One of the key factors that influenced my decision to attend UBC, along with the amazing campus and the chance to attend one of the leading universities in the world, was the opportunity of joining the CAP program for my first year. Sharing much of my first year at university with a community of like-minded students was a very attractive option for me, and I am happy to say that I have benefited greatly from the community of CAP and the friendships that I have made in the program, friendships that would have been much more difficult to come by if I had applied for conventional classes. However, from an academic standpoint, the aspect of CAP that has impressed me the most is the level of connectivity between all of the classes, which has been at times both explicit and subtle, but as a whole the relationship between the courses in my stream has greatly reinforced and compounded my understanding of the various facets of law and society, and has led me to identify three major themes of the program: national identity, human rights and the marginalization of different groups by the state.

National identity is a major theme of the course that was discussed in many of our classes, but the two class discussions concerning identity in the CAP program that stood out most to me occurred in Poli 101 and ASTU. In Poli 101, which focused on Canadian politics, we discussed exactly what it means to be Canadian, and different forms of Canadian nationalism. Professor Kopas highlighted something that I found very interesting and hadn’t really considered at the time, which is the argument that Canada, as an artificially created country with no longstanding homogenous ethnicity, derives much of its national identity from deciding what it is not, rather than what it is. An example of this would be Canadians defining themselves as “not American,” a distinction that is woven subtlety into the national identity of many Canadians, myself included. This idea, however interesting, remained in the back of my mind until we discussed What We All Long For in ASTU, particularly Dawson’s article, where one of her key arguments is that Canada should not be the sum of its ethnic and social exclusions, which are particularly present through What We All Long For. This related directly to our discussion in Poli 101 concerning the source of Canadian identity in defining different ethnic and social exclusions, and the relationship between these two classes impressed upon me the dangerous nature of defining oneself by excluding others. This was of course not the only discussion throughout CAP of national identity and exclusion, but it was one of the most recent and significant interrelations that I have encountered between our CAP courses.

Another key interrelation between the CAP courses that has impacted me greatly was our various discussions surrounding the UDHR in ASTU and History 104 in first semester. In ASTU we used the UDHR as a lens through which to consider basic human rights in a number of different situations that we were continually introduced to throughout the year. In History 104 we also discussed the significance of the UDHR for what it represented as an internationally endorsed document setting various ideals and standards for the proper and basic treatment of human beings. The discussions of the UDHR in ASTU and History 104 complimented each other, giving me a valuable background and lens through which to consider the actions of different entities in society, and whether their actions constituted a breach of human rights or not. I was able to practice this throughout the year, as the rest of our courses, such as Anthropology 101 and History 105 in second semester, continually presented different situations and case studies that I could judge, explore and interpret using my knowledge of the UDHR. This is undoubtedly a perspective and exercise that I will carry with me into the future, and I plan to use the interrelated and complimentary knowledge of the UDHR that I gained from courses such as ASTU and History 104 and put into practice throughout the rest of my courses to consider new situations and interactions within society.

A final major theme that was imparted to me through the interrelation of our CAP courses was the marginalization of minority groups and relationship between these groups, the state and society as a whole. In second semester all three of our CAP courses, Anthropology 101, History 105 and ASTU discussed indigenous issues, both in Canada and around the world. For most of my life, I was ambivalent and ignorant to the desperate situation and cultural genocide that many indigenous groups experience, particularly in Canada, a country that I always considered to be a beacon of justice and freedom from oppression. Throughout the three CAP courses this semester, I was continually made aware of the experiences that indigenous groups have endured due to colonialism, and it was made dramatically clear to me that the actions of past governments and colonization continue to cripple and oppress the indigenous peoples of many countries, and Canada is one of the foremost examples of this tragedy. The interrelation between these courses forced me to consider the perspective of indigenous peoples and the marginalized, and it has forever altered the way that I will perceive the relationship between law and society, but I feel that this is for the best. These three interrelated courses have greatly informed and enlightened me as to the issues currently facing the many marginalized groups of society, and this has transformed me into a far more aware and conscientious citizen.

