First, a note of caution. About a million variations of this post have been written. You can google sex and gender and you'll find ample resources talking about this. I myself have written what I consider to be a less clear version of this post that probably got derailed. But if I'm writing this post (again) is because I believe that this is an important topic and that it is often misunderstood or wrongly interpreted, especially when people try to shield themselves behind 'science'.
So let me start unpacking last sentence first. As some of you may know I am a biological scientist, pursuing a PhD on developmental genetics (that sounds a lot cooler than it is, by the way). I love science, I like understanding things, I enjoy doing experiments. I think in many, many cases, the scientific method is the way to approach things. But I try not to deceive myself into thinking that:
a) Science is objective. Science, the way we understand it, is shaped by the people who perform the experiments and decide the directions of investigations. It is shaped by how those who perform it write about it, and how those who distribute it to the masses portray it. It is shaped by confirmation bias (remember: the first step of the scientific method is to make an observation, but the second is to form a hypothesis that explains it, and this step can easily lead to confirmation bias).
b) (And this derives from a): Science is always in agreement with itself. This is blatantly false. The same observation can lead to wildly different interpretations depending on anything from the person making the observation and interpretation to the background data already available.
Having said that, let's start trying to have a conversation about sex and gender, the differences and why it is so difficult to define these terms in a way that pleases everyone. I am going to concentrate on the 'sex' or 'biological sex' side of things.
Usually, the way that sex or biological sex comes into a conversation is when someone is talking about gender as non-binary and another person tries to bring in biological sex into it so as to be able to actually point out that there are biological differences between two binary categories of organisms from the same species.
The problem is that this binary classification ('male' and 'female') is a simplification. Let me explain. Broadly speaking, it is very often possible to correlate specific physical characters with a hormonal make up with the production of sperm and eggs with genetic sex. And often, these correlations coincide with what we call gender. This is: often, people who have a penis and testicles also produce higher levels of testosterone, produce sperm (or moving germ cells) and have a pair of chromosomes that we call XY. This group of people also often identify as men. And often, people who have breasts and a vagina also produce higher levels of estrogens, produce eggs (or unmoving germ cells) and have a pair of chromosomes that we call XX. This group of people also often identify as women.
However, these correlations don't always occur, and this is why it can become so difficult to talk about biological differences between the sexes. Because while a lot of people do happen to fall into the broad classification of 'male' or 'female', a lot of people don't. And it's ridiculous to try to put these people into one of the two groups based on 'science'. And this is where the simplification comes in: science tries to find general explanations for specific observations. For this reason, science relies heavily on statistics, and that results on explanations that deal with the 'majority' of cases. In terms of sex and gender this means (or at least used to mean, more and more people are starting to identify as gender fluid or as non-binary) that we simplify to male and female. This doesn't mean that in the real world that binary exists and we all fall on one side or the other. And so, because this is the case, this makes things difficult when we talk. Because it makes it impossible to talk about the real world in scientific terms, since the scientific terms only reflect a simplification of the real world.
Now, because science is a generalisation it is broadly possible to pick people from groups where the correlations above happen to be true and then draw differences between those groups. That in itself isn't strange, and doesn't point to anything other than the fact that your sample is already binary (this is, that you have already separated your sample groups based on a series of characters). What would make this interesting is actually picking a group of people at random, perform a test and then try to trace it back to the correlations above. This would help to eliminate some of the confirmation bias that we tend to see in any sort of gendered testing.
Of course, this doesn't solve a greater problem. Even though we often say that sex is biological (and I explain above why this, while exactly false, is an over simplification and doesn't cover the fact that there aren't necessarily just two sexes, mainly because there are so many factors involved) and gender is social, a lot of the studies performed ignore the fact that because we people based on their most obvious biologically sexual characteristics in different ways socially, which can lead to any study purporting to find a difference between sexes actually just finding a different between the socialisation of people presenting as one or the other sex externally.
This is: we can't (yet) separate between sex and gender because they've become incredibly intertwined in the socialisation of most (if not all, I don't know enough about this) cultural groups. Even trying to perform blind tests (as I say above, perform a test without separating 'male' and 'female' people, then separating based on the results and trying to trace whether the differences correlate with grouping people into two groups that happen to match with 'male' and 'female') might only reflect a difference in socialisation.
All this to say that if you arbitrarily make two groups based on physical characteristics (for example, divide a group of people into people with blonde hair, blue eyes and tolerance to lactose and people with brown hair, brown eyes and intolerance to lactose) you're almost certainly going to find other differences when you test those groups. Sex just happens to be a very obvious way of distinguishing between people, and one that for a lot of people does have a big effect: a lot of people classified as female (but not all) can and do bear children, whilst a lot of people classified as male can't.
This to say the following: even though I think that biological differences between the sexes, interpreted as a binary and especially when the definition of male or female is not considered multifactorial, are difficult to prove, I do think that there is definitely a difference between the genders, likely social but which has probably in certain ways affected our biology through selection. If there weren't a difference it wouldn't be possible to talk about women's rights or women's issues (though of course, if women weren't discriminated, it wouldn't be possible to talk about women's rights or women's issues anyway), because the difference between those discriminated and those doing the oppression would not be easily identified. This applies to any other sort of discrimination based on supposedly biological attributes which are obvious externally such as race (and I would be happy to discuss whether or not race can be considered biological, based on the fact that whilst it is now possible to genetically distinguish race, it is also a social construct).
And I go back to another important point in this discussion: definitions. Definitions play an essential role when discussing anything, because if we are using words that do not mean the same thing, then we cannot understand each other. It is important, therefore, when embarking on any conversation about sex and gender to define each separately and to determine whether we agree on the definitions of each. As a final point, I'll give what I currently use as my definition of sex (biologically):
Sex is a usually binary classification of organisms based on certain external characteristics, the ability to produce male or female germ cells, the production of certain hormones and a difference in chromosomes (the specific correlation of sex chromosomes with sex can change depending on the species). In order to classify an organism as male or female it can have any of the characteristics correlated with a sex, though usually will have several of them. It is also possible for an organism to have characteristics of both types of sexes (if using a binary classification). In this case, it will be ridiculous to decide on a sex in a binary scale. Non-binary classifications should be possible and should consider the multifactorial nature of sex. Another possibility is to stop defining sex at all, and simply consider characteristics individually without making a classification.
I think (but any suggestions to the contrary are welcome) that this covers a fair amount of ground, but of course it being a complicated field and intertwined with gender it's difficult to say.
Monday, 12 September 2016
Thursday, 18 August 2016
Lucky
When I heard the news about Inverdale saying to Andy Murray that he was the first tennis player to win two Olympic golds, and Murray replying ‘Well, I think the Williams sisters have 4 each’ (although Inverdale may have been referring to individual tennis gold, of which the Williams sisters only have one each, having three each for doubles), or something to that effect, I didn’t think “How good of Murray” or “Murray’s such a feminist” (!) or “Inverdale is a sexist pig” (even though it is quite clear from his comments in this case and elsewhere that he is most certainly sexist). My first thought was “How ignorant is this man?”. And then I realised, Inverdale is not ignorant at all, and he was most likely perfectly aware of the Williams’ wins. But I’m actually kind of happy that my first reaction was to think of ignorance and not sexism. Because it points to how lucky I am.
