​
I don’t know how or why I decided to run the London Marathon. I think I had just started out on the treadmill and I managed to run 5km. I was feeling quite proud of myself. That was about two years ago. Ten months later, I was on holiday for a couple of weeks and I decided to run as far as I could go. I managed 13.1 km. I felt like I was king of the world. I don’t need to recount how I could barely walk for two days afterwards. Those pains are lost to history. In a moment of inspiration, I signed up for the London Landmark Half Marathon (Spring 2020) and the New York City Marathon (November 2020). I decided to run for charity in each event (as I missed the ballot draw).
 
Then something went wrong with my legs. I started seizing up. I couldn’t walk the next day. I could barely walk up the stairs—and going downstairs was almost as difficult. I blamed it on my commute to London and back. Sitting in the car for extended periods of time caused my muscles to tighten up (so I would tell myself) and this was the cause of my discomfort.
 
Then it got worse. It may not have helped that I was a maniac on the trampoline with my grandchildren (who goaded me on to jump ever higher amidst their shrieks of delight). I am sure that I hyperextended my knee a few times. Instead of reining myself in, I started to get deep tissue/sports massages as well as visiting the physio about something that wasn’t quite right in my back. I even discovered the joys of acupuncture.
 
The pandemic hit and everything was closed down. I was no longer able to go to the gym so I finally started running on the road. It was VERY different from a treadmill. I was slower and the physicality of it was much greater. I decided to simply run 10 km per day and push myself as much as possible. I was hoping that I could get up to 20km per day. (At this point, I didn’t think that resting was a good idea.)
 
I received a book on training by Runners World (Big Book of Marathon and Half Marathon Training) for my birthday. I read it cover to cover and realised that I was doing a lot of things wrong (according to Runners World). But I figured that they didn’t know everything and I had figured out a perfect training programme for myself. I continued to push myself. I got up to 28 km for my long runs and kept my other runs at 10-15km. When I finished my run, I would hop on the stationary bike and go for an hour or so. That, plus my push ups and sit ups and I figured that I was good to go.
 
But I was doing everything wrong. I beat myself up to the point where I started slowing down. Things became more painful. I got weaker instead of stronger—despite a host of supplements that I would ingest (all vitamins, nothing racy). I drank a lot of water and tried to get as much sleep as possible—but I rarely got more than five hours.
 
The only good news of 2020 (for me and my marathon aspirations) was that all sporting events got cancelled. I got the rescheduling dates in my diary and prepared for 2021. I also booked my place in the London Marathon 2021. (The idea that running two marathons in one year may have been a bad idea didn’t even cross my mind.)
 
Fast forward to spring 2021, and I had taken myself out of action for a few months to deal with the exhaustion that I had submitted myself to. I also had to deal with my lack of sleep. The London Landmarks Half Marathon was cancelled in 2020 and was delayed in 2021 due to the pandemic. Luckily, the marathon was also delayed to 3 October 2021. As it happened, I was unable to get out of bed for a few weeks in spring 2021. I had injured myself badly and my body was in dire need of sleep. I was only able to start running again in May. On my first day out, I couldn’t run 5km. I felt that I was back to square one. I felt like quitting.
 
Luckily, I didn’t quit. I followed Runners World’s suggested training schedule for the half marathon (rescheduled to 1 August 2021). You can read what happened on my blog (www.barondeschauer.com/Barons-Blog dated 5 August 2021). Needless to say, I still managed to do some things poorly and I vowed that I would learn in time for the marathon. The two things I learned from the half marathon was (1) learn how not to become dehydrated; (2) don’t eat a shawarma from an unknown vendor the night before a long run.
 
The thing I learned from my insane pre-Runners World regime was to rest. I now value the time for the body to heal itself. Real sleep is important.
 
I survived the half marathon. I now had eight weeks to train for the marathon. I had never run more than 28 km in my life. I had eight weeks to train for 42.2 km. I overcame my doubts and stuck to the Runners world schedule. The hardest part was the taper—where you reduce your training by 40-60% in the two-three weeks prior to the marathon. I had to remind myself that I didn’t know what the heck I was doing and to trust the experts.
 
