It took a long time. A generation of politicians, economists, think-tankers, all the powers-that-be, have been totally, wildly wrong, stupid in a very debilitating way. I, of course, will now take time to set them straight.
Trade between nations is not about money. It just isn't. Trade between nations is about jobs. Just jobs. We're losing jobs, very badly, to the point that the rest of the world is sitting back, hands in their plump laps, smiling seraphically. Or is it cherubically? Our clocks are getting cleaned, our lunches are being eaten, our faces pushed into the mud. Put your own metaphor here. My personal favorite: We are being clubbed like baby seals, and then skinned.
Yipes. China, Vietnam, Indonesia, India; they all have more people working. We have fewer people working. They have industrial development guided by groups of smart people. We have smarmy, big haired people, making sure that industrial development isn't guided by anything smart.
We love our delusions. We keep saying that we are more creative than all those Asians; they can only copy, not be creative. We are the smart, creative folks who will lead the world in everything intellectual. Race-baiting swill. Japan beat us in cars and electronics -- creatively. Europe is beating us in bio-tech -- creatively. China is beating us in gew-gaws, or tchotchkes, or whatever you call them -- goofy little things that we like to buy. Stuff. OK, not so creatively.
Our biggest export to China, our intellectual value-added American-made stuff, our grand product of the best-in-the-world educational system: junk. Junk metal, and junk paper and junk plastic, shipped to China and morphed into the stuff we buy back. Ack. Your Alert Blogger is stunned!! Wasn't supposed to work like that. We somehow got on the wrong end.
Ok. Lemme hear it. They are: Slave-mongers!! Environment polluters who work in dreadful factories for dreadful wages, spoiling it all for us.
Well, sure. They have discovered, though, that having a job is better than being a peasant. Just like the Irish, Italians, Jews, Germans, Poles, and all the other peasants who left their homes to come to American jobs. Jobs, jobs, jobs: all that matters. Jobs.
So, if I'm so smart, what do I think we should do? I hate to say it -- well, not so much : we need to put up our fists, jab, float like butterflies, sting like bees. No More Mister Nice Guy. How? Easy, really. We stop buying stuff we didn't make.
No more Toyotas -- 200% tariff No more Porsches -- 300% tariff. No more grapes in the winter -- 2% tariff; I like grapes. No more tchotchkes -- 10,000% tariff. Thank god -- no more tchotchkes. No more Columbian coffee. No more stuff we didn't make. We just stop. OK, I'll give up the winter grapes, in the interest of the majority -- 100% tariff.
Sure. Right. You can't do that. The last 50 years of economic theory show that mercantilism -- what we are talking about here -- is a dreadful failure. Except when it isn't. The last 50 years show that guided development and strategically aimed tariffs work very well, thank you. There are, I suppose, exceptions -- Cambodia comes to mind, but no matter what, Cambodia wouldn't work. India and China, though, the largest of the Asian nations, seem to be OK. Why? Lots of jobs to go around.
We have made a dreadful mistake. We have put wealth before jobs. Please note that all the folks pushing for this wonderful world of free trade are sitting back, burning money in their barbecues so the steaks will be nice and tender. Yet again: I've got mine, the rest of you just go away and die.
When will we finally notice that class warfare is class warfare, and the weapons are jobs? When will we finally notice that the big earners still are working, and we aren't?
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Anchovies on Pillowcases
There was a tradition, during the 18th century, in Pennsylvania, upstate New York, the Ohio Valley, when those folks who already lived there traded with the new folks who were just arriving. Some types of food, not a lot of variety, but many, many furs, going in the one direction. Kettles, guns, knives -- mostly metal stuff, manufactured stuff, going in the other. Made sense. Both groups were better off. Free trade!!!! No tariffs!!!
