Civil Debate's Last Gasp

Hello Readers,

I considered writing a post about the big issue facing my college right now - divestment - or any number of smaller debates across campus, but then I realized they were all symptomatic of a larger issue that is even more pressing. That issue is the breakdown of civil debate. It's something that has been happening more and more - I admit to some of the offenses below myself - but needs to be stopped if we want to see anything positive happen with discussion both at college and beyond.

I won't belittle you by talking about how a debate is "supposed to work," because we all understand the general concept - each side presents their viewpoint and the evidence behind it, and the audience or whoever may be participating weighs each side. Rarely is any viewpoint excluded outright, unless it lacks evidence entirely or is clearly bigoted (an argument espousing a return to slavery, for example, would not and should not go anywhere). Perhaps the sides do not agree, but everyone gets their say, and above all, everyone avoids logical fallacies as best as they can and nobody feels like their point was mocked or belittled.

[Important note: I have not argued, am not arguing, and will not argue that racism, sexism, classism, etc. do not exist or have ceased to exist. However, when someone uses these terms to describe a viewpoint opposite theirs merely because they disagree with it, it hurts everyone.]

The divestment debate provides a foil for what has actually been happening lately, though it certainly is not the first time civil debate has been shunted aside. Let me discuss what I saw at the divestment forum on Monday night. It was less of a structured debate and more of an open forum, which can still work, but it quickly broke down into a series of ad hominem attacks and condescending statements toward the other side. For example, I and another student suggested we know the tangible benefits of divestment, particularly the environmental ones, but we were curious about the costs. As I said, it seems like we ought to present a realistic argument to the people in charge of the college's investment fund as to why we should divest our stocks in fossil fuels, and it seemed to me like that argument had not yet been made. In response, rather than someone presenting that argument, I was treated to a belittling and patronizing speech about how we have "values" that go beyond our interests, with the example that "I could steal a backpack because it is in my interest, but I do not because I have integrity." Not only was my question not answered, I was treated as an idiot or someone completely without values for asking it. I have seen similar situations in other debates - earlier today, someone responded to a "why" by simply reiterating that they supported divestment and felt justified in comparing fossil fuels to apartheid without actually explaining why, and then refusing to answer outright. Questions are essential to furthering our understanding in debate - belittling the asker or sidestepping their question helps no one. After I left, I hear it got even worse - as one side explained their viewpoint, the other side snickered and hissed, and one girl let out an audible snort at a comment at one point. It is next to impossible to feel safe or valued in a community where you are openly mocked for expressing your opinion.

Likewise, we trade evidence for logical fallacies. One of the most common fallacies lately has been the ad hominem attack. For example, in last year's Chik-fil-a/gay rights debate, when supporters of excluding Chik-fil-a from on campus events were questioned about their viewpoint, they simply replied that anyone who disagreed with them disrespected the LGBT community. This doesn't answer the question. Furthermore, whenever you call your opposition bigoted, you're equating them with the same people who supported slavery and segregation, and in most cases, this equation is uncalled for. In all cases, it stops the debate, because the "bigots" know they have no fair chance of explaining their viewpoint on those grounds.

Ad hominem also commonly mixes with the "no true scotsman" fallacy, in which someone argues, for example, that someone cannot possibly be an open-minded person and oppose the by-law change I discussed last spring. On the other side of the divestment debate, those against divestment accused those for it of wanting the college as we know it to crumble - without fossil fuel investments, we would not be able to pay for people, facilities, scholarships, and services that make this place what it is (some of those services were later revealed to be paid for by another fund besides investment, highlighting the importance of evidence). This fallacy is close to the "bandwagon" fallacy - a lot of people feel this way, therefore they are right. We make this fallacy a lot with petitions - 33% of the student body signed a petition, therefore this is how everyone feels, ignoring that the signatories are not a random sample nor are they anything close to a majority.

Fallacies aside, the problem at my college is that we cannot have a civil debate because we actively (verbally) assault those with different opinions. If you disagree with someone, they will, rather than asking why you feel that way, explain their viewpoint as if you are a child unable to comprehend some absolute truth. If you consider yourself a Republican and admit to it in class, chances are others in the class will grumble and hiss. If you consider yourself a Democrat and admit to it at frat parties and other social events, chances are someone will ridicule you. Arguments against gay marriage or any gender issue are immediately dismissed as intolerant, regardless of any evidence or reasoning behind them. When someone presents a viewpoint different from the majority belief, we do not give them the chance to explain: the viewpoint is "ludicrous" or "blatantly offensive", and the person expressing it is "ignorant," "bigoted", or simply "wrong."

The irony of all this is that by ignorant and mocking these viewpoints in the name of being diverse, tolerant, progressive, conscientious, or whatever the word of the day may be, we are actually being intolerant and close-minded. Granted, nobody here physically attacks someone for having a different opinion, but I have met people from all parts of the political and ideological spectrum who feel uncomfortable expressing their viewpoint because they will be "shunned," "made into a pariah," or "assaulted"(again, verbally, which can be just as bad as physically). If we really want to consider ourselves a safe and open-minded community, the degradation of debate has to stop.

