The Rhetoric of Food:
Make Your Own Food Chain
Currently, the majority of Americans’ food comes from a long
and tangled food chain, stemming from primarily corn and petroleum, and going
on a convoluted journey from there through processing factory after processing
factory until it gets to a supermarket near you. All of this traveling is costing the earth,
due to of the amount of oil needed to distribute all of that food from just a few areas to
everywhere across the world. Then,
tacked onto that amount of oil is the copious amounts needed to run all the
machines used for processing. Most of
this food is also grown in monocultures that not only deplete the soil but also
create a very weak ecosystem susceptible to diseases, bugs, and crop
failures. The monoculturistic food is
then processed into a whole spectrum of diverse and fanciful ingredients that
are then rearranged into something that resembles food, though it all really
just stems from the same few ingredients – specifically corn, soybeans, and
wheat.
The local sustainable movement is the counter-argument to
this industrial monoculture food system by trying to keep the food chain short,
local, and healthy. By eating whole
diverse foods that are grown locally, your health can be improved greatly,
because your body is getting all the necessary nutrients the way that they are
meant to be taken in – with the other elements of the food they are contained
in. This also improves the
sustainability of your food, by encouraging the local farmers, and so the
economy of your area, which eliminates the need for an overuse of fossil fuels
in the traveling of the food. The
prevalence of organic food in the mainstream shows the trend towards this
healthier way of being. You can
contribute to this movement by going to your local farmers’ market, other local
farms, or buying organically. However,
the biggest way that you can make a change is taking what you eat into your own
hands, by starting a garden, raising chickens, etc. That is, creating your own food chain.
By creating your own food chain, you suddenly know where
your food comes from, what went into it, and you have control over exactly what
it is you are eating. All your food will
be fresher, have more nutrients, and you will be healthier as a result of it. You can make a fairly sustainable closed loop
food chain with only a few elements to it – such as humans, chickens, and a
variety of plants.
Our country as a whole is currently trending towards an
obesity epidemic, with unhealthiness running rampant, our primary food sources
coming from industrial food chains more and more. This tendency is hurting not only our people
but also our earth and its ecosystems.
That is why we need to try to bring the food back to where it came from
– the land – and closer to its final destination – near to us, the people who
eat it. So help create change and make
your own food chain!
Visual Rhetoric:
During the project ‘The Rhetoric of Food’, our class read The Omnivore’s Dilemma, watched an array
of movies and film clips, and consumed other rhetoric from all different viewpoints
about food. After studying the human relationship
with food, we were instructed to create a piece of visual rhetoric portraying a
viewpoint on the matter. I wanted to
take a positive stance on the issue, rather than focusing on the negatives,
like with the industrial food. So, I
decided that I would make a rhetorical poster encouraging people to make their
own food chain, rather than relying on the industrial unknown food chain.
I think that this project was really important to my
understanding of what it means to be an American and a conscientious
eater. Most of the people in our class
(including me) didn’t really know that much about where our food came from,
including the prevalence of corn in our diets, detrimental monocultures, and
corporate monopolizing. I did actually
know some of this before beginning this project, but I never really realized
the extent to which it went.
I usually eat organic, but after studying food, I now
realize just how important that is, and how much more important eating locally
and sustainably is. We waste so much oil
in transporting and processing our foods that it simply makes more sense. This project inspired me to eat better and
more sustainably and encourage others to do the same.
The rhetoric of the project was fairly startling too. I don’t think that I really realized before
just how important packaging and advertising for food is and how big of an
industry it is. So much money goes into
appealing food to people, and especially the organic industry, because people
want those stories that go with their food.
I now feel like I am so much more aware of the rhetoric that goes into
food, and so feel like I am less swayed by it.
Semester Project: Narrative HistoryIt Never Stop
Project Description:
My story is about a little white girl living in the south during slavery. Her father buys her a little boy slave to play with, but when she starts to go to school, she tries to teach him to read. Her father finds out, and sells him. She goes on a journey to find him, and during the process, finds out about the harsh reality of slavery.
