tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9242710.post6148099525023524021..comments2023-10-31T07:23:17.922-04:00Comments on The Theos Project: A Thousand Slendid SunsJonathan Erdmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04234688186113838474noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9242710.post-25258263797108018082010-03-17T10:51:23.381-04:002010-03-17T10:51:23.381-04:00Correction to previous comment: Rather than callin...Correction to previous comment: Rather than calling it an "absence" from commenting, I prefer to call it a period of silence and contemplation. I like the idea of being able to take time with these weighty discussions.Jonathan Erdmanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04234688186113838474noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9242710.post-78936657786753908462010-03-17T10:42:08.641-04:002010-03-17T10:42:08.641-04:00Coming back to this conversation after a bit of an...Coming back to this conversation after a bit of an absence.....what you are saying here reminds me of what you have said in another post of yours--in the comment section. You talked about how violence is often an easier way than honestly. So, it is easier to be violent toward people who are oppressing us than it is to be honest about how they have hurt us.<br /><br />So, your example is from our experiences teaching in the jail. Sometimes we get left in the jail for long periods of time, even after we have ended class and put a request in with the guards. Your point was that it's easier to become angry at the guards than it is to talk about how vulnerable and scared we feel at being locked up and left in a cell. But doing the latter seems to be the hard work you are talking about. It's the "narrow road," if you will. It seems to involve a good deal more pain than returning violence with violence (though this is not always the actual truth).Jonathan Erdmanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04234688186113838474noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9242710.post-70500521064775688932010-01-18T17:02:00.501-05:002010-01-18T17:02:00.501-05:00I'm trying to think of what else I said in tha...I'm trying to think of what else I said in that long comment. I wrote about power going up and down the power structure. I think I'll have to come back to this later though. We can start there for conversation for now!tamie mariehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10273116686980623819noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9242710.post-57455419290025491462010-01-18T17:01:04.018-05:002010-01-18T17:01:04.018-05:00Against all odds, I can actually identify with Ras...Against all odds, I can actually identify with Rasheed to some small degree. I think that when I was a child I often felt powerless and afraid. When I became a teenager, and then later in my early 20s, I would sometimes have this experience when I was around young children where I would want to hurt them, or force them to bend to my will. I wanted to yank them around, spank them, make them obey my wishes, however arbitrary or ridiculous those wishes were. I did not act on those feelings, but that's how I felt deep down. And it's interesting that I grew up in a culture where spanking was totally acceptable, so had I been a babysitter or something, I could have totally justified my desires for violence--to myself and to the children's parents--by saying that the children had "disobeyed." See what I'm saying? I think this kind of thing happens all the time. Fortunately I never babysat. I'm also really glad I did not have children when I was younger. <br /><br />My point is that I experienced, on a visceral level, what it is like to go from being powerless-and-oppressed to being powerful. If you haven't been able to work through all the tough stuff about having been hurt in the past, there are pretty good odds that you'll become the victimizer in the future.<br /><br />But that wasn't the story of Laila and Maryam, who after all had been victimized to a rather unbelievable extent. And yet, they were good mothers, they did not hurt the powerless. I identify with this, and I admire it like crazy. It's also the story of someone like Nelson Mandela, who was abused for so many years, and yet forgave his oppressors and sought to rule with fairness and goodness.<br /><br />I also really really admire how Maryam and Laila sacrificed themselves for the people they loved. And how Maryam used the sliver of power that she had in order to love Laila. She was a victim and she was powerless on one level, and yet she chose to be strong and powerful even in the midst of that situation. That is profound. That is how I want to live.tamie mariehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10273116686980623819noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9242710.post-25979825785428111672010-01-18T16:53:05.822-05:002010-01-18T16:53:05.822-05:00I was talking to Deb the Wonder Therapist once abo...I was talking to Deb the Wonder Therapist once about a family situation in which one of my uncles is abusive to his children. He rages, consistently places them in dangerous situations, enjoys spanking them, publicly demeans them, etc. I feel very poorly toward this uncle (what would I do if I was placed in a position of power over him? how would I treat him if he was suddenly incapacitated and I was his care-giver?). Anyway, I was talking with Deb and we were talking about how my uncle was also abused as a child.