A while ago a rumour started that the UN was going to abolish the writing of traditional Chinese in favour of simplified Chinese by the year 2008, and this immediately cause a furore, especially within the Hong Kong and Taiwanese communities, with many starting petitions to preserve the writing of traditional Chinese. Far from being a minor linguistic difference which supposedly makes the Chinese language more accessible to the global community, this suggestion became a sensitive issue that caused fierce debate. Although it eventuated that it was simply a case of someone being quoted out of context, it is nevertheless interesting to think about why even a suggestion of language unification could provoke such strong emotions.
Logically, it is reasonable to abolish traditional Chinese in favour of a unified system of simplified Chinese. Anyone who has tried to learn Chinese, or indeed who has even taken a glance a page of Chinese characters, would know that traditional Chinese characters are difficult to master. Not only are they complex to write, but unlike the alphabet system where a finite number of letters can create infinite numbers of combinations, each character is unique in representing one concept, so that writing Chinese is really combining an infinite number of characters, all of which have to be rote learnt. To add to this complicated nightmare, you can never accurately predict how each character is pronounced by how it is written, so even the link between the symbol and its corresponding pronunciation must be rote learnt separately. If learning to speak Chinese wasn't hard enough with different tones of voice changing the meaning of words completely, the sight of traditional Chinese characters certainly put foreigners off learning the language. Even if we do not take into account foreigners learning the language, it is a wonder that even after thousands of years such a complicated language system continues to survive, since languages tend to devolve into simpler alternatives as they progress through time because of the inherent human need for efficiency. (Deutscher)
A simplified system of Chinese writing seemed long overdue if China were to modernise and to improve its standing in the international community, as well as to raise literacy rates domestically. Thus, in the 1970s, the Chinese government led by Mao tried to unify written Chinese by simplifying traditional characters according to a few fixed rules, resulting in the simplified Chinese system used within Mainland China today. Hong Kong and Taiwan, who were separated from China before this new system was created, continue to retain traditional Chinese as the main form of writing, using simplified versions only in casual settings (and indeed, many do not even understand this simplified system - for those who are not used to it, many words look like they may have come from another language!) Chinese is still challenging to learn, but now that pronunciation is more closely allied with the radicals used to form the word than before, and there are fewer strokes per character, it is much easier already. Since this was a logical step for China to take, why the fuss over keeping traditional Chinese (mostly from Hong Kong and Taiwan)?
One argument is that while Chinese writing has always been difficult to learn, traditional Chinese characters have a certain elegant beauty to them, exemplified in the art of calligraphy. Simplified Chinese, although sometimes based on calligraphy, mainly emphasises economy and efficiency over elegance; indeed, if the Chinese government had it their way, they would have alphabetised the Chinese language to completely get rid of Chinese characters to achieve maximum efficiency; but resistance by the people made that project fail. Instead, we are left with an in-between language: one that is still relatively difficult to learn, but not artistic at all, losing the essence of the language.
Another reason for resistance against abolishment of traditional Chinese is the suggestion that in simplification, the original links between the radical of a word and the word itself is broken; a typical example is the word for love: 愛 in traditional, 爱 in simplified, the missing radical being 心 meaning "heart". To have a word for love that does not involve the heart is a ridiculous idea when one considers that most Chinese words developed from their radicals, and makes it nonsensical for students trying to expand their vocabulary to understand why a word is formed that way.
For me, although there are reasons why simplification could help China spread its language, traditional Chinese will always be the proper form of Chinese. Imagine the government announcing tomorrow that by 2010, text language will become the official English writing system. Logically, since the primary function of language is for effective communication, that would make sense; but I can imagine much resistance. Who decides what the standard form of text language is? How can the government arbitrarily change the English language by imposing its ideas on what is most efficient onto others? Simplification by a natural process of erosion is acceptable, since it is done by the masses; simplification imposed by the government is an exertion of political power to control the masses in the most fundamental way possible by altering their language; it is also an erosion of Chinese heritage by breaking modern China's link with its ancestors' conceptions of language. Why should anyone accept that?
Wednesday, 17 December 2008
Friday, 5 December 2008
Boy A: Once a murderer, always a murderer?
"Boy A" is a powerful film depicting the story of the new life and identity of a released prisoner, Jack Burridge, (named Eric before his release) who was convicted of murdering a young girl when he was just 10 years old. In his new life, he has a stable job, he becomes good mates with his colleagues, and even finds himself a girlfriend, and it seems that his dark past life has been completely forgotten; yet of course, in such an unforgiving society, this bliss was not to last long before his past deeds came back to haunt him. For me, it raised some interesting issues about criminals and the way society deals with them.
One interesting point to consider is whether someone who committed a grave wrong when they were a child should be forced to pay for their sins for the rest of their life. One might argue that even children as young as 10 know that murder is wrong, so for him to have committed it, murderous inclinations must have been part of his nature, and Jack is indeed depicted by the media as innately "evil". Throughout the film, however, the contrary is seen: Jack had a troubled childhood with parents who neglected him when he was most vulnerable, after having been bullied by older schoolboys. Therefore when he meets Phillip Craig, a local rebel who helps him fend off the bullies, he immediately develops an affinity and friendship with this one person who actually cares about his existence, and is influenced by him to start committing petty crimes such as theft in order to enjoy time with his friend at a time when he felt rejected by the world. His descent into crime seems more like a natural progression based on society's rejection, and not based on some inherent evilness inside him.