It was Laura's birthday. She walked out of her room and down the steep stairs to the dining room where she was greeted by the smell of biscuits and gravy. "Fatha’!" she yelled, leaping into his lap. "Where‘r the biscuits?"
"Aunt Rebecca’ll bring ‘em out in a minute. But I bet you'll neva guess what I got ya fo’ your birthday," he teased her.
"I don’ know! More biscuits?" she asked as Aunt Rebecca came out with them, the gravy spilling over their sides, hot and steaming. "I’d be happy with that!"
"Naw, I bought you a li’l negro boy to play with so ya won't be so bo’ed all the time!"
"Really? Can I go see ‘im?"
"Sure, but finish yo’ breakfast first," her father told her.
A few minutes later, they walked out into the cool morning air, the sun glinting off the freshly sown fields as they made their way towards the slave quarters. She could feel the warmth soaking into her hair, her clothes, her skin.
They approached the door and her father pushed it open, strode inside, and glared around at the negroes searching for his new purchase. “Well, where are you?” he bellowed. From out of the comer, a little boy crept, his legs bowed, his head lowered in submission.
Laura ran up to him exclaiming, "Hi! What's yo’ name?"
"Marc, ma’am" he mumbled, not making eye contact.
"Thanks Fatha’! We’ll be back layta’! Bye!" She continued pulling him along the path, veering off into the woods, suddenly stopping and yanking him into a little hollow in the trees.
She plopped down, peered back up at Marc, and chirped, "Ya gonna sit down?"
“Yes ‘m.” He carefully lowered himself to the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them, looking at Laura with fear.
"Hey, it's fine! We're gonna be best friends, me and you. This is our official camp headqua’tas, so we always meet here, okay? But it isn't quite good enough yet, so ah first order of business as friends is to build ourselves a better fort fo’ us. We start tomorra!"
***
Laura woke up, sprinted downstairs, grabbed a few biscuits, and hopped out the door. She skipped out to the slave children’s quarters, where she halted to a stop and tapped on the door. She could hear Aunt Rose moving around within, until the door opened just a crack. "Hey Aunt Rose! Can I see Marc please?"
"Jes' a momen’ honey, he still ‘sleep, but ah'll go wake him for yuh."
Laura flopped herself down on the path, but leaped up when Marc came out of the door, his eyes still filled with the dewy reminiscence of sleep.
"Where you been? We’ve gotta go and start buildin’ ah fort right now!" She grabbed his hand and started skipping off to begin their construction.
***
Some months later, Laura and Marc finally stepped back and observed their handiwork. The cold of winter was starting to creep into her bones, so she knew that they had finished it just in time. "Well, what d’ya think?" she exclaimed.
"Ah thinks its real good, speshly cause it'll keep us wahm this wintah." The way he smiled warmed her from the inside out.
"Laura! Come inside, it's gettin’ freezin’ and you don't want ta catch cold," came her father's voice from across the rigid trees and frozen ground.
"Well Marc, I'll see ya tomorra! Bye!" And with that, Laura skipped off.
Once she got to the house, her father stopped her in the hallway. “Honey, you’ll be starting school tomorra,” his voice suddenly hardening, “and I don’t want you gettin’ no ideas ‘bout teachin’ Marc anythin’. He’s a negro and he should not be educated. You’ve been spendin’ too much time with him as it is.”
“Okay Fatha,” she said, her eyes innocent and big.
“Well then, let’s go’n eat,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. He scooped her up, and loped off to the kitchen, their laughter echoing through the house.
***
Laura walked into her house after school, tossed her bag in her room, and snuck out the back door and over to the slave quarters, tapped on the window she knew was Marc's, and waited for him to climb out. She soon saw a little dirty brown foot, followed by a dirty brown body, slithering out the window and down the wall, until he landed quietly in front of Laura. "Can ah come with yah tomorah?" he said softly, with his head drooping in sadness.
"No, Negroes ain’t allowed ta, but don’t be sad,” she cried, flinging her arms around him, “I’ll always be ya best friend, I promise!” She let go of him, and started bouncing on her feet with excitement. “And guess what? I can teach you everythin’ that I learn at school, so you won't eva’ be left behin’! It’ll be so much fun!"