I come from a household where it would be inconceivable not to know about the Williams sisters. I also come from a household where I read Gerald Durrell, sure, and I also read Jane Goodall. Where my favourite Roald Dahl book was Matilda (cos who wouldn’t love a genius little girl who at five years old had read a list of books I still haven’t gotten to at 25?). For a long time Lynne Margulis and Barbara McClintock were my biology heroes (they still are, but others have been added to the list), and I do not remember knowing about Watson and Crick without knowing about Rosalind Franklin. Susan Sontag and Toni Morrison and Maya Angelou and Karen Blixen and Harper Lee were read and discussed and respected (many others were too, these are the ones that come to mind) not instead of, but alongside male writers.
I was never told that there was anything I couldn’t do because I was a girl (except play football, my dad on one occasion said to me I was a girl and therefore couldn’t play football, but by the time he said this it had been established independently that I was an absolute disaster at any sports requiring hand eye coordination, so I never took this to be an observation particularly dependent on my gender), and nothing ever happened to me (in fact, I can almost definitely say that nothing has happened to me yet) to make me even consider that because I am a woman my opportunities are diminished. By this, I don’t mean that discrimination doesn’t exist, and I don’t even mean that I have definitely not been subjected to it, I just mean that I have not experienced it, or if I have, I have not felt it. And for this I consider myself incredibly lucky.
I am lucky in that, as much as possible considering our society, I grew up in a gender neutral environment when it came to achievement. I was good (really good) at science. I was also good at humanities. My parents encouraged me to do science, and if I didn’t know them I might say that they were disappointed I chose biology instead of physics or maths.
I was lucky. I was never told that there was anything I couldn’t do, and if there was something I wanted to learn I was encouraged to (I spent 10 years in music school despite my lack of talent). I was always told that the only important thing was that I be happy, and that if I do something I do it well and I do it right. The only thing I remember clearly being told in terms of job prospects is that I should do what I wanted, but that I should be aware that if I chose a profession that required manual labour, I’d likely be bad at it. I’d probably be better off in some sort of academic pursuit. (This was my mum. She knows me well.)
I’m lucky. I’m lucky that I know about the Williams sisters. I’m lucky that I read female authors as often as I read male authors (and that I grew up with Harry Potter). I’m lucky that I have read so many books with female protagonists (written both by men and women) or with female heroes that I’ve never felt that there was any exclusion of my gender in that sense. I’m also lucky that it never occurred to me that just because a protagonist wasn’t a woman I couldn’t identify with them. I’m lucky that nobody ever told me that in order to look up to someone I had to consider their gender first, especially when it comes to science (cos unfortunately, there are still a lot more men than women who are famous scientists). I am lucky that I was often told about female athletes and that I was also told about female scientists. But most of all, I am lucky that being a woman has, until now, never stopped me from doing anything. Because being a woman is pretty great.
I come from a household where it would be inconceivable not to know about the Williams sisters. I also come from a household where I read Gerald Durrell, sure, and I also read Jane Goodall. Where my favourite Roald Dahl book was Matilda (cos who wouldn’t love a genius little girl who at five years old had read a list of books I still haven’t gotten to at 25?). For a long time Lynne Margulis and Barbara McClintock were my biology heroes (they still are, but others have been added to the list), and I do not remember knowing about Watson and Crick without knowing about Rosalind Franklin. Susan Sontag and Toni Morrison and Maya Angelou and Karen Blixen and Harper Lee were read and discussed and respected (many others were too, these are the ones that come to mind) not instead of, but alongside male writers.
I was never told that there was anything I couldn’t do because I was a girl (except play football, my dad on one occasion said to me I was a girl and therefore couldn’t play football, but by the time he said this it had been established independently that I was an absolute disaster at any sports requiring hand eye coordination, so I never took this to be an observation particularly dependent on my gender), and nothing ever happened to me (in fact, I can almost definitely say that nothing has happened to me yet) to make me even consider that because I am a woman my opportunities are diminished. By this, I don’t mean that discrimination doesn’t exist, and I don’t even mean that I have definitely not been subjected to it, I just mean that I have not experienced it, or if I have, I have not felt it. And for this I consider myself incredibly lucky.
I am lucky in that, as much as possible considering our society, I grew up in a gender neutral environment when it came to achievement. I was good (really good) at science. I was also good at humanities. My parents encouraged me to do science, and if I didn’t know them I might say that they were disappointed I chose biology instead of physics or maths.
I was lucky. I was never told that there was anything I couldn’t do, and if there was something I wanted to learn I was encouraged to (I spent 10 years in music school despite my lack of talent). I was always told that the only important thing was that I be happy, and that if I do something I do it well and I do it right. The only thing I remember clearly being told in terms of job prospects is that I should do what I wanted, but that I should be aware that if I chose a profession that required manual labour, I’d likely be bad at it. I’d probably be better off in some sort of academic pursuit. (This was my mum. She knows me well.)
I’m lucky. I’m lucky that I know about the Williams sisters. I’m lucky that I read female authors as often as I read male authors (and that I grew up with Harry Potter). I’m lucky that I have read so many books with female protagonists (written both by men and women) or with female heroes that I’ve never felt that there was any exclusion of my gender in that sense. I’m also lucky that it never occurred to me that just because a protagonist wasn’t a woman I couldn’t identify with them. I’m lucky that nobody ever told me that in order to look up to someone I had to consider their gender first, especially when it comes to science (cos unfortunately, there are still a lot more men than women who are famous scientists). I am lucky that I was often told about female athletes and that I was also told about female scientists. But most of all, I am lucky that being a woman has, until now, never stopped me from doing anything. Because being a woman is pretty great.
Tuesday, 9 August 2016
A walking contradiction
More and more, I’m starting to wonder where I fall in the political spectrum.
See, I always considered myself to be a lefty. If I could classify myself I would say I am an anarchist, but then again, I know this is poser bullshit. I haven’t read a line of classic anarchist literature. Therefore, I’m not an anarchist (or so the argument would go, even though my core beliefs are extremely anarchist oriented). I am most certainly not a communist (communists and anarchists have forever been at odds, and having visited a couple of communist and ex-communist countries in my time I could never bring myself to believe in communism). Am I perhaps a socialist? Unfortunately, I am not well-versed enough in socialism to claim that I am, I suspect that I am not radical enough to consider myself a classical socialist, and I definitely do not identify with modern moderate groups that call themselves socialist.
So I try to tackle the question via another route, that of what I believe, and where that fits in best.
So, what do I believe in? And here is where the contradictions start to set in.