Thus, having since grown up and been rehabilitated to distinguish between right and wrong in prison, his original good nature is restored, and he is considered by the Parole Board to pose no threat to society. At that point, is it fair to say that this young man, who committed a heinous crime out of immaturity and inexperience, does not deserve a second chance at life? Is the mentality of "an eye for an eye" really appropriate in this context? Some may say that since he deprived the girl of her life, it is only fair that he is deprived of his own; but as they say, "two wrongs don't make a right", so if there is an opportunity to turn him into a useful person, why must society demonise him and do all it can to be rid of him?
Perhaps the most ironic incident in the film is his heroic rescue of a little girl. This guy who once killed a girl now saves a girl, yet it is this good deed that gets published in newspapers which ultimately leads to him being uncovered as an ex-convict. Such an arrangement makes it seem like fate is playing a horrible joke on him; but once again, it is not really fate, but society itself, that has caused this tragedy. It is ridiculous for grown men and women to try to hunt out this young person and kill him because he once committed a crime; they do not care at all that he has since done much good for the community, they just want to destroy him to "keep the community safe". Morally, how much better are these members of the public? They are just as rash, and their murderous inclinations are even more despicable, since being adults they should be able to distinguish between right and wrong! Why push a helpless teenager to despair when he could have harmlessly integrated back into the world instead? It would seem that the community is much less safe in the hands of these vigilantes than with Jack!
This also raises general questions about the criminal justice system. It seems that in most societies, once someone is labelled a criminal, they are deemed to be bad for the rest of their life, even when their crime was only committed into heat of passion or through immaturity. Thus there is a strong sense that the criminal justice system is only there to lock up all criminals in order to keep society safe, and the longer they are kept in prison, the better. This attitude that retribution is the solution to eliminating crime is short-sighted and flawed, as is illustrated by this film. People who commit crimes may actually be good in nature, and have taken the wrong path due to external influences only, so if they are set back on the right course and are given the opportunity to integrate, they could become valuable citizens in the community again. However, by labelling all criminals as forever bad, a self-fulfilling prophecy is formed. Since whatever the criminal does will be suspected as done with evil intentions, society essentially pushes some ex-criminals into accepting his place in society as "the bad guy", and he will continue to commit crimes because no one would care if he did good deeds anyway. This becomes a vicious cycle, and aggravates crime rather than reducing it. Others, like Jack, who refuse to become "the bad guy", will instead have to succumb to the insults and mockery of society, and eventually, death and insanity become the only forms of escape.
A good real life example is Bailey Kurariki, the teenager whose release after serving time for murdering a pizza delivery man caused mini-furore and public outcry in New Zealand. After his release, the media stalked him and observed his every move, and when he takes an insignificant amount of drugs (which, as "Boy A" shows, most teens do at some point in their life), the media blows it out of proportion in order to prove that he is evil at heart. How can true rehabilitation be achieved if society is prejudiced about its value, and believes retribution is the key to everything? Will Kurariki end up like Boy A, paying for his past sins for the rest of his life?
One interesting point to consider is whether someone who committed a grave wrong when they were a child should be forced to pay for their sins for the rest of their life. One might argue that even children as young as 10 know that murder is wrong, so for him to have committed it, murderous inclinations must have been part of his nature, and Jack is indeed depicted by the media as innately "evil". Throughout the film, however, the contrary is seen: Jack had a troubled childhood with parents who neglected him when he was most vulnerable, after having been bullied by older schoolboys. Therefore when he meets Phillip Craig, a local rebel who helps him fend off the bullies, he immediately develops an affinity and friendship with this one person who actually cares about his existence, and is influenced by him to start committing petty crimes such as theft in order to enjoy time with his friend at a time when he felt rejected by the world. His descent into crime seems more like a natural progression based on society's rejection, and not based on some inherent evilness inside him.
Thus, having since grown up and been rehabilitated to distinguish between right and wrong in prison, his original good nature is restored, and he is considered by the Parole Board to pose no threat to society. At that point, is it fair to say that this young man, who committed a heinous crime out of immaturity and inexperience, does not deserve a second chance at life? Is the mentality of "an eye for an eye" really appropriate in this context? Some may say that since he deprived the girl of her life, it is only fair that he is deprived of his own; but as they say, "two wrongs don't make a right", so if there is an opportunity to turn him into a useful person, why must society demonise him and do all it can to be rid of him?
Perhaps the most ironic incident in the film is his heroic rescue of a little girl. This guy who once killed a girl now saves a girl, yet it is this good deed that gets published in newspapers which ultimately leads to him being uncovered as an ex-convict. Such an arrangement makes it seem like fate is playing a horrible joke on him; but once again, it is not really fate, but society itself, that has caused this tragedy. It is ridiculous for grown men and women to try to hunt out this young person and kill him because he once committed a crime; they do not care at all that he has since done much good for the community, they just want to destroy him to "keep the community safe". Morally, how much better are these members of the public? They are just as rash, and their murderous inclinations are even more despicable, since being adults they should be able to distinguish between right and wrong! Why push a helpless teenager to despair when he could have harmlessly integrated back into the world instead? It would seem that the community is much less safe in the hands of these vigilantes than with Jack!