<br /><br />Deb said that people who are violent are people who were once powerless and have not come to terms with that powerlessness. <br /><br />I think it works like this. The experience of being oppressed, or violated by the people who should have been protecting you, creates all sorts of feelings: rage, self-loathing, confusion, feelings of worthlessness, hatred, sorrow, fear. As children we're unable to process those feelings. And, if abuse happens to us as an adult, but a powerless or oppressed adult, we're often still unable to process the experience. If it happens that people who have had such experiences are put into positions of power (say, they become parents--or bosses), then there is this unconscious feeling that they can finally seize the power. <br /><br />It is incredibly difficult and incredibly painful to just sit with the abuse or oppression of the past and acknowledge that happened, it is terrible, and that it can't be changed. Forgiveness can happen, but no one can change the past. That is a very hard thing to really acknowledge to oneself. It is much easier to try to kind of retroactively try to undo the powerlessness, through acts of violence (controlling --exerting power over--others). Do you see what I am saying?<br /><br />more in a sec.tamie mariehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10273116686980623819noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9242710.post-38056253968036151682010-01-18T16:46:02.068-05:002010-01-18T16:46:02.068-05:00Fuck fuck fuck. I HATE losing stuff on the intern...Fuck fuck fuck. I HATE losing stuff on the internet!<br /><br />Sigh sigh triple sigh.<br /><br />Okay, I'll try again.<br /><br />Maybe this time I'll try several smaller comments. It'll be less of a loss this way, if it happens again.<br /><br />The first thing I noticed is that neither of you, Evan or Jon, identified with Rasheed. Which makes sense to me because I don't see really much of Rasheed in either of you. I can certainly see a lot of Tariq in you, Evan. <br /><br />But. Let me pose this question to you, Evan. Think about how you felt this last weekend, when you were pepper-sprayed by the police. I am assuming that you felt rage, although I guess I don't know for sure. I imagine you felt fear, shock, outrage, anger, emotions in that sphere. Now, imagine that you were consistently treated like that by people in power. Imagine you were treated like that for years and years, and that there wasn't much you could do to fight back. Next, imagine that at the end of all those years you were put in a position of power over the very people who had mistreated you for so long. How would you treat them, or at least be tempted to treat them?<br /><br />If we're not historically aware, I think we often believe that if the oppressed gained power they would be kind and gentle rulers, since they understand what it's like to be abused. But the opposite is very often the case. Historically, it's very often the case that when the long-oppressed gain power they're ruthless rulers. Which actually makes sense, once you get what the experience of long oppression is like.<br /><br />More in a sec.tamie mariehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10273116686980623819noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9242710.post-84983825132947072892010-01-18T16:40:25.635-05:002010-01-18T16:40:25.635-05:00I just wrote a super long comment and lost it. Fu...I just wrote a super long comment and lost it. Fuck. I must regroup and then I'll try again.tamie mariehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10273116686980623819noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9242710.post-21655785460126868982010-01-09T21:43:56.492-05:002010-01-09T21:43:56.492-05:00Tamie,
Some continued thoughts....
I think that ...Tamie,<br /><br />Some continued thoughts....<br /><br />I think that <i>To Kill a Mockingbird</i> is illuminating. In the South (and in Macomb in particular), there was a strict hierarchy: white upper class, white middle class, white lower class, and people of color. Those of each class felt most threatened by the class just beneath them. Each class desperately wanted to maintain their spot in the hierarchy. Nobody stops to ask why. It's just how we are conditioned. Violence gets sent down the hierarchy. Sending violence up the hierarchy is a rebellion that the whole of society will suppress.....best to just be content and channel negative feelings down the hierarchy, to those beneath you.<br /><br />But this comes from being wounded, I think. It wounds us to realize that we are <i>less than</i> someone else or some other class. It is wounding to come to grips with the fact that we will be defined based on our class, not based on individual and unique distinctives. Maybe we don't consciously realize this woundedness most of the time. We just send our negativity down the hierarchy in the form of violence (which is not necessarily physical; it can be as subtle as a condescending joke about some one/race/gender who is "beneath" us in someway).<br /><br />The same thing seems to be at work as we define ourselves as men. Being a man is defined hierarchically: men are higher on the hierarchy than women. So wounded men send violence down the hierarchy in order to cope with woundedness and the many ways in which their freedom/dignity/self is denied. I certainly feel how this works. I also see it in others. I feel a good deal more self-aware now than I was 3, 5, or 10 years ago. I think much of my faith in recent years has been addressing this issue, much of this without me even recognizing it consciously. Faith has become a process of confronting my own woundedness/brokenness in a direct way, unflinching, and dealing with it by grieving, not with anger/frustration/withdrawal/denial or other negative coping mechanisms.