I believe in high taxes, and I believe in the government providing free, high quality education and healthcare for all its citizens. On the other hand, I also believe in the state mostly not interfering in its citizens private matters when it comes to health and education.
I believe in equality of opportunity: every kid should have access to a good library and a good school. On the other hand, I also believe that paying for someone to be in school who obviously does not want to study or who is obviously not smart enough to study is a waste of public money. This is, I believe in equality of opportunity, not in eternal limitless opportunities for everyone.
I believe in freedom. I believe in freedom as a core right. I believe in decriminalising many things, amongst them sex work and drugs. I believe in the freedom of each person to believe whatever they want to believe. In fact, I believe in the freedom of people to believe in racist, sexist, xenophobic, ableist, etc. things. Because I believe in your head you should be absolutely free and no one can force me to think differently. On the other hand, I believe discriminatory or violent behaviours should be punished (see? I believe behaviours should be punished, never opinions).
So I fall somewhere in between a lefty (I believe in the state taking care of its members) and… a weird mix between a libertarian and something else, in that I believe people have a right to be complete dicks, and the rest of us as a society have the right to shun them.
Economically, I suspect I am a capitalist. I hate to admit this. In my utopia, I would eliminate inheritance and raise children as the community’s children, etc. etc. etc. but I can see how this would never work in reality. So I end up being a capitalist. Not because I am particularly materialistic (though I probably am compared to many people) or because I believe that rich people are rich solely because they worked hard, but quite simply because, in the same way that I believe that democracy is the best of all flawed systems of ruling I know (at least for large groups of people), I believe that capitalism is the best of all flawed economic systems I know (again, for large groups of people).
So where does this put me? I am a person who believes in capitalism (because it’s not the worst system possible) but who also firmly believes that capitalism is the cause of great inequality. I am a person who believes in equality of opportunity, but who believes deeply in meritocracy. I don’t believe the public should be paying for people who lack the ability or the commitment to stay in school, and I am happily politically incorrect when I say that if someone cannot complete the work and reach the standards required they should not get a degree, no matter what the circumstances. I am a person who is resolutely against the police, because I am scared of anyone who can wield lethal power just because of their job. I am a person who believes in benefits, but who also believes it’s wrong to abuse them. I am a person who believes, deeply, that patriotism is idiotic, that not paying taxes is selfish, that refusing to pay taxes because you don’t believe in the government, or because you believe that others don’t deserve your tax money (whether these others be those on benefits or those from a part of the country different to yours) is quite simply morally wrong.
So where do I fall? Clearly, I fall out of favour with the people on the right. I believe the banks steal from people. I believe in high taxation, I believe in the state providing the means to take care of its citizens, I believe in freedom of speech and thought. I believe in freedom of religion. But I also believe in opt-outs. I believe that state help should be available, but I believe no one should be forced to take it. I believe the state should not be there to protect its citizens without their permission, only to offer protection that they may or may not take. I do not believe in increased security, in ‘health bans’ (such as illegalising drugs or restricting the use of current legal drugs), in telling people how they should live their lives.
I don’t believe that everyone has the right to be rich or live ‘comfortably’ (mainly because the definition of comfort will vary greatly from person to person). I do believe that no one should (especially in rich countries where a gigantic surplus of food gets thrown away annually) go hungry, or go cold if they don’t want to.
So anyway, back to before. I don’t know where I fall in politics anymore. I have come to find that many of the people who define themselves as left-wing nowadays I disagree with in essential ideas. I don’t believe that insults should be made illegal. I don’t believe that I shouldn’t be allowed (legally) to use certain words. I don’t believe that people aren’t responsible (to an extent) for their own safety. I don’t believe in more policing. I don’t believe in more laws. I don’t believe in dumbing things down so they are ‘more accessible’ or in shielding people from foreign or upsetting ideas. I believe in giving people choices, and I believe in people having the option to opt out, of course, but I believe in people having the option to opt in. I believe in not being judged for going to an event, regardless of the event’s connotations, mainly because I believe in learning about anything I’m interested in, even if it’s something I ideologically don’t agree with.
But then again, no more do I agree with people on the right who want to build walls and lower taxes and who make promises they can’t keep, and who promote inequality and selfishness.
So as usual, more and more, I am not uninterested in politics or social justice. I am not apathetic. I am not uninformed. But I am tired, and I am finding it harder and harder to find like-minded people. Especially when I am (or I believe I am) profoundly flexible. I am happy to discuss almost any topic from different sides, because I like debating. I love arguing for the sake of arguing, for the sake of logic. I have trouble dealing with people who are not only steadfast in their ideas (a thing I can admire), but who refuse any discussion, who shut down any opposition with ‘if you disagree I refuse to discuss this with you’. Because while I understand where this sentiment is coming from, it makes it harder for me to be permeable to their views, and it makes it harder for me to believe that those views are reasoned, rather than simply a given belief.
See, I always considered myself to be a lefty. If I could classify myself I would say I am an anarchist, but then again, I know this is poser bullshit. I haven’t read a line of classic anarchist literature. Therefore, I’m not an anarchist (or so the argument would go, even though my core beliefs are extremely anarchist oriented). I am most certainly not a communist (communists and anarchists have forever been at odds, and having visited a couple of communist and ex-communist countries in my time I could never bring myself to believe in communism). Am I perhaps a socialist? Unfortunately, I am not well-versed enough in socialism to claim that I am, I suspect that I am not radical enough to consider myself a classical socialist, and I definitely do not identify with modern moderate groups that call themselves socialist.
So I try to tackle the question via another route, that of what I believe, and where that fits in best.
So, what do I believe in? And here is where the contradictions start to set in.
I believe in high taxes, and I believe in the government providing free, high quality education and healthcare for all its citizens. On the other hand, I also believe in the state mostly not interfering in its citizens private matters when it comes to health and education.
I believe in equality of opportunity: every kid should have access to a good library and a good school. On the other hand, I also believe that paying for someone to be in school who obviously does not want to study or who is obviously not smart enough to study is a waste of public money. This is, I believe in equality of opportunity, not in eternal limitless opportunities for everyone.
I believe in freedom. I believe in freedom as a core right. I believe in decriminalising many things, amongst them sex work and drugs. I believe in the freedom of each person to believe whatever they want to believe. In fact, I believe in the freedom of people to believe in racist, sexist, xenophobic, ableist, etc. things. Because I believe in your head you should be absolutely free and no one can force me to think differently. On the other hand, I believe discriminatory or violent behaviours should be punished (see? I believe behaviours should be punished, never opinions).
So I fall somewhere in between a lefty (I believe in the state taking care of its members) and… a weird mix between a libertarian and something else, in that I believe people have a right to be complete dicks, and the rest of us as a society have the right to shun them.
