Newspapers and books and stuff

'Tis the time of year when I am called to do penance for my sins or at least to pay for the pleasures of life in Academia. And on the whole, in general, looking at the big picture, averaging up, putting all things in context, I do find life in Academia a pleasure. Relatively speaking.

Except now comes the Grading. Sigh.

Surely, oh please God, surely they've learned more than this.

Oh, the futility. The pointlessness. The waste. The what-the-fuck? The horror. Oh, the horror.

A number of years ago I had a student who wrote a fascinating essay about Louis XIV's invention of the atom bomb.

Then there are the students who, in the interests of "objectivity," argue that it is important not to condemn the Nazis, for once one grasps the Nazi perspective, once one walks a mile in their jackboots, so to speak, one can see their point. Oh. Dear. God.

On my desk right now, at this very moment, sits a stack of essays defending Stalin.

Truly, I do not teach them that It Is Important to Understand Where Stalin Was At. Yet, somewhere, in the air between the words that emanate from my mouth, and the words on the pages of the reading assignments, and their less-than-eager brains, this weird, horrifying transformation/translation occurs.

Still. Sometimes there are Wonderful Moments. Like the window into the world view of a 20-year-old that opened in a final paper submitted last week. This particular student was writing about the effects of large-scale immigration--particularly from non-Western, non-white cultures--into western Europe in the 1950s-1970s, . OK. He argued that as a result of the postwar immigration patterns, Europeans were forced to encounter and assimilate new cultures in new ways. OK. Then came the Wonderful Moment: He explained that never before had Europeans had access to the ideas and customs of such different cultures because "There was no Internet back then--only newspapers and books and stuff."

Only newspapers and books and stuff.

Right.

Suddenly, I see the world, my world, thru a 20-year-old's eyes. We who grew up in the Pre-Internet Ages, we were something akin to medieval serfs, grunting in monosyllables, unaware of anything outside the boundaries of the village, unable to comprehend a life beyond that of the necessities of getting by in the here and now and the threat of eternity in hell. Benighted souls, beyond comprehension, almost beyond pity, we had "only newspapers and books and stuff."

The world we have lost. Like, totally.