Nature vs Nurture: Some Thoughts on the White Supremacy Movement

Warning: This is fully 100% conjecture and opinions that I don't have any significant amount of backing for (as usual). Feel free to verbally destroy me with intimate knowledge, scientific studies and scary numbers. But if you choose to do so, please be nice...I'm rather sensitive :(

We often talk about the idea of nature vs nurture - whether our genes or our environment are the determinants of our psychology. For all the debate out there, I feel that it is (or should be) reasonably obvious that both play a significant role in shaping our world view and personality (i.e they're not mutually exclusive). Moreover, the two interact with each other - it is in our nature to adapt and learn from the environment in which we live. That innate ability to adapt is what has made us such a versatile and successful species.

Personally, I often find myself falling on the side of nature when thinking about these things. Part of the reason why is because I really do view humans as one views animals - driven by primal desires to survive and propagate genes. This is consistent with my evolutionary worldview (that consistency being a worthy exchange for the large quantities of cynicism this type of thinking brings). The nice thing is that even if humans are ultimately animals, I'm one of them and understand their language and individuality. I also think that we have a lot more complexity and layers, so much so that connecting our actions to those primal instincts can often be difficult or impossible.

There's one more caveat to my view. I sometimes feel that we're outgrowing some of those instincts, and slowly (or rapidly in geological age), we're finding enough distractions to give life a new meaning. And our emotions are what drive us to that meaning. But I'm not sure, and maybe those emotions just ultimately tie back to a primal instinct.

As a more specific example, a lot of us have made it our life's purpose to be joyful. This makes sense to me. Joy feels good. But maybe joy exists so we re-do what we just did to bring us that joy? Maybe this is important because whatever we did pertains to survival or gene propagation. It's easy to imagine in social settings. I imagine that the nice homo sapiens sitting around their fire 100'000 years ago felt joy in each other's company just as we do sitting around a pub table sharing drinks and food with friends. That feeling of joy would encourage them to seek that experience again, and thus strengthen those bonds with their fellow tribesmen. Social bonds directly led to survival (like when your buddy saves you from a lion), as well as gene propagation/protection of offspring.

Maybe the link to modern day is direct. Like when your buddy saves you on the math exam, thus letting you pass engineering, thus reaching the promised land of attractive ladies and a successful life (note: it's a lie). But likely it's not that simple. What is clear to me though, is that our survival has always been incumbent on social interactions, and that's why our emotions are so sensitive in social settings.

Two Rivers - pt. 4

Alam Zawar
32-A Sarwar Shaheed Rd, Icchra
Lahore, Punjab
Pakistan

14th December 2005

Dear Alam,

What's Lahore like? What school are you going to? How many classmates do you have? What are you learning? Did you make any friends? Can you speak Punjabi yet?

Everyone here is fine! It's gotten cold now, and it snowed yesterday.

We all miss you so much. Especially Bilal. He was really angry and sad when he found out you were gone. Don't tell him I told you, but he was even crying. Didn't you tell him you were leaving? Now he's so lonely. I think he's sad you never said goodbye. You should write to him. Oh, Jamal says he's sad too.

Ami is always talking about you. She wanted Abu to call you every day, but he said he doesn't want to disturb Uncle Masood. That's why I asked him to get your address, so I can write to you. Make sure you reply. Send your letter to Uncle Gulzar and he can give it to us when he comes on a tour. I made him write down his address, it's on the other piece of paper in this envelope. Do you remember how to write a letter? Make sure you do it right.

I hope you're behaving. Abu was so grateful to Uncle Masood. He told us that Uncle Zubair tricked us. Did that really happen? He seemed like such a nice man. Anyway, Abu really likes Uncle Masood so make sure you work hard for him.

The glaciers are going to block off the road soon, so I might not be able to write to you again before Spring. Until then, take care of yourself and say all of your prayers.