Economically, I suspect I am a capitalist. I hate to admit this. In my utopia, I would eliminate inheritance and raise children as the community’s children, etc. etc. etc. but I can see how this would never work in reality. So I end up being a capitalist. Not because I am particularly materialistic (though I probably am compared to many people) or because I believe that rich people are rich solely because they worked hard, but quite simply because, in the same way that I believe that democracy is the best of all flawed systems of ruling I know (at least for large groups of people), I believe that capitalism is the best of all flawed economic systems I know (again, for large groups of people).
So where does this put me? I am a person who believes in capitalism (because it’s not the worst system possible) but who also firmly believes that capitalism is the cause of great inequality. I am a person who believes in equality of opportunity, but who believes deeply in meritocracy. I don’t believe the public should be paying for people who lack the ability or the commitment to stay in school, and I am happily politically incorrect when I say that if someone cannot complete the work and reach the standards required they should not get a degree, no matter what the circumstances. I am a person who is resolutely against the police, because I am scared of anyone who can wield lethal power just because of their job. I am a person who believes in benefits, but who also believes it’s wrong to abuse them. I am a person who believes, deeply, that patriotism is idiotic, that not paying taxes is selfish, that refusing to pay taxes because you don’t believe in the government, or because you believe that others don’t deserve your tax money (whether these others be those on benefits or those from a part of the country different to yours) is quite simply morally wrong.
So where do I fall? Clearly, I fall out of favour with the people on the right. I believe the banks steal from people. I believe in high taxation, I believe in the state providing the means to take care of its citizens, I believe in freedom of speech and thought. I believe in freedom of religion. But I also believe in opt-outs. I believe that state help should be available, but I believe no one should be forced to take it. I believe the state should not be there to protect its citizens without their permission, only to offer protection that they may or may not take. I do not believe in increased security, in ‘health bans’ (such as illegalising drugs or restricting the use of current legal drugs), in telling people how they should live their lives.
I don’t believe that everyone has the right to be rich or live ‘comfortably’ (mainly because the definition of comfort will vary greatly from person to person). I do believe that no one should (especially in rich countries where a gigantic surplus of food gets thrown away annually) go hungry, or go cold if they don’t want to.
So anyway, back to before. I don’t know where I fall in politics anymore. I have come to find that many of the people who define themselves as left-wing nowadays I disagree with in essential ideas. I don’t believe that insults should be made illegal. I don’t believe that I shouldn’t be allowed (legally) to use certain words. I don’t believe that people aren’t responsible (to an extent) for their own safety. I don’t believe in more policing. I don’t believe in more laws. I don’t believe in dumbing things down so they are ‘more accessible’ or in shielding people from foreign or upsetting ideas. I believe in giving people choices, and I believe in people having the option to opt out, of course, but I believe in people having the option to opt in. I believe in not being judged for going to an event, regardless of the event’s connotations, mainly because I believe in learning about anything I’m interested in, even if it’s something I ideologically don’t agree with.
But then again, no more do I agree with people on the right who want to build walls and lower taxes and who make promises they can’t keep, and who promote inequality and selfishness.
So as usual, more and more, I am not uninterested in politics or social justice. I am not apathetic. I am not uninformed. But I am tired, and I am finding it harder and harder to find like-minded people. Especially when I am (or I believe I am) profoundly flexible. I am happy to discuss almost any topic from different sides, because I like debating. I love arguing for the sake of arguing, for the sake of logic. I have trouble dealing with people who are not only steadfast in their ideas (a thing I can admire), but who refuse any discussion, who shut down any opposition with ‘if you disagree I refuse to discuss this with you’. Because while I understand where this sentiment is coming from, it makes it harder for me to be permeable to their views, and it makes it harder for me to believe that those views are reasoned, rather than simply a given belief.
Tuesday, 7 June 2016
On abortion, cures and discriminatioin
On the year 2012, Alberto Gallardón, the Minister for Justice for Mariano Rajoy, the President of Spain, proposed to change the abortion law in Spain.
Before I can continue talking about this, I should give a quick primer on the history of abortion legislation in Spain. From 1822 to 1937, abortion was illegal in Spain. Then, during the Second Republic, it was legalised for less than a year by the Republican Government. Once the fascist dictatorship of Franco took power, abortion was illegalised completely. In 1985, 10 years after the death of Franco, a law was passed that a pregnant person could have an abortion under one or more of three conditions: if the pregnancy was a result of rape, if the foetus showed evident signs of malformation or if continuing with the pregnancy presented grave danger for the physical or psychological health of the mother. This law was similar to the law in the UK, and many women were able to abort by obtaining confirmation that having a baby would negatively impact their psychological health.
In the year 2010, the socialist government of José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero legalised abortion during the first 14 weeks of pregnancy, independently of any 'cases'.
Establishing this history is important to understand why Gallardón, the Minister for Justice of a government controlled by the Partido Popular (PP, the Popular Party) wanted to change the law. He wanted to go back to a law of cases, and not even a law equivalent to that of 1985, but an even more restrictive law that would only allow abortions if the woman had been raped or if the pregnancy could be a grave danger to the live of the woman or to her psychological health. This meant that if the foetus had grave malformations, the only way to have an abortion would be to claim that having a baby with those grave malformations would cause severe psychological damage to the mother.
This law was never approved, and currently women in Spain are free to have abortions for any reason whatsoever up to teh 14th week of the pregnancy. However, the proposal of this law led to an important discussion about morality and rights, about discrimination and about how we discuss these matters, particularly in the public arena.
The discussion was centred around people with Down's Syndrome, possibly because this was the most visible group affected, and it was regarding the case of abortion when the foetus has a severe malformation.
According to the 1985 law, if the amniocentecis test showed that the foetus had a trisomy in chromosome 21, the genetic mutation that leads to Down's Syndrome, a woman could abort that baby under the case of gross malformation. The project for law proposed by Gallardón removed this case, arguing that people with Down's Syndrome (and with many other innate conditions that are not life threatening) also had the right to live, that they could live full lives, that families who had children with Down's Syndrome loved these children (this argument is ridiculous of course, how could they not love them?), and therefore, the case of gross malformation should be eliminated.
Of course, we could say that there are different cases of gross malformation. There are cases where it is almost certain the child won't live, and even if they do they will be in a lot of pain (cases of anencephaly come to mind), and there are cases of small physical deformities which may not even hinder the person bearing them. A law could perhaps be written treating each of these cases, or it could be left up to doctors to decide, but this is not the purpose of this text.
The purspose of this text is to discuss when a 'condition' no longer becomes a 'condition', and it just becomes the way someone is. I want to discuss how we think of illness (especially innate illness) and disability, and when these words lose meaning for the people we insist should bear them.
Let me explain. A few months ago I was working at the Node, a website for developmental biologists, and I came across Diana Bianchi, a researcher into early testing for Down's Syndrome and cures for the disease. You can read the profile I found about her here. In the profile, the story of Jerome Lejeune is mentioned. He is the man who discovered that a trisomy in chromosome 21 was responsible for Down's Syndrome, but he regretted his discovery when he found out that it would lead to prenatal testing and abortions. Diana Bianchi has continued to do research into prenatal testing, and has been severely criticised by people with Down's Syndrome and their families: more prenatal testing will mean more abortions of people with Down's Syndrome. But Biancha is also looking for cures, for treatment of Down's Syndrome in utero.
