Beautiful Cynicism III

A message scrawled on a bathroom wall. The act itself is childish, cowardly, unremarkable. But the words contained in this “message” have thrown the entire administration of academia into disarray at the university where I work, and have prompted widespread changes in the way the establishment there operates.

In a nutshell: last Wednesday, late in the afternoon, someone discovered a message written on the wall of a men’s washroom. The graffiti warned, among other things, that a shooting would take place on campus at 10:30 on Wednesday, September 26.

When I arrived at work on Thursday morning, the side entrance I normally use was blocked off. This was extrememly annoying, as it was pouring that morning and I had forgotten my umbrella at work the day before. I had to circle the entire campus before finding a door that was unlocked. Soaked to the bone and cursing the construction crews that have been working on campus for months, I entered the university, only to discover a cluster of policement hovering near the door. When I got to my desk, a “security advisory newsletter” was waiting for me, explaining what had happened. That day was a flurry of staff meetings and debriefings. Policemen and security guards were posted at the only two entrances still open; all other doors leading to the streets were locked. Policemen wandered the halls, watching all of us trying to go about our business. The halls emptied out rather quickly, and by lunchtime even the main cafeteria was half-empty – a sight not often seen. A sombre mood descended on the entire campus; the apprehension in the air was palpable. It was much the same situation on Friday, with some people choosing not to come in to work, and with many students electing to come in only for their classes, and returning home immediately after.

A day of academic amnesty has been declared for tomorrow: any students who wish to avoid being on campus can therefore stay home and not worry about penalised for not showing up to class. The career fairs and expositions that had been scheduled for tomorrow have been cancelled. Faculty and staff have been informed that they are free to stay home from work tomorrow as well if they feel uncomfortable. I have a feeling that the campus will be a ghost town tomorrow… And yet, this incident has prompted some interesting debate. The entire student body, as well as the staff, seem to be split into two distinct camps: those who see no reason to put themselves into harm’s way, even if only theoretically, and who to intend to stay home; and those who see staying home as submitting to “terrorism”, and who intend to come to work. Some faculty want to show strength and intend to run their classes tomorrow; they argue that by continuing “business as usual”, they can give confidence to their students and show that there’s no reason to give in to threats and intimidation. Others are cancelling their classes for tomorrow, arguing that that gesture shows students that it’s okay to feel uncomfortable and to take steps to try and protect oneself.

While I’d say that almost everyone – staff, faculty, students, and the community at large – believe that the threat was an empty one, mere graffiti on a bathroom wall, it’s understandable that the administration is taking it so seriously. School shootings are such common occurrences now that even graffiti can’t be brushed aside and ignored. The feeling appears to be unanimous that in this situation it’s better to overreact than not to react at all. And there have been some good developments: security lapses have been remedied, technology that had been proposed has been approved and installed, security measures that had been discussed for years have now been instituted.

A sense of gravity has settled on the campus over the past few days. The students no longer seem to take for granted the laid-back environment of their university. The outside world may think that this is all silly; but for those of us in the university community, even those who don’t necessarily believe that anything spectacular will happen tomorrow, this isn’t silly at all: it’s sad, it’s annoying, and it’s a little bit frightening.

Bien que la rentrée est venue au début du mois, pour moi ces jours-ci sont les plus mouvementés: aujourd’hui est mon dernier jour à la librairie à l’université. Dès lundi, je n’aurai qu’un boulot; je travaillerai donc à temps partiel. En un sens cela m’arrange; j’ai travaillée beaucoup depuis la rentrée, et j’attends l’occasion de me reposer un peu. Mais l’idée de recommencer la recherche d’emploi ne me passionne pas! Et bien que la librairie est un endroit assez stressant, et que mes collègues se disputent régulièrement, il y a quand même un atmosphère chaleureux dans le bureau. J’avais mon petit coin à moi, où je pouvais écouter ma musique et travailler (relativement) tranquillement. Et c’était un boulot que j’aimais faire. Tout ça va me manquer un peu.

Below is an excerpt of an essay he has written for The New Yorker magazine. It tells the story of one of his patients who suffered massive memory loss as a result of a brain infection. He emerged able to remember only two things: how to compose music, and the fact that he loves his wife.

When I asked Deborah whether Clive knew about her memoir, she told me that she had shown it to him twice before, but that he had instantly forgotten. I had my own heavily annotated copy with me, and asked Deborah to show it to him again.

People who have difficulty with Kerouac’s work, those who fail to see the poetry in his prose, are victims of their own intellectual prejudices. Kerouac’s verse is free-flowing, free-wheeling, with a cadence and rhythm all its own. His sentences are long and meandering, stylistically punchy and grammatically incoherent. And yet somehow he always makes perfect sense. His poems are like the interior monologues that accompany us in our heads as we go about our daily activities, the stream-of-consciousness soundtrack to our lives. When I read something like

“Death’s a grim reminder to everybody already dead