CAP has been an incredibly rewarding experience, both socially and academically. I have benefited immensely from the friendships that I have made with my like-minded CAP colleagues, but the interrelation between all of the courses in our stream has profoundly impacted me and done more to shape my understanding of the world, in particular law and society, than any conventional class structure would. I am convinced that the themes of CAP, spoken to by each of the courses of our stream in their own unique way, have turned me into a more conscientious and effective citizen, and I look forward to applying the knowledge and perspectives that CAP has granted me into the rest of my life.

Recently, Russia’s influence and projection of power over its surrounding states was ratified and granted new significance, at least apparently, by referendums held in Crimea, the results of which illustrate that 95% of Crimean voters support the reunification of their small but strategic peninsula with Vladimir Putin’s Russia. Though the legitimacy of the referendum has been criticized and condemned as illegal by the Ukraine and Western powers, most notably the United States, the apparent vote count does indeed illustrate that the people of the Crimean peninsula overwhelmingly support a return to Russia.

To my understanding, the overwhelming support for reunification in Crimea is not unexpected. After all, though the Crimean peninsula is bound to Ukraine by land, the region shares very little historical, political and ethnic ties to the country of Ukraine. For example, the majority of the peninsula’s population (58%) is ethnic Russian, and, in total, ethnic Ukrainians only constitute 24% of the population. Even during the era of the Soviet Union, of which the Ukraine was a part, Crimea was never considered to be a part of the Ukraine, but, with the fall of the Soviet Union it was simply designated part of the Ukraine, one of the many new countries formed by the fracturing of the USSR. Crimea has only had ties to the Ukraine for just over 20 years, and the historical circumstances that saw it join the Ukraine and the demography of the region suggest that it cannot fully be considered Ukrainian, at least to the extent that much of the rest of the country is. While I may not personally condone Russian aggression and power projection in the strategic peninsula due to these inconsistencies between Crimea and the rest of the Ukraine, I can certainly understand why support for reunification is so high the peninsula.

Now that the referendum has passed overwhelmingly, I am compelled to speculate as to what the eventual outcome of the situation will be. Though I would be dismayed to see Russia reap the benefits of such aggression and violation of state sovereignty, I would not be surprised to see Crimea join Russia eventually. Western powers, including the Ukraine itself may have denounced the vote as illegitimate, and no doubt a level of corruption has festered beneath the entire referendum process, but no country or organization, notably the EU, the UN and NATO, will contest Russia militarily for the peninsula, and diplomatic and economic sanctions are scarcely a thorn in Putin’s side. Perhaps Crimea will not directly become a part of sovereign Russia, but it certainly will become a vassal to Moscow regardless.

This entire situation evokes the question as to what Russia’s true goals and motives lie behind their aggressive assertions into the sovereign nation of the Ukraine. Obviously Russia’s true motives are cloaked behind Moscow’s rhetoric stating that Russian troops have moved into the region to protect ethnic Russians from the violent protests that have consumed Ukraine. To my mind, Russia has two chief motives for projecting their power into Crimea. First, Crimea is an area of great strategic significance as, through the major port of Sevastopol, Russia would gain a large-scale foothold in the Black Sea, and control over many of the oil shipping lines that run from the Ukrainian interior to the Black Sea at Sevastopol. However, this motive is certainly subordinate to Russia’s largest motive, which I feel will guide its foreign policy throughout the 21^st century, which is the reestablishment and reassertion of Russia as a global power, particularly through the vassalization, if not direct conquest, of the former Soviet states. A past example of this brand of foreign policy may be noted in the situation of Georgia, which Russia invaded several years ago, and only agreed to withdraw if the Georgian government would follow the explicit instructions and will of Moscow. Russia wants its empire back.

The situation in the Crimea, particularly surrounding the referendum, is not entirely unexpected and indicates that Crimea may indeed renounce the Ukraine and reunify with Russia. Russia aggression in the area is not only based upon the peninsula’s strategic significance, but it also indicative of the guiding theme of Russian foreign policy. Russia will continue to assert itself over its former vassal states, attempting to gain the status of a global power. While we may not exactly be on the edge of a second Cold War, the situation in the Crimea indicates that Russia wants to be a key player on the global stage, and that it is back in the business of empire building.

