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I am glad to be done with this term. I am not sure how I feel about this course, to be honest. It was by no means one of the best courses I’ve ever taken, nor one of the worst. What I can say about it definitively is: it’s certainly been different than my other classes. Specifically in terms of grading.

This contractual grading system had a strange affect on me, which is that I began to care less and less about my performance for this class. I think this was, to some degree, the point? But it felt quite negative for me actually, since I felt less and less invested in the course content as the weeks went on. I don’t think this is necessarily because I am guaranteed a certain mark, I’ve certainly rejected certain coursework or done additional work in other classes, depending on how the the subject in question piqued my interest. Rather, I think that this contractual system resulted in an atmosphere that eventually became too disorganized and discouraging and this is what ultimately resulted in my disinterest. I can see this being an unpopular opinion and I can also see how disorganization would have the opposite affect on some people. It isn’t good or bad.

All that said, I found the majority of the texts for this course fascinating. Highlights included: Cartucho, Fire from the Mountain and Invisible. I particularly liked last class when we spoke with the author of Invisible (though I’ve forgotten his name, sorry.) I found him a little shy at first, but then endearing and sincere. I especially liked the time lapse video of him drawing, very cool. Also it was nice that he read our blogs? That seemed like some additional work on his part.

I don’t know what I learned from this course apart from knowledge about the specific texts and histories they alluded/pertained to. Hopefully it will come to me later. I was hoping it would shed some light on something I could put energy towards from within the institution that wouldn’t burn me out and bum me out or strengthen my resolve to drop out, but it did neither. I am a pretty indecisive person after all and those are decisions I should make by myself, most likely. Thanks everyone for your time and consideration and fascinating input, even if we didn’t always, or almost never, saw eye to eye it was a neat experience.

I’m going to write about Invisible because it seems like no one else is but also because I think it’s very cool. I didn’t read the whole thing but just went through it stopping at different points and reflecting on them. I probably will read it all once term is over and I have the time if I can still access it by then. I obviously loved that it’s in three languages. Obviously many texts exist in multiple languages but very few, to my knowledge, exist all at once, in three languages. When I tried to find out more about the project I had a lot of difficulty  so I wasn’t able to contextualize it or learn about it to the degree that I wanted to. I am still unsure exactly what the text was trying to accomplish specifically, but I actually love that. The foreword reads, “here, there is neither praise nor triumph, nor cynicism or sarcasm, but rather a sincere love for human beings in their entirety, flaws and limitations included. This is a book about us, the people, excessive, possessive, sluggish, shaky.” For this reason, I think this texts lack of clarity (in an academic sense) is deliberate and telling. It is not trying to give us just one perspective or opinion.

Honestly, this sort of reminded me of my two favourite texts of the semester, combines. It’s composed of what may seem like excerpts or vignettes, like Cartucho but the voice is often really effusive, like Omar Cabezas’.
I love the language in diction in the sections. Like in one entitled, “The Social Mask,” the ending reads, “the masquerade will last until we return home; there, we will find, deep in ourselves, the lucid being that we were ceaselessly trying to conceal. slightly disgusted, we will simply fall asleep, in our insignificance.” I like how this connects our internal life to the way we may feel we do or do not fit into revolutionary action/movements. To be clear, this except doesn’t necessarily show that, but to have it amidst other excerpts that are referring to political individuals does that for me as a reader.

While reading this I am reminded of poetry and also a little of Kurt Vonnegut, especially of his books that include pictures. He is always writing with a lot of exclamation mark and he is often saying things that feel similar to or related to the content of these sections. I hope that when we talk about this book in class we are able to make more sense of the connections in this book. I am often failing to see how these things are connecting and interacting, and I’m unsure whether everything would become clear if I read the whole thing or if the whole piece is like this. A portrait of Gandhi is followed by a section in which the narrator speaks about walking around in the rain and body falls from a window and impales itself on the narrator’s umbrella. What’s up with that?

I wasn’t sure how class would go but I actually feel like it went really well. I think we were able to connect the movie and the article well and that they, combined, lead to a good discussion. I also felt like people really did read the article and that they found it, at least to some degree, stimulating. Thanks everyone, for that. By the end I felt that we were potentially going in circles a bit, but that we were still agreeing with each other in the process. I felt our discussion hit a bit of a brick wall in that I felt my only options were to suggest that we all drop out of school right away, and then to do so. Obviously I didn’t do that but I still don’t feel optimistic about my time here, as the university is a site of violence and began as a colonial instrument (to teach Indians to be more Western/British in their thinking) Maybe, if I had been payed to go to Cambridge I’d be thinking about this differently, but as it stands right now, that isn’t the case and never will be.

