The New North

2.4 – Big Bad Biases

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We began this unit by discussing assumptions and differences that we carry into our class. In “First Contact as Spiritual Performance,” Lutz makes an assumption about his readers (Lutz, “First Contact” 32). He asks us to begin with the assumption that comprehending the performances of the Indigenous participants is “one of the most obvious difficulties.” He explains that this is so because “one must of necessity enter a world that is distant in time and alien in culture, attempting to perceive indigenous performance through their eyes as well as those of the Europeans.” Here, Lutz is assuming either that his readers belong to the European tradition, or he is assuming that it is more difficult for a European to understand Indigenous performances – than the other way around. What do you make of this reading? Am I being fair when I point to this assumption? If so, is Lutz being fair when he makes this assumption?

 

Contact stories, by definition, are problems concerning definition. For example, if I meet someone raised in English royalty, he probably wouldn’t think it was much of a compliment if I were to tell him his outfit looked “sick.” It means one thing to me (good) and another to him (bad). When framed in the context of contact stories, a singular instance of definition that does not correlate between each side is like a beam of light shone through a prism; it breaks into fragments that we can both see and not see.

The problems and issues that can arise from misunderstood definitions are exactly what Lutz refers to through Marshal Salhins’ and Gananath Obeyesekere’s inability to determine a definition for “reasonable behaviour”.
A key element to understanding Lutz’ assertion — that it is harder for a European to understand Indigenous performances than vice versa — is that of the conjunction fallacy. Take, for example, this study:

Consider a regular six-sided die with four green faces and two red faces. The die will be rolled 20 times and the sequence of greens (G) and reds (R) will be recorded. You are asked to select one sequence from a set of three and you will win $25 if the sequence you chose appears on successive rolls of the die. Please check the sequence of greens and reds on which you prefer to bet.
1. RGRRR
2. GRGRRR
3. GRRRRR
125 undergraduates at UBC and Stanford University played this gamble with real payoffs. 65% of subjects chose sequence (2) (Tversky and Kahneman 1983). Sequence (2) is most representative of the die, since the die is mostly green and sequence (2) contains the greatest proportion of green faces. However, sequence (1) dominates sequence (2) because (1) is strictly included in (2), to get (2) you must roll (1) preceded by a green face.

The inability to see what is directly in front of you is referred to earlier in the same study as the hindsight bias. I believe the combination of these two examples reveal the conclusions to both sides of our argument. Like the conjunction fallacy, Europeans are unable to effectively analyze the traditions of Indigenous peoples.

However, this is not to say that I agree completely with the statement since the other side of the argument then represents the hindsight bias. While it is true that we can learn from history, it is also true that we, “after learning the eventual outcome, give a much higher estimate for the predictability of that outcome than subjects who predict the outcome without advance knowledge.” That is to say, since Indigenous people have been (forcibly) accustomed to Western traditions it is “logical” to assume that they are more likely to understand such traditions.

Most importantly, the study concludes — after revealing a convincing example — that one “cannot simply instruct [others] to avoid hindsight bias,” as the awareness of its presence has no significant effect. How then, with this knowledge, can we assure that similar errors are not made in regards to the assumption of Indigenous futures? Since the outcome of European-Indigenous relations has been the domination of European culture over Indigenous, does that mean we are doomed to repeat the past?

Perhaps, something called repetition compulsion can offer some insight. In the previous link, Kristi A. DeName suggests “that many of us develop patterns over the years, whether positive or negative, that become ingrained” and cause us to act in certain ways, whether we like them or not.

Certainly, there are some interesting considerations in regards to the question of whether it is harder for Europeans to understand Indigenous performances. With the knowledge of repetition compulsion, as well as the contact stories retold by Lutz, would you say you’re more likely to be able to avoid hindsight bias?

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2.3 – Courage and Honesty

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Read at least 3 students blog short stories about ‘home’ and make a list of the common shared assumptions, values and stories that you find. Post this list on your blog.


 

I handled the previous assignment with enough creativity to sidestep honesty and openness. My classmates, however, did not. They were brutal, they were raw, and they didn’t hold back the truths that illustrated what home meant to them. I used metaphors and illusions and they used experience and story. I did not, for example, expect to find Hannah’s openness:

It began in Abbotsford in September 1993. Actually, it began 4 months earlier when my dad did not replace the turn signal and a semi-truck hit the Volkswagen Golf belonging to my soon to be family. The accident left my mom bedridden. My parents marriage begun to crumble as violently as the car had been destroyed. I don’t remember these years. Most of my memories are blank until about two or three years old. I have images of home, our little bungalow on a half acre lot. It was nothing fancy or elaborate, but it was home during they day, until my Dad got home from work and the screaming and yelling would start. I remember sitting on the picnic table and my mom was blank (later I learned she was disassociating) and she took of her wedding ring.

That’s one hell of a short story. Reading through other posts showed the diversity of our experiences. Kevin’s chronological account, for example, gave insight into how we can overcomplicate simple questions. For example, his answer to the question “Where is Home?”:

“Easy. It’s where I live.”

Stewart approached the assignment similar to me and took liberty with the term “short story”:

The trio, considering this for a moment, asked the old woman “Would you like us to help you look for your home?” To which the old woman grinned once again and said, “I think, perhaps, I’ve already found one.”