This also raises general questions about the criminal justice system. It seems that in most societies, once someone is labelled a criminal, they are deemed to be bad for the rest of their life, even when their crime was only committed into heat of passion or through immaturity. Thus there is a strong sense that the criminal justice system is only there to lock up all criminals in order to keep society safe, and the longer they are kept in prison, the better. This attitude that retribution is the solution to eliminating crime is short-sighted and flawed, as is illustrated by this film. People who commit crimes may actually be good in nature, and have taken the wrong path due to external influences only, so if they are set back on the right course and are given the opportunity to integrate, they could become valuable citizens in the community again. However, by labelling all criminals as forever bad, a self-fulfilling prophecy is formed. Since whatever the criminal does will be suspected as done with evil intentions, society essentially pushes some ex-criminals into accepting his place in society as "the bad guy", and he will continue to commit crimes because no one would care if he did good deeds anyway. This becomes a vicious cycle, and aggravates crime rather than reducing it. Others, like Jack, who refuse to become "the bad guy", will instead have to succumb to the insults and mockery of society, and eventually, death and insanity become the only forms of escape.
A good real life example is Bailey Kurariki, the teenager whose release after serving time for murdering a pizza delivery man caused mini-furore and public outcry in New Zealand. After his release, the media stalked him and observed his every move, and when he takes an insignificant amount of drugs (which, as "Boy A" shows, most teens do at some point in their life), the media blows it out of proportion in order to prove that he is evil at heart. How can true rehabilitation be achieved if society is prejudiced about its value, and believes retribution is the key to everything? Will Kurariki end up like Boy A, paying for his past sins for the rest of his life?
Monday, 1 December 2008
The Phantom of the Opera: A Metatheatrical Experience
I went to see an Australian/New Zealand production of the Phantom of the Opera recently. It was an excellent production, despite a technical problem that was serious enough to stop the production towards the climax for 10 minutes. However, for me it did not detract from the experience at all, but in fact rather enhanced it, as I will explain later. It made me reflect on the idea of metatheatre, and how appropriate it was that in perhaps one of the most metatheatrical productions I have ever seen, an unexpected hitch could further enhance such a perspective of viewing this play.
It is useful to first define what I mean when I talk about “metatheatre”. This term was coined by Lionel Abel to describe plays which do not strive to be realist, but instead blur the world on the stage with the real world, with the profound effect of making the audience realise that real life is not so different from fiction after all. Practically this can be as simple as “breaking the fourth wall”, such as directly addressing the audience; but a more complicated way of achieving this can involve enacting a play-within-a-play, confusing the audience’s role as to whether they are simply spectators, or also unwitting actors who play a part in helping the play unfold.
At the most basic level, in the Phantom of the Opera simple theatrical techniques are used to draw attention to the fact that this drama is not realist; for example, during the Hannibal rehearsal scene, the dialogue is highly contrived so as to clearly reveal to the audience who each character was by individual introductions; similarly, in case the audience had any doubt, every time the Phantom interrupts the opera on stage, Meg gratuitously cries out, “It’s the Phantom of the Opera!” Such unrealistic dialogue is clearly intended to inform the audience with crucial details about character, but also serve to alienate the audience by breaking their suspension of disbelief, so that they see the world on stage as unrealistic, before linking this world to real life to make the audience realise the uncanny resemblance between fiction and reality.
At the same time as this dynamic is being set up, the opposite forces that serve to bring the two worlds together are already at work. The clever use of the chandelier is striking in its effectiveness at achieving this: at the beginning, the chandelier is part of the world of the stage, but when it “comes alive”, it moves hauntingly towards the audience and remains the chandelier for the audience in the real world until it crashes back down onto the stage (which unfortunately did not happen in our session). As the play continues, it is interesting to note that not only is the play about the experiences of characters in an opera house, but the play itself is written effectively as an opera. In addition to the memorable songs that dominate the play, the use of representative musical motifs, such as the Music of the Night and the Angel of Music themes for the Phantom, or All I Ask of You for love scenes, are typical of the genre of opera, as is the extensive use of recitative (music written in the rhythm and pitch of normal speech in order to deliver mundane information to move the plot forward), such as in the delivery of the various notes from the Phantom. This is enhanced by the reference to another opera when the Phantom calls Christine a “lying Delilah”, which alludes not only to the Biblical character but to the same character in an opera by Saint-Saens. By employing the same operatic techniques as the world the play seeks to imitate, and specifically referencing its uncanny resemblance to another fictional world, we begin to get the sense that there is a play-within-a-play, further blurring the boundaries between fiction and reality. If what is on stage simply imitates what is on another stage, then what is there to say that real life is not just another window through which someone else sees the world we live in as contrived and unrealistic?
Indeed, this idea is reinforced when Christine finishes singing Think of Me, and the audience on stage clap (represented by the backdrop with background clapping noises), the audience in the real world applaud for her as well. At that point a real sense of confusion is created: are we in the audience actually isolated, third party observers of a play, or are we active participants in the world of the play itself without knowing it? When the Phantom’s voice is heard behind us all, is he really speaking to the audience on stage, or to us? The raising of these sorts of questions is what gives force to metatheatre, and with these constant reminders we are ultimately convinced to believe that real life does uncannily resemble the fictional world, and what happens there could very well happen here.