Sorry everyone, I’m very sad this morning reflecting on these conversations, and also I’m sad because Jian Ghomehi just got acquitted of all five crimes.

Here is a rough lesson plan:

I thought we would discuss:

Times when we have felt ourselves hitting a proverbial “brick wall” and brainstorm as a class ways to potentially avoid those experiences in the future?

“The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.”  – Audre Lorde
What does this quote mean for us/the university/us, at the university?

Do we ever personally see ourselves as “embodying diversity”?

What are some concrete examples of radical action, coming from below, in the university?

I’m gonna teach a little bit tomorrow but I probably won’t focus too heavily on the content of the text I picked out specifically–mainly because it’s the only one that has yet to pique anyone’s interest (at least in the blogs.) Can’t say I’m surprised.

I find all the documents that were chosen to be quite related, actually. They all succinctly identify structural problems that we endure/reproduce/maintain. Despite our (obvious) differences I get the feeling that we all care about critically engaging with these concepts/realities. So, mainly, I’m hoping to facilitate a mini discussion about something we haven’t explored that much, if at all, this term which is: how can we apply what we’re learning about in this classroom practically to our daily lives? Additionally, or maybe, specifically, what exactly can we learn from within academia, which is not separate but functions in conjunction with all the harmful structures we’ve already identified?

I’m reminded of the Audre Lorde quote, “the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.”

I know that Jon said, at least in regard to Fire From the Mountain that school for Cabezas was a place where he was able to meet people who eventually became political allies, etc. And that’s not untrue. Certainly in that story and in that case that was true. But should we be re-evaluating the idea that academia might fill that role now, given what we know about social media (and the internet in general.)  For all the harm it does it certainly makes connecting with others, specifically others who may share your passions/ideologies, very easy to do. A good website/Instagram account/Twitter/hashtag/whatever might do a better job than four years struggling through your undergraduate.

Obviously that’s not true for everyone, but I definitely feel that, for the most part, I’ve only met people who sadden and enrage me. (Which, yes, may say more about me at this point.)  Getting saddened and enraged is helpful in it own way, but I can’t imagine looking at UBC for any help dismantling these systems.

I think this could be because increasingly I feel even I am being trained out of my rage. Or, to channel my rage into five succinct paragraphs, a thesis and a bibliography.

I really appreciated the other texts that were chosen for this week, specifically the “What is Canada” one. Excited to see what you all have to say.

One of the things this book does well is show us the interpersonal relationships behind or maybe I could say that comprise a revolutionary movement. We are often given accounts of the narrator’s first impressions of people. At one point she remarks that a woman she met resent her at first and then grows to love her. Here, we are actually given a lot of information about the atmosphere this revolution takes place in.

When the narrator first discusses Humberto we get a glimpse into the difficulty of positioning ones self into the complex personal relationships that contribute to the success or failure of this movement. She is not fond of him, she even remarks on how he skillfully evades the questions he does not feel like answering and notes the rhetoric that posits ambiguity as an integral part of the revolution and even as a natural. While I would never argue that ambiguity is unnecessary, of course it is in many cases, it is precisely that assumption that allows it to be abused at different times.

Something else I found fascinating was the narrator’s account of second-guessing herself, or questioning her own intelligence when she disagrees with Humberto. When he says, “if shit is what we need to make the revolution happen, shit is what we’ll use,” which is so obviously a horrible thing to say and completely erases all of the harmful things that can and are done in the name of “revolutions” (which often gets defined by so few individuals) the narrator goes so far as to remark, “I even toyed with the idea that his tolerance was the sign of a political wisdom that I lacked.” This reaction can certainly be attributed to an overall sense of insecurity that can affect any person. It is natural to second-guess ones self or to question one’s ability. However, I think my analysis would be lacking if I did not at least acknowledge the fact that often these feelings of insecurity arise from a complex set of social relations. You might second guess yourself because you are the minority in the room, because you occupy a lower rank than the person who disagree with, because you have less experience, and the list goes on. This is, in a sense, what I mean when I bring up intersectionality in class. We do ourselves and the texts we are reading a disservice when we commit to the most cursory analysis we can make.

When the narrator suggests that they should write a letter detailing their specific unease with Humberto’s plan he i told to, “write it herself,” which could be read as evidence of her skill, or it could be read as evidence of laziness on the part of her peers.

