What the dormouse said

The annual Congress of the Humanities and Social Sciences, held most recently in Waterloo, is always a welcome opportunity not only to hear about some of the latest research being undertaken by colleagues across the country and beyond, but also to listen to keynote speakers in other fields who invariably prod my befuddled brain into action.  It’s a wonderful antidote to the mental torpor produced by the annual budgeting exercise.  And it’s always a special bonus if any speaker is able to challenge my thinking to the point that I change it.  To some extent, that’s what universities are all about, and of course we do this on out campuses every day.  But the annual Congress provides the chance to hear those whom we don’t encounter on a regular basis.  On a personal level, I always enjoy it when I can hear an author whose work I have read and admired, but never met.  Last year in Fredericton I was deeply moved by the thoughts of Antonine Maillet on the importance of writing for the Acadian sense of identity; and this year in Waterloo I much enjoyed the recollections on the value of libraries offered by Jane Urquhart.  She spoke of moving as a child from a small mining community in northern Ontario to the metropolis of Toronto, where she discovered the Toronto Public Library … and specifically the George H. Locke Memorial branch.  This succeeded in dredging up from somewhere in my subconscious some rather ancient but very pleasant memories.  The George Locke branch, situated at the intersection of Lawrence and Yonge streets, was also my “local” source of books during my teen years in Toronto, and in fact my first hourly wage was earned as a part-time assistant working weekends and after school in the Children’s section at that branch.  I remember starting at 60 cents an hour, and of receiving a small envelope with my wages, paid in cash, every few weeks.  A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away … to coin a phrase.  For Jane Urquhart, libraries provided a portal into a world of ideas and of the imagination, a world that stretched far beyond her immediate physical circumstances.  Her passion for libraries remains unabated, and I shall freely confess that so too does mine.  Libraries, like universities and the annual Congress, facilitate the bending of my brain in ways that can only be good for me.

This past week Carleton has been criticized for allowing a student group – a club accredited by CUSA, I might add – to hold an event on campus that was co-sponsored by the Iranian embassy, entitled “The Contemporary Awakening and Imam Khomeini’s Thoughts”.  I did not attend this event, nor did I even know it was happening, so I have no idea what went on, but the criticism appears to follow the following train of thought:  Khomeini was an evil man, and thus we shouldn’t allow any discussion of his thoughts or legacy that doesn’t begin with that premise.  I can only shake my head in horror at such views.

To begin with, none of us are in a position to decide who or what is evil in any absolute way.  History judges such things, and historical views evolve over time.  Distance often brings perspective.  But even if, for the sake of argument, we accept the premise that Khomeini was evil, surely this doesn’t preclude us from studying him.  He was, after all, a major political and religious leader of the second half of the 20^th century, and regardless of what we may think of his views, he did make history.  I am an historian of the Middle Ages, a time when a lot of very evil things were done by people whom I don’t think I would like very much if I were to meet them, but that surely doesn’t preclude my studies!  One letter to President Runte, on which I was copied for some reason, attempted to maintain that the university was “negligent” in permitting this event, sponsored by a student group, to happen on our campus.  I suppose the authors would like someone to vet each and every campus event, a full-time job at a minimum; but what a slippery slope that would be!  I can easily envisage a day when no discussion of religion, or politics, or social issues would be allowed … for fear of offending someone.  Or perhaps, depending on the holder of the office of the President, we would only allow left-wing speakers, or only right-wing speakers, or perhaps only those who espoused complete anarchy.  Perhaps the only religions we should discuss are Jainism and shamanism; and perhaps any discussion of social policies could be limited to those in effect in 19^th-century Tasmania.  How utterly absurd, and how utterly contrary to everything that makes a university of value!  For what it’s worth, my own view is that there should be no taboo subjects of any sort.  Anything and everything should be allowed, within the limits of the law of the land.  And if we are shocked or occasionally offended, then well and good.  That’s what we are here to do; to challenge and perhaps change our thinking, not to reinforce our existing prejudices.  Indeed, if we don’t shock and offend one another, at least from time to time, then as an institution we have failed utterly in our duty.  As one of my own mentors once memorably quipped: “John, I don’t like it when you agree with me, because then I can’t learn from you.”

Of course none of this is new.  Our world is consumed by conflict, and probably always will be.  But I hold alight the candle of hope that there can be at least one place where we fight our battles with the merits of our ideas, and not with tank shells and tear gas.  Or for that matter, by resorting to censorship.  But perhaps I am getting old and dream too much.