Having briefly explained the profound effect metatheatre can have on the audience, I can now explain why the technical glitch actually enhanced my experience that day despite being rather inconvenient. What happened was that during the rooftop scene, after the Phantom had just wreaked havoc by interrupting the show with a hanging corpse, something in our theatre blew and the lights suddenly came on, whereas the singing on stage could no longer be heard. The resemblance of this accident to what had just occurred a few minutes ago on stage, when Carlotta lost her voice, was certainly eerie. I found that when it resumed, and during most of the second half of the play, I was not only engrossed in the actual plot of the musical itself, but also in the possibility that what is presented on stage could indeed happen in real life; and because I knew the chandelier was supposed to crash on stage, and had not done so ¾ through the play, I was half expecting it to crash down at the wrong moment! I’m relieved it did not happen, but the anticipation and angst of the possibility was an exhilarating experience in itself, and brings the Phantom of the Opera into life in the real world. One could say that I am simply strange for thinking in such a way; but I would argue that had the play not been so metatheatrical throughout to instil such ideas into me, I would never have thought of it; but now I do secretly wonder if the Civic did leave Box 5 empty for the Phantom after all...
It is useful to first define what I mean when I talk about “metatheatre”. This term was coined by Lionel Abel to describe plays which do not strive to be realist, but instead blur the world on the stage with the real world, with the profound effect of making the audience realise that real life is not so different from fiction after all. Practically this can be as simple as “breaking the fourth wall”, such as directly addressing the audience; but a more complicated way of achieving this can involve enacting a play-within-a-play, confusing the audience’s role as to whether they are simply spectators, or also unwitting actors who play a part in helping the play unfold.
At the most basic level, in the Phantom of the Opera simple theatrical techniques are used to draw attention to the fact that this drama is not realist; for example, during the Hannibal rehearsal scene, the dialogue is highly contrived so as to clearly reveal to the audience who each character was by individual introductions; similarly, in case the audience had any doubt, every time the Phantom interrupts the opera on stage, Meg gratuitously cries out, “It’s the Phantom of the Opera!” Such unrealistic dialogue is clearly intended to inform the audience with crucial details about character, but also serve to alienate the audience by breaking their suspension of disbelief, so that they see the world on stage as unrealistic, before linking this world to real life to make the audience realise the uncanny resemblance between fiction and reality.
At the same time as this dynamic is being set up, the opposite forces that serve to bring the two worlds together are already at work. The clever use of the chandelier is striking in its effectiveness at achieving this: at the beginning, the chandelier is part of the world of the stage, but when it “comes alive”, it moves hauntingly towards the audience and remains the chandelier for the audience in the real world until it crashes back down onto the stage (which unfortunately did not happen in our session). As the play continues, it is interesting to note that not only is the play about the experiences of characters in an opera house, but the play itself is written effectively as an opera. In addition to the memorable songs that dominate the play, the use of representative musical motifs, such as the Music of the Night and the Angel of Music themes for the Phantom, or All I Ask of You for love scenes, are typical of the genre of opera, as is the extensive use of recitative (music written in the rhythm and pitch of normal speech in order to deliver mundane information to move the plot forward), such as in the delivery of the various notes from the Phantom. This is enhanced by the reference to another opera when the Phantom calls Christine a “lying Delilah”, which alludes not only to the Biblical character but to the same character in an opera by Saint-Saens. By employing the same operatic techniques as the world the play seeks to imitate, and specifically referencing its uncanny resemblance to another fictional world, we begin to get the sense that there is a play-within-a-play, further blurring the boundaries between fiction and reality. If what is on stage simply imitates what is on another stage, then what is there to say that real life is not just another window through which someone else sees the world we live in as contrived and unrealistic?
Indeed, this idea is reinforced when Christine finishes singing Think of Me, and the audience on stage clap (represented by the backdrop with background clapping noises), the audience in the real world applaud for her as well. At that point a real sense of confusion is created: are we in the audience actually isolated, third party observers of a play, or are we active participants in the world of the play itself without knowing it? When the Phantom’s voice is heard behind us all, is he really speaking to the audience on stage, or to us? The raising of these sorts of questions is what gives force to metatheatre, and with these constant reminders we are ultimately convinced to believe that real life does uncannily resemble the fictional world, and what happens there could very well happen here.
Having briefly explained the profound effect metatheatre can have on the audience, I can now explain why the technical glitch actually enhanced my experience that day despite being rather inconvenient. What happened was that during the rooftop scene, after the Phantom had just wreaked havoc by interrupting the show with a hanging corpse, something in our theatre blew and the lights suddenly came on, whereas the singing on stage could no longer be heard. The resemblance of this accident to what had just occurred a few minutes ago on stage, when Carlotta lost her voice, was certainly eerie. I found that when it resumed, and during most of the second half of the play, I was not only engrossed in the actual plot of the musical itself, but also in the possibility that what is presented on stage could indeed happen in real life; and because I knew the chandelier was supposed to crash on stage, and had not done so ¾ through the play, I was half expecting it to crash down at the wrong moment! I’m relieved it did not happen, but the anticipation and angst of the possibility was an exhilarating experience in itself, and brings the Phantom of the Opera into life in the real world. One could say that I am simply strange for thinking in such a way; but I would argue that had the play not been so metatheatrical throughout to instil such ideas into me, I would never have thought of it; but now I do secretly wonder if the Civic did leave Box 5 empty for the Phantom after all...