Of course, someone actually had to do the trading. A surprisingly small number of folks were traders, usually working alone or with one family member. A lot was required: language skills, human skills, fearlessness, trust, wisdom, economic calculation gritty physical endurance. Both native and newcomer were traders between communities. Just imagine the first time arriving in such a strange place, carrying all your riches on your back. Their lives were often short, for one reason or other.
My interest was piqued (yes, piqued!!) by a small detail. When arriving in a community, whether native or newcomer, there was a cleaning ritual. Arriving folks would be given a bowl of water, to wash their hands and faces. Most of the time there was not much improvement in actual cleanliness. So, why this washing?
New arrivals had always passed through forest. Forests were considered by both parties as places of menace and filth. Not a benign playland. No Bambi. Cleaning after being in the forest was a ritual of passing into civilized society and putting the dirt behind.
When I was a good catholic youth, churches always had a bowl of holy water (yes, such a thing existed!!) at the doorway. On the way in or out, you were to dip a finger in the bowl and make the sign of the cross. Another ritual of passing into the civilized, and leaving the detritus of the world behind.
Forward, again, to the new american obsession, the ritual hand cleansing offered at some places. Originally begun as a defense against the influenza virus*, it has become something a bit more confusing. It is available, but not required. The utensils sit, visible, an appeal to conscience and civility. These are mysterious devices, which spurt a liquid on our hands; magically, the liquid disappears. We never know when one of the the cleansing devices will pop up, in a very strange place.
And then, there is this: A quarter of the folks surveyed walking down the street in the north of England have poop on their hands.** No reason the think the north of England is unique.
Wow! A huge literature on most/least effective ways to get folks to wash their hands when leaving bathrooms. Turns out the most effective is a cleansing trough outside of the bathroom, in plain sight of both genders; embarrassment is more effective than lecture. I haven't seen any troughs installed at, say, TGI Friday's, or even places lower on the pecking order, if there are any.
Alert Reader is sighing, knowing that more poop discussion was inevitable. Not if, but when.
My children, and their friends, take multiple showers each day; the showers are randomly timed. On occasion, the showers signify entering or leaving the house, but not always. Why take a shower in the middle of the day, neither coming in or going out? They have no explanation, and think I am odd to be asking about something so ordinary (see Tough Questions).
But there is yet another side. Through high school, at least, kids no longer take showers after phys ed class, team practices, even games. All of these are activities in which there is actual dirt, not symbolic dirt. But, no showers. I remember, so long ago, showers after gym class -- what we called it then -- and of being unclothed in front of the other kids. Difficult. And, after a while, not do difficult. I used to think the newer approach to group showers displayed increased homophobia. Yet, who could be more homophobic that a group of catholic high school boys in 1960? I am open to speculation.
But more about dirt. I read a book about dirt, a long time ago.*** The whole point: We think dirt is soil, grime, mud, dust, filth -- it goes on. Real you-can-touch-it dirt stuff. But the book looked at dirt as a social construct: The anchovy on the pillowcase is a central image of dirt. Dirt is something where it shouldn't be, like weeds are plants where they shouldn't be. Granules from the outside of the home become dirt inside the home.
Washing our hands was a symbol in the 18th century. Probably now, too. But now, in the shower age, there is confusion about washing. Looks like we don't really try to get the poop off when we leave the bathroom, and we didn't in 18th century washing rituals. But all those showers!!!
I'm beginning to think that the polite requirement of washing hands before leaving the bathroom is equivalent to emerging from the forest -- a pretend cleanliness ritual, that signifies the transition from the dirty place to the clean place. But doesn't really clean. A lot like the parental five-second rule: if you can pick it up within five seconds of it hitting the floor, it's safe for child consumption. No, it isn't.
Washing hands isn't enough any more; we're past the washing rituals of the eighteenth century, and have jumped forward into some other space. Washing hands in hospitals and some other settings is a health issue. Maybe. But maybe it is also a sign of confused internal life, metaphors gone wild. Showers taken when some impulse or other is felt. And, maybe William James was right, and there is strength where there is a fear of dirt. Yup. Me and Billy Jim.