"Reahly? Okay!" They walked off, their arms slung around each other.
***
A few weeks later, Laura skipped in the door, up to her room, and back downstairs, where she almost ran into her father standing there. "Where you goin’?" he said.
She stared up at him, her eyes wide and innocent, and mumbled, "I'm just goin’ out ta play with Marc."
"M’kay, but ’membah, you mustn’t teach him anythin’" said her father as he grudgingly moved aside, staring at her suspiciously as she walked out the door.
As she approached their fort, she saw Marc's head sticking out from the brush, his eyes concerned and eager. "Where yah been? Ah was worried we ben caught by mastah."
''No, he don’t know a thing. Now, lets begin. Do you remember yo’ abc's that I taught you yestaday?"
"Ahh, maybe!" He rattled them off, his face glowing in pride.
"You gettin’ better, but you still need to practice a bit mo’!” she teased him. “Now then, can you remembah how to spell cat?"
"Yeh..." he trailed off, his eyes widening, then he slowly curled in on himself.
"What's wrong? Marc?"
He barely inclined his head towards the doorway behind Laura without saying a word. She spun her head around, the sun suddenly slashing into her eyes, making an ominous halo around her father standing in the doorway.
"What are you doin’?" he bellowed, his face a greyish mask looking upon them with disgust. "I thought I told ya to never teach a negro to do schoolwork! I've had it. I'm sellin' that negro just as soon as I can find a buyah. Git yo’self back to the house! Now!" She ran towards the house, paused when she heard Marc’s cries, then ran even faster, her tears and the encroaching darkness clouding her thoughts and vision.
***
The next day, Laura dropped her schoolbooks and ran across the barren ground, her eyes searching for some sign that the impossible hadn't happened, but as she came breathlessly to a halt, she knew. As she strode back up to the house, fuming at her father, she realized that she couldn't let Marc go. She entered the kitchen, grabbed a bag, went to the pantry, and grabbed everything that she could find. She walked out, making her way along the deserted road towards the town. He was the best friend she ever had, so there was no way that she was going to let him leave her - she would do whatever it took.
***
After walking all night, she came to the town where she saw a number of people meandering towards the market, the sun bathing it entirely yellow. She approached the pastry stall, and asked the woman standing there, "Hello Ma’am, I was wonderin’ if you've heard of a negro by the name of Marc. He's about my age, and he was sold ‘round here yesterday. Have you seen ‘im or his new masta’?"
"Seems I did see ‘im," the woman said. "That man over there got him." She pointed across the market at a stocky man who seemed to be vehemently bargaining with a vendor. His arms looked poised to strangle, barely held back by the same muscles trying to break free, his body angled threateningly towards the vendor.
"Are ya sure?" she whispered, glancing at the woman, then back at the man, afraid that if she took her eyes off him for a second he would disappear.
"Yeh. Hey, where’s yo folks?" she asked.
But Laura had already tiptoed over to the neighboring stall. She carefully watched Marc’s new master the whole day. Just as the brittle darkness began to set in, he marched off down the road, his shoes making a clacking sound on the rocks. Laura was a shadow, staying just inside the trees all the way till she heard the screaming of a field supervisor to the negroes working out in the fields. "Get on with it! Go fasta’!" and the crisp snap of the whip against raw flesh came to her ears.
The man entered the house, and she waited. After a while, the lights went out, and so Laura crept off towards the negro houses, peering in the windows, one by one, hoping to see Marc. However, she finished and she still hadn't seen him. Heartbroken, she stumbled off, away from the house towards the fields.
She was about halfway across the field when she heard her name being called, fragmented by gut shattering coughs. She flung her head around, her eyes scanning for him, and in the corner she finally found what she was looking for. He looked much like the first time she met him, curled up, but this time in pain. He was hunched over, his eyes staring but not seeing, his hands clutching his chest, which shook every time he coughed, blood sputtering out of his mouth. As she approached, he struggled to straighten, but couldn't because of the raw wounds caked on his back. A shovel was lying beside him, stuck in a patch of land unturned, abandoned from fatigue. Laura ran to the scene in front of her, to Marc lying there, and put her arms around him. "What happened to ya? Why ah ya hurt?" she whispered in horror.