Sunday, 9 November 2008
Maori and the Criminal Justice System in New Zealand
It seems to be a statistical trend that Maori are consistently overrepresented as offenders in our criminal justice system. There are certainly contextual factors that come into play: for example, those who are poor or come from single parent families tend to have a higher rates of criminal offending, and Maori are overrepresented in these categories. However, perhaps the most important factor of all is the imposition of a Western system of individualised on a very different indigenous, community-based legal system: whereas in tikanga, balance, reciprocity and mana are the focus, this is in stark contrast to the theories of retribution that seem to underlie our justice system.
To discuss the basic principles of tikanga, it is first necessary to consider the founding principles of Maori society. Maori society is based on the concept of whakapapa, that all Maori people are descended from the atua, the gods, and thus fundamentally connected with all parts of nature. This genealogical connection is strengthened by the idea of whanaungatanga, familial connection, from which the founding concept of community values prevailing over the individual is derived. Because Maori are so inextricably linked to nature and each other, any time someone does a harm, utu, reciprocity, must be called to restore balance in the world. It is from this that the ideas of crime and reparation come into play.
If one were to conceive of the Maori justice system as a formula, it would be something like this: a breach of tapu by committing a hara (an offence) affects mana which calls for utu to restore balance. The idea of tapu originates from the Maori myth of the birth of the world, where everything in the world, belonging to the atua, was reserved for special use and could not be touched without special protocol. Since humans are descended from the atua, they have inherent tapu, and an offence against the person is a hara itself. An example of tapu in a modern context is the imposition of a rahui, restricting people's gathering of shellfish for a period of time, during which if someone does collect shellfish, a hara is committed that affects that person's mana.
Mana is a fluid concept relating to reputation, charisma and prestige. It is derived in several ways: there is mana atua, which is derived from birthright and whakapapa; mana whenua, derived from the place you come from; and mana tangata, which derives from an individual's actions and deeds. By committing a hara, the individual does not only affect his own mana, but that of his whanau. Since raising one's mana is a central concept to the Maori way of life, it forms an essential part of tikanga. When a hara has been committed, the mana of both parties has been affected, leading to an imbalance which can only be restored by utu. It is also worth noting that while there is the European notion of mens rea, fault is not relevant as to whether a crime has been committed, because everything belongs to someone's scope of mana, so whomever it belongs to is responsible even if they have done no wrong. The fault element is only relevant in terms of how much reparation is required to restore balance.
In order to achieve the state of balance again, the disputes resolution process is rather different to the Western legal system. Instead of occurring at courts where a third party imposes his judgment on the offender as an individual, disputes resolution in tikanga occur between the two parties, with the rangatira and kaumatua playing a vital role in leading the proceedings. They will always take place at the marae, the centre of the community, giving mana to the process as well as representing the fact that disputes resolution is a community affair, not an individual one. Furthermore, unlike Pakeha trials where there is a fixed time and date for everything to be settled, since the focus is on reparation and making a compromise that is sustainable in the long run to restore balance, there is no limit on how long it takes for a dispute to be resolved. This is embodied in the phrase "ma te wa"; because Maori place a focus on genealogical link, even if conflicts are not resolved in one generation they can still be passed down and resolved for generations afterwards, so long as utu can eventually be attained.
As alluded to before, perhaps one of the most striking differences is the fact that even though an individual may have been the one who committed the offence, it is the community that is seen as the offender and the victim. Hence, often utu will be in the form of a compensation by resources of the community that do not belong to the offender himself. This is seen as a positive thing, since a community is more likely to have meaningful resources to pay back, as opposed to an individual who owns little; and in causing the community to lose its mana, the individual has whakama, which is a powerful deterrent from crime in the Maori community. Related to this is the idea that if no individual were to own up, someone else from that community would own up to the crime, since there is mana in doing so. This is indeed starkly different from Pakeha conceptions of responsibility for crime.
Since the imposition of a Pakeha legal system, all these basic tikangi principles have been slowly eroded by colonisation and urbanisation of Maori, to the extent that many Maori are now disenfranchised and have little link with their whanau, hapu and iwi. This loss could be seen as a process that causes what Emile Durkheim describes as "anomie", normlessness. The idea is that when social values change too rapidly, those who are used to traditional values often feel like they have lost their social foundation, leading to a normlessness where what is morally right and wrong is no longer certain. Perhaps this explains the high prevalence of Maori offending in our criminal justice system.
It is also perhaps that because this is slowly recognised as the root of the problem, leading to some reform efforts in our criminal justice system to accommodate these Maori principles in order to curb offending. For example, s 7 of the Sentencing Act 2002 states the principle that reparation must be considered as an option, emphasising the importance of restoration of balance between parties above all else. Furthermore, the Victims of Offences Act allows for victim impact statements to be read, so that the victim is actively involved in the offender's criminal proceedings in order to provide a sense of closure, another form of reparation. S 27 also allows cultural evidence to be adduced to explain reasons for offending, although this has been used by other cultures more than Maori.
