Written by the Beacon editorial board. Not available at berkeleybeacon.com.
Emerson has no quad, no student union and no formidable, free-for-all common space—unless you count the small and disappointing off-campus student lounge (which is really just a common room). Our meeting rooms must be reserved well before use, and even then, only for a few hours at a time. Common rooms are, for all logistical purposes, exclusive to residents in the dormitories.
Other than necessities like accreditation, faculty, residence halls and an administration, every college needs a place for students to kick back, drink a soda and rip free a belch without fear of reprobation. The closest thing to that ideal place on our campus is Sweetwater Cafe—and our college now owns it.
Emerson recently purchased 1-3 Bolyston Place from Boston nightclub and restaurant magnate Patrick Lyons for $6.5 million, acquiring Sweetwater, The Estate nightclub and adjoining office space.
This appears to be a reasonable, exciting acquisition for Emerson. The college spent $92 million to buy, remodel and furnish the Paramount Center. Buying 1-3 Boylston Place for 14 times less provides the college with much-needed campus space as Emerson rapidly expands—and for an affordable price.
However, as we have seen with the senseless placement of the Will & Grace set in the library, the college is more than capable of squandering space. We implore the college to keep the students' interest in mind when designing this new asset, devoting the lion's share of it to open use, rather than committing it to yet more dorms or office space.
The college has inked a two-year lease with the current tenants, so for the time being, we can throw back cheap, warm pints of Pabst Blue Ribbon to our hearts' content. (And thank goodness: where else would we celebrate year's end and graduation!?)
But after that, the properties' fates are up in the air, Vice President of Communications and Marketing Andrew Tiedemann said in an e-mail to The Beacon: "Emerson's senior faculty and administrators have begun to draft the College's next 10 year strategic plan. The future of the Boylston Place properties will be determined by [this] process."
Students should make themselves heard during this critical period. SGA should not look backward and protest what some have reflexively deemed an outrageous purchase. Instead, our student leaders must fashion a channel of communication with the administration to ensure that students' needs are heard. And they must do it in the next few weeks. Time is surely of the essence. Who knows what could be done without our input?
The college should preserve the ground floor of Sweetwater as is. It's no secret that college students enjoy a libation or four, and if Emerson is serious about creating community, Sweetwater already is the de facto linchpin for students and professors to grab a beer and talk turkey. If its musty atmosphere and homey decor are preserved, the college could see a return of the "institutional heart and soul" that many said was lost since the sale of the beloved Back Bay buildings.
It would also give students a sense of security and pride. We know that no one will steal our stuff, that we won't get overcharged and that no one will randomly punch us in the face. Our campus-side watering hole thankfully exempts us from the pitfalls of Boston bar roulette.
The basement of Sweetwater, meanwhile, is a natural performance space. Removing the bar and converting it into a 17+ venue would give students a great place to perform music, give their stand-up act, stage an improv show or engage in any number of artistic pursuits. Northeastern University, Berklee School of Music and MIT have such spaces, just to name a few. It would be a great fit for talented, hyper-creative Emersonians, and everyone knows that booking the Cabaret or Multipurpose Room is a headache and a half.
As for rest the space, the administration should heed the students and see what concerns stick out. But the college should devote a large chunk of it to a large, well-equipped student union. Along with the customary couches and pool tables, the college should ensure a strong WiFi connection and include a place to get yummy snacks, as well as some other things cooler students than comprise The Beacon's editorial board can suggest. A community Snuggie bin, perhaps?
Think about it and speak your mind. Your money is building this campus. Make it yours.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010
"Stop the death in Mexico: A drug war's raging, so drop that joint"
View on Beacon Website here.
Beacon oped, 10/15/09
Though it is illegal, smoking marijuana has few, if any, enduring ill effects for the smoker. The drug's supporters claim that the green, dried bud has never directly killed a soul, and that could be true.
The more than 10 percent of Americans (aged 12 and older) who smoked pot in the last year could be contributing wonderfully to society, unlike, say, Cheech and Chong or James Franco and Seth Rogen in "Pineapple Express." Unless you're arrested on a felonious charge, a joint here or there won't ruin your relationships, your health or your life.
But in Mexico, marijuana not only ruins, but ends many thousands of lives.
According to the Mexican government, 10,000 people have been killed in a brutal drug war since December 2006-thousands more than coalition fatalities in Afghanistan and Iraq combined. Marijuana is not the only drug involved, but it accounts for the lion's share of Mexican drug cartels' profits: 60 to 70 percent, according to Arizona's attorney general, Terry Goddard.
The reason the violence is concentrated near the US border is obvious: Mexico is the top marijuana producer in the world, according to the United Nations, and its bloody black market thrives on Americans' desire for grass.
Mexico produced 7,400 metric tons of the plant in 2006, according to a 2008 United Nations report. Extrapolating from the US Drug Enforcement Agency's usual $1,000 per pound appraisal of the drug, that's $16.3 billion.
American consumption of Mexican marijuana
plays a major role in the country's war. This trumps the fact that weed is non-toxic. Unless smokers know their pot is not hecho en Mexico and is otherwise death-free, the only ethical course of action is to kick the habit. Just like we should avoid patronizing poor corporate citizens like Wal Mart and Hershey's, we should avoid buying Mexican narcotics, which are tainted by the murder of thousands.
It might seem unfair to place this burden on citizens, who, after a long day, are simply craving a few puffs-similar to how others partake in alcohol or tobacco, both of which are considered more harmful. Pot should be legalized, many argue. It is not the fault of smokers that the government has banned something so benign.
Okay, it probably should be legalized. But for now, it is illegal, and smoking in stubborn, selfish defiance will only help continue the wave of Mexican death. If you want pot legalized, organize and lobby the government. But in the interim, don't smoke thinking you're entitled to it. You're not. Mexicans are entitled to their lives.
"When shoppers buy a product, they encourage its continued production and the conditions in which laborers and farmers work," wrote Darylle Sheehan, a senior print and multimedia journalism major, in a Feb. 12 Beacon op-ed about being a responsible consumer. "The goods and companies patrons choose help determine whether or not those conditions are humane."
Sheehan is right. It is our responsibility to keep up on world events so we can make responsible consumer choices. Lives are at stake.
If marijuana were legalized and regulated, consumers could know from whence their herb came, making it easier to pinpoint and boycott Mexican drugs, or perhaps, in an ideal situation, eliminate the black market thug tactics that kill thousands every year. Such a policy shift would bring the supply chain into the light, possibly resulting in less violence.
But that's a long-term solution. In spite of an open-minded public (a 2009 Zogby poll found 52 percent of Americans support marijuana legalization), that probably won't happen for at least five years. Most American politicians wouldn't touch drug reform with a 10-foot pole, and President Obama can't take the risk until after his potential reelection in 2012, if he takes it at all. To this point, there's no sign he will.
Marijuana's propulsion of the war to our south may come as a shock, and it is understandable that many of us haven't heard much about it. The presidential campaign, the financial crisis and the health care debate have dominated our domestic-obsessed news media for almost two years, and, as a result, Mexico's struggle has been bumped to the blurbs.
But in the age of the Internet, this information is at our fingertips. There is no excuse for not knowing about the conflict that looms just over the Rio Grande. And now that you know, there is no excuse not to change how you look at and play with Mary Jane.
So next time you're at a party and someone wants to toast a joint to world peace, fill them in on the irony and don't let them smoke you up.
Chris Girard is a senior political communication major and a managing editor for The Beacon.
Beacon oped, 10/15/09
Though it is illegal, smoking marijuana has few, if any, enduring ill effects for the smoker. The drug's supporters claim that the green, dried bud has never directly killed a soul, and that could be true.