The history of indigenous peoples in Canada is often characterized and described in dialogues that promote the idea that indigenous groups were completely victimized and helpless before colonizing powers, and ideas of indigenous agency and influence in many of the relationships and processes that have come to shape modern Canada have often been overlooked. Our recent discussion of indigenous issues in ASTU correlates very strongly with some of the discussions and readings that we have conducted in our history class, and I was fascinated particularly by a number of arguments and examples brought up in history that compliment our indigenous studies in ASTU and promote ideas of indigenous agency and significance in relationships with colonial powers. Our history class has shown us that indigenous culture has resisted and incorporated Western traditions into itself, a very important argument that contradicts the patronizing notions of victimization and helplessness that many today continue to use when considering indigenous peoples.

When missionaries and other colonial authorities began to interact with the indigenous groups of British Columbia they quickly attempted to assert the Victorian capitalist economy among indigenous groups. However, through a process described in Susan Neylan’s “Longhouses, Schoolrooms and Workers’ Cottages,” indigenous groups adopted aspects of this capitalist economy while retaining their own unique economic system of redistribution. Under missionary and colonial guidance, indigenous peoples were forced to turn over a portion of their fishing catch to colonial companies that would trade and sell the fish in different markets, which aboriginal fishermen and women complied with. However, in addition to this, colonial authorities attempted to instill European market styles and currency in Northwest Coast groups, but these attempts were passively resisted and ignored by many groups, who continued to grant control of their fish harvest to hereditary chiefs who would then distribute the food resource equally to all members of the community, regardless of their wealth or social significance. This resistance of European economic practices demonstrations a measure of indigenous agency and cultural control throughout the process of colonization, contrary to popular belief.

Indigenous groups also approached and understood colonial and Christian values according to their own cultural and social values, demonstrating that these groups were not victimized through the imposition of Christianity to the extent that many consider today. In a further example from Neylan, Christian missionaries would collect funds and use indigenous labour to construct large churches in these communities. While outside observers might view this as strictly Christian imposition and dominance over indigenous peoples, the groups of BC were perfectly content to help the missionaries built these large churches because of certain social and cultural values held by their society. In particular, communities with large, impressive and ornate buildings were able to gain social standing within indigenous groups, a cultural value and practice that had existed long before Europeans arrived at these communities. Indigenous groups used Western knowledge and practices to create large and impressive churches not to serve the interests of missionaries and colonial nations, but to impress, intimidate and increase their social standing with their neighbors, demonstrating that indigenous cultures were far from the helpless, piteous victims that they are often construed as in modern society.

A final example presented by Neylan continues to support the argument that indigenous groups had agency and were not completely victimized by the attempted imposition of Western values into their culture. Missionaries and colonial authorities were keen to transform the appearance and social structure of indigenous communities by altering the style and architecture of indigenous dwellings, promoting and building new Victorian-style homes for indigenous peoples that missionaries and colonists believed would hasten indigenous integration into the “civilized” sector of society. Indigenous groups complied, but only to a degree. Though the Victorian exterior of these new houses was often kept intact, indigenous peoples would renovate the interior of the home as they saw fit, often in keeping with the traditional style of home that included large, open hall spaces for family and community socializing and living. The example of indigenous groups partially complying with Western architectural imposition while changing this architecture as they saw fit to reflect more traditional living and social practices and styles further demonstrates that indigenous peoples had agency and were not powerless victims of colonization.

Indigenous peoples in Canada are often characterized as powerless victims at the mercy of colonial nations, but this belief is unfair and untrue. As illustrated by the three examples taken from Neylan’s article, indigenous groups had agency, and were often able to bend and dictate the application of Western values in their own societies. This story of indigenous power and agency is very important to cultivating an informed and aware understanding of indigenous cultures and issues, and shows us that the relationship between history, culture and society is often far more complex than popular knowledge and belief suggests.

To express my sentiments and impressions regarding Three Day Road frankly, I am compelled to admit that it is one of my favourite books of all time. Joseph Boyden has incorporated so many different elements into his novel, including coming of age, friendship, indigenous issues in Canada and the tragedy and horrors of war. In simple, frank sentences he weaves together a poetic narrative that unites these large and complex themes, and the novel was a pleasure to read. I was riveted with fascination and trepidation during much of Xavier’s account of his experiences with Elijah during the war, as the two young men cowered under artillery barrages and dueled snipers, and I was witness to the ancient traditions and practices of the Cree people and slow death of their culture through the eyes of Niska. Three Day Road had a tremendous impact on me, and I look forward to discussing it more fully in class and reading it again throughout the years.