<br /><br />I think that the more I have dealt with my own woundedness in a direct way, the more it has made me aware of the woundedness of others. Rasheed strikes me as someone completely unaware of his own brokeness, with the result that he is ignorant of the extent of the suffering of others. It's like a perpetual violence, but of the sort that seems unaware of the depth of suffering that it is causing. Rasheed is arrogant, strutting around like he is in control. But he is clearly just a product of the system, out of touch with himself and with others, he is at the mercy of his vices and negative passions, turning violence against those who threaten his fragile ego and tenuous place in the hierarchy.<br /><br />These are some of my thoughts.<br /><br />Thank you for opening up these questions. I am now very interested in your response. What is your perspective? You have asked about the male perspective. You say that you can easily relate to the women/victims in the story. From that perspective, how do my thoughts on this subject appear? Is there any ring of truth to my thoughts and experiences? Does it seem to excuse men from culpability for their violence?<br /><br />Another interest I have is to hear you talk more about what you admire in the women of this novel. What are the specific qualities and actions that inspire you? What specific things impressed you, personally?<br /><br />And what else can we say about how men and women can move away from violence, subjugation, and oppression? What are the lessons from the novel? From your personal experiences and observations?Jonathan Erdmanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04234688186113838474noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9242710.post-37822346173471347952010-01-09T21:19:06.502-05:002010-01-09T21:19:06.502-05:00Tamie,
You asked if there was anything that I (as...Tamie,<br /><br />You asked if there was anything that I (as a man) could relate to about the men in this story. You also asked.....well.....let me just use your words: "Why is it that men are far, far more often the abusive, violent ones in the world?.....Is there something in the system that wounds men in some way that they end up striking back like this?"<br /><br />What I relate to is the sense in which the system shapes my expectations of what "maleness" means. The meaning of being a man is something that I realize more and more is a result of conditioning. I think I continue to see subtle ways in which I have been conditioned. The more I recognize these things, the more I can ask myself, "Is this something I <i>really</i> want? Or is it just something I have been conditioned to want?" So much of who we are is conditioning (perhaps all of what we are is conditioning), so becoming aware of these things and then developing some way of assessing a more authentic desire seems to be much of the work of being mature/self-aware/spiritual/enlightened/etc.<br /><br />Like Evan, I cannot relate to the rage in Rasheed. Rasheed is clearly a desperate man. He becomes more so as the novel moves on. As the narrative progresses, we see that Rasheed has less and less control. Rasheed's personal flaws cause him great pain early in his life. He marries again, but his wife cannot produce offspring. Later, the country goes to hell, he becomes economically depressed, his country spins out of control, and his wives despise him. In desperation, Rasheed turns to the fundamentalist elements of his upbringing, channeling his anger into conforming reality into the way it is supposed to be: patriarchy, hierarchy, patriarchy. The women become the scapegoats. But this sends Rasheed into a psychological and spiritual tailspin from which he just degenerates.<br /><br />Rasheed responds to his frustrations (being suppressed and oppressed and personal failure) by persecuting those below him. Violence goes down the power structure.<br /><br />I think we all face frustrations in life, and I think we can all relate to responding in ways that hurt ourselves and others. This is something that I can relate to.<br /><br />Sorting out how this relates to my gender can be a tricky thing. It seems like a process.Jonathan Erdmanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04234688186113838474noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9242710.post-33905128930953939332010-01-09T15:28:13.772-05:002010-01-09T15:28:13.772-05:00Those are a lot of hard, hard questions, and all a...Those are a lot of hard, hard questions, and all at once! Yowzers.<br /><br />As far as the story goes, there are parts of characters that I can identify with, sure. Parts particularly of Babi and Tariq. However, these two are also the characters Laila loves and trusts--it seems a greater effort is made through the narration to understand them, you know? However, abusive Rasheed seems to be viewed as incomprehensible, opaque. Did we have any clues to his childhood, family etc? I'm sure Hosseini meant to depict him to the reader as muddled and opaque because Miriam and Laila were more likely to view him that way, you know? The two women seemed absolutely clueless as to his rationality.