In terms of actually integrating tikangi principles into the system, the two main developments are Family Group Conferencing and marae justice. Family Group Conferences were founded after a report by the Department of Social Welfare noting the benefits of diverting young offenders from the courts to an atmosphere where the entire family can gather together to discuss the offending and create long term solutions to fix the problem. This corresponds to the idea of whanaungatanga, and has proven effective; although there is still the problem that some Maori come from single parent families and often the whanau is not entirely present at these conferences. Marae justice allows the courts to divert selected cases from the courts to be dealt with by an appointed panel. The proceedings then take place at a marae, following Maori custom, also with an emphasis on solving the dispute between the parties rather than simply imposing retributive punishment. This has also been effective to a certain extent, since sometimes the strongest deterrent for an offender is the whakama they have caused to their whanau. However, as with Family Group Conferences, it has its limitations: with so many Maori disenfranchised and cut off from their whanau, hapu and iwi due to urbanisation, they may not even have a knowledge of Maori custom, and may simply see the marae as just another place where punishment is dealt, as opposed to being the heart of the community. This damages the mana of the marae.
Despite its limitations, these reform efforts do show a willingness of Pakeha to incorporate Maori custom in one legal system. Maori critics like Moana Jackson have said that this is not enough, that there should be a separate Maori jurisdiction as guaranteed by art 2 of the Treaty of Waitangi; but perhaps after almost 250 years of colonisation, separating society back into two groups that are dealt with under different legal customs when they all live in one community is not a sustainable idea. It seems much more beneficial to continue to encourage these reform efforts in order that Maori who do respect and value tikanga can make the best use of it, while maintaining the integrity of our society where "all are equal before the law".
To discuss the basic principles of tikanga, it is first necessary to consider the founding principles of Maori society. Maori society is based on the concept of whakapapa, that all Maori people are descended from the atua, the gods, and thus fundamentally connected with all parts of nature. This genealogical connection is strengthened by the idea of whanaungatanga, familial connection, from which the founding concept of community values prevailing over the individual is derived. Because Maori are so inextricably linked to nature and each other, any time someone does a harm, utu, reciprocity, must be called to restore balance in the world. It is from this that the ideas of crime and reparation come into play.
If one were to conceive of the Maori justice system as a formula, it would be something like this: a breach of tapu by committing a hara (an offence) affects mana which calls for utu to restore balance. The idea of tapu originates from the Maori myth of the birth of the world, where everything in the world, belonging to the atua, was reserved for special use and could not be touched without special protocol. Since humans are descended from the atua, they have inherent tapu, and an offence against the person is a hara itself. An example of tapu in a modern context is the imposition of a rahui, restricting people's gathering of shellfish for a period of time, during which if someone does collect shellfish, a hara is committed that affects that person's mana.
Mana is a fluid concept relating to reputation, charisma and prestige. It is derived in several ways: there is mana atua, which is derived from birthright and whakapapa; mana whenua, derived from the place you come from; and mana tangata, which derives from an individual's actions and deeds. By committing a hara, the individual does not only affect his own mana, but that of his whanau. Since raising one's mana is a central concept to the Maori way of life, it forms an essential part of tikanga. When a hara has been committed, the mana of both parties has been affected, leading to an imbalance which can only be restored by utu. It is also worth noting that while there is the European notion of mens rea, fault is not relevant as to whether a crime has been committed, because everything belongs to someone's scope of mana, so whomever it belongs to is responsible even if they have done no wrong. The fault element is only relevant in terms of how much reparation is required to restore balance.
In order to achieve the state of balance again, the disputes resolution process is rather different to the Western legal system. Instead of occurring at courts where a third party imposes his judgment on the offender as an individual, disputes resolution in tikanga occur between the two parties, with the rangatira and kaumatua playing a vital role in leading the proceedings. They will always take place at the marae, the centre of the community, giving mana to the process as well as representing the fact that disputes resolution is a community affair, not an individual one. Furthermore, unlike Pakeha trials where there is a fixed time and date for everything to be settled, since the focus is on reparation and making a compromise that is sustainable in the long run to restore balance, there is no limit on how long it takes for a dispute to be resolved. This is embodied in the phrase "ma te wa"; because Maori place a focus on genealogical link, even if conflicts are not resolved in one generation they can still be passed down and resolved for generations afterwards, so long as utu can eventually be attained.
As alluded to before, perhaps one of the most striking differences is the fact that even though an individual may have been the one who committed the offence, it is the community that is seen as the offender and the victim. Hence, often utu will be in the form of a compensation by resources of the community that do not belong to the offender himself. This is seen as a positive thing, since a community is more likely to have meaningful resources to pay back, as opposed to an individual who owns little; and in causing the community to lose its mana, the individual has whakama, which is a powerful deterrent from crime in the Maori community. Related to this is the idea that if no individual were to own up, someone else from that community would own up to the crime, since there is mana in doing so. This is indeed starkly different from Pakeha conceptions of responsibility for crime.
Since the imposition of a Pakeha legal system, all these basic tikangi principles have been slowly eroded by colonisation and urbanisation of Maori, to the extent that many Maori are now disenfranchised and have little link with their whanau, hapu and iwi. This loss could be seen as a process that causes what Emile Durkheim describes as "anomie", normlessness. The idea is that when social values change too rapidly, those who are used to traditional values often feel like they have lost their social foundation, leading to a normlessness where what is morally right and wrong is no longer certain. Perhaps this explains the high prevalence of Maori offending in our criminal justice system.
It is also perhaps that because this is slowly recognised as the root of the problem, leading to some reform efforts in our criminal justice system to accommodate these Maori principles in order to curb offending. For example, s 7 of the Sentencing Act 2002 states the principle that reparation must be considered as an option, emphasising the importance of restoration of balance between parties above all else. Furthermore, the Victims of Offences Act allows for victim impact statements to be read, so that the victim is actively involved in the offender's criminal proceedings in order to provide a sense of closure, another form of reparation. S 27 also allows cultural evidence to be adduced to explain reasons for offending, although this has been used by other cultures more than Maori.
