Songs of Identity

 

A student of mine is taking a required course in pop music at an American university. His current assignment is to select ten songs that express his identity.

They mean the intersectional categories: gay, straight, transgender, cisgender, male, female, black, white, indigenous, Hispanic. They also mention home town.

One further question they ask is where and how do you listen to the songs.

This makes the narcissistic assumption that people listen to music because it makes them think about themselves; as opposed to thinking it is good music. This might help explain the decadence of contemporary art.

But just for fun, I thought about my own list—of music that might best express my identity:

Sidewalks of New York. Seems to me this is a kind of anthem of the North American Irish. My grandmother used to sing it to me as a child. Which wraps it as well with memories of my grandmother, like remembered tobacco smoke or the smell of lilacs at dusk.

Si Bheag Si Mhor. To me, the essence of Irish music, and I am mostly ethnically Irish, if many generations removed. Something about Irish music always stirs my blood at some deep level, as though there really is a race memory. I also think this is one of the most beautiful melodies ever composed.

The Maple Leaf Forever is my own personal Canadian anthem. Never mind the words; other than the refrain; they are variable. But it is a much more stirring tune than O Canada. 

Complainte pour Ste. Catharine. This speaks of my childhood spent in part in Montreal, of the excitement of that city, and the part of me that feels Francophone. The McGarrigles are, like me, Quebec Irish.

Long May You Run. This is suffused with the spirit of small town Ontario, my other “home town.” Evokes memories of my Gananoque and some Kingston friends, some of whom have not survived. And of the bittersweetness of growing up in the Sixties.

Did She Mention My Name? Gordon Lightfoot’s take on small town Ontario. We have some of the same memories. And of course this evokes memories of a certain someone.

Summer Wages. Memories of mucking about on boats in the St. Lawrence River, not Vancouver Harbour, with my slippery city shoes on. And of how girls in small towns tend to break off relationships over the summer season. Memories of makeshift jobs for which I felt ill-suited. And the cowboy lilt; I spent my infancy intending to be a cowboy, and Roy Rogers was featured on my first schoolbag.

The Faith. All of Cohen speaks to me. We share many memories, somehow. This one expresses our shared feelings for religion, and is to the tune of a cherished inherited chanson, Un Canadien Errant.

The Boxer. I don’t want to talk about it. My wife only knows I sing it in the karaoke parlours with tears in my eyes. 

Ave Maria. Nothing more can be said.

Soll mein Gebet zu dir hinwehen.
Wir schlafen sicher bis zum Morgen,
Ob Menschen noch so grausam sind.

Canticle of the Turning.

Who Am I?

 

The government shutdown in Canada has forced me to homeschool my kids by distance, as they are trapped in the Philippines by the dysfunction for three years of the citizenship and passport office. At the same time, I am coaching other kids after hours who are attending Canadian high schools and American universities as international students.

Interesting that they apparently had no such troubles getting their student visas. One wonders.

When I see what is on my students’ curricula, however, I begin to think it is just as well my kids are not attending. Maybe I can give them a real education instead.

Even when I went through the Ontario schools, back in the 1960s, I thought it scandalous how they wasted our time on subjects most of us would have no use for in later life—algebra, trigonometry, the sciences—while not teaching us essential skills like logic, parliamentary procedure, bookkeeping, and rhetoric.

Yes, I am saying that teaching STEM in high school is a dumb idea. It is. College is the time for such specialization.

But it has gotten worse since I went through. In literature courses, my students study no literature as such. Instead, they get excerpts, second-rate movies and recent popular novels. Rather than read them and consider them as they stand, the students are directed to issues they supposedly illustrate.

From a parent:

“They finished the discussion ‘What is identity? How is it formed?’ ‘Philosophy: What is your true identity (Perceived by self VS perceived by others)’ ‘Identity beyond one's self. What else has an identity?’ ‘Identity and location - can a city have an identity?."

The text is, literally, just a pretext.

And the discussion seems guided in a particular direction. The students are being told what to think.

For example, only two possibilities are given: either your identity is as perceived by self, or as perceived by others. Either assumes there is no external reality. Either assumes our identity is a construct. None of the world’s great philosophical systems would assert such a thing. This is postmodernism. Instead of being taught the established wisdom of our culture, of all cultures, students are being carefully led away from it. This is an anti-education.

Perhaps more sinister is the next line of questioning. What else has an identity? Can a city have an identity?

One suspects the required answer is yes; and this is the gateway into identity politics, collectivism. Blackness is an identity; indigenousness is an identity; transgenderism is an identity. 

And this is the gateway, in turn, into fascist thought. The individual no longer exists except as part of the collective.