One of my least favorite debate missteps is when someone rails against a problem without proposing a viable solution - that is, prohibiting option A but providing no option B, so I would like to offer a way beyond the current status quo. First off, we need - on all sides - to respect the idea of civil debate. Let all sides express their opinion, backed with evidence rather than ad hominem attacks and emotional appeals, and listen to their opinions no matter how much we might disagree with them. Second, we need to work against those who continue to belittle and insult their opponents - their claim is not wrong because they do so, but they harm the debate and should not be allowed to continue to do so. Third, these sorts of rules would be best fostered in a clear debating environment. Passing campus-wide "debating laws" is impractical, but if we set up a debating society or forum where we could have open discussions with some guidelines (present evidence, do not disrespect someone for disagreeing), those who participate would get more out of those discussions, and spread that to their debates and discussions beyond the society or forum. Finally, as an overarching shift, we need to recognize that while the current state of affairs benefits us - after all, it can be easier to sidestep someone who disagrees than to address his or her criticism and questions - it hurts all of us overall by making us stubborn, intolerant, and close-minded.

Currently, we have "forums" and (primarily online) discussions where the conversation quickly degenerates into belittling, condescending, and insulting comments on all sides, rather than a productive debate that promotes the free and open exchange of ideas. If we revitalize civil debate and truly tolerate a broad spectrum of viewpoints, everyone will benefit as a result. I will do my best to restore civil debate in my life, and I hope you will do the same, even if you disagree with some of the points I've made here.

Cheers!

EDIT: Here's a fun site I visit from time to time on debate, plus a graphic I've had kicking around my computer for a while now:

www.yourlogicalfallacyis.com

The Shutdown Breakdown

Hello Readers,

After weeks of failed deals, measures that would never work, and attempts to pass them anyway, the US Congress failed to pass a bill that would allow the United States to keep spending money. As everyone probably already knows, people, we're in shutdown.

Or, more accurately, we're in partial shutdown. What exactly does that mean? Basically, the government can no longer do anything with discretionary spending. The "credit card" is maxed out, and we did not vote to raise our limit. This article from the BBC does a good job of explaining who is affected, but I'll break it down even further.

- About 80% of government employees will still go to work today. These include people who are not paid by discretionary spending (such as postal workers), people who will not be paid but still have to carry out government tasks that are not paid for by discretionary spending (like social security workers), and people who will not be paid but are considered essential "to cases of threat to human life or property where the threat can be reasonably said to the near at hand and demanding of immediate response (such as TSA officers, FEMA workers, and the FBI). The "essential" staff will generally not receive paychecks until the shutdown is over, but President Obama signed a bill last night to ensure that active-duty military will still be paid.

- Members of Congress (both the House and Senate) will still be paid, although their staff will not be, as they are considered "non-essential."

- All of the Smithsonian museums (including the National Zoo) and National Parks (including Yosemite, which turns 123 years old today) are closed until further notice. Staff essential to these attractions, like zookeepers and emergency services, will remain on duty. Those staying in National Parks will be asked to leave as soon as possible. The Smithsonian cannot legally allow their employees to keep working, even as volunteers.

- National monuments are also closed. The National Park Service is actively barricading the Lincoln Memorial and World War II Memorial, among others (reports suggest that WWII vets have knocked down the barricade outside the memorial to get inside). The NPS security is still on staff to monitor these monuments.

- Over half of the workers at the Department of Education and Department of Health and Human Services have been sent home.

- The Environmental Protection Agency has effectively closed. There is still a skeleton crew on hand if a major environmental disaster happens.

- The United States is not free-falling into anarchy. Your local government is still largely functioning, and the police are still there to arrest you if you decide now is the time to start a crime spree.

Those are the facts, now for the analysis. Like the sequester before it, the government shutdown hurts the average American more than anyone else. While I am glad that we can still keep those protecting our nuclear stockpile employed, that satisfaction is severely marred by knowing that the Department of Education cannot continue their work on Race to the Top, a grant competition designed to help struggling schools; that millions of schoolchildren and families who had hoped to visit the Smithsonian museums in the coming weeks now must make alternative plans; and that anyone who had hoped to learn more about our space program at www.nasa.gov will find that they cannot even access the homepage. During the sequester, all tours to the White House, even informal ones, were cancelled; the same is now true for the Capitol and Supreme Court as well. If you think about that, it means that in a government by the people, of the people, and for the people, most of the people cannot set foot inside the rooms where our country's future is being decided.

And then there's Congress. Congress, who stayed up past midnight last night trying to pass a bill to avert a shutdown. Congress, who failed to pass such a bill, and yet faces no real repercussions. Congress, who has led the nation right into this mess. As most of you likely know, the core conflict was this: Americans needed the government to stay open, but the Republicans badly wanted to defund, delay, or destroy the Affordable Care Act (also known as the ACA or Obamacare), and the Democrats badly wanted to ensure that the ACA remained as-is. So, the Republican-majority House of Representatives would pass a budget bill that included language on the ACA, the Democrat-majority Senate would reject it, up until midnight last night, when party politics superseded the needs and wants of the American public. The result was that the Congressmen and Congresswomen responsible at this mess will continue to be paid to point fingers at each other, while the people they claim to represent get screwed (see above). 

I don't blame the Republicans or Democrats - I blame all of them, collectively. Most other Americans, do, too - though there are no new opinion polls since the shutdown began, the polls from yesterday show Congress's approval rating sitting at a new all-time low of 10%, while disapproval is at 87%. I would say that the Republican Congresspeople are slightly more to blame, in that they could have just passed a bill without anti-Obamacare language and saved the fight for a better time, but both parties had the option to collectively realize that keeping the government funded ought to be more important then their political agenda and pass the budget bill, regardless of what it did to the Affordable Care Act.

