IL Week 03
Previous Class | Course Outline | Next Class
| Workshop by Adam Brown on PTSD and Clinical psychology |
4 student presentations on a human rights issues (as time allows)
IL Week 02
- Workshop by Doctor Kristina Jones.
- Overview of current human rights issues
- The bio-psycho-social model of therapy
- Mock intake interview
IL Week 01
- Introductions and Statements of Interest
- Review of Course Deliverables
- Issues Related to the Use of Technology in Human Rights Work
Extra-curricular Activities
Although these credentials are quite old, I include them to demonstrate that I have considerable experience as a public speaker and an expert knowledge of Roberts Rules of Order.
President, University of Toronto Debating Union, University of Toronto
Speaker of the House, U of T Model Parliament, University of Toronto
President, Southern Ontario Model United Nations Assembly, University of Toronto
Speaker, Trinity College Joint Student Union, University of Toronto
Speaker, St. Michael’s College Student Administrative Council, University of Toronto
Publications
I was hired by the Ontario Council on Graduate Studies to produce 20 research reports on all areas of research at Ontario’s Universities. This project had a profound impact on the scope of my knowledge.
The Flow Through Hypothesis, Ontario Council on Graduate Studies, Toronto: 1990
Discipline Report on Computer Science, Ontario Council on Graduate Studies, Toronto: 1990
Discipline Report on Computer Science, Ontario Council on Graduate Studies, Toronto: 1990
Discipline Report on Electrical Engineering, OCGS, Toronto: 1990
Discipline Report on Economics, Ontario Council on Graduate Studies, Toronto: 1990
Discipline Report on Business and Management, OCGS, Toronto: 1990
Discipline Report on Geology, Ontario Council on Graduate Studies, Toronto: 1990
Discipline Report on Mathematics, Ontario Council on Graduate Studies, Toronto: 1990
Discipline Report on English, Ontario Council on Graduate Studies, Toronto: 1990
Discipline Report on Comparative Literature, OCGS, Toronto: 1989
Discipline Report on English, Ontario Council on Graduate Studies, Toronto: 1989
Discipline Report on Modern Languages, Ontario Council on Graduate Studies, Toronto: 1989
Discipline Report on History, Ontario Council on Graduate Studies, Toronto: 1989
Discipline Report on Sociology, Ontario Council on Graduate Studies, Toronto: 1989
Discipline Report on Psychology, Ontario Council on Graduate Studies, Toronto: 1989
Discipline Report on Physical Education, Ontario Council on Graduate Studies, Toronto: 1989
Discipline Report on Medicine, Ontario Council on Graduate Studies, Toronto: 1988
Discipline Report on Non-Medical Health Sciences, OCGS, Toronto: 1988
Discipline Report on Education , Ontario Council on Graduate Studies, Toronto: 1988
01 Demon Needs a War
My office phone rang and I answered. A voice boomed, “Dick, I need a war!”
“Vice President Dick Cheney’s office”, I politely replied. “Who may I say is calling?”
“Demon. James Demon.”
It is assumed by Christians and atheists alike that Vice President Cheney has sold his immortal soul to one dark lord or another. As a result, I expect that when the Rapture comes our dear VP will be whisked away to hell by Asmodeus or Mephistopheles, or perhaps even Sauron. Demon struck me as a bit too generic a name. I wondered if it was an alias.
“I’ll put you right through, Mr. Demon”, I said.
Dick picked up his phone. I put mine on mute so that I could listen in.
“Dick, I need a war!” Demon’s voice boomed a second time.
“Yeah, yeah, tell me about your problem, Jamie.”
“You know my bank is long on state-sponsored violence. Well this summer one of our new traders went a little too long and we’re out of the money on some of our September options. So …”
“How are we going to pay for this war of yours?” the VP interrupted brusquely, to the point, as always.
Demon replied, “We’ll squeeze the poor. Our people in Congress are all on board.”
“Hrmph.” The Vice President replied. “Nothing humanitarian, right? Just profit?”
“Of course its just about money, Dick. I’m a fucking banker. But here is the deal.” Demon spoke these last syllables in a terse, staccato fashion. “This war needs to be land-based so it uses lots mine resistant vehicles.”1
“So you’re flogging that mechanized infantry shit? Whatever. Call me when you’ve bought the votes.”
“Don’t call MRAPs shit. You want to go into battle with a Kamaz …”
“Have your people call Marge when you’re ready.”
Click.
Click.