And here is where the question really lies. Should we treat Down's Syndrome? It is not a trivial question. For someone healthy, like me, it seems that the obvious answer is yes, and perhaps this answer would be the same for a lot of people who have suffered because of Down's Syndrome. But what about all those people with Down's Syndrome or who have a relative or a friend with Down's Syndrome who wouldn't change it for the world? Do we have a right to treat these babies before they can even choose to be treated?
It all comes down to whether every condition needs a cure. Whether we all need to be the same. What we call healthy, what we call unhealthy. Whether we all have the right to decide over our own bodies or not.
I'm not claiming to have an answer for these questions. I believe that if I got pregnant with a child that was not going to be 'normal' (whatever that means), and I was offered treatment, I would probably take it, and that if there was no treatment I might well have an abortion. But I should accept that that decision is discriminatory, that it does not take into account the will of the future person, and that it is not an easy moral ground to navigate. I need to accept that in deciding that a person is not 'normal' I am setting lines, us and them, and these lines are not insignificant and that they can be dangerous. And we need to talk about it. There needs to be open dialogue about these matters because not everything is black or white and sometimes decisions are hard to navigate.
Before I can continue talking about this, I should give a quick primer on the history of abortion legislation in Spain. From 1822 to 1937, abortion was illegal in Spain. Then, during the Second Republic, it was legalised for less than a year by the Republican Government. Once the fascist dictatorship of Franco took power, abortion was illegalised completely. In 1985, 10 years after the death of Franco, a law was passed that a pregnant person could have an abortion under one or more of three conditions: if the pregnancy was a result of rape, if the foetus showed evident signs of malformation or if continuing with the pregnancy presented grave danger for the physical or psychological health of the mother. This law was similar to the law in the UK, and many women were able to abort by obtaining confirmation that having a baby would negatively impact their psychological health.
In the year 2010, the socialist government of José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero legalised abortion during the first 14 weeks of pregnancy, independently of any 'cases'.
Establishing this history is important to understand why Gallardón, the Minister for Justice of a government controlled by the Partido Popular (PP, the Popular Party) wanted to change the law. He wanted to go back to a law of cases, and not even a law equivalent to that of 1985, but an even more restrictive law that would only allow abortions if the woman had been raped or if the pregnancy could be a grave danger to the live of the woman or to her psychological health. This meant that if the foetus had grave malformations, the only way to have an abortion would be to claim that having a baby with those grave malformations would cause severe psychological damage to the mother.
This law was never approved, and currently women in Spain are free to have abortions for any reason whatsoever up to teh 14th week of the pregnancy. However, the proposal of this law led to an important discussion about morality and rights, about discrimination and about how we discuss these matters, particularly in the public arena.
The discussion was centred around people with Down's Syndrome, possibly because this was the most visible group affected, and it was regarding the case of abortion when the foetus has a severe malformation.
According to the 1985 law, if the amniocentecis test showed that the foetus had a trisomy in chromosome 21, the genetic mutation that leads to Down's Syndrome, a woman could abort that baby under the case of gross malformation. The project for law proposed by Gallardón removed this case, arguing that people with Down's Syndrome (and with many other innate conditions that are not life threatening) also had the right to live, that they could live full lives, that families who had children with Down's Syndrome loved these children (this argument is ridiculous of course, how could they not love them?), and therefore, the case of gross malformation should be eliminated.
Of course, we could say that there are different cases of gross malformation. There are cases where it is almost certain the child won't live, and even if they do they will be in a lot of pain (cases of anencephaly come to mind), and there are cases of small physical deformities which may not even hinder the person bearing them. A law could perhaps be written treating each of these cases, or it could be left up to doctors to decide, but this is not the purpose of this text.
The purspose of this text is to discuss when a 'condition' no longer becomes a 'condition', and it just becomes the way someone is. I want to discuss how we think of illness (especially innate illness) and disability, and when these words lose meaning for the people we insist should bear them.
Let me explain. A few months ago I was working at the Node, a website for developmental biologists, and I came across Diana Bianchi, a researcher into early testing for Down's Syndrome and cures for the disease. You can read the profile I found about her here. In the profile, the story of Jerome Lejeune is mentioned. He is the man who discovered that a trisomy in chromosome 21 was responsible for Down's Syndrome, but he regretted his discovery when he found out that it would lead to prenatal testing and abortions. Diana Bianchi has continued to do research into prenatal testing, and has been severely criticised by people with Down's Syndrome and their families: more prenatal testing will mean more abortions of people with Down's Syndrome. But Biancha is also looking for cures, for treatment of Down's Syndrome in utero.
And here is where the question really lies. Should we treat Down's Syndrome? It is not a trivial question. For someone healthy, like me, it seems that the obvious answer is yes, and perhaps this answer would be the same for a lot of people who have suffered because of Down's Syndrome. But what about all those people with Down's Syndrome or who have a relative or a friend with Down's Syndrome who wouldn't change it for the world? Do we have a right to treat these babies before they can even choose to be treated?
It all comes down to whether every condition needs a cure. Whether we all need to be the same. What we call healthy, what we call unhealthy. Whether we all have the right to decide over our own bodies or not.
I'm not claiming to have an answer for these questions. I believe that if I got pregnant with a child that was not going to be 'normal' (whatever that means), and I was offered treatment, I would probably take it, and that if there was no treatment I might well have an abortion. But I should accept that that decision is discriminatory, that it does not take into account the will of the future person, and that it is not an easy moral ground to navigate. I need to accept that in deciding that a person is not 'normal' I am setting lines, us and them, and these lines are not insignificant and that they can be dangerous. And we need to talk about it. There needs to be open dialogue about these matters because not everything is black or white and sometimes decisions are hard to navigate.
Wednesday, 1 June 2016
After midnight
Punishing the poor is the way forward. It always has been.
After midnight, the surreal sets in. Apparently rowing means that all nighters aren't quite what they used to be. Where's the coffee and the coke? No Red Bull for me, never could stand the stuff, except when that guy who lived in a loft in New York was buying us Jäger Bombs and drinking them and listening to his stories about polyamory and excess were the cheapest way to get drunk. Do you remember that night?
The library lights strangely on, and the sensors can somehow tell I'm here, even though my only movement are my fingers sliding across the keys; will someone review my salary please? Connections, connections. A dead mouse in the salad and Leicester City winning the Premier league somehow all result in me being here today, writing this. Can you tell?