A bill has come to Congress numerous times suggesting that they should not be paid in the event of a shutdown, but, predictably, it has been set aside in limbo, because who would realistically vote on conditions that take away their paycheck? So, while I am unsure how such a measure would be passed, I wanted to suggest a few options I have heard for getting Congress to get their act together, stop the bickering and brinksmanship, and represent their citizens, not their party:

1. Fire the lot of them. I like this idea in principle, but it creates bigger problems. If we immediately fire everyone in Congress, we'd have to take the time to elect a whole new Senate and House of Representatives, when what we really need to do is end the shutdown as soon as possible.

2. Ensure that everyone in Congress cannot run for re-election in the next cycle, or if they do, ensure that they do not get another term. Again, I like this one in principle, but not in practice. If Congresspeople do not have to worry about re-election, what duty will they feel to their citizens? They could easily pursue their personal or political agenda without fear of losing public support. Also, public opinion polls suggest that while most people disapprove of Congress as a whole, most people support their own Representative or Senator. During the next election cycle, few voters are likely to blame their Representatives in government for the shutdown. 

So, we can't exactly hit Congress at their jobs. The better option is to go after their money. These measures would require some sort of government approval - good luck with that - but they would be more effective in practice.

3. Congress doesn't get paid until the shutdown, just like hundreds of thousands of other federal workers. 

4. For every day that the shutdown continues, Congress takes a 10% pay cut per day, OR they go one month without pay (7 day shutdown = 7 months where Representatives and Senators do not get paid).

Some will argue that these financial members are unfair, and that we'd be legislating Congress into the poorhouse, but let's be serious. They are not, like many Americans, living paycheck to paycheck. They just ensured that hundreds of thousands of Americans will go without pay for the foreseeable future, with no consequence to themselves. Furthermore, when anyone else in this country fails to do their job, they get fired or at the very least receive a pay cut. If these are supposedly our leaders, why do they not lead by example, instead of acting like detached nobility? Something must be done to end this shutdown as soon as possible, and to ensure Congress cannot allow this to happen again. We have now seen two shutdowns and a sequester in 17 years, and all three of these events were supposed to be so terrible that they could never happen. We're showing the current generations that America, arguably the #1 superpower in the world, is fatally flawed and dysfunctional.

However, there is the smallest of silver linings to put this in perspective. When most countries have a shutdown like this, it is a sign of an even bigger disaster, such as total financial collapse, civil war (though Bashar Al-Assad of Syria still manages to pay his people), or revolution. There has been no military coup, we are not in the midst of a financial crisis to put the Great Depression to shame, and people are not fighting or rioting in the streets. The Earth did not stop spinning. That's not much to be grateful for right now, but it is something.

My usual sign-off seems inappropriate right now. Good luck, fellow Americans.

Monet's Art Final, Part 3: Poetry, Fountain, and Conclusion

Hey readers,

This is the final part of my essay on art.

I arrived at college with the lessons I had learned in high school as well as the experiences from art class as a boy, well aware that I understood art from a historical perspective but I was in no way an artsy type of person. My only foray into the college artistic community was when I joined the slam poetry team, pretty much as a way of working on my creative writing. I was not an obvious candidate from the start - I write much more prose than poetry, and the subject material of the average slam poem - discrimination, violence, poverty - is pretty far off from anything I write. Surprisingly, I was asked to join not only the group but the performance team. While my humorous retrospectives on relationships and being a nerd were not standard slam poetry fare, people seemed to like them. To make a long story short, however, I left the group part of the way into my sophomore year. I was annoyed that I could spend two weeks refining a poem on political violence in Zimbabwe only to have it mercilessly shot down, and then scribble down some thoughts I had on relationship drama at 1 AM and have it be a smash hit. I imagine this is what teen idols feel like when their first role in a serious drama gets panned.

At the same time, through the poetry group, I met a number of the artsier people at college, which contributed to my disillusionment with modern art and poetry as artistic mediums. In AP Art History, there was a sort of unspoken truth: there are the great artists, whose works end up in hulking textbooks about art and are displayed in world-famous museums, and then there are the other people, who try their hand at art, but are ultimately unsuccessful for a variety of reasons. Perhaps they are a painter who makes nice but not terribly original landscapes that they'll sell in an art gallery in Hawaii. Or, like the student in the first part of this essay, they are someone who puts a condom on the Virgin Mary and explains how it's this commentary on the Immaculate Conception and other religious/social stuff. I met more of the latter category in college and found myself inexplicably irked by them.  I overheard one poet talking about her latest project for sculpture class; I do not remember the exact details, but I do remember her saying something like, "I found a Barbie doll the other day half-buried in the dirt, so I dug it up, and now I'm adding it to my sculpture." My not-terribly-sophisticated response was to inwardly wonder how she could be earning the same degree I was (albeit with a different major), since I couldn't fathom how a half-buried Barbie doll was in any way related to a 15-page paper on Ukrainian foreign policy. Looking back, I could argue that neither is supposed to related to a larger audience, but at the time, my main objection to it was that it seemed to lack any sort of intellectual thought. Then again, maybe the artwork had some sort of meaning I failed to comprehend.