“Shively, get your ass in here!”
I was so excited I fumbled the phone into its cradle. And who wouldn’t be prior to meeting the finest extra-legal mind of our generation?
Dick’s admin Marge (the real leader of the free world, according to some) smiled as I threw on my jacket, straightened my tie and rushed into Dick’s simple but large corner office. On one wall was a six foot portrait of Richard Nixon, on the other a picture of President Clinton, which Dick liked to use for target practice. Facing me was a glass wall which had a great view of the Rose Garden. It was spring. The cherry trees on the edge of the garden were flowering; the rose bushes were covered in buds, presaging a cheery, hopeful future. For a moment I was taken out of time: this could have been the office of a satrap, vizier or mandarin, and I guess in his dyspeptic, cantankerous way that is exactly what the Dick Cheney was, though with an in interest in oil and natural gas, rather than figs and maidens.
The Vice President started to speak before I’d sat down. He said, “Shively, one of our clients wants a war, or at least a police action.” Dick likes to call the military-industrial complex our clients.
“Will a straight up arms deal do?” I asked earnestly.
“Yep. Do you have any suggestions? Maybe invade Basra and break the oil union there?”
“Well, in theory the Mahdi Army are allies …”
“Ahem.” The Vice President can convey so much with his phlegm.
“Erstwhile allies”, I amended. “Regardless, attacking the Mahdi Army might send the wrong message. And there’s a small problem with the British.”
“Fuck the British”, he said reflexively.
“Basra’s in their theater of operations.”
“Right. I guess that’s what I pay you for. What about one of the Stans? Maybe Tajikistan? They’ve got lots of natural gas.” Dick has a soft spot for meddling in Soviet successor states.
“Uh, right”, I replied tentatively. “We already have mercenaries and drilling sub-contractors in Tajikistan, so I assume you’re suggesting escalating our presence. Perhaps we could take out President Rahmon? That would stir things up.”
“Fuck that idea. Too complicated. How about Iran?”
I replied that starting a war with Iran was a disproportionate solution to the problem at hand. Dick agreed. This was a career making moment. I needed an alternative plan. I fell back on my training. “What would John Galt do right now?” I wondered, drawing a blank. Unfortunately, Ayn Rand never addressed the issue of corporate-sponsored wars. Then I had an idea, “Sir, if I may be so bold …”
“Spit it out, Shively.”
“What about an arms deal with Islam Karimov in Uzbekistan? There’s been a lot of trouble recently in Andijan.”
The VP was impressed. “It solves Demon’s MRAP problem – mechanized infantry are perfect for crushing popular unrest. But what’s the fossil fuel angle?” Dick is a fly to shit about fossil fuels.
“There’s no oil to speak of in Uzbekistan. But there’s lots of natural gas.”
“That’ll do. Good work, Shively.”
Vice President Richard Cheney, leader of the free world, swiveled the folds of his cellulite-ridden ass into action. He shouted into his intercom, “Margaret, get that dipstick on the phone!”
“Do you mean President Bush, sir?”
“No, the Brit.”
“Prime Minister Blair?”
“No, the other dipstick. The peasant revolt guy.”
“Jack Straw?”
“Yeah, him.”
There was a pause while the Vice President was connected to Downing Street.
Once connected, the Vice President snarled into his speaker-phone, “Jack, its Dick Cheney. I need your help. We’re trying to sell some light armor in Central Asia. Yeah, MRAPs. I know they’re only good for crushing civilian unrest, but that’s what my clients want me to sell. I’m sending an agent named Shively to Uzbekistan to broker the deal. Can your people help? Of course you’ll get a cut. Would you prefer arms sales, land-rights or kickbacks? I agree. Arms sales are cleanest. We’ll settle the details when we meet at the next G7. Sure. What your agent’s name, again? Adelia? My man’s named Shively. My admin Marg will set things up.”
The VP hung up, scribbled some names onto a piece of paper, and then turned to me. “Shively, here’s a list of contacts. Let Margaret know if you need anything. And I mean anything. Demon is an important client.”
When he finished speaking Dick started to cough as if trying to regurgitate both his stomach and his intestines. This commotion caused me to closely examine the pasty-faced troll. He looked terrible. It was amazing that he was alive at all. “Fuck this shit!” the Vice President shouted while he pulled himself together with a loud hork. I realized then that even something as debilitating as dyspepsia can give you strength.
“Shively!”
“Huh”, I replied smartly.
