Third in queue at a Barclays bank in central London during winter break, I read through squinted eyes the BBC’s announcement that Julian Assange, the controversial founder of Wikileaks who was wanted by Interpol for alleged sex crimes in Sweden, had been arrested at a London police station after turning himself in at a previously appointed time. A close follower of the Wikileaks controversy—then climaxing after the disclosure, in trickles, of hundreds of thousands of secret American diplomatic memos—and a part-time member in the international Julian Assange fan club, I immediately left the bank line, looked up at an Internet café the address of the court to which the BBC said he was being taken, and nearly tore my calf muscles trying to book it to Westminster as fast as I could. I was met by a massive and still growing horde of reporters, photographers, news crews, and protestors, blocking traffic across Horseferry Row and spilling around the block. The Wall Street Journal reporter covering the story told me Assange had already been in the court for nearly an hour. If he came out one door, he was a free man; if he came out the other, he’d been denied bail, and would be taken immediately to some prison. I elbowed my way into the crowd, and waited.

I say part-time member of the fan club because like many people I’m not sure how I feel about the case. As with every news story, I’m consumed with the desire to have the “right opinion”­—but in this case it’s not obvious to me what that is. I stood in the London crowd and tried to figure things out.

As every apologist for Wikileaks is careful to point out, defending the organization against American bullying and defending its founder against charges of rape are two entirely different things. However, the fact that the United States seems intent on using his present incarceration to extradite him to America to face totally unrelated charges resulting from the documents leaks makes one wary of possible American influence in the Swedish judicial system. (It was announced only this past weekend that the American government had subpoenaed the Twitter accounts of Assange and other Wikileaks collaborators, evidence of a mounting criminal investigation that may try to bring him from England or Sweden to the U.S. for trial.) Despite the seemingly trumped-up nature of the rape charges, though, I am no more privy to the facts of those situations than are the other commentators who have prematurely—and some say, misogynistically—cleared Assange of all charges of sexual misconduct. Sweden may have unusually inclusive rape laws, but I’m not interested in allowing Assange an exception to the rules. Whether or not the rape charges were prompted by nefarious American influence we may have to wait years for Wikileaks or another organization to reveal. In the meantime, I suggest a suspension of judgment and permission for the judicial process to run its course.

The (probably) separate issue of the leaks is another thing I remain unhappily ambiguous about. I doubt whether the disclosure of the diplomatic cables was necessarily a good thing, whether it proved anything (many have pointed out that it actually proves conspiracy theorists overwhelmingly wrong about American evil), and whether a comparison can be made between what Assange is doing and what Daniel Elberg did with the Pentagon Papers in 1970. Rather, it’s hardly a stretch to consider Assange and his associates as self-inflated Quixotes, swinging at windmills of perceived American iniquity, doing far more harm than good by putting at serious risk the safety of innocents who collaboratorated with coalition forces in Iraq, Afghanistan, and elsewhere and were promised anonymity. Many people, particularly on the left, have jumped far too quickly to Wikileaks’ defense. While I too am concerned about American empire, government secrets, shady dealings, cover-ups, and war; while I leap reflexively to the defence of any group or individual I see being bullied and threatened by the officials of any government for acts hostile to that government; and while the endorsement yesterday of Wikileaks by the McGill Daily editorial board undoubtedly should have cleared up any remaining confusion as to whether supporting Wikileaks is the “right opinion” for someone of my age, race, socioeconomic status, and ideological disposition, there is something about the whole affair which prevents me from defending Assange and Wikileaks unequivocally.

Shortly after 3 p.m., Assange’s lawyer announced to the waiting masses that bail had been denied. A few minutes later a van with tinted windows emerged from a garage at the rear of the building. Police pushed photographers and protestors aside so it could pass into the street and deposit Assange safely in a London jail. People banged on the windows and shouted, “Political prisoner! Political prisoner!” I stood silently, asking myself whether I agreed with that assertion. I watched the van roll into the street and around a corner and out of view. I didn’t know what to think.

McGill Tribune

Whoever conceived of the concept of the holiday season satisfied every demographic. Need a new pair of oversized sunglasses and Ugg boots? Boxing Day’s for you! Need a night to consume grandpa’s “cough medicine?” Perhaps New Years can flick your switch! Or maybe you just want to kick it and go to church. Ever heard of a little thing called Christmas? But there’s one group of people who I have yet to mention—the über-Canadians, whose holidays are decorated not by shiny ornaments, but by the annual World Junior Hockey Championships.