As the novel progressed, I grew more and more fascinated with the character of Niska, Xavier’s aunt who makes the journey up the Moose River to collect him, or, as she originally thought, Elijah, upon his return from the war. This act makes her significant, but it is what she represents and what she has experienced that makes her a truly significant character in the novel. Niska represents the ancient culture and traditions of the Cree people, and their relationship to the land before the colonization of Canada. In her childhood, Niska was immersed in the mythology and traditions of her people, largely through her father’s influence, and also had the ability to see visions of the future. When she witnesses her father’s ritual execution of a woman and her child guilty of cannibalism, her father tells her that she may one day be a hookimaw, or the shaman and spiritual leader of her clan. From her youth, Niska was tied to the culture of her people, and for readers she comes to represent those ancient beliefs and practices, as well as the later resistance to European colonialism and the settlement of Canada. Niska goes to residential school for a brief period of time and, following her enforced haircut by the nuns, decides to remove the rest of it on her own as a symbol of defiance. Though she is punished, she escapes the residential school with her mother’s help and goes to live in the bush. Her refusal to conform to colonialism and her already established representation of the old indigenous ways signifies for readers the resilience and determination of aboriginal tradition to resist colonialism. In later years, Niska is able to interpret and command the spiritual world, as she does to avenge her betrayal by the French fur trader, a betrayal that echoes the “betrayal” of indigenous groups by the first colonists, but slowly she is relegated to the bush and forced out of society. This process represents the decline of aboriginal cultures alongside the rapid rise of colonialism in Canada. Niska is significant because she represents aboriginal culture and tradition, and the events that happen to her, including her rebellion against the residential school system, betrayal by the French trapper and eventual relegation from society signify for the reader different events and issues faced by the aboriginal culture and community at large in Canada.

The residential school system has to come to represent one of the darkest periods and greatest atrocities in Canadian history. Today, the verbal, physical and even sexual abuses experienced by Canadian aboriginal children are common knowledge, and the motivation behind this systematic attempt by the Canadian government in conjunction with the Catholic Church to eradicate the culture and ancient practices of an entire community is well known. The residential school system was designed to assimilate indigenous groups into colonial Canadian society by any means possible, and this brutal destruction of identity and culture is an abhorrent and embarrassing period of history for many Canadians, and rightfully so. Perhaps more tragically, the effects of the system linger in many aboriginal societies, and issues of resentment, poverty and loss of identity stemming from this dark period of history continue to plague many indigenous populations at large, further widening the gulf between aboriginal peoples and the rest of colonial Canada.

I’ve often wondered how there could be so little investigation, so little resistance to the residential school system during the decades in which it operated. However, I now feel that I have part of the answer after watching a propaganda video filmed and published by the Canadian government in an effort to conceal the true nature and motivation behind the residential school system. In this video, bright-eyed, happy aboriginal children play skip rope, enjoy participating in a game of hockey and eagerly learn cursive English vocabulary from an earnest and honest teacher. Throughout this video, a calm and eloquent speaker provides a voiceover describing the various activities enjoyed by the aboriginal children, while constantly emphasizing that enrollment in the residential school was for their own good. He stresses that these schools allow children in remote areas of the country to receive an education, and also how a Western education in English would allow the children to fully join and compete in Canadian society. If I watched this video when in aired in the 1950’s, I certainly would be persuaded of the benefits awaiting aboriginal children who attended a residential school, and I would also be convinced that they were being fairly, compassionately and positively treated. The video would have achieved its purpose in the eyes of the government, fully convincing me to support the residential school system.