Plumber's apprentices are told: It may be poop to them, but it's our bread and butter.
That takes care of that.
*Old joke: Giant cockroach goes into a bar. Asks for a beer. Bartender brings the beer. Giant cockroach thanks bartender, then begins to beat on the bartender, knocking him down and kicking him on the ground. Then the giant cockroach leaves the bar.
New customer enters the bar. Sees the bruised and bloody bartender, and says "Wow, what happened to you?"
The bartender explains, "You know, there's this nasty bug going around...." Ba-dum-dum.
**I am told I need to have a citation. Cynical doubters please see The London Times
***Mary Douglas: Purity and Danger
Enough with the footnotes. This is a blog, not a dissertation.
Of course, someone actually had to do the trading. A surprisingly small number of folks were traders, usually working alone or with one family member. A lot was required: language skills, human skills, fearlessness, trust, wisdom, economic calculation gritty physical endurance. Both native and newcomer were traders between communities. Just imagine the first time arriving in such a strange place, carrying all your riches on your back. Their lives were often short, for one reason or other.
My interest was piqued (yes, piqued!!) by a small detail. When arriving in a community, whether native or newcomer, there was a cleaning ritual. Arriving folks would be given a bowl of water, to wash their hands and faces. Most of the time there was not much improvement in actual cleanliness. So, why this washing?
New arrivals had always passed through forest. Forests were considered by both parties as places of menace and filth. Not a benign playland. No Bambi. Cleaning after being in the forest was a ritual of passing into civilized society and putting the dirt behind.
When I was a good catholic youth, churches always had a bowl of holy water (yes, such a thing existed!!) at the doorway. On the way in or out, you were to dip a finger in the bowl and make the sign of the cross. Another ritual of passing into the civilized, and leaving the detritus of the world behind.
Forward, again, to the new american obsession, the ritual hand cleansing offered at some places. Originally begun as a defense against the influenza virus*, it has become something a bit more confusing. It is available, but not required. The utensils sit, visible, an appeal to conscience and civility. These are mysterious devices, which spurt a liquid on our hands; magically, the liquid disappears. We never know when one of the the cleansing devices will pop up, in a very strange place.
And then, there is this: A quarter of the folks surveyed walking down the street in the north of England have poop on their hands.** No reason the think the north of England is unique.
Wow! A huge literature on most/least effective ways to get folks to wash their hands when leaving bathrooms. Turns out the most effective is a cleansing trough outside of the bathroom, in plain sight of both genders; embarrassment is more effective than lecture. I haven't seen any troughs installed at, say, TGI Friday's, or even places lower on the pecking order, if there are any.
Alert Reader is sighing, knowing that more poop discussion was inevitable. Not if, but when.
My children, and their friends, take multiple showers each day; the showers are randomly timed. On occasion, the showers signify entering or leaving the house, but not always. Why take a shower in the middle of the day, neither coming in or going out? They have no explanation, and think I am odd to be asking about something so ordinary (see Tough Questions).
But there is yet another side. Through high school, at least, kids no longer take showers after phys ed class, team practices, even games. All of these are activities in which there is actual dirt, not symbolic dirt. But, no showers. I remember, so long ago, showers after gym class -- what we called it then -- and of being unclothed in front of the other kids. Difficult. And, after a while, not do difficult. I used to think the newer approach to group showers displayed increased homophobia. Yet, who could be more homophobic that a group of catholic high school boys in 1960? I am open to speculation.
But more about dirt. I read a book about dirt, a long time ago.*** The whole point: We think dirt is soil, grime, mud, dust, filth -- it goes on. Real you-can-touch-it dirt stuff. But the book looked at dirt as a social construct: The anchovy on the pillowcase is a central image of dirt. Dirt is something where it shouldn't be, like weeds are plants where they shouldn't be. Granules from the outside of the home become dirt inside the home.