“But who is this über-Canadian?” you may ask. Is he the man who chases his whiskey with maple syrup and shoots off a firework for each year since Confederation every July 1? Au contraire, mon frère, we must not confuse an über-Canadian with a patriot. Instead, to understand the  über-Canadian is to understand the aforementioned competition, a tournament known simply as the World Juniors in the vernacular of the True North. The World Juniors are where the finest young hockey players in the world lace up their skates and exhibit the highest level of under-21 international ice hockey accessible to us. I say “accessible” because Canadians are willing to, and quite often do, travel as far as Pardubice, Czech Republic just to cheer the boys on. This year, by virtue of the tournament having been held in Buffalo, New York, the road-trip proved all the more manageable. Compared to American fans, who could have been counted on the fingers of a character on the Simpsons, the red maple leaf was on display in disproportionately large numbers. Among those fans could be found countless über-Canadians.  

The über-Canadian is the one who, if not lucky enough to have found a ticket for the Canada-U.S.A. game, resorted to driving to Buffalo to watch Norway square off in a duel with Germany. But of course there were also über Canadians who were lucky enough to have obtained tickets to watch Canada play, which cost upwards of $200 even against a country such as Norway. Then Canada wins the game 9, 10, sometimes 15 to nothing, and the über Canadians celebrate and analyze a clumsy neutral zone turnover for the next 48 hours,  which, God forbid, could have made it 15-1 and helped the Norwegians salvage an ounce of pride. After all, that would have been an über-Canadian tragedy. Pardon my speculation, but I can’t envision a group of Norwegian folk (or Americans for that matter) crowding the bars to watch the game and, frankly, caring. Be that as it may, our Canadians rarely give up that fatal goal, and we usually win the tournament, as our nine appearances in the last ten gold medal games demonstrates. This tendency to win the World Junior Hockey Championships each year is an enabler for the über-Canadian.

Then the Russia game happened. Until the third period, yet another happy ending appeared more imminent than at a Dutch massage parlour, with Canada up 3-0. And then, to return to our previous analogy, the Canadians blew it. Über-Canadians all over the country were left speechless, their egos bruised and their faith tested. On this rare occasion of having been embarrassingly defeated by the Russians, we finally have to ask the important question: Will the über-Canadians stick around?

Kevin Kaczmara is U2 International Development Studies and Economics student, and can  be reached at [email protected].

We are writing this column because we care. The Bob Dylan song from which this column takes its name includes the line: “Their heads are full of big ideas, images and distorted facts.” We’re writing this column because we feel very strongly that these words are relevant today. When Dylan sang those words, what we heard was this: we all have a desire to connect with each other but we feel like we’re not doing it the right way. Today, when discussing this topic, both of us came to the realization that we have the habit of creating “images and distorted facts” rather than paying attention to what we genuinely hope and care about.

Communication needs to be talked about in a new way. First of all, we’re not writing this because the issue is fashionable. The topic is too often discussed because its immediate, more superficial effects are the only ones felt, like the strange feeling of stepping into a new set of clothes. The issue at hand has been so dolled up, passed around, and cross-examined that all you can really hear at the moment is a thousand babbling voices. Everyone is talking at once, trying to make a connection in the wrong way.

Connection and communication have always been at the heart of the impetus driving human progress in literature, music, visual art, and technology (not to mention silly things like procreation). Writers like Dante and Shakespeare shaped language by coining hundreds of new words. Picasso revolutionized the way we perceive reality by painting multiple perspectives simultaneously. Alexander Graham Bell’s invention of the telephone in the 19th century forever changed the way we communicate. But the use of artistic and technological tools to shape communication can never be fully predicted before the changes actually happen.

After you have finished reading this, open Facebook and look at the last five items you have posted. Does anyone, other than perhaps a small handful of your friends, actually care about them? Does your status about the fresh snowfall actually achieve anything, or are you just trying to be clever? Let’s face it—the content you generate online probably falls into one of three categories: (a) mental masturbation, (b) self-aggrandizement, or (c) clowning around. You are not a celebrity.

When you are browsing through profiles, the worst are always the ones people have tried to make realistic. Just a lot of cyberspace being unnecessarily filled. Good profiles are entertaining, presenting a caricature that is colorful or quirky. These profiles are saying: you don’t know me. Sometimes ridiculous but never fearful.

Communication can make a lot of people afraid: afraid of being rejected, afraid of being misunderstood, afraid of looking like an idiot. Many of these are the same things you feared in kindergarten … stupid, childish things. But the Idiot Wind is not here to tell you that you’re an idiot. The Idiot Wind is that feeling inside you that pushes you to create, connect, and care. The wind that makes your heart beat, the wind that makes us sing and cry instead of talking.

McGill Tribune

Investigating the underwater, oft-unseen part of the university admissions iceberg in North America makes one thing painfully clear: the supposed commitment to equality is often tainted by status-quo-maintaining political schemes. Statistics of demographic and performance correlations for students show varying results, but one is obvious: more and more students of Asian background consistently out-perform their peers who have non-Asian backgrounds.