In terms of actually integrating tikangi principles into the system, the two main developments are Family Group Conferencing and marae justice. Family Group Conferences were founded after a report by the Department of Social Welfare noting the benefits of diverting young offenders from the courts to an atmosphere where the entire family can gather together to discuss the offending and create long term solutions to fix the problem. This corresponds to the idea of whanaungatanga, and has proven effective; although there is still the problem that some Maori come from single parent families and often the whanau is not entirely present at these conferences. Marae justice allows the courts to divert selected cases from the courts to be dealt with by an appointed panel. The proceedings then take place at a marae, following Maori custom, also with an emphasis on solving the dispute between the parties rather than simply imposing retributive punishment. This has also been effective to a certain extent, since sometimes the strongest deterrent for an offender is the whakama they have caused to their whanau. However, as with Family Group Conferences, it has its limitations: with so many Maori disenfranchised and cut off from their whanau, hapu and iwi due to urbanisation, they may not even have a knowledge of Maori custom, and may simply see the marae as just another place where punishment is dealt, as opposed to being the heart of the community. This damages the mana of the marae.
Despite its limitations, these reform efforts do show a willingness of Pakeha to incorporate Maori custom in one legal system. Maori critics like Moana Jackson have said that this is not enough, that there should be a separate Maori jurisdiction as guaranteed by art 2 of the Treaty of Waitangi; but perhaps after almost 250 years of colonisation, separating society back into two groups that are dealt with under different legal customs when they all live in one community is not a sustainable idea. It seems much more beneficial to continue to encourage these reform efforts in order that Maori who do respect and value tikanga can make the best use of it, while maintaining the integrity of our society where "all are equal before the law".
Wednesday, 5 November 2008
Guy Fawkes' Sky
The pitch-dark canvas conceals the stars;
Not one drop of light, not one gentle sound.
The world beneath schemes and plots,
Desiring a glimmer of glory and hope.
Bang!
Vibrant skirmishes scatter the silence
Besieging the darkness with gas shells and fires;
All deafening blasts determined to conquer,
Longing to reach the divine above.
Cannons of colours shoot for the stars,
As piercing comets cut through the sky.
Explosions of light, without end, attack,
Exposing the heavens with glimmers and glows.
Yet fleeting bursts of sound and fury,
Prove helpless against the eternal force.
The stygian shadows that reign the night,
With a downpour of rain, extinguish all hopes.
Not one drop of light, not one gentle sound.
The world beneath schemes and plots,
Desiring a glimmer of glory and hope.
Bang!
Vibrant skirmishes scatter the silence
Besieging the darkness with gas shells and fires;
All deafening blasts determined to conquer,
Longing to reach the divine above.
Cannons of colours shoot for the stars,
As piercing comets cut through the sky.
Explosions of light, without end, attack,
Exposing the heavens with glimmers and glows.
Yet fleeting bursts of sound and fury,
Prove helpless against the eternal force.
The stygian shadows that reign the night,
With a downpour of rain, extinguish all hopes.
Saturday, 23 June 2007
Inventing a European Identity?
The ideal of a common identity for all Europeans may be a goal the EU is working towards, but how realistic is it? There seems to be so many factors in the modern world that present obstacles against this ultimate goal that in my opinion, a real European culture and identity would never be formed.
Fundamentally, identity is created through our association with other people who share similar characteristics with us. For example, it would seem that we all identify ourselves with our families because there are inextricable blood links; but while family ties are so fundamental that we do create an identity around it, as the contexts of identity moves further and further away from the individual’s personal experiences, they become less and less necessary. For instance, although it may be important for us to have an identity in the social and professional spheres, these are not as important as our identity within our own family because that is the unit where our personal experiences lie the deepest; that is the identity we refer to should we feel displaced in the outside world. Similarly, taking the context of our identity to a national level, it can be seen that although embracing cultural identity is not a necessity to satisfy our need of belonging, there are nevertheless shared experiences with compatriots that exist in a shared history, language and culture, drawing strangers together with the feeling of nationalism; but even national identities are often unimportant nowadays as people move around the world more and more and incorporate elements of different countries into their lives.
In a European context, though, what is common between France and Germany, even though they are neighbouring nations? Yes, they are European nations, but they have languages that derived from different roots, political and economic climates that are vastly different from each other, and more importantly, their memories of the historical context they developed in would be incomparable – they were even enemies at war. How can the EU expect competing nations like these to forget their tensions, their natural boundaries, and share a single identity? Prejudices will always exist as long as people remember the past, and national customs that are ingrained in people are resistant to change – these are the things that make them unique from others. Hence ‘being European’ inherently has no meaning; however many arbitrary symbols, celebrations, television stations without frontiers are established, Europe consists ultimately of diverse identities that are irreconcilable. This should be the very idea that we celebrate and hold dearly; it is multiculturalism that makes human interaction worthwhile.
In the meantime, even if one day a European community truly existed, people still would not identify themselves as ‘citizens of Europe’, since it threatens to dilute their individuality; instead they would hold their most personal identities even more closely to heart to uniquely identify themselves. Therefore, while the EU can use cultural tactics in order to bring peace between the nations, there will still never be complete unity; it is an impossibility considering the circumstances of Europe.