Much love,
Mina

Two Rivers - pt. 3

October 2005

I could hardly wave before the car, which had been vibrating strongly, jerked forward. Next thing I knew, I was bobbing up and down and violently thrown against the door. Uncle Rehmat’s complains about our road suddenly made a lot more sense. I’d never even realized how small it was until looking down from the car window, I could see the tires rolling centimeters from the edge of the cliff. 

But Uncle Gulzar seemed to know the road like the back of his hand. He sped up, turned and slowed down constantly to get around bumps and tight corners. Every time I was sure we were about to fall off, he would swerve the wheel and we'd be safe. Still, I held on to my seat tightly.

The two adults talked, but the only thing I could think about was not throwing up. We passed through Matiltan, with Uncle Gulzar waving at the locals. While driving through a dark forest of tall trees, I asked him to stop the car so I could run out and be sick behind a bush.

He was waiting impatiently, tapping his watch when I returned.

“Stick your head out the window.” He said, and we continued down the road.

It was good advice. The car was so small that I felt like I couldn’t breath. But with my head outside the window, I could feel the wind blowing and see the scenery. Exiting the forest, we came to the top of a hill. From there I could see the two rivers Ushu and Gabral collide to make the Swat. And at their banks was the town of Kalam.

A few roads connected lavishly decorated buildings, with roofs painted green or bright red, with the main road which ran through a market and exited the town to the south. As we approached, I realized that the entire valley behind the town was populated with houses and farms. The people in those farms must have treated Kalam the same way we treated Matiltan. That’s where they went to school and went shopping or said their prayers. 

The town was a lot larger than Matiltan though, and cars, people and carts pulled by donkeys joined us on the road through the market with its smell of grilling meats and curries.

Eventually we left Kalam and again found ourselves travelling through mountains. Though the river had grown wider, and the road more crowded, the land south of Kalam looked like that to the North. I noticed that we were generally going down hill more often than up, and Uncle Gulzar said that the mountains would be long behind us by the time we got to Mingora. 

Two Rivers - pt. 2

October 2005

The weeks passed slowly after our adventure on the mountain. With the end of the harvest, we started planting wheat. Every day was colder than the last, but Abu didn’t turn on the heater. Instead we bundled ourselves up in the thicker blankets and slept together. Abu didn’t talk to me the way he used to, I could tell he was still angry.

Bilal had also been punished, and Uncle Rehmat had stopped sending him to class. On most days, only Jamal and I were there. Every morning, Uncle Drogar would walk in and scowl when he saw us. I could tell he had been hoping for an empty classroom. The days were getting shorter. By the end of class, there was almost no light at all, and Uncle Drogar had lit a candle to light the board. We walked home in the dark, along the familiar road.

It was on one of these early nights that Jamal and I stumbled upon a stranded car. The big jeep, with all of its English writing on it, was covered in dirt. It was tilted strangely, and we realized that one of the tires had shrunk and flattened.

“Isn’t this Uncle Gulzar’s car?” I asked Jamal.

“I think so…”

Uncle Gulzar was a friend of Abu's who gave tours of the area. He often drove by our farm on the way further north.

“Come on, he probably stopped at the farm and asked Abu for help.” I said.

When we reached home, Abu was standing outside talking on his cellphone. “Kamran, are you sure you can’t you send someone tonight?” He saw us and covered the phone with a hand. “Go in and say Salam.”

Uncle Gulzar was sitting on the ground talking with Ami and Mina. I had expected him to have a tourist with him, but the man sitting next to him looked like he was also from Swat.

Two Rivers - pt. 1

September 2005

Night in the valley was dark and peaceful. Frigid in the winter and chilly in the summer. You didn’t see the moon too often; it hid behind mountains. Enormous black silhouettes, jagged and uneven and never the same as one another. But I had all of their shapes memorized. The colour and outline of their rocks. The trees, all of the different types and where they were on the hill, which way they leaned from being blown by the wind. 

So even at night, I could look at a mountain and see it as clear as day. I could imagine the path I would take to the top, long and winding and never obvious. Of course, I couldn’t actually do it. I’d get tired half way up the smallest ones. Once you were actually on the mountain, it loomed over you a million times bigger than it was from a distance. 