Neither this frustration nor any of my experience explains why I like Marcel Duchamp's Fountain. For those who aren't familiar with this iconic Dadaist work, here is a picture:

For anyone who cannot tell, that is a urinal, set on its side and labeled "R. MUTT 1917." Now, dear readers, I know you're probably thinking that it's unfair for me to dislike contemporary art, like a Virgin Mary covered by a condom, yet enjoy Fountain. After all, this required basically no work, other than Duchamp signing the urinal. However, Duchamp did not create Fountain with some sort of hidden meaning or social commentary. It was meant to be art against art - if anything it was a critique of the people who would take something like this and dream up some kind of meaning for it, as well as a move to deflate the ego of artists who considered themselves brilliant just for being artists. Duchamp was barred from exhibiting Fountain at the Society of Independent Artists show, even though he was a board member, and the only requirement to exhibit a piece was to pay the entry fee. He resigned in protest, and attended the show with Fountain tucked under his arm, eagerly showing it to anyone who was curious. Fountain was designed to piss people off (pun intended). It was never intended to be celebrated for any sort of aesthetic beauty or artistic genius, and Duchamp would likely be horrified to know that replicas of Fountain can be found in world-class modern art museums and auction houses, where they sell for as high as $1.7 million apiece. 

Fountain probably got the reaction Duchamp was hoping for in my AP Art History class. Mr. Aliazzi reveled in our initial disgust with it, followed by various attempts to understand how it could possibly be considered art. I offered that my initial thought as I saw it was, simply, "Piss!", and while the link to the subject matter was pretty obvious,  most people agreed that their initial reaction was similar. Had Duchamp earned his college degree with Fountain, I would have been upset. 

Upon retrospection, how can I like something like Fountain yet have such disdain for a condom-covered Virgin Mary or a dirt-covered Barbie doll as art? I would say there are two possibilities. 

One, I like Fountain because the point is that it isn't supposed to be art; it's a satire of anyone who would present something like it and say it is art, especially if they explain it with some sort of "social commentary" story. A lot of modern art either tries too hard to have a meaning or simply fails at conveying the message. In my case, I think some modern art chooses shock value over maturity or sophistication - for example, the condom-covered Virgin Mary seems less like a thoughtful critique and more like a sophomoric rebellion. 

Or, two, which comes from Mr. Aliazzi's definition of art: "Art is human spirit in sensate guise." My fellow AP Art History students and I sensed Partita in B Minor a certain way based on our perspectives and experiences, while someone else might have heard it at their grandmother's funeral and always associate it with a profound sense of loss. Likewise, the human spirit in visual art can be sensed, or better yet perceived, in different ways. I found a dirt-covered Barbie doll mundane and artistically worthless (to use brutally honest terms), while others may have lent it much more merit. 

Readers, if we choose to go with my second possibility, which I find I like better, I guess we can't really objectively judge most art as good or bad. I choose to look at art like a well-crafted speech - I generally value nuance and fluidity, and if it chooses to make a bold statement I want that statement to at least appear original and thoughtful. Others choose to look at art like a protest shout - the message is the most important part, and sometimes it needs to be rough, even offensive. 

In the end though, this is why I avoid critiquing new art without the disclaimer that it is my personal opinion or some sort of academic support, and why I avoid taking art classes - art is too subjective to be given a letter or number. It is expression, whether bold or introspective, and it is human spirit, whether that spirit attracts you or repels you.

Or, to modify an infamous saying from my uncle, you could judge "bad" art this way - "I look at it and my brain says, 'yuck.'"

Cheers!

Monet's Art Final, Part 2: Color, Art History, and Bach

Hey readers,

This is part two of my story on art. The first part can be found here (or just look for the previous entry on my blog). Let's pick up where I left off, at the start of high school:

In my freshman year of high school, we were given three options - join glee club, join orchestra or band, or take a year long art course that featured a quarter each of drama, visual art, and music theory, followed by a quarter where we did a 3-week final project in each. Since my singing voice is so bad I don't even like to sing in church, and I have no skill in musical instruments whatsoever (long story, not worth it), I opted for the drama/art/music choice. I also figured that since anyone was able to take it, we would be judged on the amount of work we put into our art, not the quality of the final product. Our first assignment was to draw a picture that incorporated our name by spelling it out in some form. I labored over a perspective drawing of my name in a game of Scrabble. At my teacher's suggestion, I kept it black and white, focusing instead on tone and shadow. Just to make sure, because everyone else was using color, I asked him again. Black and white was the way to go, he assured me. I got a B on the project, with comments along the lines of: "Should have used color to make it more vivid." At that point, I decided art clearly wasn't my thing. After a year of drama class (another long story not worth going into), I dropped out of the arts entirely, focusing instead on creative writing and speech and debate.

At the end of junior year, I decided on a whim to support a small movement amongst my classmates to reinstate AP Art History as a class. I don't know why I did, given my past experiences with art and my fear of memorizing lots of details about artworks, but it seemed worthwhile. Besides, AP Art History was my third choice for social studies, after AP Psychology and AP Government. As luck would have it, my schedule did not allow for either of those two, and I was placed in AP Art History along with nine other seniors who had actively lobbied for the class and put it as their first choice. My mind flashed back to freshman year - I had Western Civilization I with the (in)famous Mr. Aliazzi, the toughest teacher at the school, right after he had finished teaching AP Art History to the seniors. I remember haggard students staggering out of class, clutching their Art History tomes and telling us, grimly, "Don't take AP Art History with Aliazzi unless you really want your butt kicked." This was not college, and I could not run to the school's scheduler in a panic to demand to switch into something else, so I resolved to make the best of it and soldier through the year.