“Stop looking at me like I’m a hot Congressional Page and move your ass. We’ve got to sell some product.”
02 A Leap of Faith
Based on a 2018 Version. If a more recent version appears, update.
Revision History: 12/29/2023
Rish looked north to the mountain gods Gyetong Soksum, Jangzang Lhamo and Nojin Gangzang. “Are you angry?”, he wondered. He addressed Nojin Gangzang, the only one of the three mountain gods who had ever communicated with him.
Rish was a sallow young man who wore a faded crimson robe
“Who are you talking to?” Tenzin, his younger companion, asked.
The novice monk somberly replied, “I’m talking to … “. He nodded toward Nojin Gangzang. As he spoke he walked to the edge of the cliff.
The two youths stood on a thin path that cut through heather and stones at the top of a sharply defined river valley
Tenzin replied, “Are you asking it if it will catch you if you jump? The god caught you when you fell yesterday. Surely it will do it again?”
The sharp memory of the earth racing towards him flashed through Rish’s mind. He removed his red, felt cap, scratched his large, bald head, and took a deep breath before he replied. “No. I’m asking the god of this mountain why it caught me when I fell.”
“Do you need to ask? Isn’t it enough to be thankful?”
The novice did not reply for a long moment. Eventually he said, “Tenzin, I have to make decisions. I need to know why.”
“You’re going to jump again!? That’s what you mean isn’t it? Are you?!”
Rish hastiily snapped, “I did not say that.”
“Say?? You thought it! Why wouldn’t I know what you think? I was born four minutes after you. I’ve known you since birth! If … he would have chosen … “
Rish glowered at his friend; he stopped speaking mid sentence.
After two moments. Tenzin tried another approach, “What is the god saying to you?”
“It’s not saying anything.”
This uncertain dialog made Tenzin pause for a moment. He silently watched Rish standing on the edge of a precipice, looking down the sheer cliff into the valley of the Tsang Pao river. “You are going to jump aren’t you?”, he asked after a moment.
Rish paused before he replied even though he knew the answer. “Yes. When its time. The God will take care of me. But only when its time.”
“Why not now? It seems like a good time to practice. No gossipy neighbors, no Mongols…”.
“Shushhhh!”
“Rish, there are no Mongols here! They’re all at *Raulung * Monastery looking for your brother …”
[
This isn’t about spirituality.
Why shouldn’t it be?
The Drukpa at Raulung join with the Mongols. The brother escapes to Reting where the proto-yellow hat Gelung are.
Raulung:
The monastery is located in present-day Gyantse County several kilometers south of the road connecting Nakartse and Lungmar, immediately north of the Gasa district of Bhutan. In previous times, trade could be conducted across the Yak La pass across the high Himalayas, extending the influence of Ralung to the south.
The monastery is surrounded by the towering peaks and glacier fields of Gyetong Soksum (6,244m), Jangzang Lhamo (6,324m) and Nojin Gangzang (7,191m). From the beginning the location was recognized as especially auspicious:
Reting Monastery was founded by Atiśa‘s chief disciple Dromtön in 1057 in the Reting Tsangpo Valley north of Lhasa as the seat of the Kadam lineage of Tibetan Buddhism. He brought some of Atiśa’s relics with him.[2][3] It was the first major monastery of the Sarma revival.
Gyare founded Raulung [Diqing Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture, Yunnan, China]
]
“There are Mongols here! Shushhhhh!”
Tenzin froze and listened.
Rish edged forward to the edge of the river valley. In his mind he had already begun to jump because now some of his body weight was over the edge and his momentum was forward. Out. Not down. Down was what he most feared, the sharp red rocks at the base of the cliff, merging with the babbling river (which one?). He shifted his weight farther forward, accelerating his slow motion fall and then almost imperceptibly pulled back.
“I don’t know what I believe.” Rish retreated for the cliff’s edge and continued walking along the path through the heather.
Tenzin followed slightly behind. “Rish, if you don’t have faith when you jump, whatever god that caught you yesterday will surely let you fall. Isn’t that what this is about? A test of faith.”
“Test of faith. And revelation of the power of faith. First one, then the other.”Rish was not certain of his words, though he spoke them with assurance. He wondered to himself, “Why would a god demand my faith? What kind of god would desire any kind of faith at all?”