My favourite nights were when Abu gathered wood and started a fire in the clearing in front our house; the same place where he slaughtered chickens and goats. I would watch as blood ran down the little gutter he’d dug out and drip into the rushing river, disappearing in the blue and white of the rapids. I’d listen as the animal kicked and struggled and shrieked, trying to escape even as it bled out. The entire time, Abu would hold it down and pray. But that was a daytime thing. It never happened at night. After dinner, after the blood had dried into the ground, Abu would start his fire. 

Then Jamal, Mina and I would go into our house and into the biggest room, the one with rugs and pillows on which we all sat on cold nights. We’d call out “Nano, are you awake?” 

She would reply, “Oh, come here come here.” And we’d run to her to be kissed and hugged. 

Then Mina would say “Nano, come outside! Abu's starting a fire!” 

Nano would laugh and say “Sorry Mina my love, but I can’t walk.” 

And then I’d say “We’ll take you!” Mina would find an extra blanket to keep her warm and all three of us would carry her charpai through the door and set it down close to the fire. 

Once the fire was bright enough, Uncle Rehmat would walk from his farm down the road with Bilal running in front. They’d come sit with us. Uncle on the other charpai with Abu and Bilal on the ground with the rest of us. Ami wouldn’t come until much later; she always had to put Maryam to sleep. Maryam was only one, so she slept a lot. 

10 years and a retrospective

10 years ago yesterday, I got off a plane at Pearson Intl airport and stepped into the most defining phase of my life (so far!) I don't remember too much, except that it was incredibly overwhelming. I remember thinking that the airport was really nice. I also remember observing that there were a lot of people from a lot of different places, but hey it was an airport so that made sense. Other than that, I was really tired from sitting around in the plane for so long. We got a pizza thing on that flight. Being the picky eater I used to be, I was quite happy with that and really wanted more (airplane food had until then, universally sucked). That pizza thing would single-handedly result in me holding Air Canada in high esteem for the next couple of years.

We eventually got out of the airport, and lo and behold it was snowing. And it was cold. So cold. I think I almost died. Don't get me wrong, we fully expected the wrath of the Canadian winter. But I think that we may have just underestimated it. It was quite the contrast, having spent years in Qatar. A country where winters are probably as warm as the summers in Canada. None the less, it was so different that I enjoyed it! There I was, running around trying to act all grown up and making sure our luggage was in tow. My mom yelled and screamed, telling me to get inside, or to cover up more or something. Glad we got through that.

My Uncle (Dad's younger brother) picked us up. It's kind of funny. I feel like his life decisions are what probably led to us moving to Canada. Dad had got a new job in Nigeria. He didn't want us to be educated there, especially with my younger brother being hearing impaired. So he decided to send us to Canada, a country he was told to be really nice by his brother, where we can study while he works overseas.

My Uncle's story is especially inspiring. He brought his family over from Pakistan, from nothing to nothing kind of deal. Worked hard, taking on a job in a factory before finally making his own (and very successful business!) But I'm not going to butcher his and his family's journey with my imperfect and incomplete knowledge of it.

Before I go any further, I feel that for the sake of building the narrative, I should establish the setting and context of this whole thing. Here's my journey in some pictures.

This is where it all started. The union of my beloved parents. My dad's always been a bad-ass moustache kinda guy. I'm glad to know that his game was on point on his wedding day. 

The second of three siblings, I was born in Lahore and spent the first few years of my life in my grandfather's house there. It's not the nicest area of the city, but this was the house that my granddad (paternal) built for his family. The house that my dad was raised in. It is a very special place in my memories. We still have family living there, so of course it's not just a memory. 