Washing our hands was a symbol in the 18th century. Probably now, too. But now, in the shower age, there is confusion about washing. Looks like we don't really try to get the poop off when we leave the bathroom, and we didn't in 18th century washing rituals. But all those showers!!!
I'm beginning to think that the polite requirement of washing hands before leaving the bathroom is equivalent to emerging from the forest -- a pretend cleanliness ritual, that signifies the transition from the dirty place to the clean place. But doesn't really clean. A lot like the parental five-second rule: if you can pick it up within five seconds of it hitting the floor, it's safe for child consumption. No, it isn't.
Washing hands isn't enough any more; we're past the washing rituals of the eighteenth century, and have jumped forward into some other space. Washing hands in hospitals and some other settings is a health issue. Maybe. But maybe it is also a sign of confused internal life, metaphors gone wild. Showers taken when some impulse or other is felt. And, maybe William James was right, and there is strength where there is a fear of dirt. Yup. Me and Billy Jim.
Plumber's apprentices are told: It may be poop to them, but it's our bread and butter.
That takes care of that.
*Old joke: Giant cockroach goes into a bar. Asks for a beer. Bartender brings the beer. Giant cockroach thanks bartender, then begins to beat on the bartender, knocking him down and kicking him on the ground. Then the giant cockroach leaves the bar.
New customer enters the bar. Sees the bruised and bloody bartender, and says "Wow, what happened to you?"
The bartender explains, "You know, there's this nasty bug going around...." Ba-dum-dum.
**I am told I need to have a citation. Cynical doubters please see The London Times
***Mary Douglas: Purity and Danger
Enough with the footnotes. This is a blog, not a dissertation.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Well, It All Worked, for a While, At Least
The Doom Blogger will now give a short history of a time when it all worked, for a little while. Try to pay attention. This doesn't count in your grade. Well, yes it does, so pay attention. Put the cell phones away. No IM; put those thumbs away.
Before being wiped out, a group of folks managed to ignore the forces swirling around them for almost 150 years -- and then ultimately lost their work, their friends, and their nation. The place was north of Maine: Arcadia. Now Nova Scotia. Even the name has been changed.
In 1620, the Pilgrims landed. In 1604, though, the French had settled on what they called Port Royal or Arcadia. Port Royal was finally "conquered" for good by the English in 1710, and gently occupied until 1740, when the whole place went to the dogs.
What happened in the first hundred years of Arcadia? Not much, and a lot. The people who already lived there, the Mi'kmaq, were neutral toward the French when the colony began. In the 14th century, fishing boats came to the George's Banks for the cod, and landed to salt and dry the fish at Arcadia. Most of those boats were Portuguese, some Norwegian, some French. The Mi'kmaq were already seasoned traders when the French colony began, and not threatened by the mere presence of a small number of Europeans.
In other places, the French focused on fur trade and saving souls, in that order. Arcadia, though, was a farming community; access to the St. Lawrence river, the path to Quebec and Montreal, was controlled by the forts around the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Those forts were important to France, and needed food. Arcadia supplied grain and meat to the troops in the forts, and in return were supplied with tools, salt, and whatever else 17th century folks needed.
Who cares? Just another colony. Not at all. In that century, the French colonists and the Mi'kmaq managed to merge into one supercolony, with complex patterns of family relationships derived from both French and Mi'kmaq society. Intermarriage was more the rule than the exception; the usual pattern of European men having native wives was matched by Mi'kmaq men having French wives. After a century, the complexity of blood and custom must have confused the settlers themselves at times.
The colony was nominally Catholic, and was supplied with priests; no one seems to have cared much, and, when the British arrived for good, didn't fuss about the change over to Protestantism, and then back.
At the time, of course, French and English colonials faced off over religion at least as much as over land. Relatives thought that captives taken in raids were in the grips of heathens, doomed to burn in hell. Not in Arcadia. In the documents about the later history of Arcadia, there is a sense of frustration, on each side, about the nonchalant religious attitudes of the Arcadians.