 

 

This is probably my favourite book we’ve read so far. Or a close second to Cartucho, I haven’t decided yet. What I really like about this book is the overall tone which manages to be both truthful and sardonic and the voice of the narrator who I have come to think of as personable, or at least relatable. Reading this directly after two of Che’s books definitely enhances its convivial nature (almost as if it was planned that way…) I get the feeling that the narrator takes his roles/tasks seriously but knows when and how to joke around. (Think we discussed in class how this was definitely not one of Che’s qualities.) I think this is a decidedly better way to come at revolution than the stoic approach Che has, but I can see myself getting a lot of flack for this opinion. I recognize the importance of discipline but I also think that many people have difficulty empathizing with or committing to a cause or a person that cannot affect them in a real and visceral way. A narrator like this one, who is organized but fallible, is more endearing to me and frankly, more believable. We see his relatability when he says things like, “I was scared shitless of getting myself killed.” (9) or when he compares joining the Frente to “the end of your childhood happiness.” (13) Basically, I can see myself saying/feeling those things so I immediately identify with the narrator. Call it what you will.

One part I particularly like is when he says, “I remember the motto […] FREEDOM FOR THE UNIVERSITY. I thought, what garbage!” And he defaces the dean’s house with the words: THROUGH THESE DOORS ONE ENTERS THE 15TH CENTURY,” (31) an obvious parody of the university’s slogan, about reaching the stars, or some similar metaphor. I think this is an interesting scene because it illuminates something we have really talked little about (ironically) in our classroom together which is: how effective (if at all) is mobilizing from within an institution that has perpetuated all kinds of subjugation since its inception? I am tempted to say: not at all but then here I am, fulfilling my contractual obligation to write this, hoping I will learn anything during my undergraduate degree that I can use to make a positive impact on anything. By not only attending UBC, but paying to do so I am, however sad it makes me to think about, condoning the hierarchies prodced by/within the university/academia, in general. I am curious to know what other people think but I wonder: if I can only conceptualize addressing a problem through the same avenues and with the same skills which sustain the problem am I really addressing it at all, or just making it bigger. Why do we suspect that the knowledge systems that have paralyzed us (the myth of higher learning, for example) are ultimately the ones that will save us? There’s a fitting quote to go here, something about shackle becoming tools but I can’t remember it exactly or who said it so I’m going to quit while I’m ahead.

While reading Che Guevara’s Bolivian Diary I kept coming back to something, but it wasn’t something Che wrote, it was something Fidel Castro wrote in the introduction. He wrote, “some may interpret our decision to publish [The Bolivian Diary] as an act of provocation that will give the enemies of the revolution–the Yankee imperialists and their allies, the Latin American oligarchs–arguments for redoubling their efforts to blockade, isolate and attack Cuba.” (pg. 11) I was intrigued by this admission because it seemed startlingly obvious once I read it but had not occurred to me until then. Not only could the publication of this text potentially support action like that, it also potentially allows enemies at the time and in the future a glimpse into the day-to-day mechanisms and strategies of this guerrilla group. One might wonder what could be gleaned from this text as it is often slow and mundane and any helpful information would surely have been obvious to their enemies anyways. It is a text that is preoccupied with many of the small aspects of guerrilla warfare that are often invisibilized within a larger, theatrical depiction of events (such as the Soderberg’s Che.) Che meticulously recounts events such as surveying land, patiently awaiting additional recruits, the weather and the precarious nature of communication amongst guerrilla soldiers. His entries do not hide or emphasize the sometimes disorganized state of his troops. What could their enemies learn from this text that they would not already know by virtue of being soldiers themselves? A lot, actually (I think.)

I think we often overestimate the intelligence of military apparatuses, especially large ones. I sometimes forget that funding/resources does not (actually almost never) equals competence. Hitler tried to invade Russia during the middle of winter, twice. Not only could their enemies, imperialist and oligarchs alike, stand to learn about them, they could also improve their own strategies against Che and his fighters. Che is often cited as inspirational by guerilla groups operating presently which suggests that this text has not lost its relevance of applicability today. Since it is still being used by guerrilla group it stands to reason that it could still be being used by their opponents as well. The people who published this text must have realized and assumed responsibility for that risk. Perhaps they assumed that the potential good that might arise from its circulation would outweigh the potentially negative ways it might be taken up and studied by some.

This was a long movie. I watched a lot of fighting for this class. That is not my favourite thing to do and I didn’t feel this movie needed to have so much of it, but that’s just me. What was really accentuated for me while watching this was the idea of Che as a symbol that he could not, after a point, control himself. I feel like this was done in a few ways. Black and white scenes were interspersed in the colourful combat narrative. In them, Che was sitting waiting to be interviewed, being interviewed, and attending what looks like a gala of some kind. During the scenes Che talks with a women, who is probably one of many American journalists to interview him. These conversations eventually bleed, as voice-overs, into the combat scenes. We see Che and his comrades risking their lives as we listen to a conversation in which he discusses the Cuban revolution. From this juxtaposition it becomes obvious that nothing fatal will happen to him. (Obviously, we also already knew this if we knew nearly anything about Che before watching the movie,) but it also effectively blends images of Che’s day-to-day life in combat with his voice (and his ideology) that eventually make him an international symbol for revolution. We get to see how this happens. He becomes part of the public imaginary whether he wants to or not. (We see him acting rude while at an event with American politicians, which suggests he doesn’t care for his new reputation, but who knows.)

