Sunday, March 26, 2006
Influences
Three incidents made me a socialist. It's not that they happened and I decided, "That's it, then"; one's consciousness isn't formed in direct lines. But they showed me, in a tangible way, how power works.
During the first Gulf War, in 1990, I remember tuning into a talk-radio show about the upcoming war. The host, vicious as a lapdog but more nasal, was celebrating the impending bloodbath with a coterie of armchair imperialists. Then a girl called in. She could't have been more than 13, and in hesitant tones, she said war wasn't the answer, that people were going to die.
The host ripped into her. Saddam Hussein was a mass murderer; if we didn't invade now, more people would die. You demonstrated against this war, he said; but Saddam gassed 15,000 Kurds. Did you demonstrate then?
"I... demonstrated," she said, her voice falling. In 1988 she probably didn't know who Hussein was. I doubt the host did either, but now that he'd proved her 'hypocrisy', he relaxed his tone. There are bad people in the world, he said, and it's a sorry fact of life, but we have to stop them. She couldn't muster the argument that America sponsored Hussein's bloodbath, funding him as a client state throughout the 1980s; she couldn't even ask why the U.S. didn't intervene in 1988, if it was such a concern. Or why the host hadn't demonstrated against the 100s of thousands killed by U.S. clients throughout Latin America at the same time. The host must have felt like a pretty big guy, bullying a 13 year old; his saccharine, patronizing pats on the head at the end were a sign of his power.
Around the same time, Joe Clark, then minister of foreign affairs, came to my high school. The government supported the U.S.'s invasion of Iraq, and I guess he wanted a photo-op to prove he was in touch with the people. A teacher asked him a difficult question about the war and he went on about 'the rule of democracy'; in passing he remarked, "It's not about oil."
That was the one thing I knew: that it was about oil, if nothing else. For him to treat the argument so beneath contempt that it wasn't worth addressing, showed me precisely how little those in power cared about debate.
There was a demonstration against the war in my hometown. It was my first. About 1000 of us went. We marched in orderly fashion down the sidewalk, to the local MP's office, shepherded by grey-haired hippies. I remember one had flowers painted on his cheeks. We surrounded the office, and I remember a palpable sense that, at last, we were doing something. We shouted "No blood for oil"; there were 6 counter-demonstrators shouting "No yellow blood for oil", and in the strength of the crowd, they weren't intimidating, just foolish. One of his staff came out and told us the MP 'wasn't in', but that he would take our concerns to parliament. And that was it: no speeches, no planning for future actions, we just went home. I had no concept of political organizing at the time, but I knew that marching to an office and then leaving wasn't enough. It wouldn't make Clark or the DJ eat their words.
These people - elected rulers and paid ideologues - had their agenda, and they'd enforce it. I gradually learnt there could be no compromise with that agenda, no 'negotiating for a middle ground'. That power had to be opposed, because it would destroy everything in its path. I didn't know how to oppose it - I didn't even know what that power was - but I knew something had to be done, more than just showing we were angry.
During the first Gulf War, in 1990, I remember tuning into a talk-radio show about the upcoming war. The host, vicious as a lapdog but more nasal, was celebrating the impending bloodbath with a coterie of armchair imperialists. Then a girl called in. She could't have been more than 13, and in hesitant tones, she said war wasn't the answer, that people were going to die.
The host ripped into her. Saddam Hussein was a mass murderer; if we didn't invade now, more people would die. You demonstrated against this war, he said; but Saddam gassed 15,000 Kurds. Did you demonstrate then?
"I... demonstrated," she said, her voice falling. In 1988 she probably didn't know who Hussein was. I doubt the host did either, but now that he'd proved her 'hypocrisy', he relaxed his tone. There are bad people in the world, he said, and it's a sorry fact of life, but we have to stop them. She couldn't muster the argument that America sponsored Hussein's bloodbath, funding him as a client state throughout the 1980s; she couldn't even ask why the U.S. didn't intervene in 1988, if it was such a concern. Or why the host hadn't demonstrated against the 100s of thousands killed by U.S. clients throughout Latin America at the same time. The host must have felt like a pretty big guy, bullying a 13 year old; his saccharine, patronizing pats on the head at the end were a sign of his power.
Around the same time, Joe Clark, then minister of foreign affairs, came to my high school. The government supported the U.S.'s invasion of Iraq, and I guess he wanted a photo-op to prove he was in touch with the people. A teacher asked him a difficult question about the war and he went on about 'the rule of democracy'; in passing he remarked, "It's not about oil."
That was the one thing I knew: that it was about oil, if nothing else. For him to treat the argument so beneath contempt that it wasn't worth addressing, showed me precisely how little those in power cared about debate.
There was a demonstration against the war in my hometown. It was my first. About 1000 of us went. We marched in orderly fashion down the sidewalk, to the local MP's office, shepherded by grey-haired hippies. I remember one had flowers painted on his cheeks. We surrounded the office, and I remember a palpable sense that, at last, we were doing something. We shouted "No blood for oil"; there were 6 counter-demonstrators shouting "No yellow blood for oil", and in the strength of the crowd, they weren't intimidating, just foolish. One of his staff came out and told us the MP 'wasn't in', but that he would take our concerns to parliament. And that was it: no speeches, no planning for future actions, we just went home. I had no concept of political organizing at the time, but I knew that marching to an office and then leaving wasn't enough. It wouldn't make Clark or the DJ eat their words.
These people - elected rulers and paid ideologues - had their agenda, and they'd enforce it. I gradually learnt there could be no compromise with that agenda, no 'negotiating for a middle ground'. That power had to be opposed, because it would destroy everything in its path. I didn't know how to oppose it - I didn't even know what that power was - but I knew something had to be done, more than just showing we were angry.
