Birth of a Historian

Although it has been many years since I have read Paris 1919, and most of the facts have now escaped my memory, I still vividly remember the sensation it inspired in me. This was the first work of history that I ever read by a real historian, at a time when I was still trying to figure out exactly what to study at university. I remember feeling as though the words were speaking to me by showing me what path to pursue. As I read chapter after chapter, Paris demonstrated to me the transitive powers of history--the ability to step back in time and experience life in another time and place. Through MacMillan's words I was able to travel back to Paris in 1919 and experience life at the peace conference.

I was also introduced to a different type of history from what I had been exposed to in high school. This history did not focus on names and dates (although they were present) but instead on what the meaning behind facts were. Instead of prattling off a factual chronology of the various meetings and treaties, Paris sought to get underneath the facts and expose the often conflicting motives of not just the countries, but the individual delegates and leaders representing those countries. It was this personalization that allowed me to feel like I could really comprehend what was going on, and relate to the various characters being represented.

Understanding the motivations behind the delegates' actions, the obstacles they faced in meeting their goals, and the often difficult compromises they had to make, is ultimately what allows the reader to truly feel as though she is walking the conference in each of the representatives' shoes. The importance of this isn't just that it makes for a great read, it also leads to a better appreciation of the importance of the conference as a pinnacle event in world history. The lines that were re-drawn on the maps of Europe, Asia, and the Middle East, along with the terms slapped on the losing nations, set the tone of international relations for years to come. Comprehending the successes and failures of the Paris conference ideally will help us to replicate the successes and avoid the failures in future conferences, just as Paris sought to improve upon its predecessor, the Congress of Vienna.

And thus emerges the practical purpose behind the study of history, and another reason why I was so drawn to the book. While knowledge for the sake of knowledge is noble in and of itself, unfortunately societies today tend to prefer disciplines that produce tangible results such as science and engineering. However, the unique perspective history provides can allow us to not only understand the past, but gain insight into present society, and hopefully, provide the requisite enlightenment to improve the future. By stepping into the past, we can learn how we got to where we are now and how we can work to build a better future. In the case of Paris, the message is about the nationalistic tensions that arose from poorly drawn borders, broken promises, and harsh reparations. Although Paris demonstrated that in most situations the intentions were honorable (or at least relateable), it also illustrated how good intentions can turn bad when based on poorly formulated premises. Many of the mistakes made have not been repeated, but in several cases, unfortunately bad habits die hard. Ultimately, the importance of understanding history, and embracing it's message, is not just what it teaches us, but what we do with what we learn.

Ancient Meets Modern

Whenever someone comes home from a trip, he or she is always asked "what was your favorite part?" This can be a particularly difficult question to answer, especially if you were on a six week trip that took you through Egypt, Turkey, Greece, and central Europe. However, when I returned from my trip to the Mediterranean and Europe in 2008 the answer came to me almost instantly: climbing the ancient Theodosian walls in Istanbul.

Compared to riding a camel in Egypt, taking a donkey down the hills of Santorini, or caving in Budapest, it certainly wasn't the most adventurous activity we took part in (although we did scale some pretty sketchy looking steps). It wasn't the most informative compared to many museums that we visited, or the most cultured compared to seeing a ballet in Budapest or an opera in Prague. It certainly wasn't the most awe inspiring structure; after the Pyramids of Giza and the Acropolis in Athens, few man made structures are. For me it was the juxtaposition between the ancient and modern--the Byzantine bricks and the modern highways; the urban sprawl that has made the previous demarcation of the city limits an impediment to the vitality of Istanbul as a 21st century city.

Part of what made this experience so inspiring for me was the journey there. After exiting the subway, we walked through the "real" Istanbul--not the polished-up touristy area or the restored ruins that portray a city that is now long gone. We walked past crumbled down brick houses, saw children playing soccer in the street--in essence day-to-day life. It was one of our last days in the city, and it was nice to finally see it through native eyes. The wall had a strip of grass running parallel to the wall on either side. My guidebook had told me that plants are often grown in this place. What it did not tell me is that I would find homeless people and wild horses taking advantage of one of the few green belts running through this dense metropolis.

Although there was an official tourist section further north of us, we decided to climb the wall at the first spot we found. We weren't the only ones--several local kids were also taking part in this form of ruin rock-climbing. Seeing children playing on the ruins was the first indication that the wall was not simple a ruin of the 5th century BCE, but had found a place for itself in modern society. Unlike museums, palaces, and in many cases religious buildings, the wall was not just there to be a window to the past, preserved in its original state. It had been allowed to organically grow with the city, so that it now served as an outdoor home for those without a roof over their head, a pasture for horses, a playground for children, and a field for gardeners.

Once we reached the top of one of the towers (after a steep climb of very narrow steps), the view was outstanding. We had already gone to the top of the Galata tower, which is higher and closer to the downtown, but for me this was far superior. We were high up enough that we could actually see what was going on around us, yet no so far removed that we were disconnected from life on the ground. The first thing that struck me was that even though it was the middle of the day, the traffic was horrendous. As I looked beyond the roads, I noticed that we had a beautiful view of sweeping hills and urban sprawl that, except for the blue of the Bosphorus, never seemed to end. It gave us a unparalleled perception of the scope of Istanbul.

This was the only piece of architecture that we actually interacted with in Istanbul; we were not merely viewing the magnificent past, but climbing, sitting on, and absorbing it in a way that one cannot with a museum or palace that you merely walk through. For me it was a chance to experience something that felt authentic, and yet, was not forced. The wall showed no signs of the purposeful maintenance that other historical tourist attractions are steeped in (think Versailles), but it was still excellently maintained. Somehow it managed to maintain most of its physical structure from ancient times, but adapt to modern uses. It was a way of stepping into the past without leaving the present.