The more than 10 percent of Americans (aged 12 and older) who smoked pot in the last year could be contributing wonderfully to society, unlike, say, Cheech and Chong or James Franco and Seth Rogen in "Pineapple Express." Unless you're arrested on a felonious charge, a joint here or there won't ruin your relationships, your health or your life.
But in Mexico, marijuana not only ruins, but ends many thousands of lives.
According to the Mexican government, 10,000 people have been killed in a brutal drug war since December 2006-thousands more than coalition fatalities in Afghanistan and Iraq combined. Marijuana is not the only drug involved, but it accounts for the lion's share of Mexican drug cartels' profits: 60 to 70 percent, according to Arizona's attorney general, Terry Goddard.
The reason the violence is concentrated near the US border is obvious: Mexico is the top marijuana producer in the world, according to the United Nations, and its bloody black market thrives on Americans' desire for grass.
Mexico produced 7,400 metric tons of the plant in 2006, according to a 2008 United Nations report. Extrapolating from the US Drug Enforcement Agency's usual $1,000 per pound appraisal of the drug, that's $16.3 billion.
American consumption of Mexican marijuana
plays a major role in the country's war. This trumps the fact that weed is non-toxic. Unless smokers know their pot is not hecho en Mexico and is otherwise death-free, the only ethical course of action is to kick the habit. Just like we should avoid patronizing poor corporate citizens like Wal Mart and Hershey's, we should avoid buying Mexican narcotics, which are tainted by the murder of thousands.
It might seem unfair to place this burden on citizens, who, after a long day, are simply craving a few puffs-similar to how others partake in alcohol or tobacco, both of which are considered more harmful. Pot should be legalized, many argue. It is not the fault of smokers that the government has banned something so benign.
Okay, it probably should be legalized. But for now, it is illegal, and smoking in stubborn, selfish defiance will only help continue the wave of Mexican death. If you want pot legalized, organize and lobby the government. But in the interim, don't smoke thinking you're entitled to it. You're not. Mexicans are entitled to their lives.
"When shoppers buy a product, they encourage its continued production and the conditions in which laborers and farmers work," wrote Darylle Sheehan, a senior print and multimedia journalism major, in a Feb. 12 Beacon op-ed about being a responsible consumer. "The goods and companies patrons choose help determine whether or not those conditions are humane."
Sheehan is right. It is our responsibility to keep up on world events so we can make responsible consumer choices. Lives are at stake.
If marijuana were legalized and regulated, consumers could know from whence their herb came, making it easier to pinpoint and boycott Mexican drugs, or perhaps, in an ideal situation, eliminate the black market thug tactics that kill thousands every year. Such a policy shift would bring the supply chain into the light, possibly resulting in less violence.
But that's a long-term solution. In spite of an open-minded public (a 2009 Zogby poll found 52 percent of Americans support marijuana legalization), that probably won't happen for at least five years. Most American politicians wouldn't touch drug reform with a 10-foot pole, and President Obama can't take the risk until after his potential reelection in 2012, if he takes it at all. To this point, there's no sign he will.
Marijuana's propulsion of the war to our south may come as a shock, and it is understandable that many of us haven't heard much about it. The presidential campaign, the financial crisis and the health care debate have dominated our domestic-obsessed news media for almost two years, and, as a result, Mexico's struggle has been bumped to the blurbs.
But in the age of the Internet, this information is at our fingertips. There is no excuse for not knowing about the conflict that looms just over the Rio Grande. And now that you know, there is no excuse not to change how you look at and play with Mary Jane.
So next time you're at a party and someone wants to toast a joint to world peace, fill them in on the irony and don't let them smoke you up.
Chris Girard is a senior political communication major and a managing editor for The Beacon.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
"You're not an animal: Centering our compassion on the human race"
View on Beacon Website here.
Beacon oped, 3/5/09
On Feb. 16, Travis the chimpanzee, who brutally mauled the friend of a 70-year-old woman who kept him as her pet, was shot dead. His body was viewed in the Capitol by the grieving public.
This didn't really happen. But in our time, it could've.
With every passing year, animals are granted increasing levels of dignity and protection. Gone are the days of unfettered, culturally accepted cruelty to animals. Our furry and feathered friends are climbing the pecking order.
In June, the lower house of the Spanish parliament passed a resolution extending "human rights" to great apes (gorillas, bonobos, chimpanzees and orangutans). In November, California voters passed a ballot question that will require animal farms to increase cage sizes for sows, egg hens and veal calves by 2015. Another November ballot question, this one in Massachusetts, will shutter the commonwealth's two dog tracks at year's end, putting a thousand (people, not dogs) out of work amid the worst job market in decades.
In and of itself, the trend of increasing animal compassion is good. But to most modern humans, compassion is a discrete, exhaustible resource, like time or money. It turns out that compassion for animals often comes at the expense of compassion for humans.
When ads for animal shelters come on our television, the cuteness melts us. It's good someone is taking care of them. Poor animals shouldn't just wither away.
When sponsor-a-child ads come on, we furrow our brow. We're in our homes, watching TV, trying to relax. Not our problem. Leave us alone.
Putting animals before our sisters and brothers is nothing short of immoral. Spain, at least, as a member of the European Union, had the decency to enact universal health care and other progressive measures before declaring "mission accomplished" and turning to animal rights. Until we attempt to improve the plight of the planet's every woman, man and child, putting animals first is like launching a neo-Marshall plan on Beacon Hill.
The People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, or PETA, is guilty of favoring lesser animals over humans. A few months ago, the group launched a campaign to build fish awareness, and to push vegetarianism, by dubbing the sea creatures "sea kittens."
I'm a vegetarian, and while I agree that people should not eat fish, PETA's ridiculous, animal-centric arguments make me want to eat a big steak. Their reasoning on environmental issues is completely irrelevant to humans-and being an animal lobby doesn't excuse them. There are compelling, human-oriented reasons to eat less meat, such as lowering global warming (according to the United Nations, the meat industry produces more greenhouse gases than the world's cars, trucks, SUVs, planes and ships combined) and ending the global hunger pandemic (it is simply too ecologically costly to cook seven billion hamburgers-9.5 billion by 2050; spaghetti and marinara is much greener) that should be employed before arguing that eating fish is tantamount to pan frying Mittens in a wine sauce.
PETA has worked to link climate change with meat consumption, but that rhetoric is an afterthought. After hearing "sea kittens" and rolling their eyes, no one cares.
Maybe PETA uses this strategy because they know what works. To market vegetarianism and environmentalism, which both improve global human health, the organization tells us to think of the animals. This may shed more insight into the perversion of our values than into PETA's folly.
This animal-centrism is not exclusive to groups like PETA. Many in the industrialized world-with their needs for food, water, shelter and security fulfilled-turn to pets for entertainment and companionship. In many families, children are responsible for feeding and walking the pets, training them to canonize animals at a young age. We place trust in our animals. We mourn when they die. They make us laugh. We love them. This is fine. Beautiful, perhaps.
You can have a pet for entertainment or companionship, but focusing your compassion on Fido is a waste. As if we needed something to love. There are humans, humans all around you. Love them. Care for them. Mourn when they die-across the world or next door. We in this country spend $41 billion a year on our pets. We donate only eight times more to charity, a figure that sounds inconsequential, but which is a horrible injustice to suffering humans around the world.
The Totsan organization is a charity that protects women from genital mutilation violence, which demands our concern much more than battering fish. We should move our money and our caring from our animal budgets into human ones-into crusdaes like Totsan's.
So take heed: Man's best friend may be dog, but man's first, second and third obligation is people, whether they're cute or not.
Chris Girard is a junior political communication major and is opinion editor of The Beacon.
Beacon oped, 3/5/09
On Feb. 16, Travis the chimpanzee, who brutally mauled the friend of a 70-year-old woman who kept him as her pet, was shot dead. His body was viewed in the Capitol by the grieving public.