Although a few of my classmates and I would come to refer to the decision to take both AP Biology and AP Art History as the "suicide combo," AP Art History turned out to be one of the best classes I took in high school if not throughout my entire education. Mr. Aliazzi, who had been kind of intimidating our freshman year, was knowledgeable and witty, if still a little blunt (a hallmark of his teaching style). He made sure we knew that we had convinced him to teach art history, instead of him convincing us to learn it, so we were going to take an active role in our learning. If a student zoned out, he would bark, "Why are you staring at me like a cow staring at a gate!?" He would commend us for our efforts to analyze everything from Greek contrapposto to Flemish still-lifes to French Gothic cathedrals, yet always challenge us to dig deeper, say more with less, and write compelling papers rather than bland ones that simply met the criteria. To this day, I remember how he would assign paper lengths:

Student: "Mr. Aliazzi, how long should this paper be?"
Aliazzi: *Pause* "Don't bore me!!"

Sure enough, that was his standard. We were to take as many words or pages as we needed to compare Early Kingdom and Late Kingdom Egyptian sculpture or North and South Renaissance tryptychs, but he always told us politely but firmly if we had blathered on. He treated us like men less than a year away from college rather than boys who knew nothing (his comments about his freshmen were always a hilarious start to the day - in one case, a freshman asked him if early medieval peasants celebrated Thanksgiving). He did not suffer fools well, but as a result, I learned more than I ever expected about art, and it really sunk in. I was floored when I scored a 5 on the AP Art History test, not just because it meant I would not have to take an art class in college, but also because it meant I actually knew enough about art to write clearly and insightfully about it.

As luck would have it, AP Art History was the final class I had on my last day of senior year. Most of my teachers had simply cancelled class so we could play outside (second semester seniors are like kindergarteners in that way), and my AP English - Satire teacher had sprung a surprise final quiz on Catch-22 on my class, but not one person in my AP Art History class expected Mr. Aliazzi to cancel class - we did not even dare ask him. With the AP Art History Exam less than two weeks away, he let us ask any questions we had, and then asked us, now that we had studied art for a school year, what we thought art was. We offered our opinions, all of which were met with varying degrees of support and criticism, then he paused.

"I'm going to try and offer what I think is a fairly good definition. Art is human spirit in sensate guise."

The room fell silent. We were unsure of what to say. For my own part, I thought that was about as close to a perfect definition as we were going to get.

Mr. Aliazzi continued, "Let me show you. Follow me." He led us to the choir practice room, and took a seat at the grand piano at the front. We had all heard of Mr. Aliazzi's piano skills - there was even a rumor that he had once played keyboard for the Grateful Dead - but we also knew he was remarkably shy about it; he only played before school in a locked room, and never took requests, no matter how much his students pleaded. "This is Bach's Praeludium to Partita Number One in B Flat," he said, and began to play. For the next two minutes, we all watched, mesmerized, as he played as beautifully as any professional pianist.

This is the piece, but it does not fully capture the experience.

It was not just the music itself, but the environment he had put us in. We were experiencing his playing under a number of emotions: first, that he was playing piano for us of his own choice; second, that we were listening to it with the words "Art is human spirit in sensate guise" still at the front of our minds; and third, that these two minutes were the final two minutes of AP Art History, senior year, and of high school. He finished the piece, then quietly said three words: "And so, goodbye." He didn't need to say anything. We understood that Bach's Partita Number One in B Flat was his goodbye to us. We left in silence, not really sure how to react but aware that we had just been a part of something truly special.

I graduated high school aware that I had little to no artistic talent but with a greater sense of what art was and had been from the Lasceaux cave paintings to the present day, as well as the lasting memory of Mr. Aliazzi's piano playing and his final lesson to us: explicitly, art is human spirit in sensate guise, and implicitly, art that fulfills this definition does not have to be purely visual - it need only be sensed.

I was off to college, safe in knowing that I would not have to earn a grade by drawing, painting, or sculpting. Part three will finish my experiences with art and allow me to offer some brief thoughts on it. Cheers!

Monet's Art Final, Part One: Pottery, Kobe, and Spears

Hey Readers,

I just bought a book by one of my favorite bloggers, Adam Ellis (you can read his stuff, which is always interesting and almost always hilarious at www.booksofadam.com), and I've read his first story, about why he decided to leave art school. In short, he was surprised and more than a little annoyed that one of his classmates submitted as her final project a dollar-store Virgin Mary statuette sheathed in a latex condom. "'I put a condom on the Virgin Mary,' she said flatly." He was even more surprised an annoyed when his professor and fellow students started gushing over how "brilliant", "defiant", and "brave" the piece was. By contrast, when he attempted to display his art nouveau style portraits of Captain Planet, a 90s cartoon action hero, and relate them, somewhat halfheartedly, as a commentary on the commercialization of cartoon characters, the professor suggested they weren't relevant "in the grand scheme of things." While I laughed at the story (and accompanying drawings from Ellis himself), it made me think about my own experiences with art, especially modern art, and my general disdain for works like Latex Virgin Mary.