And what of other parts of 17th century life? Productivity seems to have been good. The land was rocky, not really great for growing grain, but the Arcadians managed. The newcomers had been peasants in France, and knew the vagaries of small farm life. The Mi'kmaq could produce sea food and hunted meat and furs. Somebody always had food, important in times when famine and starvation were common.
Government was a strange institution. Between 1600 and 1710 (or so) the British from Maine and Massachusetts occasionally attacked, occasionally won, then lost interest and just meddled in the vagaries of colony politics. There was trade, some of it smuggling, with the New England colonies. Once, a merchant owned warehouses in Arcadia and Boston, and attacked his own buildings. Strange days. Ultimately, the French prevailed in the 17th century.
Much like other places at the time, and despite the success of the colony, starvation remained a great fear. Government faded into the background. Remember, these were French peasants, who were very familiar with not having enough food.
A side issue: Many academics have written about the French folktales of the time, which were largely about food. The academics use various theoretical approaches. For some reason, French folktales became a very fertile ground for dissertations. Finally, a sensible reader came along, and made the startling observation that French folk tales were largely about food because French folk were always worried about food. That was the end of the argument.
Back to Arcadia:
Everyone worked, danced, ate, talked, had babies, had arguments, all together. Housing was in small villages, with gathering places in larger towns. Not much city life; the size of the colony limited the number of folks not directly involved in food production. No bloggers in Arcadia. No mimes, either. Somehow the Arcadians managed their deprivation.
I don't mean to pass this all off as a 17th century paradise. I doubt anyplace in the 17th century (or now) is a paradise -- paradise wasn't even a paradise. But, there were very, very few problems generated by greed, rage, group loathing, religion, race hate -- the destructive social forces we seem to love so much. Whatever informal group values operated, everybody got along well enough to avoid prisons, lawsuits, blah, blah. Fill in your favorite social ill here. And, as I said before, the politics of colonial government intrigue just didn't matter very much to most people.
The 17th century in Europe was a tough time. Religious struggles were played out on large and small scales. Tens of thousands were murdered by different sects. The English Civil War began with the beheading of the king. Ireland fell completely to the English. Add the usual ration of disease, starvation, crime, what have you. A very tough time. But, sitting there, out of the way, Arcadia. Not quite bliss, but an awful lot better than most folks had.
Luck kicked Arcadia in the shins starting in 1704. English/French skirmishes in North America took on a more desperate tone, mirroring events in Europe. The French and their native allies -- from the interior of the continent -- began a long series of awful raids on English settlements. The Deerfield Raid is the most famous. Many were killed, many taken captive, and everybody terrified. King Philip's War, generated without French help, raised the terror level. Remember, at the time, the English might well have been pushed into the sea if the natives had gotten their act together. A few battles going a different way, I'd be blogging in French. Moi?
Then, the English exhibited a trait that has come all the way down to present day America: when agitated, go kill large numbers of brown people. The brown people in North America were difficult victims; they moved about, were good at fighting back, and necessary for the functions of the English colonies. Who to kill, then? Hmmm, French, Catholic, settled, and, above all, racially mixed. Arcadia!! The heathens!!!
Expeditions to conquer Arcadia in the 17th century came often; the English would then lose interest, the French would move back in, and the cycle would start over. Intrigue, intrigue. In 1704, the British came to stay, and ruled with a gentle and confused hand until the 1740s. Then the English decided, all over the continent, that enough was enough. In the general dismantling of the French presence, Arcadia was completely destroyed. Obliterated. Buildings burned, animals killed, people murdered. Scorched earth policy. No one was to be left.
Some Arcadians fled to other parts of Canada, many fled to Mi'kmaq villages on the mainland. The British sent a few to France, and some to the British sugar plantations in the Caribbean; most, though, were sent to Louisiana, and became the Cajuns -- you can hear the name changing. Ethnic cleansing carried through. The entire French political presence north of Maine was ended. And, eventually, ended everywhere on the continent.