This didn't really happen. But in our time, it could've.
With every passing year, animals are granted increasing levels of dignity and protection. Gone are the days of unfettered, culturally accepted cruelty to animals. Our furry and feathered friends are climbing the pecking order.
In June, the lower house of the Spanish parliament passed a resolution extending "human rights" to great apes (gorillas, bonobos, chimpanzees and orangutans). In November, California voters passed a ballot question that will require animal farms to increase cage sizes for sows, egg hens and veal calves by 2015. Another November ballot question, this one in Massachusetts, will shutter the commonwealth's two dog tracks at year's end, putting a thousand (people, not dogs) out of work amid the worst job market in decades.
In and of itself, the trend of increasing animal compassion is good. But to most modern humans, compassion is a discrete, exhaustible resource, like time or money. It turns out that compassion for animals often comes at the expense of compassion for humans.
When ads for animal shelters come on our television, the cuteness melts us. It's good someone is taking care of them. Poor animals shouldn't just wither away.
When sponsor-a-child ads come on, we furrow our brow. We're in our homes, watching TV, trying to relax. Not our problem. Leave us alone.
Putting animals before our sisters and brothers is nothing short of immoral. Spain, at least, as a member of the European Union, had the decency to enact universal health care and other progressive measures before declaring "mission accomplished" and turning to animal rights. Until we attempt to improve the plight of the planet's every woman, man and child, putting animals first is like launching a neo-Marshall plan on Beacon Hill.
The People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, or PETA, is guilty of favoring lesser animals over humans. A few months ago, the group launched a campaign to build fish awareness, and to push vegetarianism, by dubbing the sea creatures "sea kittens."
I'm a vegetarian, and while I agree that people should not eat fish, PETA's ridiculous, animal-centric arguments make me want to eat a big steak. Their reasoning on environmental issues is completely irrelevant to humans-and being an animal lobby doesn't excuse them. There are compelling, human-oriented reasons to eat less meat, such as lowering global warming (according to the United Nations, the meat industry produces more greenhouse gases than the world's cars, trucks, SUVs, planes and ships combined) and ending the global hunger pandemic (it is simply too ecologically costly to cook seven billion hamburgers-9.5 billion by 2050; spaghetti and marinara is much greener) that should be employed before arguing that eating fish is tantamount to pan frying Mittens in a wine sauce.
PETA has worked to link climate change with meat consumption, but that rhetoric is an afterthought. After hearing "sea kittens" and rolling their eyes, no one cares.
Maybe PETA uses this strategy because they know what works. To market vegetarianism and environmentalism, which both improve global human health, the organization tells us to think of the animals. This may shed more insight into the perversion of our values than into PETA's folly.
This animal-centrism is not exclusive to groups like PETA. Many in the industrialized world-with their needs for food, water, shelter and security fulfilled-turn to pets for entertainment and companionship. In many families, children are responsible for feeding and walking the pets, training them to canonize animals at a young age. We place trust in our animals. We mourn when they die. They make us laugh. We love them. This is fine. Beautiful, perhaps.
You can have a pet for entertainment or companionship, but focusing your compassion on Fido is a waste. As if we needed something to love. There are humans, humans all around you. Love them. Care for them. Mourn when they die-across the world or next door. We in this country spend $41 billion a year on our pets. We donate only eight times more to charity, a figure that sounds inconsequential, but which is a horrible injustice to suffering humans around the world.
The Totsan organization is a charity that protects women from genital mutilation violence, which demands our concern much more than battering fish. We should move our money and our caring from our animal budgets into human ones-into crusdaes like Totsan's.
So take heed: Man's best friend may be dog, but man's first, second and third obligation is people, whether they're cute or not.
Chris Girard is a junior political communication major and is opinion editor of The Beacon.
Friday, March 5, 2010
"Dear SGA, ERA: student money not yours"
Beacon editorial, 2/18/10
View on Beacon Website here.
Lead written with minor edits by Beacon editorial board.
Only 37 days ago, a magnitude 7.0 earthquake unleashed horrific destruction upon the country of Haiti. The death toll stands at 230,000—roughly the same number of people who died in the devastating 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake, and also the number of people who live in Orlando, Fla.
Even though Haiti has faded from the day-to-day media fracas, the country is still on Emersonians' minds. Many of us have donated to relief efforts or have pared down our lives out of respect for our Caribbean neighbors.
Not the Emerson Recognition and Achievement Awards committee. They aren't letting anything stand in the way of a good in-crowd schmooze-fest. Not bad timing. Not shame. Not anything.
They're planning a $22,700 party. And they're asking for $16,200 from SGA coffers, thank you very much. According to SGA Treasurer Jenn Barry, unlike years past, the Student Government Association has chosen not to sponsor the event, though the body can still backtrack and approve the ERA Awards' request for the money at a meeting next week.
We call on the SGA to do their job and reject this terrible waste of student money. To provide some transparency, we promise to publish, on this page, how every SGA member casts their ballot if the matter comes to a vote.
To this point, we, the students, have footed the ERA Awards' bill with our mandatory $80 per semester student activity fee. Over four years, that adds up to $640, perhaps a month of rent.
There is no worse way to spend our money than on a party attended by 300 of our peers—less than 9 percent of the undergraduate population.
This money could be used to improve the amenities in our student lounges, or to defray the expenses of film students insuring cameras for their BFA projects, or to secure some ashtrays for the Boylston Street cigarette drag, or to set up a coffee and scones bar for the Student Center when the semester gets busy.
Or hey, we could blow it all on a lavish soirée that would turn the cast of Gossip Girl green with envy.
We recognize the desire to send the year off with a bang, and support recognizing the achievements of student leaders, but $16,200—the base retail price of a new Honda Civic—is too much by a mile. Students who are supremely lucky enough to attend a private college shouldn't have to pat themselves on the back with more money than 29 Haitians make in a year.
And in the very recent past, $16,200 wasn't enough. In 2007, the event cost $27,810. In 2008, $33,690 (more than two Civics). The ERA Awards covered some of these tabs with fundraising, but they cuddled up to SGA for the lion's share.
Last year's cost was $16,983, with SGA taking on $13,000. This page praised the ERA Awards for halving its costs—a huge step in the right direction. But that progress should continue, not disintegrate. The ERA Awards should become a responsibly-priced event, not an annual spending orgy.
We call on the SGA to cap their yearly contributions at $5,000. Combined with the approximately $5,000 the award committee has raised this year, that's ten grand—surely enough to throw a pleasant fête to remember.
There are simple, obvious steps that the ERA Awards committee can take to bring the event down to earth. SGA should refuse to dole out our money until the ERA Awards complies:
-Hold the event in the Brown-Plofker Gymnasium or another on-campus facility to avoid paying for a ballroom.
-Save $150 by having student volunteers operate the coat check.
-Save $868 by nixing the 40-page programs.
-Save $1,725 by having outgoing presidents pay their own way instead of getting a free ride on the rest of us.
-Save more by allowing outgoing presidents to opt out of receiving their $5-a-pop awards.
One member of this editorial board received such an award last year, and it went straight into the trash. Hopefully that will be the last one wasted. And hopefully, the unjustifiable expenditures of the whole event will go away with it.
Lead written with minor edits by Beacon editorial board.
Only 37 days ago, a magnitude 7.0 earthquake unleashed horrific destruction upon the country of Haiti. The death toll stands at 230,000—roughly the same number of people who died in the devastating 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake, and also the number of people who live in Orlando, Fla.
Even though Haiti has faded from the day-to-day media fracas, the country is still on Emersonians' minds. Many of us have donated to relief efforts or have pared down our lives out of respect for our Caribbean neighbors.