I think this is encapsulated in the scene where Che talks with one of the soldiers. (Sorry, can’t remember his name.) The soldier says something like: “after the revolution I’ll put you in a cage and tour the country and I’ll get rich.” They both laugh and in this way it’s a joke but it also isn’t. Like we saw in class, eventually Che’s image, (not necessarily his ideologies) is commodified.

We are effectively shown what types of mechanisms can go into the creation and maintenance of a symbol but I was never exactly sure why, or what exactly I was supposed to glean from this. In other words: the director shows us these phenomenon but I am not sure what he (or his film) tell us apart from the fact that they are happening. Perhaps that is all he wanted to make clear, and I appreciate that but I wanted more. I wanted more information generally, but it occurs to me that perhaps it would have been difficult to provide the kind of information I was looking for from such a removed point of view.

I would very much have liked to know what Che thought of his own symbolism (he is asked something along these lines at the end of the film but says very little on the subject.) What he thought of being in New York, at the UN, etc. Perhaps he was a very private person and that is why those things were omitted.

Teaching class was okay. I liked it but I was unsure whether it was that enjoyable for the other people involved. Saw a few cellphones out (If you think I’m talking about you I almost definitely am) but who am I to judge. For Cartucho we found that the text was so dynamic we didn’t really feel the need to look elsewhere for class material. So it felt more like a book club than a class. But I liked  that.

We divided our questions into three main categories: trauma, violence and the role of women.

For trauma I was mostly interested in whether or not the protagonist was traumatized. I still don’t think I’ve decided. I thought that was an interesting discussion.

For violence we looked at a few segments specifically and tried to deduce what purpose the violence was serving in the narrative, if any.

The role of women brought up a lot of questions around motherhood, inter generational knowledge and implicit work/strength. I think that any of the sections we chose as discussion topics for each subject were likely interchangeable as there was so much going on in each vignette. I enjoyed hearing about other people’s experiences with the book, especially around the scene where the soldiers become obsessed with the baby.

I also like the semi-circle formation (maybe that’s just because I was in front) and going around in a circle because I think it encouraged everyone to speak up without being forceful about it.

 

 

 

Cartucho, like The Underdogs, encompasses many voices, but is a decidedly different text in many ways. There are two main aspects of the story I found especially powerful.

The first is its complicated portrayal of death (often times many deaths, and violent ones at that) from the perspective of a child. It is not even that the deaths never come across as completely negative but that they become, to some degree, anticipated and exciting. In a section entitled “Through The Window,” the young protagonist describes watching a murder outside her window that leaves a body with “blood pouring out of him through many holes.” She goes on to say, “I became accustom to seeing the scrawl of his body […] The dead man seemed mine […] He was my obsession.” And later, after he is removed she remarks, “That night I went to sleep dreaming that they would shoot someone else and that it would be next to my house.” Throughout the text her mother becomes more and more distressed. At different times she cries, has her daughter visit graves and prays. She is clearly quite affected by the fighting and we know that her daughter must be, to some degree, aware of this since she is the one recounting the events. Despite her mother’s visible pain she remains enthralled by death. I have not yet decided what I think the author intended by writing her reactions this way. I am torn between thinking that her perspective is such precisely because she is a child and cannot understand the severity of what she is surrounded by and giving her much more credit and reading her curiosity as a coping mechanism.

The second thing I found particularly interesting is the way in which safety and masculinity are conflated in this novel. Azuelo certainly implied this but Campobello makes it very evident. We are told the story of the protagonist who looks on as eleven men come into her home and insult her mother. The leader, a man with a blonde mustache, goes onto become famous and well-liked. In exploring her anger towards this man she says, “Two years later […] I saw him […] That day, everything was ruined for me. I couldn’t study. I spent it thinking about being a man, having my own pistol and firing a hundred shots into him.” It does not suffice, even in her own head, to simply imagine herself as soldier. She must first imagine herself as a man so that the idea of becoming a soldier and carrying a weapon seems plausible. In this way defense, of the state or of the self, is relegated to a sphere only men may inhabit.  What is worth noting is that the character who tells us this is a child so we can easily see how pervasive (and damaging) these gendered narratives can be.