Can you imagine? One day in your house, on a farm on an island in the North Atlantic, then, after months on a ship, dumped in the diseased swamps of the South. Can there be a more peculiar end to a peculiar social experiment? Worse has happened to populations, of course; look at the Aztecs and the Mayans and everybody else who lived in the Americas in 1500. Or in Asia during the Mongol expansion in the 12th century. Supply your own genocide here.
There are different ways to look at what went on. Some military, some political, some economic. But it did happen, and it was genocide.
And Arcadia is a special kind of genocide, if there can be such a thing. Damn. They had it right, and kept it going for a century; they evolved ways to get along, and to mix races, without warfare. The English, ultimately, couldn't live with race mixing, and put an end to it all.
We have inherited their ugliness, and based a nation on their fearfulness. Great.
Before being wiped out, a group of folks managed to ignore the forces swirling around them for almost 150 years -- and then ultimately lost their work, their friends, and their nation. The place was north of Maine: Arcadia. Now Nova Scotia. Even the name has been changed.
In 1620, the Pilgrims landed. In 1604, though, the French had settled on what they called Port Royal or Arcadia. Port Royal was finally "conquered" for good by the English in 1710, and gently occupied until 1740, when the whole place went to the dogs.
What happened in the first hundred years of Arcadia? Not much, and a lot. The people who already lived there, the Mi'kmaq, were neutral toward the French when the colony began. In the 14th century, fishing boats came to the George's Banks for the cod, and landed to salt and dry the fish at Arcadia. Most of those boats were Portuguese, some Norwegian, some French. The Mi'kmaq were already seasoned traders when the French colony began, and not threatened by the mere presence of a small number of Europeans.
In other places, the French focused on fur trade and saving souls, in that order. Arcadia, though, was a farming community; access to the St. Lawrence river, the path to Quebec and Montreal, was controlled by the forts around the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Those forts were important to France, and needed food. Arcadia supplied grain and meat to the troops in the forts, and in return were supplied with tools, salt, and whatever else 17th century folks needed.
Who cares? Just another colony. Not at all. In that century, the French colonists and the Mi'kmaq managed to merge into one supercolony, with complex patterns of family relationships derived from both French and Mi'kmaq society. Intermarriage was more the rule than the exception; the usual pattern of European men having native wives was matched by Mi'kmaq men having French wives. After a century, the complexity of blood and custom must have confused the settlers themselves at times.
The colony was nominally Catholic, and was supplied with priests; no one seems to have cared much, and, when the British arrived for good, didn't fuss about the change over to Protestantism, and then back.
At the time, of course, French and English colonials faced off over religion at least as much as over land. Relatives thought that captives taken in raids were in the grips of heathens, doomed to burn in hell. Not in Arcadia. In the documents about the later history of Arcadia, there is a sense of frustration, on each side, about the nonchalant religious attitudes of the Arcadians.
And what of other parts of 17th century life? Productivity seems to have been good. The land was rocky, not really great for growing grain, but the Arcadians managed. The newcomers had been peasants in France, and knew the vagaries of small farm life. The Mi'kmaq could produce sea food and hunted meat and furs. Somebody always had food, important in times when famine and starvation were common.
Government was a strange institution. Between 1600 and 1710 (or so) the British from Maine and Massachusetts occasionally attacked, occasionally won, then lost interest and just meddled in the vagaries of colony politics. There was trade, some of it smuggling, with the New England colonies. Once, a merchant owned warehouses in Arcadia and Boston, and attacked his own buildings. Strange days. Ultimately, the French prevailed in the 17th century.
Much like other places at the time, and despite the success of the colony, starvation remained a great fear. Government faded into the background. Remember, these were French peasants, who were very familiar with not having enough food.