Speaker for Humanity

"I see," Human said, "they were part of the tribe. From the sky, but we made them brothers and tried to make them fathers. The tribe is whatever we believe it is. If we say the tribe is all the Little Ones in the forest, and all the trees, then that is what the tribe is. Even though some of the oldest trees here came from warriors of two different tribes, fallen in battle. We become one tribe because we say we're one tribe." (Orson Scott Card, Speaker for the Dead)

The books in the Ender series following the Bugger Wars and Ender's "Xenocide" portray humanity's journey to understand the "other." In the Ender series, that "other" is first the Buggers, and then the piggies; however, its lessons are applicable to humanity. We live in a time with great angst toward the "other," be they Islamic Jihadists, American conservatives, North Korean communists, or Iranian dictators. At the end of Ender in Exile, Ender reincarnates himself as the Speaker for the Dead by being the only person who understands the Buggers, and thus can transform his perception of them from aliens to a species comprehensible to humans. In learning that the Buggers never meant to destroy humanity, that they merely lacked the means to communicate, and that they were as emotionally, psychologically, and morally complex as humans, Ender made humans see the Buggers as "them." Of course, this conversion meant Ender was now a murderer--more specifically the "Xenocide"--and he became hated as the one who had destroyed a whole culture of humanoid beings. This inspires one to wonder: if Ender can make humans love aliens, will humans ever learn to love each other?

In the Ender books, Demosthenes writes about four classes of "others." "The first is the otherlander, the stranger we recognize as being a human of our world, but of another city or country. The second is the framling, the stranger we recognize as human, but of another world. The third is the raman, the stranger that we recognize as human, but of another species. The fourth is the true alien, the varelse, which includes all the animals, for with them no conversation is possible. They live but we cannot guess what purposes or causes make them act." During the Bugger wars the Buggers were seen as varelse, because the humans were unable to communicate with them; however, once Ender published the "Hive Queen" they gradually became perceived as raman. In Speaker for the Dead the piggies are quickly recognized as raman, in an effort to not repeat the mistakes of Ender and his fellow Battle School warriors. When the piggies kill two humans, there are those who wonder if this recasts them as varelse because their actions are no longer understood and are interpreted as hostile. However, the coming of Ender to Lusitania, and his unique ability to speak with the piggies, leads to the comprehension that they killed the two humans to honor them, and aid their passage to the Third Life. This results in a new understanding of the piggies, and their transformation to not only raman, but in the minds of some humans framling. The common denominator between each metamorphosis is the mutual understanding of both species.

For humanity the implication is that if we could just understand our fellow otherlanders we would be able to live in peace. But are our fellow earthlings even otherlanders? In some cases yes, such as the instances of those from different cultures but with a similar shared history, belief system, and language. However, it is hard to imagine westerners as viewing fundamental Muslims and militaristic North Koreans as otherlanders; in fact they are more likely to be classified as raman, and in extreme cases (especially by neo-conservatives) as varelse. In fact is this not part of the message behind labeling Iraq, Iran, and North Korea as members of the "Axis of Evil?" Yes, their actions are often seen as hostile to the western way of life (and very likely are), but if no true effort is ever made to communicate with them, and understand and feel their needs, can there ever be hope for a peaceful existence?

Another modern example is the conflict between the Jews and Muslims in the Holy Land. Throughout history, both sides--and for many years with the Christians as a third competitor--have been at odds with each other religiously and geographically over control of the most holiest of places on earth. Over time trade and communication have broken down and hostility has increased, until neither side recognizes the other as human, but first framling, then raman, and ultimately varlese. One only has to listen to the views of extremists of either creed to recognize that there is little appreciation of the other as otherlander, let alone human. It is easy for us now to study how this came to be. But does that mean we can reverse history, and create a place where both cultures can live in union? If we take Speaker as our guide, this would require someone to internalize the beliefs, desires, and needs of both sides, and share this with the world; in other words, we would need a Speaker for Humanity.

There is yet another layer in Speaker that is peeled back when Ender is finalizing the treaty between the humans and the piggies. It is the piggies belief that the other piggies were solely there to be killed, and to be slaves to the winning tribe in their Third Life. This is all the piggies have known, and to challenge that idea was as shocking to Human as if someone seriously suggested to me that I should die so I could become a tree and enter my Third Life. The human parallel is of course our relation to our other tribes, whether they be other families, other cultures, or other countries. Although these distinctions do not always lead to physical war in the 21st century as often as they have in past ages, they still bring about economic or philosophical competition. As a society, we compete against other countries for resources, and see foreigners who enter our country as taking what is rightfully "ours."

Through the instinctively knowledgeable character Ender, Orson Scott Card proposes that the solution is to re-think our classification of our fellow humans. First, he illustrates how we can transmogrify from varelse to raman to framling to otherlander; as the plot of the book finally unravels, he also demonstrates how to go from otherlander to a place where no distinction is needed. During his conversation with Human, Ender directs Human to recognize that what separates "us" from "them" is simply the act of using the word "them."

Perhaps this is an oversimplification of the problem, and perhaps it is wrong to draw such strong parallels from a work of science fiction, but is not all literature reflective of humanity, and over time, does not humanity internalize the common messages in literature? Fiction though it is, if Ender can teach humans to love the Buggers, a species they once feared so much that they united and focused all their resources towards defeating them, is it impossible to hope that there might someday be someone who can teach us about each other? After all, as Human eventually realized, people are only of another tribe because we say they are from another tribe. What we happen if we started to just say "us?"