Not the Emerson Recognition and Achievement Awards committee. They aren't letting anything stand in the way of a good in-crowd schmooze-fest. Not bad timing. Not shame. Not anything.
They're planning a $22,700 party. And they're asking for $16,200 from SGA coffers, thank you very much. According to SGA Treasurer Jenn Barry, unlike years past, the Student Government Association has chosen not to sponsor the event, though the body can still backtrack and approve the ERA Awards' request for the money at a meeting next week.
We call on the SGA to do their job and reject this terrible waste of student money. To provide some transparency, we promise to publish, on this page, how every SGA member casts their ballot if the matter comes to a vote.
To this point, we, the students, have footed the ERA Awards' bill with our mandatory $80 per semester student activity fee. Over four years, that adds up to $640, perhaps a month of rent.
There is no worse way to spend our money than on a party attended by 300 of our peers—less than 9 percent of the undergraduate population.
This money could be used to improve the amenities in our student lounges, or to defray the expenses of film students insuring cameras for their BFA projects, or to secure some ashtrays for the Boylston Street cigarette drag, or to set up a coffee and scones bar for the Student Center when the semester gets busy.
Or hey, we could blow it all on a lavish soirée that would turn the cast of Gossip Girl green with envy.
We recognize the desire to send the year off with a bang, and support recognizing the achievements of student leaders, but $16,200—the base retail price of a new Honda Civic—is too much by a mile. Students who are supremely lucky enough to attend a private college shouldn't have to pat themselves on the back with more money than 29 Haitians make in a year.
And in the very recent past, $16,200 wasn't enough. In 2007, the event cost $27,810. In 2008, $33,690 (more than two Civics). The ERA Awards covered some of these tabs with fundraising, but they cuddled up to SGA for the lion's share.
Last year's cost was $16,983, with SGA taking on $13,000. This page praised the ERA Awards for halving its costs—a huge step in the right direction. But that progress should continue, not disintegrate. The ERA Awards should become a responsibly-priced event, not an annual spending orgy.
We call on the SGA to cap their yearly contributions at $5,000. Combined with the approximately $5,000 the award committee has raised this year, that's ten grand—surely enough to throw a pleasant fête to remember.
There are simple, obvious steps that the ERA Awards committee can take to bring the event down to earth. SGA should refuse to dole out our money until the ERA Awards complies:
-Hold the event in the Brown-Plofker Gymnasium or another on-campus facility to avoid paying for a ballroom.
-Save $150 by having student volunteers operate the coat check.
-Save $868 by nixing the 40-page programs.
-Save $1,725 by having outgoing presidents pay their own way instead of getting a free ride on the rest of us.
-Save more by allowing outgoing presidents to opt out of receiving their $5-a-pop awards.
One member of this editorial board received such an award last year, and it went straight into the trash. Hopefully that will be the last one wasted. And hopefully, the unjustifiable expenditures of the whole event will go away with it.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
"Vote, and after the election, keep voting: Citizen action on not Nov. 4"
View on Beacon Website here.
Beacon oped, 1/29/09
If you don't vote, people say, you can't complain. If you don't vote, you don't contribute. If you don't vote, you aren't American. Even though we partake in the action maybe twice a year, and even though elections as monumental as last year's are rare, voting is America's central sacrament.
"Just vote"-our pathetically low standard for active citizenship. As our country and our world face unprecedented challenges, we need to raise the bar-we need to do more than just vote. Yes, voting is vital to democracy. But our freedoms therein implore us to make important choices every day-what we eat, how we travel, what we buy and what we do-not to enter civic hibernation when the polls close.
Last Tuesday, Barack Obama became our new president, to the relief and excitement of most Americans. Former President Bush's rule was, by many accounts, the worst in history. At the outset, many despaired over Bush's election; and then over his unbelievable (given the job performance) reelection; and then as his administration plowed forth, ambivalent to ever intensifying cries of protest.
Over the two Bush terms, Americans grew frustrated and nihilistic. President Bush stunted our civic initiative, and our personal decisions seemed to pale next to his broad-reaching failures. Reducing your carbon footprint: reversed by oil industry loyalties and global warming ambivalence. Volunteering at a food pantry: countered by abandonment of the struggling working class. Joining the Peace Corps: wiped out by torture; Guantanamo Bay and the reckless, bloody disaster in Iraq.
This civic withdrawal has been tragic for our country, and for our generation. To address the myriad problems facing our nation, we need to snap out of it. Hopefully, Obama's improbable triumph, and the massive movement behind it, will renew our faith in government. And for vanquishing the presidential color barrier, in ourselves.
But in the coming years, even if Obama's administration is good, our problems will not vanish. Change cannot be dictated from the nostrum; it has to rise up from kitchen tables and city blocks. As a community organizer, and as the leader of a massive, grassroots campaign, Obama understands this.
After last February's Super Tuesday primaries, Obama said, "We are the change that we seek." And at his inauguration, "For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies."
This is a democratic state, not a totalitarian one, and the lion's share of influence lies not with governmental institutions, but with citizens-our country's greatest engine for change. The decisions we make collectively are as important as our leaders' decisions. Our republic can only do so much. It cannot do service work for us, or recycle, or buy ethically-made products, or be green.
Vote with your time, effort and kindness. Senators Edward Kennedy (D-Mass.) and Orrin Hatch (R-Utah) recently introduced the Serve America Act, which aims to put into cities and towns peacetime armies of community service. The bill's goal is to increase enrollment in year-long service programs by 175,000 people. It's up to you to join.
Vote with your stomach. In his new book, Food Matters: A Guide to Conscious Eating, New York Times food columnist Mark Bittman writes that "a typical family-of-four steak dinner is the rough equivalent, energy-wise, of driving around in an SUV for three hours while leaving all the lights on at home." We all eat, and our diet, namely over-consumption of animal products, has global consequences-carbon emissions, rain forest loss and the perpetuation of hunger around the world. The government should end subsidies that encourage animal consumption and inflate agribusiness' profits. But we can make a huge impact ourselves by consuming less meat. By eating "the equivalent of three fewer cheeseburgers a week," Bittman writes, "we'd cancel out the effects of all the SUVs in the [United States]."
Vote with your wallet. More than a billion people lack access to clean drinking water, making thirst and water-borne infections endemic and killing millions every year. There are formidable charities working to alleviate this humanitarian crisis, as well as other crises. We should donate generously-maybe with some of the money we put aside for Smirnoff and hash.
When we were young, many of us aspired to the presidency. We aren't in the Oval Office, but we aren't off the hook. To a degree, we are all presidents-we hold veto power over our decisions, our actions and our ethics. And we have important influence over our family and friends.
Our country can't afford for the civil idleness of the Bush years to go on. President You, it's time to get to work.
Chris Girard is a junior political communication major and opinion editor of The Beacon.
Beacon oped, 1/29/09
If you don't vote, people say, you can't complain. If you don't vote, you don't contribute. If you don't vote, you aren't American. Even though we partake in the action maybe twice a year, and even though elections as monumental as last year's are rare, voting is America's central sacrament.
"Just vote"-our pathetically low standard for active citizenship. As our country and our world face unprecedented challenges, we need to raise the bar-we need to do more than just vote. Yes, voting is vital to democracy. But our freedoms therein implore us to make important choices every day-what we eat, how we travel, what we buy and what we do-not to enter civic hibernation when the polls close.
Last Tuesday, Barack Obama became our new president, to the relief and excitement of most Americans. Former President Bush's rule was, by many accounts, the worst in history. At the outset, many despaired over Bush's election; and then over his unbelievable (given the job performance) reelection; and then as his administration plowed forth, ambivalent to ever intensifying cries of protest.