A side issue: Many academics have written about the French folktales of the time, which were largely about food. The academics use various theoretical approaches. For some reason, French folktales became a very fertile ground for dissertations. Finally, a sensible reader came along, and made the startling observation that French folk tales were largely about food because French folk were always worried about food. That was the end of the argument.
Back to Arcadia:
Everyone worked, danced, ate, talked, had babies, had arguments, all together. Housing was in small villages, with gathering places in larger towns. Not much city life; the size of the colony limited the number of folks not directly involved in food production. No bloggers in Arcadia. No mimes, either. Somehow the Arcadians managed their deprivation.
I don't mean to pass this all off as a 17th century paradise. I doubt anyplace in the 17th century (or now) is a paradise -- paradise wasn't even a paradise. But, there were very, very few problems generated by greed, rage, group loathing, religion, race hate -- the destructive social forces we seem to love so much. Whatever informal group values operated, everybody got along well enough to avoid prisons, lawsuits, blah, blah. Fill in your favorite social ill here. And, as I said before, the politics of colonial government intrigue just didn't matter very much to most people.
The 17th century in Europe was a tough time. Religious struggles were played out on large and small scales. Tens of thousands were murdered by different sects. The English Civil War began with the beheading of the king. Ireland fell completely to the English. Add the usual ration of disease, starvation, crime, what have you. A very tough time. But, sitting there, out of the way, Arcadia. Not quite bliss, but an awful lot better than most folks had.
Luck kicked Arcadia in the shins starting in 1704. English/French skirmishes in North America took on a more desperate tone, mirroring events in Europe. The French and their native allies -- from the interior of the continent -- began a long series of awful raids on English settlements. The Deerfield Raid is the most famous. Many were killed, many taken captive, and everybody terrified. King Philip's War, generated without French help, raised the terror level. Remember, at the time, the English might well have been pushed into the sea if the natives had gotten their act together. A few battles going a different way, I'd be blogging in French. Moi?
Then, the English exhibited a trait that has come all the way down to present day America: when agitated, go kill large numbers of brown people. The brown people in North America were difficult victims; they moved about, were good at fighting back, and necessary for the functions of the English colonies. Who to kill, then? Hmmm, French, Catholic, settled, and, above all, racially mixed. Arcadia!! The heathens!!!
Expeditions to conquer Arcadia in the 17th century came often; the English would then lose interest, the French would move back in, and the cycle would start over. Intrigue, intrigue. In 1704, the British came to stay, and ruled with a gentle and confused hand until the 1740s. Then the English decided, all over the continent, that enough was enough. In the general dismantling of the French presence, Arcadia was completely destroyed. Obliterated. Buildings burned, animals killed, people murdered. Scorched earth policy. No one was to be left.
Some Arcadians fled to other parts of Canada, many fled to Mi'kmaq villages on the mainland. The British sent a few to France, and some to the British sugar plantations in the Caribbean; most, though, were sent to Louisiana, and became the Cajuns -- you can hear the name changing. Ethnic cleansing carried through. The entire French political presence north of Maine was ended. And, eventually, ended everywhere on the continent.
Can you imagine? One day in your house, on a farm on an island in the North Atlantic, then, after months on a ship, dumped in the diseased swamps of the South. Can there be a more peculiar end to a peculiar social experiment? Worse has happened to populations, of course; look at the Aztecs and the Mayans and everybody else who lived in the Americas in 1500. Or in Asia during the Mongol expansion in the 12th century. Supply your own genocide here.
There are different ways to look at what went on. Some military, some political, some economic. But it did happen, and it was genocide.
And Arcadia is a special kind of genocide, if there can be such a thing. Damn. They had it right, and kept it going for a century; they evolved ways to get along, and to mix races, without warfare. The English, ultimately, couldn't live with race mixing, and put an end to it all.
We have inherited their ugliness, and based a nation on their fearfulness. Great.
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