"Ah didn' finish m ... mah work in ti ... time. They whip ... whipped me an' m ... made me stay heah till ah fini ... sh."
"Well, this can't happen all the time, maybe it's just cause you’re new. It'll get better, you'll see. But first, lets get you cleaned up." She pulled gently on his hand, standing him up, and walked with him over to the water well. She sat him down, took off her new cardigan and soaked it in the cool water, dabbing his back until it was shiny and pink. "Thah now. That'll heal, so we’ll take ya to yo’ room. Where is it?"
"Ovah theah," he mumbled, pointing at a shack that looked like it was barely standing up.
Laura led him gently there, and opened the door to a room, stacked with beds piled with children. Marc pointed over to a bed with a few kids already on it and whispered, "That's mahn." She laid him down, his eyes closing as he drifted off to sleep. She tiptoed out of the room, sliding the door closed behind her. She drifted out into the woods a little ways, where she collapsed on the ground and promptly fell asleep.
***
She opened her eyes, the sunlight filtering through the treetops, pinpoints of truth and pureness cascading down on her. To Laura, this felt more real than everything that happened last night. As she stared upwards, it dawned on her that maybe Marc's beating wasn't just a one-time thing. What if, she thought, this was how they treated them negroes as a regular practice? She quickly dismissed this thought, but it spurned her to get up, and begin to make her way back to the plantation to see how Marc was getting along.
As she approached, she saw the field full of slaves. Towards the edge, one was hunched over, struggling to push his shovel into the ground. Immediately, Laura knew it was Marc, who looked only slightly better than he did the night before. She made her way around the edge of the field, where she called to him from the cover of the trees. He laboriously turned, his eyes scanning hopefully. Once he saw her, he meandered over to where she stood, and whispered, "What is yah doin heah still? If they find yah, they’ll hurt yah. Ah've got to go back tah workin or they’ll whip me 'gan." He shuffled back to the field, where he continued his painstaking pushing of the earth.
Laura sat there, waiting for him to get a break, but it never came. She sat there, and sat there. Just as the sun was dipping down, the white man from the day before came out. She leaped up, thinking that he was there to let them off for the night, but instead he marched up to Marc, and, with a flick of his wrist, brought him to his knees howling in pain. Laura nearly ran out to him, but caught herself just in time, clasping her hand to her mouth, holding back screams and cries. She stood there, not being able to do anything as the man whipped her friend mercilessly.
Project Reflection:
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
Final Lit Circle Reflection
Civil Disobedience Post-Seminar Writing
Columbus Columbus Americas
After about 15 minutes of excruciating screams, the man kicked dirt onto Marc, lying crippled on the ground, and strode off, never even looking back. After the darkness had fully saturated itself into the earth and sky, the slaves began straggling off, their faces haggard, their bodies ghosts. As they went, some of them stopped by Marc, checking to see if he was still alive, but none did anything to help. Once they were all gone, Laura crept out of the trees to where he lay, unmoving. "Marc?" she whispered, gently turning him over. "Are ya okay?"
His cloudy eyes opened a crack, his lips split, trying to form words. “Laura. Now do yuh see what it’s like heah? This was fo’ not finishin’ las’ night. Them olda’ Negroes say it never stop. I don’ know what tah do,” he whispered.
“It’ll be ok, don’t worry. We’ll figure somethin’ out,” she reassured him, although she didn’t hold much hope. She led him off to the water and cleaned his wounds again, and took him to his bed like the night before.