My experiences with art have been mixed at best. As I was thinking about this piece, I realized I don't have a standard set of criteria for what makes good art, or even what makes art, as should become obvious through this post. As a little boy, I wanted to be an Astronaut Artist President, which I guess was fairly common amongst my classmates, but as I got older, my astronautical, artistic, and presidential  skills kind of waned.

At my elementary school, we didn't take formal art classes until first grade. My art teacher was a really cool guy named Mr. Starinsky, who we called Mr. Star. He was a big believer in expressing creativity - our art tables were wildly uneven from paint splatters, dropped bits of clay, and other art supply castoff, but Mr. Star just used the tables to teach us about texture. By the end of first grade, he was teaching us how to draw silhouettes of city skylines, and how to build a portfolio. We actually had physical portfolios in the art storage room, which we were encouraged to decorate. He told us that in fourth grade, we'd get to paint the stools and trashcans in the art room. In short, art was a lot of fun in first and in second grade.

After second grade, Mr. Star left to become something assistant curator at the Cleveland Museum of Art, meaning we got a new art teacher - Mrs. Cypress. She was basically the opposite of Mr. Star. Art projects were to be done by her rules only - suddenly, pottery (my favorite part of second grade art) was about proper technique of making coil pots and less about experimenting with glaze colors. My drawing of an incredibly long Chinese dragon was not well-received (mostly because I ran out of time to color the whole thing in). Within a year, the textured tables were replaced with new, spotless ones that we had to keep clean, much to her delight and my dismay. My love of creativity in art class, was, in a word, extinguished.

In eighth grade, I got my first taste of creating modern art. We had a student teacher in our art class who gave us each two sheets of corrugated cardboard and told us to create a sculpture with it. We would have to present what the "meaning" of the artwork was, as it had to have some kind of personal connection. I remember three artworks in particular. One student carefully made a cardboard cutout of Kobe Bryant, and was at a loss for words when he had to explain it:

Teacher: "So, tell us about your work."
Kobe Kid: "Well...it's Kobe."
Teacher: "Okay...so, do you see yourself as Kobe? Is Kobe a special influence on you or something?"
Kobe Kid: "I dunno, I just really like Kobe."
Teacher: *Silence*

While most of the sculptures were put on display around school, one student's was kept in the art room because it showed someone holding a gun to his head. I don't remember what the work was about, but I do remember the speech we got about how a middle school is different than an art museum. The student would be getting an A (he went on to art school after graduation), but we couldn't display it for its subject matter. I think this was my first experience with what I would consider tasteful controversial art. It seemed different to me than some of the more objectionable stuff at the Cleveland Museum of Contemporary Art, like a picture of Spiderman smoking a joint or a picture of Christ splashed with urine. Actually, that provokes some further thought, which I would sum up as "Just because you can do something, that doesn't mean you should," or "just because it's edgy doesn't mean it's worthwhile." Consider the much talked about Pussy Riot case in Russia from last year - most Russians believed the women should be jailed, not because they didn't have a right to free speech (they did) but because their performance was seen as blasphemous and disrespectful.

The third artwork I remember is my own, and it was my first attempt at modern art. I was quite proud of it - in response to a lot of bullying in middle school, I cut out a large, head-shaped piece of cardboard, painted it green, and then rammed red cardboard spears through it. As I explained it, my point was that people who stand out and try to be different are treated like spears going through someone's head - they stick out and are seen as bad. Admittedly, it was a somewhat immature work based on a rebellious sentiment, but I was proud of it at the time. I appreciated the encouragement from my art teacher to make the spears look as gory as possible - not so much red as bloody. I remember one teacher who I didn't particularly like confronted me after it went on display to tell me that she found it offensive, but once I realized she couldn't really punish me for it (it was not explicit - there was no profanity, nudity, or excessive amounts of violence, nor anything exceptionally controversial addressed in it, like abortion or suicide), I basically thanked her for her criticism (with the minimum amount of sincerity needed to avoid some sort of punishment for disrespecting a teacher) and moved on.

As I entered high school, I had a weird understanding of art. I liked looking at all kinds of art, from classical Greek sculpture to Picasso, but I liked Modern Art especially. However, within modern art, I lacked that clear set of standards to say what I liked and what I didn't. I loved Roy Lichtenstein's pop art style, but Andy Warhol's soup cans didn't really do anything for me. I could stare at a perpetual motion machine for hours, but a looping video of a forest scene only confused me. Through AP Art History, as well as my limited artistic encounters in college, I would develop a more nuanced understanding of art, albeit one that wasn't any clearer.

Readers, I'll keep going in Part Two, which I hope should be uploaded in a day or two. Like a solid artwork, the big picture will make sense even if these details do not just yet. Cheers!

Reasonable Doubts

Hi Readers,

I'm writing this about 40 minutes after a Florida court has handed down its verdict on the George Zimmerman case. I am hardly a legal authority, but I enjoy following controversial cases like this, so I wanted to offer my thoughts on the case and the ultimate decision to find George Zimmerman not guilty of murder or manslaughter.