The backlash has been as alarming as it has been amusing. Matt Parrot, director of a white supremacist group in Indiana, wrote in a piece warning against the Asian rise in academic and occupational excellence, “They exploit our Western meritocratic tradition to obtain positions of influence through merit.” How obtaining positions, within the parameters of a system, exploits said system is something he fails to explain. If you play by the rules, how can it be called unfair if you win? The subtext is fairly obvious: increased Asian success in the West means a less white West, which probably scares the hell out of people like Parrot.

This racism is not only found in fringe interest groups, but also within the ivory towers of America’s top universities. Princeton sociologist Thomas Espenshade studied 10 prestigious U.S. schools’ admission statistics. He found that Asian applicants needed to score 140 points higher on their SATs than white applicants to gain admission. A controversial Maclean’s article quoted one professor even equating the present situation with the way ambitious and hard-working Jewish students were marginalized in the first half of the 20th century by Ivy institutions in America, and by McGill.

For the most part Canadian universities these days rely strictly on non-biased, transcript-based procedures. This has led to surging numbers of Asian students in Canada’s top schools, proof that their high school grades blow the rest out of the water. At the University of British Columbia, 43 per cent of the undergrad students ethnically identify themselves as either Japanese, Korean, or Chinese.

Canada’s situation is not without its problems. Stereotypes and group lines are drawn tight on some university campuses. The same Maclean’s article mentioned that the two computer science buildings on the University of Waterloo campus are unofficially designated by students as “mainland and downtown China,” where days can go by without a word of English being heard. If this is the result of a genuine meritocracy, then so be it. But not to the detriment of tolerance and cultural understanding.

Our own campus isn’t fraught with such tensions, perhaps because our humanities programs are unusually strong, increasing dialogue, understanding, and tolerance. Or, a less cheery scenario, campus dialogue is stymied by non-budging political correctness, which does not allow honest conversations about racial divides. Either way, this trend of high performance among students of Asian descent is real—a victory for both meritocracy and democracy. Let’s not ignore it.

McGill Tribune

Three hundred and sixty-five more days have been filed away into the dusty archives of history. Starting with the devastating Haiti earthquake in January and ending with a breathtaking total lunar eclipse in December, the year 2010 was filled with events.

Yet, a few years from now, most of us may need several minutes to plumb even a few of these events from the depths of our memories. If you don’t believe me, go ahead and list three to five major events that took place in 2007.

The paradox of time has been this: our years are getting more and more full of what the media deems “events,” but we are remembering fewer of them over time. In essence, we are getting robbed of experiences that do matter, and memories that we do not even care for are forcefully recording themselves into our minds.

Partly responsible for this scam, as always, is the media. In the past, the value of news used to be measured in what was called the “information-action ratio.” An event was newsworthy if it could translate into effective action in peoples’ lives. A tornado warning would be very newsworthy, because it could lead to precautionary measures taken by those alarmed. Today, we still have useful tornado warnings. But we also have truckloads of junk that have no actionable value in our lives making it to the 6 p.m. news shows. And we remember it very well.

When you mix the serious with the trivial and coat everything with the same glaze of sensationalism, you get indifference. Celebrity breakups and natural disasters start competing for our limited attention and emotions, and surprisingly, it is actually a contest. For example, most people can’t tell you how many lives were claimed by the monsoon that hit Pakistan earlier this July. Yet they would not hesitate to tell you the name of the promiscuous golfer who drove his public image off a cliff. Thanks to the media’s ability to perfect human stimulation and to optimally exploit our brain’s memory centres without our knowledge or permission, we now remember a man who continues to live with shame and forgot 1,600 people who died with honour.

However, as much as I love accusing the media of heinous crimes against humanity in general and democracy in particular, we, the consumers, are the real defendants. We are the ones who are consistently selling out experiences for more useless information. We are the ones who have confused efficiency for mere reductionism, expecting to receive our news in the form of quick sound bites and congratulating ourselves for being well-informed. We are the ones failing to keep up with the serious problems within our own homes and communities, preferring instead to keep up with the Kardashians.

Year after year passes us by, and our minds continue to fill up with nonsense wrapped in ignorance wrapped in oblivion. Without realizing it, many of us have become participants in the dishonourable project of undermining the important and lionizing the trivial. In my opinion, I don’t think we can afford to keep going down this road.

Albert Einstein defined insanity as “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” If this is remotely accurate, then we need to change things around.

At the beginning of every year, millions of individuals adopt fresh resolutions. Most of these resolutions end in failure, usually because they are too poorly defined, too broadly stretched, and too spuriously monitored. This is quite ironic, considering that the word “resolution” derives from the Latin “resolutionem,” which literally translates as, “breaking things into simpler forms.”

With 2011 upon us, I hope we resolve to give our attention to the matters of the world which deserve our time, and memories.