My younger brother was born late in 1997. A year or so after his birth, we found out that he was completely deaf in both years. One of the strongest memories from my childhood is my mom running out of the hospital to where my older brother and I were waiting, crying. I promised myself I wouldn't make her cry again. That was a promise I have broken repeatedly. We spent some time in London, where he received an operation for a cochlear implant. We decided that we would exclusively speak english, and then my dad had a new job in Turkey and we moved to Ankara.

Turkey was kind to us. A beautiful country, with wonderful people. I have a few memories from it, though not nearly enough. This is a picture of the family with all of the grandparents when they visited 

Pamukkale, Turkey.

At some point in 2001 we decided to move to Qatar. Here's us dressing up for school on Halloween. We're standing in our front "lawn!" My older brother and I spent an absurd amount of time out here, and beyond those doors playing cricket on the road. 

We had family in Qatar too. 

We even had pet rabbits! 

At some point, our beloved 500 series BMW, which had been with us since Turkey caught fire. My mom was on the way to pick up my brother and I from cricket practice. I've been forever grateful that she pulled over and got out of the car the moment she saw smoke from the hood. 

Of course we went home to Pakistan too. This is a picture from the house in which my mother grew up, in a town near the city of Multan. Another house which is really special in my memories. Unfortunately, this house was ruined in the floods of 2010, which caused my grandparent's to move next to their oldest daughter's house in Islamabad. 

School was tough in Qatar. We went to a British school, and I exclusively had British teachers while there. But it was strange because as a non-arabic speaker, I really was the odd one out in my class. Nonetheless, the few friendships I made, I've cherished to this day. 

There's a bit of a gap here in the photo history, but the next we knew, we had moved to Canada. This picture of course was taken in our current home in Richmond Hill, soon after we bought it. We spent the first few months in Missisauga. 

Naturally, we decided to spend our first Canadian summer outside of Canada. We visited Dad twice in Nigeria, and both times lined up nicely with his birthday. The second time we even dropped by Kenya for a safari. 

The next thing I knew, we'd been in this country for a full five years and we were waiting to take our oath of citizenship. 

And then I was a Canadian. 

I met a bunch of really cool people. Unfortunately, I could only find a picture of these fools.

Naturally, we still visit our birthland. 

Well, there you have it. My life. These pictures seem to form some story or another. They're missing the hours I spent in the universe that my older brother and I had made up, telling stories to one another. They're missing the scratches and bite marks that my younger brother and I inflicted upon one another. They're missing the tears of my mother, and her pain of having to raise 3 disobedient boys. One of whom required special care. Of her pain of having to do it for three years without her husband. Of her inability to practice medicine because she was too busy taking care of us. They're missing the sweat and stress that my father endured so that he could bring us to this country and give us the million opportunities we have now. Of his pain in being away from his family, all alone in a foreign land so that he could bring literal light to people who would never know him. 

I guess it's obvious. Our lives are so full of emotion and experiences that there is no simple way to summarize them. My story is an ordinary one but I still wanted to share it. It began in Lahore, and ends with me as a Canadian citizen. I think it's wonderful because it's so definitely Canadian. And the fact that it happened in the first place, is something that this country should be proud of.

In this country, the dominant culture is one that accepts and sees the human experience in all people. Canadians acknowledge the value of all human life, and respect all human culture. We don't look at people and see their country of origin. We look at people and we see another human being. Our instinct is then to understand their way of life and respect them for it. In Canada, there is no "us and them." I think that this is a quality of our country that we absolutely must cherish. 

This is all especially relevant with the ongoing refugee crisis. My own perspective is that this country has given so much to my family. And I want to give back. I imagine, that for many who are suffering and living in far worse conditions than I ever did, this country's salvation would be a godsend. And I believe, that if we continue seeing the humanity in every human, the acts that seem so much like charity now will not only strengthen the nation, but be something our children can be proud of. 

I'm not the best with words. And I've now realized, long after it's too late to stop writing this, that there is no way I will truly be able to convey what this country has done for me. Canada has defined my personality and who I am probably more than any other place I've lived and I am proud of it. It's made me a better person. It's opened my mind and my heart, and it's allowed me to meet the most wonderful people. It's given my the ability to understand our shared human struggle, and sympathize with all people. 