It's dark outside, but at least it's not raining, or I don't think it is. Should I go home? The story is eternal and the questions are endless, but worry not, we'll give it our best shot. Become lonely cowboys... will we be lonely if we have each other? I never wanted to be a cowboy. Maybe an astronaut. For some reason, as much as death terrifies me, dying lost in space would somehow be meaningful. Have your body keep moving for minutes, days, weeks, years. Maybe for all eternity, or maybe just until it was pulled into a mysterious planet, maybe one with shallow seas, where the ancestors of the ancestors will slowly decompose me, not knowing, never knowing. Do bodies decompose in space?
I have a story about a girl who loves her brother who hates her. How can I write that? I have no brother. I am not a girl anymore. I do not understand fire, though maybe I do understand water. Who writes our stories? Who will write them if we don't?
Do you believe in... anything? Starts and space, that's all, but do you even believe in those? Do aliens terrify you? What does it mean most science fiction is bad?
I've been listening to the same five songs on loop for the past 10 hours or so. I can't say I'm bored or annoyed by them. They have become as familiar as the silence, as the sound of the keyboard or the fluorescent lights. The songs are home, a space that is mine and that only a few may understand. What is home? Home. Home. Home.
The story goes like this. It always goes like this. It starts and it continues and you only realise by the time it's too late, it's gone and there's nothing you can do to change it. Do you wish you could have changed it? Could you have made it better? I can breathe. I can walk and eat. I can sleep, but maybe not tonight, sleeping tonight would be wrong, it would be more reasonable to stay awake, sleep tomorrow, or after, or hereafter, or never, never sleep. Dreams are for fools and life is for dreamers. Hope is inevitable, the last frontier, the last thing we lose. The last thing one loses.
Technical tehcnological tehcnicalities actually actualise. Technical, tehcnological, technicalities. Technically technical. Techtonical? Achaete. A word. The Scripps spelling bee. A bee, on a flower, buzzing happily in the sun until the child swats it, hard, with its open hand, smiling, happily enjoying its own cruelty. It doesn't last. The sting shocks and then hurts and joy turns to fury and pain and the other child smiles cruelly, taking revenge for the bee in some twisted way. Because children are honest and twisted. Twisted, twisty, two. Two. Two, two, two. Take it or leave it. Do we kill the ones we don't like? Or just banish them and let them die on their own? Will cruelty be allowed?
Arched. Old. Ancient. Pillars. Climbing. A hill. Steak. Always with the protein. Too late. And it emerges slowly, humming quietly if such a thing is possible, holding the tune effortlessly, even though it is the only impossible song, the one that took us by surprise and separated us and destroyed us and sentenced us to never meet again and made us feel like we had lost something. Have you lost something? Is it better to be alone or to be hurt? Are those the only options? The story continues.
A man ties his shoe laces. He has left his cane next to his right leg, which is bent in a right angle, in front of him. He is kneeling on his left leg, therefore. It is the laces on his right shoe that he is doing. Is he blind? Maybe that's why he has the cane... but he picks the laces so deftly, surely he cannot be... but then, the child is able to tie its laces without looking, just by feeling the white and the plastic and edges. Edges. What is the edge of a line? The edge of a point? Long long long long long long long long long. We live with phones dying but hate it when we die ourselves.
Emerge lightly. Tell the story you came to tell, or another one, it doesn't really matter. The rest of them are only here to listen, and the content doesn't really concern them. That's His concern, maybe, if He wants to make it His concern. Who is He, you ask? Nothing but a man, someone who believes in himself.
After midnight, the surreal sets in. Apparently rowing means that all nighters aren't quite what they used to be. Where's the coffee and the coke? No Red Bull for me, never could stand the stuff, except when that guy who lived in a loft in New York was buying us Jäger Bombs and drinking them and listening to his stories about polyamory and excess were the cheapest way to get drunk. Do you remember that night?
The library lights strangely on, and the sensors can somehow tell I'm here, even though my only movement are my fingers sliding across the keys; will someone review my salary please? Connections, connections. A dead mouse in the salad and Leicester City winning the Premier league somehow all result in me being here today, writing this. Can you tell?
It's dark outside, but at least it's not raining, or I don't think it is. Should I go home? The story is eternal and the questions are endless, but worry not, we'll give it our best shot. Become lonely cowboys... will we be lonely if we have each other? I never wanted to be a cowboy. Maybe an astronaut. For some reason, as much as death terrifies me, dying lost in space would somehow be meaningful. Have your body keep moving for minutes, days, weeks, years. Maybe for all eternity, or maybe just until it was pulled into a mysterious planet, maybe one with shallow seas, where the ancestors of the ancestors will slowly decompose me, not knowing, never knowing. Do bodies decompose in space?
I have a story about a girl who loves her brother who hates her. How can I write that? I have no brother. I am not a girl anymore. I do not understand fire, though maybe I do understand water. Who writes our stories? Who will write them if we don't?
Do you believe in... anything? Starts and space, that's all, but do you even believe in those? Do aliens terrify you? What does it mean most science fiction is bad?
I've been listening to the same five songs on loop for the past 10 hours or so. I can't say I'm bored or annoyed by them. They have become as familiar as the silence, as the sound of the keyboard or the fluorescent lights. The songs are home, a space that is mine and that only a few may understand. What is home? Home. Home. Home.
The story goes like this. It always goes like this. It starts and it continues and you only realise by the time it's too late, it's gone and there's nothing you can do to change it. Do you wish you could have changed it? Could you have made it better? I can breathe. I can walk and eat. I can sleep, but maybe not tonight, sleeping tonight would be wrong, it would be more reasonable to stay awake, sleep tomorrow, or after, or hereafter, or never, never sleep. Dreams are for fools and life is for dreamers. Hope is inevitable, the last frontier, the last thing we lose. The last thing one loses.
Technical tehcnological tehcnicalities actually actualise. Technical, tehcnological, technicalities. Technically technical. Techtonical? Achaete. A word. The Scripps spelling bee. A bee, on a flower, buzzing happily in the sun until the child swats it, hard, with its open hand, smiling, happily enjoying its own cruelty. It doesn't last. The sting shocks and then hurts and joy turns to fury and pain and the other child smiles cruelly, taking revenge for the bee in some twisted way. Because children are honest and twisted. Twisted, twisty, two. Two. Two, two, two. Take it or leave it. Do we kill the ones we don't like? Or just banish them and let them die on their own? Will cruelty be allowed?
Arched. Old. Ancient. Pillars. Climbing. A hill. Steak. Always with the protein. Too late. And it emerges slowly, humming quietly if such a thing is possible, holding the tune effortlessly, even though it is the only impossible song, the one that took us by surprise and separated us and destroyed us and sentenced us to never meet again and made us feel like we had lost something. Have you lost something? Is it better to be alone or to be hurt? Are those the only options? The story continues.
A man ties his shoe laces. He has left his cane next to his right leg, which is bent in a right angle, in front of him. He is kneeling on his left leg, therefore. It is the laces on his right shoe that he is doing. Is he blind? Maybe that's why he has the cane... but he picks the laces so deftly, surely he cannot be... but then, the child is able to tie its laces without looking, just by feeling the white and the plastic and edges. Edges. What is the edge of a line? The edge of a point? Long long long long long long long long long. We live with phones dying but hate it when we die ourselves.