However, with the benefit of hindsight, I completely recognize the video as propaganda and a blatant lie to the Canadian people. The music alternates between a happy, playful tune and a tranquil, peaceful tone, immediately conveying a positive impression on a viewer. The images of happy aboriginal children appear fake and staged. In particular, the fact that the government is asserting an argument that “everything is fine” in relation to how it is treating a group of its own citizens raises flags of alarm in my mind, as I recognize this to be a classic standby of state propaganda. In truth, this video reminds me of similar videos that I’ve seen produced by Nazi Germany, which were designed to display the positive experience of a state concentration camp. The video produced by the Canadian government is clearly propaganda: not only does it ignore the horrors that we know today as being an intrinsic part of the residential school system in an attempt to package a more positive message to the Canadian public, but it also features the government attempting to argue that it knows best for its people, and that its residential schools explicitly benefit and support the children who attend them. Any time any government makes assertions like these, I think the public should immediately become cautious of being duped by persuasive propaganda. It’s unfortunate that the Canadian public failed to recognize the deceit of their government until it was too late to undo the atrocities and absolve the countless wounds inflicted upon innocent aboriginal citizens by decades of the residential school system.

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood explores the story of Offred, a woman living in service of the Republic of Gilead, whose sole purpose in life is to conceive and deliver a child for the state. The Handmaid’s Tale is a stark and bleak novel, and it concludes (spoilers!) rather ambiguously, with Offred being forced into a van that will bear her to an uncertain future. This ending forces readers to determine the final conclusion to Offred’s story for themselves, and I’m personally inclined to believe that Offred has been arrested by the state and will either face execution or a slow death in the desert, shoveling toxic waste as an unwoman for the meager span of time remaining to her.

However, the film version of the novel offers a wildly different conclusion to Offred’s story, in keeping with the general deviance from Atwood’s novel that it exhibits throughout. In the film, Offred murders the Commander that she is in service to and makes a daring escape into the distant mountains, aided by her lover, Nick. The film ends with Offred discussing her relative safety and freedom, while preparing to have her and Nick’s child. In contrast to Atwood’s novel, the film develops and asserts a proper “Hollywood” conclusion to Offred’s tale. However, should the director, producers and the screenwriters have attempted to adhere more closely to the cliffhanger conclusion presented by Atwood?

Any disappointment with the film’s conclusion expressed by Atwood’s readers is completely understandable. The film blatantly ignores Atwood’s conclusion, and transforms Offred into a suddenly assertive character that kills her Commander in brutal fashion with a knife and is daringly rescued by her love to live happily in the mountains with her child, free of the tyranny of the Gilead regime. Though the ending of the film contradicts Atwood’s own conclusion, and I personally prefer the ambiguity and distinct lack of Hollywood sentiment of the novel, I respect the right of the director and producers to offer their own artistic interpretation of events and appreciate the closure it provides, as well as the difficulty that the screenwriters would have faced in adapting Atwood’s novel for the big screen.

Novelists are inherently storytellers and artists, and so are directors, screenwriters and producers. As long as legal issues are addressed and permission is granted, directors should be able to work with a novel’s framework and expand upon the source material, offering their own interpretations and artistic contributions to the telling of a story. Artistic freedom and the different perspectives that it provides should be encouraged and supported, even when it deviates from the original material, including Atwood’s Handmaid’s Tale. This said, the film ending to the Handmaid’s Tale may lack the ambiguity of Atwood’s, but it does well to provide a measure of closure to audiences, as well as an interpretation of what may have happened to Offred following her “arrest.” Particularly after being exposed to the dark and bleak world and social structure of Gilead, audiences, including myself, may appreciate the closure and happier ending that the film interpretation provides. In addition to artistic freedom and providing closure, the film’s conclusion works as the ending to a movie. The Handmaid’s Tale features a relatively passive protagonist and a bleak storyline that would be incredibly difficult to transform into a financially viable film. The decidedly happier and more exciting conclusion would help to satisfy audiences far more than the dark and ambiguous ending provided by Atwood.

While I personally prefer the ending of the novel, the film ending of The Handmaid’s Tale should not be automatically declared a false or poor conclusion to the story. Those involved with the movie had a full right to interpret events and artistic freedom to tell the story as they wished, and the closure that their ending provides and the difficulty in adapting Atwood’s novel into a viable film should be appreciated and respected. The Handmaid’s Tale as a film does not conclude as the novel does, but it has no real obligation to do so.

