Moose and Financial Regulation?

Everyone knows you aren't supposed to judge a book by its cover, but no such rule exists for titles. Recently, on an unrelated book search, I came across a UTP book creatively titled Moose Pastures and Mergers by Christopher Armstrong. I was immediately interested in finding out exactly what a scholarly contribution on moose pastures would entail. However, a quick glance at the subtitle, The Ontario Securities Commission and the Regulation of Share Markets in Canada, 1940-1980, informed me that the topic of the book wasn't quite what the title initially suggested. Far from turning me off the subject (finance and economics have never been my chosen interests), I became even more interested in learning how such disparate topics as moose pastures and financial regulation were related.

As it turns out, 'moose pastures' is a term that was given to the barren land of the Precambrian Shield that was fraudulently pitched to the public as a sound investment for mineral prospecting. This type of deception, resulting from false and misleading claims, had become so problematic by the 1950s that the Ontario Securities Commission was under increased pressure to protect would-be investors. However, as Armstrong illustrates, despite the best intentions, the OSC ended up being hindered by the same folkloric beliefs as the prospectors: the notion that the most significant discoveries were made by independent prospectors, and that buying penny shares in such ventures offered the ordinary investor the best opportunity for huge returns. As a result, the OSC always fell short of offering share holders the depth of protection they so clearly needed.

As Armstrong transitions to the second half of the book, which deals with the wave of corporate mergers in the 60s and 70s, the overall theme of how best to regulate the market becomes increasingly evident. During this period law makers were faced with the unenviable task of finding a happy medium between the expansionist desires of brokers and companies on the one hand, and the protective needs of public on the other. The former felt that the only acceptable form of regulation was self-regulation, whereas the latter sought tougher rules to protect them from the aftermath of incidents such as the Windfall Mines affair of 1964, in which numerous stocks were sold at inflated prices only to discover that the proposed land had no significant quantities of any minerals. As Armstrong continually demonstrates, with both moose pasture shares and mergers, the OSC was forced to balance the capitalistic demands of big business and investors' desire for financial security.

Although these events happened roughly 50 years ago, the decisions made by the OSC and various other government and regulatory bodies have had a profound effect on the investment practices of today; doubts about the virtues of self-regulation grew through the 1970s and to this day investor protection remains an important principle of securities regulation. With almost uncanny foresight, Armstrong also commented on some of the financial complexities that are all too familiar to us now: "the complexities of 'hedges' and 'index funds' are such that compelling full disclosure about a mining claim or a takeover bid may seem almost simple by comparison." Perhaps in light of the recent financial meltdown and current backlash against new financial regulations, the cases presented in Moose Pastures and Mergers are of even greater relevance now than when the book was originally published.

Three Cups for Peace

Everyone has heard the claim that religion is the root of all war. While I don't wholly agree, I do think there is no doubting that religion is very often one of the major factors in war. The problem with that conclusion is that it is an oversimplification of very complex problems. The extremist religious convictions that call for violent solutions to ideological problems do not just emerge fully formed from sacred scriptures. Regardless of what an ancient text dictates, few people will blindly risk their lives without the presence of other conditions such as poverty and indoctrination. In the case of northern Pakistan, poverty prevents villages from building schools, which allows the Saudi-backed madrassas to easily swoop in and educate young men in a culture of extremism and jihad.

In the West we are currently engaged in two wars with the aim of stopping militant Islam and bringing democracy to the Muslim world. Yet, progress, if any, has been slow and debatable, and much evidence lends credence to the argument that combat in Afghanistan and Iraq has only strengthened terrorist organizations. So, what then is the solution? We have used our might, and the results have not been strong enough to keep public opinion in favour of armed combat. Perhaps, instead of trying to force our ideology on an impoverished uneducated population, with centuries of history behind them to warrant a lack of trust, we should look instead at fixing the root causes of anti-Western hostilities.

Having recently read the amazing book Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin, I couldn't believe in this approach more. Greg's work as the founder and director of the Central Asian Institute over the past decade and a half has resulted in the creation of 78 schools throughout the remote regions of northern Pakistan and Afghanistan. As a result, children have access to education, which can allow them not only to improve their lives financially, but to learn the basic critical thinking skills necessary to reject extremism. Most importantly, from a world-relations perspective, Greg's work has given a face of peace and acceptance a region that tends to only encounter westerners from the other end of a pointed gun. In my humble opinion, this has done far more to bring peace and prosperity to the region than war ever could.

The title of the book is based on a Balti proverb: "The first time you share tea with a Balti, you are a stranger. The second time you take tea, you are an honored guest. The third time you share a cup of tea, you become family." I would like to rework that proverb to express the role learning can have on promoting peace: "The first time you read, you are a beginner. The second time you read, you are educated. The third time you read, you are enlightened."

Very Gradual Change We Can Hope For

So I finished The God Delusion yesterday by Richard Dawkins. From watching previous documentaries he has been in, such as The Root of All Evil and The Four Horsemen, and having visited The Richard Dawkins Foundation I was familiar with his unapologetic atheism before I cracked the spine* of his book. And to be perfectly honest, before reading his book I found the extremity of his position to be somewhat of a turnoff; the intense vitriol of the language he spews at religious followers almost discredits the "reasonable" side of atheism. The result of which was that I was somewhat apprehensive about how the book would resonate with me and thus wasn't leaning towards one response over the other.