Rish stopped to the point where the cliff face was most sheer. He looked down the cliff face to where the scree slid into the rushing river, far below. The feeling of terror that he had felt yesterday as he fell washed over him again and then, like yesterday the fear was replaced by exhilaration. Flying had been different than he had expected. He had not cut through air like a knife when he flew; it was more that the elements of the universe adjusted themselves to help him pass. He did not conquer the sky – it accommodated him.
Tenzin, tentatively asked, “Well … are you going to …?”
Rish replied, “When you urge me to jump, you think about the rush that comes from falling. Everyone can imagine that. Everyone has fallen. There is no thrill in falling. Just fear. Always.”
Tenzin was mystified. He had seen Tenzin leap into the sky.
Rish continued. “There is a difference between falling and flying. If I leapt off of this cliff now, I would fall. “No, Tenzin, I am not going to jump right now. The time is not right. There is no reason to jump, so to jump is to presume.”
Tenzin and Rish walked back to the village in silence. Their village, far below them, was at the limits of possible cultivation. Indeed most of the land, except for a narrow strip that closely followed the [Brahmaputra/Tsang-Pao] river, was used for grazing, not cultivation. One hundred [metres] higher up and they were in the clouds. There were copses of small birches and oaks trees at this height; further up where the soil was worse and the climate colder, these gave way to pines, spruces and firs. Along the path the dominant vegetation was a coarse heather, that clung desperately to the mostly exposed rock. The path was lined with clusters of goji berry bushes, whose small purple and white flowers had just begun to bloom.
Although it had been sunny when they left as they returned the air became colder and wetter as a cloud bumped into the mountain side directly in front of them. As a result, Rish could smell the Mongol horseman before he saw them.
He had encountered a Mongol troop when he was a child (Godan’s invasion in 1240). Although the encounter resulted in many violent deaths, the only thing he could clearly remember about it was the clanking sounds their horses and armor had made. And the smell.
The smell terrified him. The sounds made it worse. He pulled Tenzin onto the ground. They hid behind a large cluster of goji bushes that grew out of white-ish grey soil on a small hill at the edge of their town. The bushes were not particularly thick – Rish could see through them; his hearing was acute.
The Mongols were filthy, rough looking and very well armed. A soldier in red armor stood out. [Godan again?].
“What is going on?” Tenzin whispered into Rish’s ear.
Before he could answer two soldiers pushed a slave forward. He was a frail man dressed in jute rags, originally from Bengal. That he was alive at all was testament to how healthy he had once been. The man tottered into the dusty square in front of the town gate. People lined the tops of the town walls, but none came outside. Prayer flags hung listlessly in the still air.
The slave spoke clearly but with an accent, “Godan is looking for a person. A twin. Named Rish. Give him up and he will leave you alone. Otherwise he will return with a myangan and destroy this village. “
The village elder spoke up. “He is not here.”
“Then where is he?” A frightened voice hidden in the crowd spoke up.
Godan signaled and the soldiers withdrew short swords and prepared to attack.
Godan shouted, “He is here or he is not here?”
The village Elder stepped forward while everyone else withdrew. He said, “I know who you mean. Rish. The twin of the man who will achieve enlightenment in one …”
“We know the stories Where is the twin?”
The Elder nodded. “He left. That way. Down stream.”
There were two directions. Down stream, along the Tsang Pao to Kolkata. Or via the Indus to Karachi. The Karachi road required crossing a drainage divide. The Mongols could only travel one way. So of course that was the way they went.
Godan nodded and in a moment the Elder was bound and placed in a wagon. The Mongols set off downstream..
Rish pulled X back behind the hillock so they could talk. Rish pulled himself away from Tenzin terror
“Güyük Khan’s has arrived with mangudai.”
“What?”
[“The son of Ogedei Khan is here with elite troops.”]
“They’re here for you.”
“Yes. Goodbye and be still.”
There is a chase and then Rish leaps, with X.
o
Three tests to see if he is bewitched or a sorcerer
Most of the Mongol troupe set out on the search for Ki. Guyuk stayed behind to supervise Rish’s interrogation. The first step in the interrogation was to determine if Rish was a demon. Four sorcerer’s were produced: three Uighurs who were dressed in a Chinese style, and an astrologer from Jaipur. The astrologer asked him some questions about where he was born and when and then retreated with his charts to a corner.
The Uighurs were visceral shamans: they began with chicken entrails, then quickly moved on to those of a fish. These examinations were cursory. What interested the shamans the most were a large, putrid set of intestines, which were presented grandly in a wooden bucket, which leaked blood over the dirt floor of the animal pen.