Emerge lightly. Tell the story you came to tell, or another one, it doesn't really matter. The rest of them are only here to listen, and the content doesn't really concern them. That's His concern, maybe, if He wants to make it His concern. Who is He, you ask? Nothing but a man, someone who believes in himself.
Friday, 11 March 2016
Brave
I have been called brave before. For saying that a guy grabbed my ass when I was out on a run, a friend said I was brave to talk about it in public. For moving to a different country where I didn't know anyone, I have been told I was brave. For travelling on my own. For expressing my opinions. For believeing that what I believe is right is right, and for daring to defend it.
And yet, I don't feel brave. It's not that I think I'm a coward, but I don't think I'm brave. I'm ordinary, certainly no braver than anyone else, almost certainly more of a scaredy cat than a lot of people. The things that people have told me I'm brave for, I don't believe are acts of bravery, but rather the inevitable result of being who I am. Being brave isn't doing what comes naturally, but acting against your fears. Being brave isn't doing what others are scared to do, but doing what you are scared to do. Telling me that I am brave because I find writing about myself and what happens to me cathartic, is like saying that a hawk is brave for diving at 200km/h speeds. It's not bravery, it's survival instinct.
Now, this isn't to say that there aren't brave people in the world. There are actions that it takes great courage to take, and they are different for each person. For some of us, admitting we are wrong and asking for forgiveness is huge act of bravery. For others, fighting back, saying no, leaving is brave. And yet for others, the opposite, staying despite everything is bravery. Bravery depends on your perspective, and I doubt that many people would admit to being brave for things they feel are second nature. You will not hear many people saying "it took a lot of courage for me to do that", it's always others who say that. What most people who have done something brave will say is "it was what I had to do, what anyone would have done in my position". This is, the bravery others see in us doesn't exist, it's simply what we had to do, what anyone else, had they been ourselves, would do.
I read recently that for many people suicide isn't scary, but comforting. A way out. Of course, I knew this to be true but until I read it, until I saw someone else say it, I didn't realise how true it was. For many suicide isn't scary or sad, it's a safety net. Knowing that it is possible to get out, that if things get bad, you can leave, that there's nothing holding you here but yourself. Seen from this point of view, committing suicide is not an act of bravery, but rather an act of comfort: the brave thing to do would be to stay alive. This isn't to say that suicide is easy, or that it isn't at all scary, simply that it is the less scary option between dying and staying alive for some people.
It all goes back to the same thing then: does bravery exist? Or is it just a byproduct of who each of one is, and of where we are in life? Is bravery another name for what we see others do that we consider ourselves incapable of?
And yet, I don't feel brave. It's not that I think I'm a coward, but I don't think I'm brave. I'm ordinary, certainly no braver than anyone else, almost certainly more of a scaredy cat than a lot of people. The things that people have told me I'm brave for, I don't believe are acts of bravery, but rather the inevitable result of being who I am. Being brave isn't doing what comes naturally, but acting against your fears. Being brave isn't doing what others are scared to do, but doing what you are scared to do. Telling me that I am brave because I find writing about myself and what happens to me cathartic, is like saying that a hawk is brave for diving at 200km/h speeds. It's not bravery, it's survival instinct.
Now, this isn't to say that there aren't brave people in the world. There are actions that it takes great courage to take, and they are different for each person. For some of us, admitting we are wrong and asking for forgiveness is huge act of bravery. For others, fighting back, saying no, leaving is brave. And yet for others, the opposite, staying despite everything is bravery. Bravery depends on your perspective, and I doubt that many people would admit to being brave for things they feel are second nature. You will not hear many people saying "it took a lot of courage for me to do that", it's always others who say that. What most people who have done something brave will say is "it was what I had to do, what anyone would have done in my position". This is, the bravery others see in us doesn't exist, it's simply what we had to do, what anyone else, had they been ourselves, would do.
I read recently that for many people suicide isn't scary, but comforting. A way out. Of course, I knew this to be true but until I read it, until I saw someone else say it, I didn't realise how true it was. For many suicide isn't scary or sad, it's a safety net. Knowing that it is possible to get out, that if things get bad, you can leave, that there's nothing holding you here but yourself. Seen from this point of view, committing suicide is not an act of bravery, but rather an act of comfort: the brave thing to do would be to stay alive. This isn't to say that suicide is easy, or that it isn't at all scary, simply that it is the less scary option between dying and staying alive for some people.
It all goes back to the same thing then: does bravery exist? Or is it just a byproduct of who each of one is, and of where we are in life? Is bravery another name for what we see others do that we consider ourselves incapable of?
Tuesday, 9 February 2016
New Year's Resolutions
I hate New Year's resolutions. I think they are a recipe for failure and that they're also, somehow, an excuse for it. No one sticks to their New Year's resolutions, and because no one does, it's become ok not to.
However, every year I find myself making a few New Year's resolutions anyway, which I'll break in a few months time.
This year I made two New Year's resolutions (actually, that's a lie: I made just one, and today I decided to exercise another).
The first New Year's resolution I have (technically) broken already, but there's a chance that I could (technically) unbreak it.
It was to read one book per week this year. The reason I made this resolution is that I've noticed my reading (of books) has decreased massively in the last 5 years, and that saddens and angers me. I only read consistently when I go home. When I say I've technically broken this resolution it's because so far, I'm a little over one book in. I should be reading my fifth book this week. Doesn't look good does it? The fact is I could still make it back, if I read a couple of books a week for five weeks during the year. This isn't unlikely, given that I read a lot more when I'm on vacation... but then again, I do tend to adopt longer reads when I'm on vacation. We'll see.
The second one is proving incredibly hard, not exactly more than I thought it would, but in a different way than I thougth it would. I decided I would cut back on my phone and internet usage.
The two resolutions are clearly related. Anytime I'm on the Internet or on my phone (like right now), I'm not reading. Of course, I use the internet a lot in my day to day. I use it for work (it has made papers a lot more available than they were), I use it to organise (I send more e-mails per day than I like to admit), I use it to keep, not in touch, but aware of what friends close adn far are doing. All of these things on their own are fine. I also use the internet to randomly scorll through Twitter and Facebook and read "opinion pieces". And here begin my problems with the internet. Any time I spend reading opinion pieces I'm not reading a book. But reading is reading! Right? Wrong.