Over the two Bush terms, Americans grew frustrated and nihilistic. President Bush stunted our civic initiative, and our personal decisions seemed to pale next to his broad-reaching failures. Reducing your carbon footprint: reversed by oil industry loyalties and global warming ambivalence. Volunteering at a food pantry: countered by abandonment of the struggling working class. Joining the Peace Corps: wiped out by torture; Guantanamo Bay and the reckless, bloody disaster in Iraq.
This civic withdrawal has been tragic for our country, and for our generation. To address the myriad problems facing our nation, we need to snap out of it. Hopefully, Obama's improbable triumph, and the massive movement behind it, will renew our faith in government. And for vanquishing the presidential color barrier, in ourselves.
But in the coming years, even if Obama's administration is good, our problems will not vanish. Change cannot be dictated from the nostrum; it has to rise up from kitchen tables and city blocks. As a community organizer, and as the leader of a massive, grassroots campaign, Obama understands this.
After last February's Super Tuesday primaries, Obama said, "We are the change that we seek." And at his inauguration, "For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies."
This is a democratic state, not a totalitarian one, and the lion's share of influence lies not with governmental institutions, but with citizens-our country's greatest engine for change. The decisions we make collectively are as important as our leaders' decisions. Our republic can only do so much. It cannot do service work for us, or recycle, or buy ethically-made products, or be green.
Vote with your time, effort and kindness. Senators Edward Kennedy (D-Mass.) and Orrin Hatch (R-Utah) recently introduced the Serve America Act, which aims to put into cities and towns peacetime armies of community service. The bill's goal is to increase enrollment in year-long service programs by 175,000 people. It's up to you to join.
Vote with your stomach. In his new book, Food Matters: A Guide to Conscious Eating, New York Times food columnist Mark Bittman writes that "a typical family-of-four steak dinner is the rough equivalent, energy-wise, of driving around in an SUV for three hours while leaving all the lights on at home." We all eat, and our diet, namely over-consumption of animal products, has global consequences-carbon emissions, rain forest loss and the perpetuation of hunger around the world. The government should end subsidies that encourage animal consumption and inflate agribusiness' profits. But we can make a huge impact ourselves by consuming less meat. By eating "the equivalent of three fewer cheeseburgers a week," Bittman writes, "we'd cancel out the effects of all the SUVs in the [United States]."
Vote with your wallet. More than a billion people lack access to clean drinking water, making thirst and water-borne infections endemic and killing millions every year. There are formidable charities working to alleviate this humanitarian crisis, as well as other crises. We should donate generously-maybe with some of the money we put aside for Smirnoff and hash.
When we were young, many of us aspired to the presidency. We aren't in the Oval Office, but we aren't off the hook. To a degree, we are all presidents-we hold veto power over our decisions, our actions and our ethics. And we have important influence over our family and friends.
Our country can't afford for the civil idleness of the Bush years to go on. President You, it's time to get to work.
Chris Girard is a junior political communication major and opinion editor of The Beacon.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
"Turn that frown upside down, Emersonians"
View on Beacon Website here.
Beacon oped, 2/14/08
Only a tiny fraction of the world's inhabitants are lucky enough to attend a private college in America. Emersonians are included in this fortunate population, and an outsider might rightfully assume that this good luck would lend the students an air of thankful bliss.
That outsider would be wrong.
At Emerson, thankfulness is strangely hard to come by. Instead, our campus is flooded with myopic complaints and ceaseless claims of entitlement. Lives of college-insulated privilege have impaired our ability to put our truly fortuitous situation into perspective. Whether or not Emersonians admit it, their material needs are thoroughly satisfied, perhaps over satisfied.
Our collective sense of justice is in desperate need of recalibration. If we want to claim full maturity in society, if we want to be seen as fully developed and contributing citizens, what we consider truly and profoundly unjust must become equal with the scope of our ambition.
We cannot make films about the dining hall closing early. We cannot write extended prose about the limitations of our smallish library. We cannot inhabit theatrical characters who are infuriated at the perceived injustice of a professor refusing to move back a due date. It is all too small, too penny ante, too "college."
Many college students have grown up with their parents telling them life's troubles build character. However, it is not the inconveniences that build character, but the realization that such inconveniences are ultimately meaningless that will yield personal growth.
Yes, there are certain "injustices" here and there: for example, textbook prices are outrageous, even burdensome. Unfairness should be fought anywhere it exists, but it is imperative to note that as college students fight to bring down the price of books, many in the state, country and world are fighting for nothing less than their lives.
I used to work at the Little Building's C-Store. Last September, the freezer there temporarily went out-of-order, sending many Lions into pseudo-hysterics. What would they do without their Ben & Jerry's fix? Sure, the cafe in Piano Row was still well-stocked with goodies, and a selection of ice cream was still-as always-available in the Dining Hall, but students took the opportunity to lavishly complain. Believe me, I know; as a C-Store employee, I was forced to endure much of it.
And for all that can be said about the Dining Hall, the options featured there are actually vast, the quality of food normally palatable and its offerings always safe. While millions starve around the world and many are hungry just around the corner, no one is starving at Emerson College.
Maybe, all the nitpicking provides a point of unity in a strange environment. Friendship is largely about shared experience, and many Emersonians have bonded over thorough critiques of school issues, however minor and inconsequential they may be. Come to think of it, if we did not complain, we might have to fundamentally redefine how to function as college students-how to converse, how to think, how to live. The irony abounds, then, given Emerson's location: Boston, a hub of higher education that overflows with an awareness of the world's true plights, from war to genocide.
Emerson students should use their vocational skills to improve their quality of life and the quality of life of the community around them. We must take whining-a feeble expression of human need-and translate it into action, which can solve real human problems.
This isn't to say that Emerson students shouldn't get what they pay for. After all, the school's tuition is admittedly sizable. High-grade food, residence, administrative and academic services should be expected, as well as other amenities that come along with a $40,000 per year bill.
But a reasonable expectation for quality in all areas should not-must not-devolve into endless griping, especially if that griping contains no intention to seek solutions for the problems enumerated.
Making this distinction is not difficult. When not followed by by constructive action, complaining is just old-fashioned whining, the sort barely acceptable among toddlers, never mind twenty-somethings.
Beacon oped, 2/14/08
Only a tiny fraction of the world's inhabitants are lucky enough to attend a private college in America. Emersonians are included in this fortunate population, and an outsider might rightfully assume that this good luck would lend the students an air of thankful bliss.
That outsider would be wrong.
At Emerson, thankfulness is strangely hard to come by. Instead, our campus is flooded with myopic complaints and ceaseless claims of entitlement. Lives of college-insulated privilege have impaired our ability to put our truly fortuitous situation into perspective. Whether or not Emersonians admit it, their material needs are thoroughly satisfied, perhaps over satisfied.
Our collective sense of justice is in desperate need of recalibration. If we want to claim full maturity in society, if we want to be seen as fully developed and contributing citizens, what we consider truly and profoundly unjust must become equal with the scope of our ambition.
We cannot make films about the dining hall closing early. We cannot write extended prose about the limitations of our smallish library. We cannot inhabit theatrical characters who are infuriated at the perceived injustice of a professor refusing to move back a due date. It is all too small, too penny ante, too "college."
Many college students have grown up with their parents telling them life's troubles build character. However, it is not the inconveniences that build character, but the realization that such inconveniences are ultimately meaningless that will yield personal growth.
Yes, there are certain "injustices" here and there: for example, textbook prices are outrageous, even burdensome. Unfairness should be fought anywhere it exists, but it is imperative to note that as college students fight to bring down the price of books, many in the state, country and world are fighting for nothing less than their lives.
I used to work at the Little Building's C-Store. Last September, the freezer there temporarily went out-of-order, sending many Lions into pseudo-hysterics. What would they do without their Ben & Jerry's fix? Sure, the cafe in Piano Row was still well-stocked with goodies, and a selection of ice cream was still-as always-available in the Dining Hall, but students took the opportunity to lavishly complain. Believe me, I know; as a C-Store employee, I was forced to endure much of it.