I know that tough times come. Oil prices are down, there's a lack of jobs, tuition is expensive as all hell, etc. But I think that at it's heart, which is the heart of the people, Canada is doing well. It's doing wonderfully, and I love it. 

The Saga of Zammar the Great #15: Black! Lands!

Story Recap:

The forces of Candahar were saved from the Und’kal threat by the intervention of armies from The Whitelands, The Dragon Empire and Indus. In the aftermath of the fight, Ren mediated deeply rooted conflicts between these parties in an attempt to form alliances that were inevitably unstable.

Because the battle of Candahar left the city destroyed, Ren established a refugee camp, where she gathered people who had fled the Und’kal menace. She also housed the armies that had come to Candahar’s rescue. In preparation to counter  the alien threat, she asked representatives to call their leaders for a meeting of nations.

Abasi fled the destruction of Kampalla with companions Imad, Hadi and Jamil. While on a journey to bring warning of the Und’kal threat to the Pharaoh, god-king of the Blacklands, the four found themselves waylaid at Candahar. Here, Abasi met with his old friend Omir, and learned how Abejide, one of the chiefs of Candahar had accepted white people into the city. Before the two could act, the Und’kal horde fell upon the city, and Abasi was dragged into battle.  

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Ren fidgeted ceaselessly with her hair. Maybe the braids were too much…I should have tied it in a tail. But this is what the women of the Blacklands do. What if they think it’s rude of me to copy them? I should have just left it down...

“You look wonderful, my Queen.” Maria said.

“I don’t know…I should have worn that dress that the village chief from Boran gave me…” She said, pulling on her awkward leather jerkin. “But it was so big…I thought it would look strange. I used to have so many nice dresses…”

“This is a time of war, you need to show that you are ready to fight…”

“And the hair…maybe we shouldn’t have braided all of it…Or leave it straight…Or I don’t know…” Her voice was shaky.

Maria extended her arms to hold Ren’s shoulders. “My Queen. You will be fine, you need not worry about these things.”

“But it’s the first time they see me…”

“And they will love you, my Queen.”

“Brenda, Abejide is almost done.” Zammar’s booming voice spoke above her.

Ren’s fingers started numbing. With Maria, she had been hiding behind Zammar for the duration of the ceremony, trying to calm her nerves. Now she focused her hearing on the ethereal chanting that filled the dry desert air.

She peeked her head around Zammar’s arm. Abejide was standing on an improvised podium of dirt in front of a low mound.  His arms were raised in the air as he crescendoed to a high note. The remnants of the Candaharan people, so few now, stood across the mound from him and imitated the chant.  

The mass burial ceremony was taking place just beyond the blood stained ground where the battle had been fought. Behind the Candaharans, and as testament to their resolve, the remaining structures of their city were finally starting to materialize from rubble. In the distance, downwind to the south, a dark and thick plume of smoke rose to the sky. Ren had decreed that all Und’kal corpses be burned, not wanting to risk disease.

“It looks like the white people are finished as well.” Maria said.

The large gathering of soldiers from Lion’s Gate was walking slowly towards Abejide and his followers. Behind them, six horses rode to the north. They carried bodies wrapped in ornate cloth and were led by three armoured riders. The soldiers would be buried in their homeland, by ancient tradition.

“Why do they wear that heavy metal? Are they so afraid of us that they think we will attack them at such a time?” Maria said.

Minus their helmets, every soldier from the Lion’s Gate assembly was fully adorned for battle, regal in their golden plated armour. Moving as a group, they looked formidable. Ren had to squint against the sunlight that bounced off the wall of steel before she could make out Anderson proudly leading the men. I guess looking powerful is more important than being cooked alive...Even Ren, in her sleeveless jerkin, was sweating in the desert heat.

The chanting stopped suddenly, leaving behind an eerie and empty silence.

“Looks like all of the others are coming now.” Zammar said.