<br /><br />In the same way, I'm clueless in front of men like Rasheed. On a scale of Babi to Rasheed, my own father tips over onto Rasheed's side in terms of possessiveness, pride and combativeness... but not rage or any form of abuse. <br /><br />Maybe I'm not the best person to answer this question, first. I really don't identify as firmly masculine. Of course, growing up in a society that is filled with violent men, characters like Rasheed are sad, yet certainly nothing new. But do I personally feel any connection to or understanding of where the rage/abuse is coming from? Really, not at all. Despite having grown up immersed in typical American boyhood, and I definitely have some insight into what goes on on the road to adulthood, but I really don't feel any clue as to the general topic of "rage and abuse," especially with an example like Hosseini's Rasheed to draw off. Hm.evanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10035552255090572683noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9242710.post-76115734987568173822010-01-08T13:23:41.986-05:002010-01-08T13:23:41.986-05:00Leaving one more comment so I can hit the comment ...Leaving one more comment so I can hit the comment box.<br /><br />But also....with the hope of maybe getting conversation flowing....<br /><br />Evan and Jon....what does it feel like to you two, as men, to read a book like this? I always wonder this. I mean, I am a woman so I can easily identify with the victims in the story. I, too, have been victimized by men, on a personal level and a structural/societal level. But I wonder what it is like to be a man. Does any part of you identify with the men in the story? Do you feel like you understand where the rage/abuse comes from? Or, on the other hand, do you feel like you really can't understand it at all? If so, how does it make you feel to know that so many of your gender are the violent ones? Why is it that men are far, far more often the abusive, violent ones in the world? Do you have any light to shed on this? Is there something in the system that wounds men in some way that they end up striking back like this? I'd love your insights.tamie mariehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10273116686980623819noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9242710.post-66890283022955132342010-01-08T13:19:48.768-05:002010-01-08T13:19:48.768-05:00Jon, I believe this is one of the most beautiful p...Jon, I believe this is one of the most beautiful posts you have written to date, perhaps one of the most beautiful pieces of writing you've written. You're clearly writing from your soul.<br /><br />Your post took me back to the novel, and I, like Evan, find I don't have much to say. Maybe this is why fewer people are commenting on your blog these days. Because your words, coming from a deep place, have a quieting effect.<br /><br />Of course, the novel itself has a quieting effect. I cried for a long time when I finished the book. Then I went to sleep, and when I woke, I hardly had anything to say.<br /><br />It does happen, Evan my friend. If you want to find the women to whom it happens, go visit a jail. Or a church. Perhaps the first step, and the step we have to keep making every day, is to keep our heart as open as possible at all times, and to listen more than we speak. Because then, the people who are experiencing these things may find in us a safe place. And then we can go from there.<br /><br />Thank you, Jon. Thank you for a beautiful novel, and a beautiful review.tamie mariehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10273116686980623819noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9242710.post-32019579990998972342010-01-07T22:08:27.538-05:002010-01-07T22:08:27.538-05:00I think this was a story that will stay in me, som...I think this was a story that will stay in me, something to sit with, so to speak. When I try to come up with a comment for A Thousand Splendid Suns, I'm quieted by the fact that this is a tough, tough story. I'm made afraid by how <i>believable</i> it is, and it shouldn't be believable! What do I know about Afghanistan, Islam or the interpersonal interactions of typical Afghani women and men. Yet, this story clicked on something within me: "<i>This happens. This happens </i>everywhere.<i> Including here. That is why this story is believable.</i>" 'This' being patriarchy, violence against women, violence on part of the state, despair, social manipulation etc. Looking around, though, these problems are so veiled! Sure, reading a story written by an Afghani-born doctor who has spent the better half of his life in the US, it is plain as day to see the social violence in his character's daily lives. But now I get up and say, "This won't go on in my community, no sir!" And then what do you do? We have what appears to be a smooth-running society! And there's a whole lotta murk.<br /><br />I think though, this novel does a good help in elucidating important, important issues. Hosseini hints at a thin hope, I think, but just a thin one.evanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10035552255090572683noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9242710.post-77753165784904365002010-01-04T11:42:59.444-05:002010-01-04T11:42:59.444-05:00What leads you to read Atlas Shrugged? And how goe...What leads you to read Atlas Shrugged? And how goes the reading? Anything interesting to report?Jonathan Erdmanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04234688186113838474noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9242710.post-38682409302256280622010-01-03T13:25:17.564-05:002010-01-03T13:25:17.564-05:00I'd like to read this book. I'm trying to...I'd like to read this book. I'm trying to get through Atlas Shrugged. Only 900 and some pages to go!chris van allsburghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15227785742904140715noreply@blogger.com