And for all that can be said about the Dining Hall, the options featured there are actually vast, the quality of food normally palatable and its offerings always safe. While millions starve around the world and many are hungry just around the corner, no one is starving at Emerson College.
Maybe, all the nitpicking provides a point of unity in a strange environment. Friendship is largely about shared experience, and many Emersonians have bonded over thorough critiques of school issues, however minor and inconsequential they may be. Come to think of it, if we did not complain, we might have to fundamentally redefine how to function as college students-how to converse, how to think, how to live. The irony abounds, then, given Emerson's location: Boston, a hub of higher education that overflows with an awareness of the world's true plights, from war to genocide.
Emerson students should use their vocational skills to improve their quality of life and the quality of life of the community around them. We must take whining-a feeble expression of human need-and translate it into action, which can solve real human problems.
This isn't to say that Emerson students shouldn't get what they pay for. After all, the school's tuition is admittedly sizable. High-grade food, residence, administrative and academic services should be expected, as well as other amenities that come along with a $40,000 per year bill.
But a reasonable expectation for quality in all areas should not-must not-devolve into endless griping, especially if that griping contains no intention to seek solutions for the problems enumerated.
Making this distinction is not difficult. When not followed by by constructive action, complaining is just old-fashioned whining, the sort barely acceptable among toddlers, never mind twenty-somethings.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
"Salmonella on the roof of your mouth: The cost of cheap"
View on Beacon Website here.
Beacon oped, 2/19/09
It's a helicopter mom's nightmare. Instead of peanut butter giving your kid a fever and hives, this PB&J kills.
Actually, none of the tainted peanut products in December and January's salmonella outbreak went into peanut butter, so sandwiches are safe. But salmonella-tainted peanuts from the Peanut Corporation of America used in Trader Joe's pad thai, Kellogg's peanut butter crackers and some 2,220 other food products caused nine deaths and 19,000 illnesses across the United States. By Sunday, all the products had been recalled, one of the largest product recalls in U.S. history. Texas officials ordered off the shelves all products ever distributed from a Plainview, Texas plant upon discovering that its air circulation system contained "dead rodents, rodent excrement and bird feathers"-a Sinclairian scene if ever there was. Peanut Corp. entered Chapter 7 bankruptcy (liquidation) on Sunday.
Before the scandal, the company manufactured about 2.5 percent of the nation's peanuts. Good sense dictates the Kellogg Company and yuppie-friendly Trader Joe's would do business with the other 97.5 percent, the lion's share of the industry that was safe. Not, as an industry insider said before the disaster, "a time bomb waiting to go off." Peanut Corp.'s shoddy practices were common knowledge within the peanut industry.
Business, though, dictated exactly what happened. Peanut Corp. used low-grade, low-cost peanuts, making them compatible with the business model of American corporations-who aim to cut costs and ship out cheap-as-can-be product.
We want our stuff cheap, as we should. There's no reason to fritter away money on expensive products when cheaper ones do the job just fine. But the peanut case shows us that ultimately, the cheapest products can cost much more.
This can be explained by the economic concept of "externalized costs": When a product's cost is shifted from its purchase price to someone or something else. In this case, Peanut Corp.'s negligence created a massive cost outside of what they charged clients: nine deaths and the care needed to nurture twenty thousand sick back to health. Taxpayers-Who else?-will foot the bill.
With Peanut Corp., Kellogg's et al. thought they were saving money. But that bargain peanut butter was more costly than caviar. Consumers and corporations must always be on the lookout for similar schemes in bargain prices. If a price seems too good to be true, there's a good chance it is.
Besides endangered consumers, there are other victims of externalized costs across the world economy. Workers who are paid with proverbial peanuts. The environment, upon which many businesses and products inflict enormous harm. People and wildlife, who are displaced by factories or mines. Taxpayers who are forced to cover the difference when companies low ball workers on benefits. Cities and towns who lose on revenue when corporations demand property tax exemptions. These practices allow companies to sell products for less than they truly cost.
"In other words," environmental activist Annie Leonard says, "we aren't really paying for the stuff we buy." The externalities are.
These costs aren't on your receipt, but they are important. And they can make supposedly cheap products very expensive.
For example, a medium iced coffee from Dunkin' Donuts costs $2.40. This figure does not take into account the effect manufacturing, transporting and disposing the product has on the planet. It also does not account for the human cost of extracting oil (for the plastic cup) from war-torn Iraq or coffee beans from Columbia, where farmers are often unfairly compensated for their crop.
Wal-Mart charges less than $49 for an iPod shuffle. Not included in this price is the cost of employee healthcare, which is often provided by state welfare programs-instead of Wal-Mart, the world's largest, most profitable retailor. Also not included: The $1.2 billion in subsidies state and local governments have used to woo Wal-Marts into their backyards.
Not included in the $3.49 bag of Doritos, or that $1.49 Coke is the $5 billion the federal government spent on corn subsidies in 2006. (That money could have otherwise been student loans, or subtracted from the national debt.)
So in bargain-hunting, we must look beyond the sticker price, and pick products that fulfill our needs and are the best for our society, for our planet and for its people. These products are probably more expensive in the traditional sense, but ultimately, there are savings, direct (avoiding salmonella) and indirect (helping avert climate change). From peanut butter to Wal-Mart and beyond, value is not synonymous with extreme thrift.
Of course in the case of Peanut Corp., consumers did not realize they were in imminent danger. But you can bet that from this moment on, when Kellogg's buys peanut butter, they'll play it safe.
Chris Girard is a junior political communication major and is opinion editor of The Beacon.
Beacon oped, 2/19/09
It's a helicopter mom's nightmare. Instead of peanut butter giving your kid a fever and hives, this PB&J kills.
Actually, none of the tainted peanut products in December and January's salmonella outbreak went into peanut butter, so sandwiches are safe. But salmonella-tainted peanuts from the Peanut Corporation of America used in Trader Joe's pad thai, Kellogg's peanut butter crackers and some 2,220 other food products caused nine deaths and 19,000 illnesses across the United States. By Sunday, all the products had been recalled, one of the largest product recalls in U.S. history. Texas officials ordered off the shelves all products ever distributed from a Plainview, Texas plant upon discovering that its air circulation system contained "dead rodents, rodent excrement and bird feathers"-a Sinclairian scene if ever there was. Peanut Corp. entered Chapter 7 bankruptcy (liquidation) on Sunday.
Before the scandal, the company manufactured about 2.5 percent of the nation's peanuts. Good sense dictates the Kellogg Company and yuppie-friendly Trader Joe's would do business with the other 97.5 percent, the lion's share of the industry that was safe. Not, as an industry insider said before the disaster, "a time bomb waiting to go off." Peanut Corp.'s shoddy practices were common knowledge within the peanut industry.
Business, though, dictated exactly what happened. Peanut Corp. used low-grade, low-cost peanuts, making them compatible with the business model of American corporations-who aim to cut costs and ship out cheap-as-can-be product.
We want our stuff cheap, as we should. There's no reason to fritter away money on expensive products when cheaper ones do the job just fine. But the peanut case shows us that ultimately, the cheapest products can cost much more.
This can be explained by the economic concept of "externalized costs": When a product's cost is shifted from its purchase price to someone or something else. In this case, Peanut Corp.'s negligence created a massive cost outside of what they charged clients: nine deaths and the care needed to nurture twenty thousand sick back to health. Taxpayers-Who else?-will foot the bill.
With Peanut Corp., Kellogg's et al. thought they were saving money. But that bargain peanut butter was more costly than caviar. Consumers and corporations must always be on the lookout for similar schemes in bargain prices. If a price seems too good to be true, there's a good chance it is.