Sometime during the long-lost month of September we discussed both Walter Mosely’s “The Trial” through the lens of the UDHR and Martha Nussbaum’s article “Democratic Citizenship and the Narrative Imagination.” However, Mosley’s short story and Nussbaum’s article were not really discussed in conjunction with one another, though a number of Nussbaum’s arguments and ideas concerning the role of literature in citizen development are represented and illustrated in Mosley’s “The Trial.” Nussbaum argues that “the arts cultivate capacities of judgment and sensitivity” (144) in citizens, and that literature in particular plays an integral role in this development of citizenship through “its ability to represent the specific circumstances and problems of people of many different sorts” (145). Mosley’s short story “The Trial,” by exploring and introducing readers to the relationship between an underprivileged American community and the modern legal system, fosters empathy, sensitivity and awareness in readers, which reflects Nussbaum’s assertions concerning the role of literature in the development of democratic citizenship.

According to Nussbaum, literature plays an integral role in introducing readers to circumstances that “shape the lives of those who share with us some general goals and projects and … shape not only people’s possibilities for action, but also their aspirations and desires, hopes and fears” (147). This serves to heighten citizen awareness among readers and develop empathy towards members of society who, at a first glance, may appear completely alien. Mosley’s “The Trial” describes the response of a largely African American community to a murder committed within their tenement by a member of their community. This small tenement community decides to try the murderer through their own legal process, which they feel will result in a more just verdict than any issued by the modern American legal authorities, who cannot understand or relate in any way to the desperate conditions within the tenement. As Mosley’s character Bob argues “I’m ready to say that we are the law … you know that it sure ain’t the man in blue and them wearin’ black robes” (107). While “The Trial” offers an insightful perspective concerning justice for underprivileged populations, it also reflects Nussbaum’s argument, broadening the perspectives of readers to include the relative lack of justice that many underprivileged and ethnic minority communities can expect. This new perspective develops empathy in readers, which may in turn cause citizens to develop policies and make choices that address, in the case of “The Trial,” the disparity between the application of the law in more fortunate and underprivileged communities within society. “The Trial” illustrates Nussbaum’s argument by clearly broadening social perspectives and developing empathy within citizens, creating a level of social understanding that allows readers to better relate to seemingly alien communities.

In “Democratic Citizenship and the Narrative Imagination,” Nussbaum asserts that literature fosters better citizenship by developing empathy and greater social awareness in readers. Walter Mosely’s “The Trial” clearly represents this argument in practice, as through his story more privileged readers are able to relate to and understand the social and legal issues of a seemingly foreign underprivileged community. I can attest to this on a personal level as well, as the insights offered by “The Trial” broadened my understanding of the justice issues faced by underprivileged communities and instilled within me a degree of empathy for the delicate legal situation and the resulting desperate actions undertaken by my fellow citizens in response to their situation. “The Trial” illustrates Nussbaum’s argument that literature, by developing empathy in readers, fosters better citizenship.

Works Cited

Nussbaum, Martha. “Democratic Citizenship and the Narrative Imagination” in Cultivating Humanity: A Classical Defense of Reform in Liberal Education. Cambridge, pp. 85-97, 111-112. © 1998 Harvard University Press.

Mosely, Walter. “The Trial” in Freedom: A Collection of Short Fiction Celebrating the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, pp. 98-124. © 2009 Toronto: Key Porter Books Limited.

When I was first introduced to the main premise of the film District 9 I was both excited and intrigued. District 9 gives a documentary-style account of a series of events within District 9, a confinement zone located in South Africa for aliens stranded on Earth. The film was meant to act as a critique and offer a new perspective on racism and, particularly in the South African context, the policy of apartheid. In District 9 the abuse and confinement of the stranded aliens, derogatorily called “prawns” by humans stands as a symbol for the abuse and maltreatment of real cultural and racial groups in modern societies. This entirely unique symbol and approach that District 9 meant to capture intrigued and excited me, however the profundity and symbolism which were so prevalent and thought provoking in the opening of the movie became quickly lost as the film devolved into and developed the characteristics of an action film of the Hollywood variety.