She wandered off to the woods, her ideals fragmenting, like the sticks and leaves snapping beneath her feet. The spikes of moonlight hit her eyes, as the harsh reality for the slaves on this and many other plantations hit her mind. Her own plantation, where she thought blacks were treated with respect, withered in the face of the newly revealed truth. Memories and wind came flooding over her as she entered a clearing. Time and time again, her father ordered the slaves around with no regard to their feelings, never treating them like they were worthy of thought as he crushed them with his powerful storms and gusts. Her whole life, she was in the eye of his Negro crippling hurricane, but she had suddenly been pushed into the full force winds. There was no getting out of them now, and she needed to figure out a way to get her and Marc to safety.
She wasn’t sure what her plans were, but she suddenly knew that she had to go back and get him. She spun around, sprinting back to the plantation. She hadn’t realized how far she had walked in her ruminations, but now, when she was rushing to get back, she found that she had walked miles from the houses. Finally, she reached the fields, the crops glistening in the darkness, taunting her as she ran. She reached the children’s slave house, and pushed open the door, the blackness penetrating every facet of the room, seeping towards her ominously.
As she crept over to where Marc lay, the gloom pressed upon her, her heavy breaths conspicuous, clouds of vapor puffing out. But she looked down, and there was no haze above him, no heat shimmering out, no pulsing of his chest. The storm of slavery had sucked his life out of him. She collapsed from the pain gushing through her heart, her eyes squeezing shut against the reality flooding in.
Project Reflection:
The most difficult part of this project to me was beginning it. I couldn’t figure out what to do because there were so many different options. Then, when I had finally decided what to do for my narrative, I couldn’t figure out how to connect my synthesis to my narrative. Originally, the synthesis was going to be about why and how southerners truly believed that slavery was acceptable. However, I just couldn’t get past the first few paragraphs, and I felt that I was just repeating the same old thing that had been said a million times. So, just a few days before the synthesis was due, I came up with a better idea. I decided that I would write about how children thought about slavery, and the evolution of their beliefs. Once I had this idea, I was able to fully write my synthesis, and, unlike before, I actually liked it. The next step was to write my narrative. I chose the short story format, because I have never really written any fiction before. Although it was difficult, I think that it turned out quite well, and it was surprisingly fun too.
If I had more time, I think that it would be really fun to get the booklet professionally printed, so it would look even nicer at exhibition, and I would be able to keep it for longer. I would've also added more scenes in between the time that Laura got Marc, and when her father sold Marc, building their relationship even more. In addition, I wish that I had verified that my copies were accurate before I went to exhibition, because they were all wrong except for the initial one that I printed out. It would have been nice to be able to give out copies, and it would have been more professional.
Even with all that, I am still very proud of my final product. I think that it turned out very refined and beautiful, and it showed the readers the evolution of children's beliefs. During this process, I think that I was able to learn even more about the topic I was studying from a different angle than we usually research from. This was a great experience to have, and I think that it will help with future fictional writing.
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
Final Lit Circle Reflection
1. How well did you participate in the literature circle experience? Were you prepared each time? Did you participate fruitfully?
I think that I participated quite well in the lit circles. I always came prepared, with the section read, and my role done thoroughly. I tried to keep the conversation on track, and moving in a productive direction, but it was difficult at times. However, I think that contributed beneficially to the group´s understanding.
2. What did you get out of this experience? Discuss the importance of the discussion groups in helping to form your interpretations of this novel. Be specific.
Honestly, I don´t think that I got a ton out of these lit circles. I tried to do what I could, and I did all the work, but my group wasn´t especially thoughtful, and I didn´t really connect to the book. One of the major ways that it contributed to my understanding of the novel was the allegory that the river is life. That is, life is just a series of small instances, all strung together by your life. Other than that, I didn´t get a lot out of it, but I think that the class discussion at the end was really beneficial – it helped me to get more understanding and relevance to the novel.
3. Is Huckleberry Finn a racist novel? Give a detailed explanation of your answer, referring to the text for evidence.
I don´t think that it is. I think that most of the people in it are racist, and there are some racist elements to it because of the time period it was written in, but I don´t think that the message of the story is racism. The fact that Jim is released at the end really is what solidified that fact for me. If it was a racist novel, I can´t imagine that they would let a black slave be free, and let him be a boy´s best friend. There are definitely racial stereotypes in this book, like Jim being really superstitious and dumb, but those were just a product of the times, with other literary benefits. Those stereotypes are exactly what Mark Twain was trying to satirize, which is why he needed them in the book, even though he didn’t want to put them in too bad a light.