As some background, when the Trayvon Martin shooting first came to light, I signed at least one of the petitions to arrest George Zimmerman and try him for Martin's murder. At that time, I understood the facts of the case in the way that many people aware of that fateful night did. As the case was being reported, George Zimmerman, a neighborhood watchman of sorts, had basically stalked and killed Trayvon Martin as he walked home from the local drugstore, all because Trayvon "looked suspicious." If this account is truly what happened, then clearly George Zimmerman should have been found guilty of murder. Trayvon was only "armed" with an iced tea and a bag of Skittles, and nobody - regardless of race, religion, gender, etc. - should be attacked or killed because they "look suspicious."

I was so incredulous that this sort of thing could happen in 21st century America that I decided to follow the trial, in part because I was curious to see how Zimmerman's defense team could possibly argue that he was not guilty.

At this point, it's worth reminding everyone about an essential tenet of America's criminal justice system - the phrase "guilty beyond a reasonable doubt." Obviously, the criminal justice system in America is far from perfect, and people have been put in prison even when there was a reasonable doubt to their guilt, but in each case, we should try to apply this standard, and to remember that justice is (or should be) blind.

As I watched the trial, I learned more about the facts of the case. Martin wasn't gunned down just for walking home wearing a hooded sweatshirt, which Zimmerman thought was suspicious. Rather, Martin and Zimmerman had fought. This is where a lot of the doubts emerge. The facts suggested that Martin may have had the upper hand, at which point Zimmerman reached for his gun and pulled the trigger. In other words, Zimmerman believed he was in danger - according to the defense's witnesses, Martin was slamming his head into the sidewalk, and fired in self-defense. Zimmerman may have started the physical fight, or Martin may have - either way, the two physically fought.

I'm not falling for the defense's case hook, line, and sinker. I did not find their version of that night's events significantly more credible than the prosecution's argument. However, I did not find their version significantly less credible, either. In the end, I was left with two conflicting stories. In one, George Zimmerman was a "wannabe cop", a vigilante who fought with, and then murdered Trayvon Martin because he prejudged him to be a violent criminal. In another, George Zimmerman was a concerned citizen, who was maybe a little misguided but ultimately trying to do the right thing, who fought with Trayvon Martin, cried out for help when he thought (whether or not this was truly the case) that Martin was going to seriously injure him or worse, and in a final moment of panic drew his firearm and shot Martin.

In neither argument was race or the "Stand Your Ground" law a major or even a minor factor. Brief mention was made about Martin's hooide and snacks, but that was not a central point either. Both the prosecution and the defense stuck to the events themselves.

It doesn't matter which story I believe more, or if I find the two equally credible. In my mind, which I believe was the way the jury felt too, I could not find a reasonable way to totally exclude the defense's story. And, as defined by our criminal justice system, if the jury has reasonable doubts to someone's guilt, they must declare that person not guilty. Maybe George Zimmerman did murder Trayvon Martin, but I still have my doubts as to whether or not that's true. Either way, he should not be proud of what he did, and I'm sure that night is going to haunt him for the rest of his life. Note, that he was not declared "innocent" - because he isn't - but he was declared not guilty of murder or of manslaughter. But, according to our legal code, he was not guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, and thus justice was served tonight.

It is worth pointing out - this verdict does not make murder legal. I'll say that again, just because I've seen a lot of people assert the opposite - this verdict does not make murder legal. I know a lot of people are afraid that this is a big step back for race relations in America. However, as I've alluded to before, if someone shoots someone else - regardless of race, gender, religion, etc. - just for looking suspicious, that's still murder, pure and simple. This verdict changes nothing about that. This verdict is more of a legal lesson - when a fight breaks out between two people, and it's unclear if the shooting was in self-defense or out of ill will, the defendant gets the benefit of the doubt. Innocent until proven guilty. The jury did not believe that the prosecution proved George Zimmerman was guilty.

My final wish is that we all can accept this decision, even if we have our personal misgivings about it. I know that our justice system is flawed, and it is also my hope that it can improve to be truly blind and judge everyone's guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.

Cities of Europe

Hey readers,

To those who have anxiously awaited a new post, I apologize for not writing a new one sooner. A mix of finishing my semester in Denmark and starting my new internship in DC has left me really busy, and while I've got a number of new posts in the works, from book reviews to my thoughts on religion, I haven't been able to complete anything yet. So, to whet your appetite for the future, here's a short post I thought of on my way home from Denmark.

I visited a number of cities in Europe this past semester, and while I hope to write something about all of them, especially the ones I have not yet written about, I wanted to open with my general impressions, alongside a "title" I thought of for each city as I saw it. Here they are:

Copenhagen: City of Churches. This was not immediately apparent, even to me, until my family came and visited. As my dad and I walked around Copenhagen, he regularly asked me about the church towers and spires we saw, and I had to admit that although I walked past two or three churches every day, I had not thought about how common they were. Copenhagen has some pretty amazing churches, whether it's the "Rundetaarn" - which I believe is the oldest observatory in Europe, or the Church of Our Savior with the golden spiral tower that you can walk to the top of (though I, with a terrible fear of heights, chose not to), Copenhagen is full of diverse and fascinating churches, even though it is not known for them.