It was clear that his life depended on the pronouncements of these men, but Rish was so ill from the smells and from his wounds, that he crawled to a corner, as far away from the shamans as possible.
Guyuk entered and had a brief conversation, through an interpreter, with the astrologer and three shamans. The shamans apparently wished to talk as one, but Guyuk insisted they speak to him each separately; Guyuk addressed the astrologer first; his guards escorted the Uighurs away from his prison.
The astrologer spoke Hindi so Rish, who came from a merchant family, could partially understand what he said. Which was unfortunate. The astrologer was a harsh, wizened old man who felt the only value Rish offered to the world was as a vehicle to capture Ki. ”This boy is perfect bait.” The Uigher discussions were mystifying, but quickly concluded. Then Guyuk gave his pronouncement. There were were nine people in the fetid, all purpose animal pen, but Guyuk pronounced loudly. When he was done a large Mongolian rudely picked Rish up, flung him over his shoulder and took him outside. He was then slammed onto the back of a slow, but sturdy mare, and tied to it with painful ropes made of animal gut. The horse archers, bait in hand, set off. There was no hesitation about what direction they were going to take.
o
Ki ran until long after his lungs began to burn. There were very few places to hide in the river valley. Most of the land was somehow in use by people. He headed to a chalky area full of caves and goji bushes, upstream from the town. There was one cave which had a spring. This made it an obvious hiding spot if you knew about it. He knew that someone would tell the Mongols to look here. Why not? By doing so one could save an entire town. It was still the best spot he could think of to rest at while he collected his thoughts and figured out what to do next.
There were not very many options.
Perhaps he meets a green-skinned holy man, a la descriptions of Mila Repa.
Bad situation. Give himself up to save village. That would lead to no good. The Mongols wanted him as a weapon. He remembered the fate of his father. He did not want to help the Mongols.
As he loaded some berries into a broad leaf for storage, a Mongol horseman passed by. Ki accidentally disturbed a snow leopard which exposes his hiding spot. The horseman gets delayed and the horse reels away from the cat, but the path to Mila’s escape route is blocked.
One horseman waited as a guard while the other raced back towards town to get reinforcements.
Ki, in full view of the horse archer retreated to the cliff’s edge. The Mongol soldier pressed closer, but kept the distance between himself and Ki constant. After only a few moments standoff he saw a trail of dust that was quickly replaced by a view of ten horse archers and an eleventh horse to which was strapped a body. It took only a moment to recognize the body as that of Rish.
He began to rush forward but was hit by a volley of arrows. The arrows were blunted, so didn’t pierce his skin – the Mongols were trying to capture rather than kill him. Nevertheless, they left him disoriented and in pain.
Ki thought, “It is no good to be captured. They will use me as a weapon”. His only path was to jump off of the cliff. “Perhaps the gods hate mankind because we tempt them into sin”, he thought as he shuffled backwards towards the cliff’s edge, his gaze fixed on the body of his bound friend. His path ran out. He was at the cliff’s edge now. He looked down the sheer red face to the sharp limestone rocks far below, How could he jump without tempting the gods? How could the gods not be angered by his hubris? Catch me before I die, I am more worthy than all the other creatures who have ever fallen to their deaths. I am worthy except that I have caused my friend and ward to be enslaved. As he jumped he shouted, Let me fall, I deserve to die.
O
Rish felt neither exhilaration nor fear as he launched himself over the cliff. For all of the momentum he had when he launched he only moved a small distance through the air. The horse archers appeared, with their prisoner Rish in hand. As one they raised their bows and pummeled him with a volley of blunt arrows. These flung him backwards through the air until he was completely out of range. This lead to an impasse – Ki floating in the air, staring at the Mongol troupe. Finally Guyuk became impatient and gave an order. Several minutes later they brought Rish forward to the edge of the cliff. He was rudely pushed off of his mount and then, without even a moment’s thought about the life they were about to take he was pushed over the edge, still bound.
Without a second thought Ki raced through a hail of arrows through the air to where Rish was falling. The Mongols, launched a large net that completely entwines Ki and Rish. Although he could still fly, he could not escape.
They were fortunate to have fallen in a location that was very inaccessible for horses.
Rish is injured. Ki cuts free of the net. He tries to fly with Rish but he can’t. He’s too weak. He flies to a cave just above where Rish is and passes out.
Table of Contents July 1918
Beyond the Pale
Protected: 01 In the Pale
Post format is:
Template archive.php