Fundamentally, identity is created through our association with other people who share similar characteristics with us. For example, it would seem that we all identify ourselves with our families because there are inextricable blood links; but while family ties are so fundamental that we do create an identity around it, as the contexts of identity moves further and further away from the individual’s personal experiences, they become less and less necessary. For instance, although it may be important for us to have an identity in the social and professional spheres, these are not as important as our identity within our own family because that is the unit where our personal experiences lie the deepest; that is the identity we refer to should we feel displaced in the outside world. Similarly, taking the context of our identity to a national level, it can be seen that although embracing cultural identity is not a necessity to satisfy our need of belonging, there are nevertheless shared experiences with compatriots that exist in a shared history, language and culture, drawing strangers together with the feeling of nationalism; but even national identities are often unimportant nowadays as people move around the world more and more and incorporate elements of different countries into their lives.
In a European context, though, what is common between France and Germany, even though they are neighbouring nations? Yes, they are European nations, but they have languages that derived from different roots, political and economic climates that are vastly different from each other, and more importantly, their memories of the historical context they developed in would be incomparable – they were even enemies at war. How can the EU expect competing nations like these to forget their tensions, their natural boundaries, and share a single identity? Prejudices will always exist as long as people remember the past, and national customs that are ingrained in people are resistant to change – these are the things that make them unique from others. Hence ‘being European’ inherently has no meaning; however many arbitrary symbols, celebrations, television stations without frontiers are established, Europe consists ultimately of diverse identities that are irreconcilable. This should be the very idea that we celebrate and hold dearly; it is multiculturalism that makes human interaction worthwhile.
In the meantime, even if one day a European community truly existed, people still would not identify themselves as ‘citizens of Europe’, since it threatens to dilute their individuality; instead they would hold their most personal identities even more closely to heart to uniquely identify themselves. Therefore, while the EU can use cultural tactics in order to bring peace between the nations, there will still never be complete unity; it is an impossibility considering the circumstances of Europe.
Friday, 22 June 2007
The Credibility of News in the Media
What do we call the news nowadays? Is getting our knowledge of current issues from popular media sources like the television or the Internet really enough to keep an objective view on things? Sure, the video below from JibJab only deals with issues in the US, where the ratings race has indeed dramatically affected integrity of television news; and in corporate America the press can't be expected to perform much better... but what about in our small country of New Zealand? With less competition news should be more credible, more 'fair and balanced' like Fox News's ironic motto. Yet are we all so desensitised by the goings-on in America that even though the New Zealand Herald is basically a monopoly, we nonetheless get biased views that are blown out of proportion to generate mass hysteria?
Case in point is the Mercury power cut case: due respect to the deceased woman and her family, but was it really such a big deal that had to be covered by news continuously over at least two weeks, vilifying Mercury Energy as the greedy corporation who ruthlessly cut off their power, when police investigations and the coroner's report had not even confirmed any details yet? And there is Helen Clark attacking Mercury and parliament ready to pass emergency legislation to assure the public that this will never happen again; is that really the issue? How about the often overlooked fact that the poorly funded healthcare system could be the central problem in all this: because they are short-staffed and do not have enough facilities, they have to send home dying people with machines reassuring that the hospital is doing something to help them when it simply wants to save space for other patients. As the doctors said, the machine should not be for sustaining life, but for helping her to breathe; if she was sick enough to die after 2 hours of power cut she should not have been home! Why pass legislation on SOEs when that is not the cause of the problem? All because of mass hysteria caused by the media.
It's a sorry state when people cannot read about issues relevant to them without being brainwashed by manipulators at the same time, but that is what is happening, simply to glue us to the screen or continuing to buy press articles so we can find out more 'dirty details', in other words pay the media more money to hypnotise us even more. What is worse is being bombarded by news stories that have absolutely no relevance to us, such as Britney shaving her hair off or Paris going to jail, and making them seem like the most important issues of our time. This video hits the nail on the head.
What We Call the News
Case in point is the Mercury power cut case: due respect to the deceased woman and her family, but was it really such a big deal that had to be covered by news continuously over at least two weeks, vilifying Mercury Energy as the greedy corporation who ruthlessly cut off their power, when police investigations and the coroner's report had not even confirmed any details yet? And there is Helen Clark attacking Mercury and parliament ready to pass emergency legislation to assure the public that this will never happen again; is that really the issue? How about the often overlooked fact that the poorly funded healthcare system could be the central problem in all this: because they are short-staffed and do not have enough facilities, they have to send home dying people with machines reassuring that the hospital is doing something to help them when it simply wants to save space for other patients. As the doctors said, the machine should not be for sustaining life, but for helping her to breathe; if she was sick enough to die after 2 hours of power cut she should not have been home! Why pass legislation on SOEs when that is not the cause of the problem? All because of mass hysteria caused by the media.
It's a sorry state when people cannot read about issues relevant to them without being brainwashed by manipulators at the same time, but that is what is happening, simply to glue us to the screen or continuing to buy press articles so we can find out more 'dirty details', in other words pay the media more money to hypnotise us even more. What is worse is being bombarded by news stories that have absolutely no relevance to us, such as Britney shaving her hair off or Paris going to jail, and making them seem like the most important issues of our time. This video hits the nail on the head.
What We Call the News
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