Having finished The God Delusion I can now confidently say that Dawkins certainly has the evidence to back up his extreme beliefs—to an extent. His arguments for evolution and natural selection are confident and backed up by numerous scientific studies and observations. After tackling the 400-plus pages, no one with a rational, logical mind would disagree with the validity of evolution as an explanation for our 21st century existence.

My problem with Dawkins' rhetoric is his failure to definitively disprove the existence of God. Although he does an excellent job of demonstrating the fragility of the Bible as a source of evidence, this in and of itself is not enough to prove that God doesn't exist. However unlikely it is, there is always the possibility that God is out there and just did a piss-poor job of getting his written word out there. Dawkins seems to rely on the excellence—and excellent it is—of his argument for evolution as a mechanism to disprove religion. But, the existence of a better explanation doesn't completely nullify the former belief. Dawkins himself admits that he can't disprove the existence of God. And while I agree with him that the onus of proof should be on religion, and not the other way around, I suppose that I was expecting a bit more of a convincing argument from such a noted intellectual.

Where the real strength of the book is, in my humble opinion, is Dawkins' ability to illustrate the harm caused by even moderate religious sympathy. Having already forsaken my own belief in a higher power,  this was also the aspect of the book that contributed the most to my own personal understanding of the divide. I have always disagreed with the uneducated belief of my religious peers, but felt that eventually they would allow themselves to shed the dogmatic instruction of their youth and emerge as Plato's philosopher into the light of reason. It was only after Dawkins so succinctly argued against the mere labeling of a child by religious affiliation did I not realize how truly difficult it is to undo the intensive indoctrination we are exposed to as youth. How is one who grows up being labeled a Catholic child ever to tackle the ensuing identity crisis association with discarding one's religious beliefs?

The most disheartening part of the whole situation, for me, is when I apply Dawkins' arguments to our modern context. In light of the current religious extremism not only in the Middle East, but in Middle America, the cause for rational views towards spirituality is more pressing than ever. Two years ago, an impetus for change swept across our southern neighbor demanding a retraction of the status quo. Quickly, posters began to symbolize the beliefs of those who would no longer accept the wrongs that had been committed in our name. And with that in mind, I can find no more fitting way to end this piece than by sharing my favorite meme of that poster (to use another of Dawkins' famous terms) to draw attention to the cause of intellectual freedom and the quest for a secular society.

*Disclosure: I don't crack spines. In fact I loath the practice and have even trained my husband not to do so. I just like the expression.

Oh Freedom, Where Art Thou?

So I broke my rule of never buying new books in hardcover and bought Freedom by Jonathan Franzen. Moreover, I tend not to get too excited about books set in contemporary America. Reading for me--fiction or nonfiction--is another form of travel; both stem from my innate desire to experience new places, people, and ages. And lacking an interest to travel to 21st century America, I tend to turn away from such works. I am, however, happy to report that I surprised even myself, and fell for Freedom almost instantly. Although the story is captivating in and of itself, and is certainly well written, I found unraveling the characters' various quests for the titular goal of Freedom the most fascinating aspect of the piece.

Although it sometimes bordered on cheesy how every character--and story line--was a commentary on Freedom, looking past that I found a deep commentary on Franzen's view of true liberation. Whether it be Patty's quest to escape the overbearing apathy of her parents, or Walter's seemingly selfless need to save the environment from humanity, or Joey's desire to become financially and emotionally independent, or Richard's motivation to rid himself of the idealized expectations thrown upon him by Walter, each character was struggling, in his or her own way, to become free from the entanglement of their past and their family and friends populating the present. The main story line, Walter's efforts to preserve a parcel of land for the warbler in West Virginia, also speaks to the book's central theme.

As each character tries, fails, and then tries again to find freedom, the reader is faced with the fact that the freedom most people yearn for isn't just about a lack of restriction or outside influence or physical intrusion. That type of freedom, personified by Walter's alcoholic, homeless brother, is a hollowed, empty existence that when achieved, only fails to satisfy each character. It is only with the story drawing to a close that a sense of calm finally descends upon the Berglunds. But what is interesting is the cause. For it isn't the achievement of the freedom they initially sought, but a more personal freedom. Instead of isolating themselves, each character faced their concerns and learned to live freely amongst both those around them and their own psychologies.

But what does this all mean for those of us non-fictional characters? For one, traditional freedom isn't all it's cracked up to be. Freedom in the commonly thought of sense--escape from all restraints and roadblocks--isn't what we really want. Otherwise we would all become homeless alcoholics with no responsibilities, free to roam as we see please. Instead, what we are really after is the sort of freedom found in the end of Freedom: a freedom from our own self-deprecation and struggle after a freedom that doesn't exist. We need to stop thinking we can be free if we resist the pressure from our jobs, our families, and our morals. Instead, we need to look inside, become comfortable with ourselves, and find the freedom that comes from living up to no one's expectations but our own.