The problem with opinion pieces (just like this one) is that there are too many people writing them. Anytime something happens that's worth a group's attention, not one or two but hundreds of opinion pieces sprout. A lot of them are unintentional copies of each other, and a lot of them are simply an extension of essays or books written years ago by others, the same reasonings applied to new events. And part of the problem is that everyone feels entitled to give their opinion. And of course, everyone is. But it's a matter of readers as well. Why should I read a piece? In the case of a fiction book, I read for enjoyment, for the pure joy of reading, because the author is fantastic and what they write speaks to me, entertains me, makes me feel more alive, shows me the world, explains history, tells me about the future, because every good fiction book has at its core an important reflection about human nature. But when it comes to opinion pieces this is not always so. People write them because they are angry, or sad, or happy about something, but mostly, people write them to convince others (and sometimes themselves) of what they are saying, they write it for an audience. And the question becomes, why should I listen to your opinion? I am not reading for enjoyment anymore (although, of course I am, beautifully written opinion pieces are art in themselves), I am reading to understand the authors view and to agree (or disagree with it). I am reading to discuss. But in order for this to be valuable, the author should have something to show other than their writing. If I'm going to listen to your opinion on, say, global warming, I expect you to know more about the matter than I do. If you're just someone off the street who's become angry about it and without informing themselves has written a 1000 word essay about the evils of global warming without fact checking any of it, why should I listen to you? And this is the problem. Everyone feels that they have the right to express their opinion on anything.
And this is OK. I will be the last person to say these opinion pieces are unimportant. I think they are essential to the people who write them, in fact, I know they are. When I write something in my blog it's not becacuse I want other people to read it or because I think it's worth their time (though I do enjoy it when they do, and especially when they like it or it sparks discussion), I write it because I want to get my thoughts down, organised and clear. Of course, I could always not publish my posts, but the fact is, writing with the possibility of being read is different to writing for myself, and it's an important exercise for me, as it is for many others. There's nothing wrong with writing, but I do think that for a lot of us, it is a waste of our time to read many of these pieces. It's OK when it's just one or two, but our Facebook feeds, our Twitter timelines, even major newspapers, have become full of them. Quite honestly, I don't need so many opinions on so many different topics, and I definitely don't need to read so many opoinion pieces on the same topic. I'd rather read a longer, well written, informed essay than one hundred opinion pieces that someone just decided to write.
In any case, reading all of these opinion pieces, as a default, is really just another way of procrastinating for me. It's easier than sitting down and concentrating on a book, the same way that watching Netflix is. It's easier to do that than to write. It's easier to read these pieces and have a discussion with a friend about whether they contain logically valid arguments than it is to sit down and do some work, or read a longer book, or write something myself.
And this I don't like. I'd like that a lot of the time I've spent in the last three or four years reading perfectly valid but forgettable opinion pieces, I'd spent reading books. Truly enjoying, concentrating, lost in the past or the future or another parallel time altogether.
So those are the two New Year's Resolutions. I'll keep you updated.
However, every year I find myself making a few New Year's resolutions anyway, which I'll break in a few months time.
This year I made two New Year's resolutions (actually, that's a lie: I made just one, and today I decided to exercise another).
The first New Year's resolution I have (technically) broken already, but there's a chance that I could (technically) unbreak it.
It was to read one book per week this year. The reason I made this resolution is that I've noticed my reading (of books) has decreased massively in the last 5 years, and that saddens and angers me. I only read consistently when I go home. When I say I've technically broken this resolution it's because so far, I'm a little over one book in. I should be reading my fifth book this week. Doesn't look good does it? The fact is I could still make it back, if I read a couple of books a week for five weeks during the year. This isn't unlikely, given that I read a lot more when I'm on vacation... but then again, I do tend to adopt longer reads when I'm on vacation. We'll see.
The second one is proving incredibly hard, not exactly more than I thought it would, but in a different way than I thougth it would. I decided I would cut back on my phone and internet usage.
The two resolutions are clearly related. Anytime I'm on the Internet or on my phone (like right now), I'm not reading. Of course, I use the internet a lot in my day to day. I use it for work (it has made papers a lot more available than they were), I use it to organise (I send more e-mails per day than I like to admit), I use it to keep, not in touch, but aware of what friends close adn far are doing. All of these things on their own are fine. I also use the internet to randomly scorll through Twitter and Facebook and read "opinion pieces". And here begin my problems with the internet. Any time I spend reading opinion pieces I'm not reading a book. But reading is reading! Right? Wrong.
The problem with opinion pieces (just like this one) is that there are too many people writing them. Anytime something happens that's worth a group's attention, not one or two but hundreds of opinion pieces sprout. A lot of them are unintentional copies of each other, and a lot of them are simply an extension of essays or books written years ago by others, the same reasonings applied to new events. And part of the problem is that everyone feels entitled to give their opinion. And of course, everyone is. But it's a matter of readers as well. Why should I read a piece? In the case of a fiction book, I read for enjoyment, for the pure joy of reading, because the author is fantastic and what they write speaks to me, entertains me, makes me feel more alive, shows me the world, explains history, tells me about the future, because every good fiction book has at its core an important reflection about human nature. But when it comes to opinion pieces this is not always so. People write them because they are angry, or sad, or happy about something, but mostly, people write them to convince others (and sometimes themselves) of what they are saying, they write it for an audience. And the question becomes, why should I listen to your opinion? I am not reading for enjoyment anymore (although, of course I am, beautifully written opinion pieces are art in themselves), I am reading to understand the authors view and to agree (or disagree with it). I am reading to discuss. But in order for this to be valuable, the author should have something to show other than their writing. If I'm going to listen to your opinion on, say, global warming, I expect you to know more about the matter than I do. If you're just someone off the street who's become angry about it and without informing themselves has written a 1000 word essay about the evils of global warming without fact checking any of it, why should I listen to you? And this is the problem. Everyone feels that they have the right to express their opinion on anything.
And this is OK. I will be the last person to say these opinion pieces are unimportant. I think they are essential to the people who write them, in fact, I know they are. When I write something in my blog it's not becacuse I want other people to read it or because I think it's worth their time (though I do enjoy it when they do, and especially when they like it or it sparks discussion), I write it because I want to get my thoughts down, organised and clear. Of course, I could always not publish my posts, but the fact is, writing with the possibility of being read is different to writing for myself, and it's an important exercise for me, as it is for many others. There's nothing wrong with writing, but I do think that for a lot of us, it is a waste of our time to read many of these pieces. It's OK when it's just one or two, but our Facebook feeds, our Twitter timelines, even major newspapers, have become full of them. Quite honestly, I don't need so many opinions on so many different topics, and I definitely don't need to read so many opoinion pieces on the same topic. I'd rather read a longer, well written, informed essay than one hundred opinion pieces that someone just decided to write.
In any case, reading all of these opinion pieces, as a default, is really just another way of procrastinating for me. It's easier than sitting down and concentrating on a book, the same way that watching Netflix is. It's easier to do that than to write. It's easier to read these pieces and have a discussion with a friend about whether they contain logically valid arguments than it is to sit down and do some work, or read a longer book, or write something myself.
And this I don't like. I'd like that a lot of the time I've spent in the last three or four years reading perfectly valid but forgettable opinion pieces, I'd spent reading books. Truly enjoying, concentrating, lost in the past or the future or another parallel time altogether.
So those are the two New Year's Resolutions. I'll keep you updated.
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