At the beginning of the film, we are introduced to District 9 and its extraterrestrial inhabitants, who live in shantytown conditions similar to those experienced by blacks in South Africa during apartheid. As a viewer, I actually became a little disgusted with the conditions in which the aliens lived and died, and, in a sudden flash of realization, I understood that actual racial and cultural groups of humans had experienced very similar conditions and injustices. If I became disgusted at the conditions faced by non-humans in a work of fiction, then why was I not further affected by the knowledge that members of my own species had, in reality, been also forced to exist in slums and shantytowns under the control of a trigger-happy and intolerant governing body? From its outset, District 9 presented me with a number of perspectives and questions pertaining to racial inequality that, for me, represented a key aspect of its impact and value as a film. A second particularly impactful perspective on racism offered by the movie is the real interviews conducted by the film’s producers with real and unsuspecting people relating to issues of immigration in real South Africa. Some subjects of these interviews responded to questions along the lines of “they should go back where they came from” and “I don’t want them here.” The film places these conversations into the context of aliens inhabiting District 9, but the thought that real humans said things like that about fellow real humans offers a shocking perspective into the issues of societal racism and xenophobia that the movie attempts to address. The film, at its outset, had a unique concept which could have offered valuable symbolism, insight and perspective into societal racism, but it digressed into a litany of explosions, gunfights and, yes, mech battles.

As a viewer, I am inclined to forget the insight and impact of the film as the plotline gradually evolves into that of a rather typical Hollywood action movie. When the main character, a man named Wikus, accidentally sprays himself with alien fluid, his arm slowly mutates into an alien appendage. MNU, a typically evil, power hungry weapons manufacturer decides to dissect Wikus in order to obtain his DNA, which will give it the ability to operate advanced alien weaponry. Wikus escapes dramatically, flees the forces of MNU to District 9, forms a tentative alliance with an alien and his son, which ultimately culminates with Wikus and the alien infiltrating the MNU base in search of the confiscated alien fluid that Wikus had accidentally mutated himself with so that the alien and his son can repair their ship and return home. A shootout and a series of chases, explosions, attempted cannibalism and battles between Wikus in an alien mecha and MNU mercenaries ensue. The carnage ends with the grisly death of the MNU mercenary leader at the hands of a very angry group of aliens. Wikus escapes the final battle and mutates completely, while his alien allies leave Earth for their homeland.

The sudden escalation of violence and tense, gory scenes in District 9 confuses the focus of the film – is it meant to discuss racism or entertain? Is it meant to do both? Is it possible for the film to adequately offer a new perspective on xenophobia and racism while featuring frequent scenes of explosions, helicopter chases and mech suit ownage? District 9 evolves from beginning to end into a primarily action-entertainment movie, which confuses and diminishes the power of the important and unique perspectives on racism that the film should have spent more time addressing and developing. The metaphorical and symbolic resonance between the fictional film racism directed towards the aliens and the real racism directed at black populations in South Africa is profoundly diminished and lost due to the film’s evolution towards an action movie.

In his article “Literature, Imagination and Human Rights,” Willie Van Peer asserts that the development of human rights is greatly influenced by literature and imagination. Van Peer believes that reading fiction allows us to catch a glimpse of alternative realities and offers new perspectives that compel us to escape from our “encapsulated world,” as he calls it, permitting society to expand the definition of “human” and consider human rights. However, Van Peer’s article, which offers an excellent defense of the societal significance of literature and the arts, ignores the essential role of historical fiction in the development of human rights. Historical fiction, which tempers the imagination of fiction with the reality of history to achieve high levels of political persuasiveness, has played a critical role in the development of human rights, evidenced particularly in Joy Kogawa’s novel, Obasan. Historical fiction has impacted human rights in a way that purely imaginative fiction cannot.

Historical fiction is a very politically persuasive genre of writing, a characteristic that makes it a particularly effective medium for addressing the exclusiveness of society and furthering the development of human rights. In the decades directly following the end of World War Two, the internment of Japanese-Canadians was an issue largely swept under the rug to be ignored and forgotten. These Japanese-Canadians not only suffered the injustice of being forcefully displaced, or “evacuated,” as the government described the internment, to sub-standard internment camps in interior BC, but received little to no compensation for the loss of their possessions and property. Many were forced to start over again, marginalized and excluded by their own country for a racial and ancestral affiliation with one of the countries that Canada happened to be at war with. The gross injustices and breaches of human rights committed by the Canadian government against its coastal Japanese citizens were largely forgotten until Joy Kogawa published her novel, Obasan.