Besides endangered consumers, there are other victims of externalized costs across the world economy. Workers who are paid with proverbial peanuts. The environment, upon which many businesses and products inflict enormous harm. People and wildlife, who are displaced by factories or mines. Taxpayers who are forced to cover the difference when companies low ball workers on benefits. Cities and towns who lose on revenue when corporations demand property tax exemptions. These practices allow companies to sell products for less than they truly cost.
"In other words," environmental activist Annie Leonard says, "we aren't really paying for the stuff we buy." The externalities are.
These costs aren't on your receipt, but they are important. And they can make supposedly cheap products very expensive.
For example, a medium iced coffee from Dunkin' Donuts costs $2.40. This figure does not take into account the effect manufacturing, transporting and disposing the product has on the planet. It also does not account for the human cost of extracting oil (for the plastic cup) from war-torn Iraq or coffee beans from Columbia, where farmers are often unfairly compensated for their crop.
Wal-Mart charges less than $49 for an iPod shuffle. Not included in this price is the cost of employee healthcare, which is often provided by state welfare programs-instead of Wal-Mart, the world's largest, most profitable retailor. Also not included: The $1.2 billion in subsidies state and local governments have used to woo Wal-Marts into their backyards.
Not included in the $3.49 bag of Doritos, or that $1.49 Coke is the $5 billion the federal government spent on corn subsidies in 2006. (That money could have otherwise been student loans, or subtracted from the national debt.)
So in bargain-hunting, we must look beyond the sticker price, and pick products that fulfill our needs and are the best for our society, for our planet and for its people. These products are probably more expensive in the traditional sense, but ultimately, there are savings, direct (avoiding salmonella) and indirect (helping avert climate change). From peanut butter to Wal-Mart and beyond, value is not synonymous with extreme thrift.
Of course in the case of Peanut Corp., consumers did not realize they were in imminent danger. But you can bet that from this moment on, when Kellogg's buys peanut butter, they'll play it safe.
Chris Girard is a junior political communication major and is opinion editor of The Beacon.
Monday, March 1, 2010
"Bill Maher's Religulous: ego-bruising, insightful"
View on Beacon Website here.
Beacon oped, 10/23/08
Epileptics at a rave. A McCain lawn sign in Cambridge. A vegan birthday party in a tub of milk. A Christian seeing Religulous, Bill Maher’s new anti-religion documentary.
All of these seem unlikely. But I did the fourth.
It wasn’t an Act of God or coercion or a class assignment. I didn’t go to prove, out of righteous defiance, that I could brave the movie’s message. Or to assuage repressed self-loathing. Or to laugh at Maher’s acerbic wit. I didn’t go for any of these things.
I saw it because, as a Christian, I think Maher (the host of the HBO talk show Real Time with Bill Maher) has a point.
In many religious circles, the film’s topics have been long neglected: the hypocrisy of church opulence, fundamentalists’ defense of strict creationism, the illogic of supernatural belief, unceasing bloodshed in God’s name (the Holocaust, the Crusades) and so forth. Maher doesn’t set out to find religion; he is devoutly agnostic. Instead, he’s looking for answers: why do so many otherwise rational, intelligent people embrace religion, with its abstract, unprovable absurdities and violent zealots? And how do they defend themselves?
The film leaps from interview to interview, with Maher’s personal musings threaded throughout. He spends most of the movie on Christianity, but also addresses Judaism, Islam and some more obscure faiths, including an Amsterdam-centered church whose only discernible practice is smoking epic amounts of pot.
In one scene, Maher’s crew visits a small chapel at a truck stop and, with the worshipers’ permission, peppers them with direct questions about the validity of the Bible and the existence of a benevolent, Christian God. For the most part, the questions are well-received. On his way out, Maher thanks the congregation “for being Christ-like, not just Christian.”
But before Maher leaves, one man loses his cool. With fists brandished and voice raised, he storms out: “If you start questioning my God, then we got a problem.”
It is a problem. But the problem is not the questioning; the problem is the answer. Many Christians have become so stern-faced, so guarded when answering questions that, like an unused muscle, their ability to discuss religion on a logical level has wilted away. This is tragic in two ways: the non-religious cannot understand why the religious believe, and the religious cannot articulate their own beliefs.
Maher runs circles around interviewees and when he confounds his subjects, they fall back on matters fundamental to faith–and meaningless to Maher. The Bible. A claim on truth. Anecdotes of miracles. A last-ditch reply of “well, you just don’t understand,” or “that’s God’s way.”
Clearly, there is a linguistic divide between religion’s adherents and its skeptics, both in Religulous and in the real world. The faithful lean on words like “blessed,” “sin” and “faith”—vapid words to many outsiders. This Christianese can be unintelligible like a mad lib: “God’s saving grace through our Savior, Christ Jesus” may as well be “God’s pink elephant through our saxophone, Jed Cleevus.”
In the Oct. 9 issue of The Beacon, Arts and Entertainment Editor Harry Vaughn described Maher’s tactics as “bullying.” Rather than seek out religious intellectuals, Vaughn says, Maher gravitates to the plebeian flock, which is “defenseless” against Maher’s rhetorical blitz.
Maher is a bully, and his practices are far from journalistic. But he doesn’t care about fairness. He cares about making a point: many religious people embrace something they struggle greatly to express. And since these bumbling believers are a large part of the religious population, Maher’s findings are highly relevant. He wasn’t setting out to disprove God, but to prove religion is a corrupting influence, a brainwashing sham.
But impotence at defending our beliefs is a cultural, not religious, phenomenon. Many of us believe, with fundamentalist zeal, things we cannot express. Just talk with average American voters who make their decision based on snippets of nightly news, e-mail hearsay and the partisan, fact-starved drivel that dominates our political landscape.
Still, the religious should be ready to provide informative, accessible answers, not defensive religio-speak. They should approach discussions of religion as discussions, not as arguments. Taking responsibility for the wrongs of the church is encouraged. Finger-pointing and nastiness is not. Such civility and openness is crucial, especially for the college-aged, who have had precious few years of post-adolescent lucidity to determine what they believe.
I walked away from the movie with my ego bruised and my mind buzzing. But any religious person who is secure in their beliefs shouldn’t feel threatened: no film is an existential threat to their faith. The ideas deserve careful evaluation and lengthy discussion, whether their presentation is fair or not. For until Christians observe criticism like Maher’s, they will have only mouths agape when asked the important questions that lie within.
Chris Girard is a junior political communication major, the president of the Emerson Goodnews Fellowship and a former opinion co-editor of The Beacon.
Beacon oped, 10/23/08
Epileptics at a rave. A McCain lawn sign in Cambridge. A vegan birthday party in a tub of milk. A Christian seeing Religulous, Bill Maher’s new anti-religion documentary.
All of these seem unlikely. But I did the fourth.
It wasn’t an Act of God or coercion or a class assignment. I didn’t go to prove, out of righteous defiance, that I could brave the movie’s message. Or to assuage repressed self-loathing. Or to laugh at Maher’s acerbic wit. I didn’t go for any of these things.
I saw it because, as a Christian, I think Maher (the host of the HBO talk show Real Time with Bill Maher) has a point.
In many religious circles, the film’s topics have been long neglected: the hypocrisy of church opulence, fundamentalists’ defense of strict creationism, the illogic of supernatural belief, unceasing bloodshed in God’s name (the Holocaust, the Crusades) and so forth. Maher doesn’t set out to find religion; he is devoutly agnostic. Instead, he’s looking for answers: why do so many otherwise rational, intelligent people embrace religion, with its abstract, unprovable absurdities and violent zealots? And how do they defend themselves?