4. What commentary does The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn make about life in America?
I think that Huck Finn shows us how history repeats itself. Huck goes leisurely down the river, however, every time he stops, something bad happens to him, Jim, or the people of the town. These little instances are a general allegory for our history – we rebelled from England (Huck leaving town), then a series of wars, hostilities, and scamming happened repeatedly. The ending then tells us that we are doomed to repeat this process, just with new specifics and locations.
Their Eyes Were Watching
God Assessment
1. Make an interpretive claim about Their Eyes Were Watching God. Mention several specifics from the book
that support your idea.
Their Eyes Were
Watching God is about breaking out of the tedium of the American existence,
making change, and finding peace with your life. At the very beginning of the book, Hurston
says, “[for women], The dream is the truth.
Then they act and do things accordingly.” This sets the stage for the rest of the novel,
showing us right off that it is going to be about fulfillment of dreams and
resisting the monotony of everyday life. At the very beginning of the book, Janie
Crawford has a kind of epiphany, a coming of age moment, when she truly sees
what love is, in the trees and bees and air.
Soon however, she loses this awe when she is forced into a life of resignation
and despondency with her first husband, Logan Killicks. When Joe Starks comes along the road, she
sees in him what she lost, so she goes with him in an effort to steal back that
freedom and excitement that was so void from her life on the farm. However, she realizes that her new husband
has a different kind of doldrums to offer her, one more filled with repression
and invisible fame. Again, she tries to
fight it, but she is pushed down into subordination until she finally takes the
first step to her freedom, standing up to him.
Later, once Joe dies, Tea Cake comes into the picture, a romantic,
carefree man who treats her like she is someone, not just someone’s woman, maid,
or machine. Then, they decide to move
away and experience things, go places, and live whatever life they feel like
living at the time. They feel,
experience, and enjoy, and when Tea Cake dies, Janie has become a new person,
one who is willing to fight for what she loves and dreams and she realizes that
her new ideas for the future no longer include undertaking grand things. So she goes back to the town, and lives the
rest of her life in peace with herself and the languid days that pass her
by.
2. In
1937, Richard Wright reviewed Their Eyes
Were Watching God and wrote: “The sensory sweep of her novel carries no
theme, no message, no thought. In the
main, her novel is not addressed to the Negro, but to a white audience whose
chauvinistic tastes she knows how to satisfy.”
In particular, Wright objected to the novel’s discussion of race and use
of black dialect. Why might Wright have
objected to the book? Do you agree or
disagree with Wright’s interpretation of the novel?
Richard Wright may have been on to something – Yes, southern
black dialect is used. Yes, perhaps in
just a sweep of the novel, there may be no particular message. Yes, this book is enjoyable for whites (me
being one myself). However, this
speculative claim does not have enough evidence to support it, and far too much
contrary evidence to deter it. The
number of possible messages in this book is far too many to count, with many of
them strong and heavily supported. The
way that this book portrays race can always be considered a strong theme,
whether you think it is racist or not, and the statement that it makes about
American life and dreams is tremendous.
In addition, I don’t think that this novel could be considered to be
addressed to one specific group of people (and if any it would be women,
because of the romance aspect). This
novel is trying to target anyone and everyone, no matter their race – I would
even go so far as to say that it would still be a very strong novel even if all
of the characters had been white, Asian, Native American, or any other
race. There may be some racist
portrayal, but it is only in context with the time period that it was set
in. After the civil war, I would expect
that the actions of her Nanny are not that out of character, and the actions of
the other characters are not that far off either. Whether the people in this book were the norm
or the exception does not make a difference to the excellency of writing and
theme. Zora Neale Hurston’s novel is one
of the greater American novels, and although it does have some faults, it isn’t
nearly as bad as Wright makes it out to be.