Paris: City of Art. I know, Paris is the "City of Lights" and it was evident to me how it got that title while I was there, but I think it is more deserving of my title. Paris is home to numerous museums filled with art from across the centuries, from the enormous Louvre to the modern Pompidou to the eclectic Musee D'Orsay...and these are just the top three. Aside from these museums, which dominated my time there, the city itself is an architectural gem. I was particularly impressed with the art nouveau style evident in nearly all of Paris' main streets, which has adapted to its 21st century tenants almost seamlessly. Although it is not a museum per se, one of my favorite art landmarks was Sainte-Chappelle, a chapel on the Cité Island (I want to call it Ile de Cité, but I'm sure my French is wrong there). The chapel is the crown jewel of the rayonnant style of architecture, with absolutely astounding stained glass windows. On top of these colorful and shining windows, every surface seemed to be covered in either shining gold paint or some vibrant color.

Amsterdam: City of Walking. Out of all the cities I visited, Amsterdam was really unique, as it was the only city where I felt like the major attraction was the city itself. Sure, there were museums and other sights to see, but I found I enjoyed Amsterdam the most when I left my map at the hotel and just wandered along the canals, occasionally stopping for coffee (not at a coffeeshop, Amsterdam's infamous marijuana-dealing establishments, but at an actual cafe) or dinner. There's something beautiful about Amsterdam's streets, whether in the middle of the day or late at night, and the city is compact enough that I was able to easily walk around it without getting tired. Should you find yourself there, I recommend walking around the western canals right around dusk - the combination of the sunset, the streetlights, the buildings, and the canal itself is absolutely wonderful in that it conveys both a sense of exoticness and of homey comfort, like it's something foreign yet you belong there.

Venice: City of Canals. This was an obvious one, but Venice is a city unlike any other because there are no major roads outside of the bridge to the mainland. Every street is a twisting alleyway, and the only way to make sense of the city is to take the canals. Much like Paris, the city is an artwork in itself, but the canals are what make it unlike any other city. I know that both Copenhagen and Amsterdam have canals, supposedly to emulate Venice, but this is like getting a kiddy pool to emulate a tropical island - yes, you have some of the same physical components, but it's not even close to the original, which really cannot be copied.

Sarajevo: City of Conflict. This sounds like a bad thing, and certainly not something the Bosnians want to be remembered for, but Sarajevo remains literally and figuratively scarred by the Balkans conflict of 1992 to 1995. That said, I liked Sarajevo in large part because of the Bosnians' resilience. Everyone we talked to had been hurt by the war in some way, and many were concerned about the present state of the Bosnian political system (most pointed out that the country is currently governed under a peace treaty rather than a formal constitution, which causes all kinds of problems), but they remained generally happy and optimistic. The city itself is incredibly moving - some buildings are pockmarked by artillery fire or half-demolished, but the people there continue to look forward and live their lives focused on ensuring the future remains peaceful, while still mindful that the crimes of the past must have justice and that Bosnia as a whole deserves some kind of resolution to their tragic recent history.

Dublin: City of Liquid and Literature. As a 21-year-old who loves to read, this was quite likely my favorite city. Dublin knows it is home to both the Guinness brewery and the Jameson distillery, and does not hide its obvious connection with the almost-cliched "Irish pub," but I liked this element to it. The Irish pubs displayed all of the best qualities one traditionally associates with an Irish pub - great food, great beer, and friendly, easy-going people. Beyond the "liquid" history, Dublin has a great literary history too, and it is actually a UNESCO literary heritage site to prove the point. I spent hours in bookstores while I was there, and also visited the grave of Jonathan Swift, the Irish satirist (in)famous for "A Modest Proposal". I talk more about Dublin in my earlier post, "Booklust."

Belfast: City of Ships. Belfast is where the Titanic was built, but the city remembers that as a mark of pride, not of tragedy, even with the Titanic memorial just outside of the city hall. Belfast was a town built around its shipyards, which are still booming (the dark fate of the Titanic apparently did nothing to damage the shipbuilders' reputation). Unlike Sarajevo, Belfast has almost entirely moved on from its history of conflict, and is eager to champion its greatest strengths and accomplishments. As someone who loved reading about the Titanic as a kid, I really liked the Titanic museum, which talked not only about the ship itself, but about how building it and its sister ship, the Olympic, was a great achievement for the city as a whole.

London: City of Cities. This is kind of a cheat, as London is known as the "City of Cities," but when I was there I found it to be completely true. London is a city where you can go into the underground (also known as "the Tube"), ride it for ten minutes, come out at a different station, and it will look nothing like the city where you entered. The same is slightly true for Washington, D.C., but London takes it to an extreme. The city encompasses luxury townhouses, towering skyscrapers, old castles and palaces, sprawling green parks, bustling markets, and more. It is the only city I've been to where I've thought I could live there for my entire life and still feel like I haven't seen it all. London is clearly still growing and evolving, and I had a lot of fun seeing where modern office buildings and medieval churches sat next to each other, at times with chunks of the old Roman wall sprouting up in between.

Berlin: City of Museums. When I chose to spend a weekend in Berlin, I did not expect to find anything special about its museums at all. However, with over 100 different museums, from the eye-popping Pergamon Museum (where entire temples and walls from Ancient Greece and Mesopotamia are displayed) to the DDR Museum (a look into East Germany's checkered history) to the Natural History Museum (which holds the world record for largest dinosaur skeleton on display), Berlin has truly outdone itself with the scope and quality of its museums. It was good that it rained while I was here, because it forced me inside to see the great collections this city had. Berlin is famous for its dark moments, like the Nazi regime and the Berlin Wall, but it ought to get more recognition for its historical collections from the first civilizations to the present.