The film leaps from interview to interview, with Maher’s personal musings threaded throughout. He spends most of the movie on Christianity, but also addresses Judaism, Islam and some more obscure faiths, including an Amsterdam-centered church whose only discernible practice is smoking epic amounts of pot.
In one scene, Maher’s crew visits a small chapel at a truck stop and, with the worshipers’ permission, peppers them with direct questions about the validity of the Bible and the existence of a benevolent, Christian God. For the most part, the questions are well-received. On his way out, Maher thanks the congregation “for being Christ-like, not just Christian.”
But before Maher leaves, one man loses his cool. With fists brandished and voice raised, he storms out: “If you start questioning my God, then we got a problem.”
It is a problem. But the problem is not the questioning; the problem is the answer. Many Christians have become so stern-faced, so guarded when answering questions that, like an unused muscle, their ability to discuss religion on a logical level has wilted away. This is tragic in two ways: the non-religious cannot understand why the religious believe, and the religious cannot articulate their own beliefs.
Maher runs circles around interviewees and when he confounds his subjects, they fall back on matters fundamental to faith–and meaningless to Maher. The Bible. A claim on truth. Anecdotes of miracles. A last-ditch reply of “well, you just don’t understand,” or “that’s God’s way.”
Clearly, there is a linguistic divide between religion’s adherents and its skeptics, both in Religulous and in the real world. The faithful lean on words like “blessed,” “sin” and “faith”—vapid words to many outsiders. This Christianese can be unintelligible like a mad lib: “God’s saving grace through our Savior, Christ Jesus” may as well be “God’s pink elephant through our saxophone, Jed Cleevus.”
In the Oct. 9 issue of The Beacon, Arts and Entertainment Editor Harry Vaughn described Maher’s tactics as “bullying.” Rather than seek out religious intellectuals, Vaughn says, Maher gravitates to the plebeian flock, which is “defenseless” against Maher’s rhetorical blitz.
Maher is a bully, and his practices are far from journalistic. But he doesn’t care about fairness. He cares about making a point: many religious people embrace something they struggle greatly to express. And since these bumbling believers are a large part of the religious population, Maher’s findings are highly relevant. He wasn’t setting out to disprove God, but to prove religion is a corrupting influence, a brainwashing sham.
But impotence at defending our beliefs is a cultural, not religious, phenomenon. Many of us believe, with fundamentalist zeal, things we cannot express. Just talk with average American voters who make their decision based on snippets of nightly news, e-mail hearsay and the partisan, fact-starved drivel that dominates our political landscape.
Still, the religious should be ready to provide informative, accessible answers, not defensive religio-speak. They should approach discussions of religion as discussions, not as arguments. Taking responsibility for the wrongs of the church is encouraged. Finger-pointing and nastiness is not. Such civility and openness is crucial, especially for the college-aged, who have had precious few years of post-adolescent lucidity to determine what they believe.
I walked away from the movie with my ego bruised and my mind buzzing. But any religious person who is secure in their beliefs shouldn’t feel threatened: no film is an existential threat to their faith. The ideas deserve careful evaluation and lengthy discussion, whether their presentation is fair or not. For until Christians observe criticism like Maher’s, they will have only mouths agape when asked the important questions that lie within.
Chris Girard is a junior political communication major, the president of the Emerson Goodnews Fellowship and a former opinion co-editor of The Beacon.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
"For cyclists, a Dutch treat"
View on Globe Website here.
Globe editorial, 8/9/09
THIS SPRING, I studied in a quaint village in the Netherlands, a country whose liberality with marijuana and prostitution has led many to dismiss it as an anarchic hippie haven. Dutch culture, though (especially apart from Amsterdam), cannot be so narrowly portrayed. And it includes a practical element that Americans, in a time of high energy prices and emissions consciousness, should observe: the ubiquity of bikes.
In the Netherlands, biking has minimal class implications. Three-piece-suit-wearing businessmen readily opt for two-wheeled transport, strapping their briefcases to a rack over the rear wheel and pedaling off wearing luxury shoes that may be costlier than the bike itself. Parents tow modified baby carriages behind them. The elderly find comfort in the relaxed pace of cycling, and in the sturdiness of the bikes' design. Teenagers willingly ride them to school, pride intact. Young and old, suit- and jeans-wearing alike, the Dutch love to ride.
In our culture, by contrast, bikes often function as toys, gifted to children with training wheels and tassels. If you are riding a bike, people might think you are making an effort to exercise, or to get outside more. They might think your car is in the shop. Or they might think you are joyriding. Simply getting from here to there with a bike is still, to many, a novel idea. And between infrastructure limitations - sparse bike racks and poorly marked bike lanes - and flouting of traffic laws by both drivers and cyclists, it can also be a challenging one.
The Dutch bike design strives for function over style: the handlebars are higher and closer to the chest, allowing the body to be upright and relaxed, not hunched over. Standard equipment includes a bell on the handlebars, which lets cyclists announce their presence with a warning blast. There is also a light, making bicycling safe after nightfall.
Generally, the bikes are a subdued shade of black, brown, or gray, not candy-apple red. This is only fitting. To the Dutch, a bike is not a toy: it is independence; it is necessity.
Dutch bike riders are assertive and confident, not apologetic: they own the road. And, notably, none of them wears a helmet. When you're riding on a bike path (really, just a double-wide sidewalk), you don't need to. In Holland, annoyed drivers and reckless cyclists are hard to find. Familiarity with, and acceptance of, the bicycle is a part of the Dutch DNA. Even if the Model-T is at the center of America's, there's plenty of room for bikes in our hearts. And on the road, too.
CHRISTOPHER GIRARD
Globe editorial, 8/9/09
THIS SPRING, I studied in a quaint village in the Netherlands, a country whose liberality with marijuana and prostitution has led many to dismiss it as an anarchic hippie haven. Dutch culture, though (especially apart from Amsterdam), cannot be so narrowly portrayed. And it includes a practical element that Americans, in a time of high energy prices and emissions consciousness, should observe: the ubiquity of bikes.
In the Netherlands, biking has minimal class implications. Three-piece-suit-wearing businessmen readily opt for two-wheeled transport, strapping their briefcases to a rack over the rear wheel and pedaling off wearing luxury shoes that may be costlier than the bike itself. Parents tow modified baby carriages behind them. The elderly find comfort in the relaxed pace of cycling, and in the sturdiness of the bikes' design. Teenagers willingly ride them to school, pride intact. Young and old, suit- and jeans-wearing alike, the Dutch love to ride.
In our culture, by contrast, bikes often function as toys, gifted to children with training wheels and tassels. If you are riding a bike, people might think you are making an effort to exercise, or to get outside more. They might think your car is in the shop. Or they might think you are joyriding. Simply getting from here to there with a bike is still, to many, a novel idea. And between infrastructure limitations - sparse bike racks and poorly marked bike lanes - and flouting of traffic laws by both drivers and cyclists, it can also be a challenging one.
The Dutch bike design strives for function over style: the handlebars are higher and closer to the chest, allowing the body to be upright and relaxed, not hunched over. Standard equipment includes a bell on the handlebars, which lets cyclists announce their presence with a warning blast. There is also a light, making bicycling safe after nightfall.
Generally, the bikes are a subdued shade of black, brown, or gray, not candy-apple red. This is only fitting. To the Dutch, a bike is not a toy: it is independence; it is necessity.
Dutch bike riders are assertive and confident, not apologetic: they own the road. And, notably, none of them wears a helmet. When you're riding on a bike path (really, just a double-wide sidewalk), you don't need to. In Holland, annoyed drivers and reckless cyclists are hard to find. Familiarity with, and acceptance of, the bicycle is a part of the Dutch DNA. Even if the Model-T is at the center of America's, there's plenty of room for bikes in our hearts. And on the road, too.
CHRISTOPHER GIRARD
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