Obasan is an account of the internment of Japanese-Canadians through the eyes and experiences of a little girl. Obasan draws its political significance and persuasiveness from the fact that it is both imaginative fiction, which allows readers to develop empathy with the characters and relate to the story in their own unique way, but its role in the development of human rights is also due to its foundation in reality. As historical fiction, Obasan allows readers to imagine and empathize with different characters and situations, but is also lent a certain power and persuasiveness because the reader knows that, as history, stories like Naomi’s occurred in reality. The fact that it was historical fiction allowed Obasan to impact readers in a way that no piece of purely imaginative fiction discussed by Van Peer could, forcing Canadians to confront the injustices committed by their government and contributing significantly to the eventual apologies, compensation and recognition offered to the Japanese-Canadians affected by internment. Indeed, due to its unique political persuasiveness and role in addressing the violated rights of Japanese-Canadians, Obasan was read in Parliament as the Canadian government attempted to make amends for the injustices and exclusion that it forced upon Japanese-Canadians during World War Two.

Van Peer is right to argue that literature and imaginative fiction are essential to social change and progress, but he ignores the critical role and unique power of historical fiction in the development of human rights. By blending imagination and reality, historical fiction offers readers an empathetic and personal experience that is particularly impactful because the reader knows that similar stories have occurred to real people in the past. This unique impact makes historical fiction the most effective literary medium through which issues of human rights may be discussed. Van Peer is correct in his assertion that imagination plays a central role in the development of human rights, but does not discuss the aspect of reality conveyed by historical fictions such as Obasan, which grants historical fictions a unique measure of political persuasiveness essential to the development of human rights.

Martha Nussbaum’s “Democratic Citizenship and the Narrative Imagination” asserts that a liberal arts education and the study of literature play a critical role in the development of judgment, sensitivity and imagination, three qualities that are essential for fostering excellent citizenship in a democratic society. Nussbaum echoes a prominent constitutional scholar, Alexander Mieklejohn, who, when arguing against an opponent who denied the practical and political application of the arts, asserted that citizens need the arts “because they will be called upon to vote.” In other words, a study of the arts equips citizens with the qualities that they need to become valuable members of a democratic society, which Nussbaum dubs “world citizenship.”

The significance of Nussbaum’s primary argument, that literature and the arts develop sensitivity, imagination and empathy cannot be overlooked. However, after attending a joint lecture hosted by professors in just three of the arts disciplines – history, political science and literature – my perspective and understanding of the role of the arts in society has been altered, and I think that it can contribute to Nussbaum’s discussion. Not only do the arts allow citizens to develop qualities essential for world citizenship, but they also allow citizens to interpret society and place themselves in a much broader social, political and historical context, something that no other faculty can achieve to a similar degree.

The various disciplines contained by the faculty of arts provide a wide range of lenses through which members of society can better come to understand society, and, in doing so, become more effective citizens. History places the present in context, and describes the conditions and factors that have reverberated throughout time, creating a particular moment or a particular situation which a citizen experiences. The first step toward becoming an effective world citizen is recognizing your place and situation in the grand narrative of society, and understanding that your choices and actions in the present dramatically impact the future. Political science allows us to understand the mechanisms that govern society, and the study of political science allows a world citizen to interact with and understand the processes of government and law, and how these processes might be altered or advanced for the greatest benefit to society. Literature, as Nussbaum argues, allows citizens to develop empathy, which, in combination with a study of history and political science, forces citizens to consider the applications of their choices in the present and the way in which they interact with the mechanisms of power that govern society. As was discussed in the joint lecture, a discussion that I feel is worth highlighting, literature tells the story and relates the issues of those whose voices have been forgotten or ignored, from the Japanese Canadians interned in WWII to the young First Nations children at the mercy of the residential school system.

Nussbaum argues that literature and the arts develop empathy necessary for world citizenship. While this is certainly a valid point, my experience in the joint lecture showed me a number of other key roles that the arts plays in fostering world citizenship. History places our actions in a broader context, political science allows us to interact with the forces that govern society, and literature shows us the impact and significance of our actions through telling the story of the forgotten and ignored. Armed with Nussbaum’s argument and my own gleanings from the joint lecture, I think that I have the beginnings of a solid response for any smug engineers or business students who question the practical applications of my field of study!