Civil Disobedience Post-Seminar Writing
1. I think that I get a high A level participation. I had a lot of good new ideas, clarifying points, and I found middle ground. Also, this time, I made some good text connections, although the first time I did that, I accidentally threw my pencil in my face, which kind of distracted from my quote. One concept that I brought up was when we were asked if the occupy Wall Street protests were going to be effective. I thought that they would be, but in a roundabout way. The protests will slowly make their way into the public’s subconscious, which will change the way that people think of the corporations, resulting in the corporations needing to change their policies to keep the customers. This really sums up the way that most civil disobedience works – it slowly changes the peoples subconscious until things change.
This seminar was the best seminar that I have ever had. I think that my performance, the intelligence and depth of our discussion are the best yet. Also, I think that this is the seminar where I got the most from it, and contributed the most to it. One concept that really enhanced my understanding of the text was tucker’s idea of a higher morality, then how it gets confusing with subjective morality. Because how Thoreau decides if a law is just or unjust is by morality, and he kind of alludes to a higher morality, but what is that higher morality, if it even exists? So what it really comes down to is our own moralities, which are highly subjective. So, in essence, civil disobedience is based on subjective moralities, not what it truly right.
Also, I think that I disagree somewhat with the idea of civil disobedience now. That is, I can see now some more of the flaws now where I couldn’t before. I realize now that, for example, not paying taxes isn’t a very effective method of civil disobedience. Just one person breaking the law isn’t going to make that much of a difference, especially when the message is unclear as to what you disagree with. Also, like with not paying taxes, when you are impeding another important and beneficial facet of the government, I don’t think that method of civil disobedience is effective and advantageous.
2. Civil disobedience is a useful and effective tool for changing the detrimental facets of a government, but in order to be beneficial it must be used accurately and with finesse. When Martin Luther King, Jr. led the southern black slaves in a revolution, he was practicing civil disobedience with finesse and accuracy. He had a strong and clear goal, and he was able to organize enough people in a productive and organized manner for a long enough period of time to really make a difference. Because he had such strong control over the concept of civil disobedience, he was able to entirely change the way America was run. However, if this tactic is used clumsily, without order, and with unclear goals, then it is not a very useful tool. For example, when Henry David Thoreau, who really solidified this idea, didn’t pay his taxes in protest of the Mexican-American war, it was not very effective. It was only him, and his goal was not that clear to the authorities, so he didn’t make that much of a difference – the war still went on. The Occupy Wall Street protests that are going on right now are also not that effective, although they could be if they tried. There is no strong, focused, cohesive message that is coming out of the protests, which is a very important point for creating an effective disobedience. However, if they were to find some kind of leader, or at least synthesize into a whole, then I believe that they could be very effective. If more people were to use civil disobedience accurately, then it could turn into an even stronger form of changing the world that we live in.
The Smokescreen of Power
The newly founded United States government allegedly set out to give representation to the values of the common people. Fundamental ideals of the freshly born country took root in the minds of the men that created our most patriotic documents. But those same men, who we revere and idolize in our schools and lives, actually created the government to favor the wealthy. However, they carefully phrased documents in such a way as to make lower class communities falsely believe that everyone has an equal say in the government, therefore ensuring that the wealthy landowners would retain authority in the newly founded country.
It makes sense that the Founding Fathers would want to keep the power for themselves, considering that they had it even when the US was under British rule. So, by creating the government themselves, these men were able to assure that they would keep that influence. This isn’t to say that the less wealthy people didn’t inspire the revolution – in fact, they played a big part – but it was the prosperous people who created the laws, documents, and speeches that we remember and live by today. The fact that they were well-to-do people probably had an effect on whether they were remembered. Patrick Henry is an example of this. He gave a speech in which he tried to convince the legislators to go to war against England. If he hadn’t been an affluent governor, he probably wouldn’t have been able to speak in front of the House of Burgesses and his speech wouldn’t have been as influential as it was.
Both the plantation owners and the slave traders relied on the black slaves for their livelihood. If slavery were abolished, like the first version of the declaration tried to do, they would have lost their livelihood. This is probably the exact reason that Thomas Jefferson, an owner of hundreds of slaves, deleted that passage from the original Constitution - to protect the wealth, influence, and stature that owning slaves gave men in the revolutionary period.
