupor of not caring (or a stupor of ineffective but self-righteous anger, naturally!)? Then nothing is intolerable except the immediately personal, in which case there is no 'moral duty' to do anything, and one may slip quietly into unconsciousness through madness or suicide.
I don't know.