The most interesting part of our choice was that Stewart and I both chose to be narrators of a fictional story rather than tell a personal story from a first-person perspective. This, I think, reveals a lot about a person’s willingness and ability to deal with what they call home.

List of common shared values:

Community – The sense of relationship throughout the breadth of articles was ubiquitous.

Escape – In the stories with a troubled home, the common denominator was a desire to find a new home.

Belonging – Perhaps the most obvious undertone, the stories people told always had the desire to belong somewhere.

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2.2 – Patience

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Write a short story (600 – 1000 words) that describes your sense of home; write about the values and the stories that you use to connect yourself to, and to identify your sense of home.


 

No matter where Ryan went there was always a sense of disruption, discomfort, and an inability to feel completely at ease. For 17 years Ryan had felt this way and, for him, it had become a part of life. While everyone else seemed to enjoy the places they went — his friends were always on social media posting about how much fun they had last weekend or how amazing their friends are — Ryan never felt that sense of connectedness to anything. Sure, he loved his family, his dog, his girlfriend. He had hobbies but he wouldn’t define them the same way as others seemed to define the things they were close to.

To put it simply, there was something missing and he had never been able to find out what it was.

Ryan sat on the grass under a sycamore tree, contemplating this feeling for the thousandth time. The rays of sunlight poked through the branches and leaves and warmed his skin in the cool Spring air. He sighed deeply. He stared at the sky and it stared back. The lack of clouds seemed to both mimic and mock his lack of answers.

“Come on, Ry,” his girlfriend Karen shouted from down the hill atop which he rested. She sat on a 10-speed cruiser, giggling, at the bottom of the hill.

“Can you come here for a sec?” Ryan had spent long enough bouncing these ideas around in his head. It was time to get them out in the open where he could see them.

Karen dropped her bike on its side and jogged up the hill. A little out of breath, she got to the top, smiled, tucked her hair behind her right ear, and sat down beside him.

“Do you ever feel like something’s missing?” Ryan asked.

Immediately, Karen’s eyes shifted to the grass.

Ryan saw the mistake in his phrasing. “Not between us. I love you, you know that. But I mean in life. Like there’s supposed to be this something that everyone feels but it only ever feels like everyone but you feels it.”

Karen recovered from the initial shock of the question and, as she realized Ryan wasn’t breaking up with her, she warmed up to it.

“I think I know what you mean,” she nodded. She blew a piece of floating cotton away from her face then realized the cotton was a good analogy. “It’s like trying to catch a piece of cotton. You can see it but it never quite looks perfectly crisp. And then when you reach out your hand to try to grab it you only ever push it farther away.”

“It’s like every time I try to understand what it is — what’s missing — I just find myself more and more unsure,” he said.

“Okay, well my dad always says that in order to solve a problem you first need to know what it is you’re solving.”

Ryan thought about this and decided it was true. “Okay,” he said. “So how do we do that?”

“First we have to define it,” Karen stated matter-of-factly, adjusting her posture and facing him, ready for the task at hand. “You feel like something is missing, so let’s try to figure out what it is.”

“K,” said Ryan.

“Alright, is it happiness?” Karen started.

“Not really.”

“Love?”

“Nope. Got plenty of that,” he nudged her and laughed.

“Oh I know, money,” she said.

“Well my parents are pretty well off but I guess that doesn’t necessarily make me rich. But I also still don’t think that’s it,” he laughed.

“Okay, speed round. I’m going to say the things that I enjoy in my life and you stop me if any one of them sounds right. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Okay, here goes. Purpose. Hope. Sex. Cars. Monkeys. Adventure. Friends. PS4. Family. Healt—” Ryan cut her off.

“Wait. Family, kind of. That’s close but not really it.”

“Home?” Karen suggested.

“Home,” Ryan nodded his head slowly and looked out at the field below.

He could see his whole town from the hill. The river he grew up on, the forests he ran through, all the places that should feel like home to him.

“But you have a home, Ry. You’ve got a really nice one with a great family,” Karen said.

“Yeah but the thing is, that definition of home just doesn’t seem to fit what I think home should mean.”

“So what should it mean?”

“I was sitting at a bus stop one time next to this old guy — like pretty old, in his 80’s or something — and out of nowhere he just looks at me and says, ‘Would you like to know the answer to all life’s questions?’ I looked around a little to make sure he was talking to me. He was. Seemed like a pretty good offer so I said okay and waited. He seemed to think for a few seconds and then he spoke.

‘Patience,’ he said.

I waited for him to go on but that was it. One word. Patience. We sat there in silence as the bus pulled up. I stood and waited for him to stand too but he just sat there. I asked him if he was getting on the bus, since this was the only bus for this stop. He told me he wasn’t. He told me he was waiting.”

The sun was setting now and Karen nestled in closer as the temperature began to drop.

“It’s a good story but it’s not really an answer,” she said. “Actually, it’s more of a non-answer. You’re saying that in order to find out what home means to you, you have to have patience?”

He laughed. “Maybe.”

The sun took its last look at them as it sunk beneath the mountains. They watched and thought about what it all meant.

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