Even the system of our government was formulated in a way that favored the prosperous politicians. In the Federalist Paper no. 10, James Madison talks about how we must get rid of factions, “a number of citizens, whether amounting to a majority or a minority of the whole, who are united and actuated by some common impulse of passion, or of interest, adversed to the rights of other citizens, or to the permanent and aggregate interests of the community”. At first glance, this seems like a fair need – to stop the people who get in the way of progress in the community. But who determines what qualifies as a disruptive faction? Is it the people who believe in that cause? Or is it the politicians whose control the disruptors are threatening? Our government, a republic, was formed exactly for the purpose of stifling factions because, in a republic, “The influence of factious leaders may kindle a flame within their particular States, but will be unable to spread a general conflagration through the other states.” This prevents any factions, whether they are beneficial or malicious.
Within this country, even if you did want to run for a governmental position to promote your views, you would need to have enough money. In the revolutionary period, you needed to have 1,000 pounds to run for State Senator and 5,000 pounds for Governor, which would have allowed only about 10 percent of the population to qualify. Even today, you need an education, experience, and a campaign to run for an office, all of which costs a great deal of money. With that strong of a monetary limit, many people would be unable to be a representative of their community, thoroughly defeating the purpose of a fair government.
This country was not solely founded on iconic principles of a new and liberating kind. In fact, the elite were crafting the government and legislature to continue letting the wealthy have the majority of the power, while keeping the citizens under a carefully woven smokescreen of laws and nationalism to hide the fact that they had little, if any, voice in the new world.
Crash (The film) Seminar Reflection
The movie crash was a great commentary on racism and life in the United States , specifically Los Angeles Durango
One of the major influences on his behavior was a natural lust for power, fame, and riches. Queen Isabella promised him all of these things with “10% of the profits, governorship over new-found lands, and the fame that would go with a new title: Admiral of the Ocean Sea America
His environment had an effect on his decisions as well, because he was in a new land without any kings, laws, or justice. If he and his men thought that they could get away with anything, there was nothing to stop them from doing what they wanted.
Most of the upper class during this time period had slaves, which breeds a sort of disregard for those people who were different than them. Columbus and his men wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing back these people as slaves and treating the roughly. You can hear this sort of mentality from Columbus Columbus
Christopher Columbus had many forces acting on him during 1492, and so he was not a villain nor a hero, but a result of situational influences that were merely a cultural part of the times and within the nature of mankind, but leading him to a secure place in history.
Montana 1948, Post-Seminar Writing
Reflection/Self-Assess
The outcome of this seminar for me was highly informational and enlightening. I felt that because this was my first book and seminar of the year, as well as the first time when I have had to think deeply about something, I wasn’t really able to get very deep with my thoughts about this book. I mean, I was able to formulate some opinions, but not really delve further or explore other possibilities. So for me, this seminar was hugely helpful in that it allowed me to relearn and refocus my ideas bringing back what I had lost over the summer. But, given that, I think that I still did pretty well at the seminar because once people started sharing their ideas, my brain started to run again, and I was able to expand ideas and form opinions. Collectively the seminar turned out well, although there were a few areas where we didn’t really say much and the conversation died.
I think that for this seminar, I would get either a high B or low A. I feel that I did very well as far as expressing opinions, furthering the conversation, providing clarification, listening to other people, and bridging the gap between ideas, but I think that I could have connected my ideas to the text and to life more and made notes beforehand.
There were many things in this seminar that brought depth and clarification to my thinking, but one of the main things was the aspect that Hannah brought into the discussion. I think that she played a key role, because of her differing opinions on many of the topics, which helped us to better construct and figure out what exactly we were saying. This happened particularly during the first question about whether or not justice was served. By that point, I kind of had an opinion, but I hadn’t really thought about all of the possibilities. The back and forth discussion that ensued really helped me to figure out my standpoint, and I was able to think of new things that helped to form my opinion overall.
Synthesis
The book Montana America