The three days before a marathon, you are supposed to ‘load up’ on carbohydrates. This means a lot of pasta and things like that. I did it with great relish. I love pasta and I generally don’t worry too much about what I eat (although I had to stop the double sausage egg McMuffins after the half marathon). The day before the big day, I made my way to London and decided to have a Costco jacket potato. For anyone who has gone to Costco, you will know that one of these portions is enough for a US Football line backer (or UK Rugby behemoth). I, naturally, order two. I also order my toppings to be tuna (and mayo) and chili. I didn’t think twice. It was what I liked. I demolished it and went on my way, very satisfied. My saving grace was that I ate this at 1pm the day before. The chili decided to remind me of its existence right up until the morning of the big day. Luckily, my supper was pasta and tuna fish (with mayo and sweetcorn). Tasty. Bedtime was delayed because the grandkids wanted to play Uno and show off their new Lego creations. I ended up going to bed by 9pm. I was getting nervous. My heart was beating in my ears and my mind was running the course in anticipation.
 
I won’t bother you with the details of my Costco consequences. Needless to say, I have now added ‘no chili’ next to my ‘no shawarma’ on the day before a big run.
 
With regard to dehydration, I read that I should drink 8-16 ounces of water two hours before a race. I drank 1.5 litres of water and 500ml of Lucozade (a sugar sport drink) two and a half hours before the run started. My strategy was to start hydrated and stay hydrated. There were 12 water stations along the route. They handed out 250ml bottles of water. My plan was to drink from every station. I would stop, drink, start running again. I didn’t want to try and drink and run. It provided two benefits. I got a breather. I got water.
I obsessed over whether I should run with a water bladder (a harness with 1.5 litres of water that you can drink from a long plastic tube while you ran; I didn’t) or my phone (I didn’t). I decided to run with a small waist bag that carried some gels. I planned to have one gel every 10km.
 
I obsessed about the toilet. I didn’t want to use one during the run. They were not pleasant. I carried toilet paper wrapped in plastic just in case alongside my gels. (You don’t want to arrive in an unpleasant toilet to find that there is no toilet paper!) The Costco chili fiasco had not totally subsided but was under control by the time I set off for the course. I left without a phone and with instructions to my wife and family to meet me at a particular spot post-race. They had an app to trace me along the course as I went. Even the act of leaving my phone was liberating. It was wonderful to be without any contact with the outside world for one day (apart from those physically next to you).
 
That being said, best laid plans do not go to plan. My train was thirty minutes late. Subsequently, I arrived with only thirty minutes to go before the race started. Not a problem apart from the fact that I needed the toilets. Two litres of liquid needed to go somewhere. The queues were enormous. I was eyeing the trees (in Greenwich park, where the race started). I managed to survive and got to the starting post with six minutes to spare. No stretching until then. I did some basic stretches. The music and announcer’s voice was booming over the sound system. Runners were mingling in their tens of thousands. There were waves of people. It was quite a logistical feat by the organisers. All without seeming chaotic. Everything was easy going. I never heard one negative word (apart from the length of the toilet queues) and everyone was getting into the zone for what lay ahead.
 
I was convinced that my headphones’ batteries wouldn’t last the five hours that I anticipated the run to take, so I waited until I was walking towards the actual start line before I tried to sync up my watch. It failed. I panicked. I tried again. No dice. I held in the button on my headphones and tried to reconnect. I watched the little circular movement on the watch as it thought about it. I looked around and braced myself to run without music. I had never run without music and it concerned me. If there was one thing every writer said, it was not to change anything in the running routine on the day. This was a big change. I looked down and was relieved to see that it said connected. The music started playing. I smiled, donned my earphones and paused the music. I wanted to hear the people and announcer. This was a once-in-a-lifetime moment. I’d never run a marathon for the first time again. I wanted to soak it all up.
 
On the trains to the starting area, I was struck by how many people were living with pain and the loss of loved ones. We forget about those who struggle with unfair losses. Or those who get fired up and work harder in the face of adversity. Mothers with children and husband. She is running. They are cheering her on. Her charity: cancer, usually. Did she have it? Does she still have it? Did her mother have it? Many ran in memory of loved ones. Fathers, mothers, little baby children. The pictures of babies on the backs of parents as they ran touched me the most. During the race, there were a number of instances where a family member would call out the name of a runner and the runner ran to hug their wife/husband/children. All were in tears. It was incredibly moving. Countless stories of hardship, heartbreak, but also of perseverance, victory, and success. Life goes on. We run. Simple message. Powerful message.
 
I did not hear one negative comment the entire day. It was better than Christmas or New Year’s Eve. The latter is all about sad movies and those who are missing out on the love and warmth of imagined celebrations. The marathon is beautiful and positive. It is simple in that you need to run 26.2 miles. It is incredibly complex and logistically challenging for the people who make it happen. I have only great things to say about them. And the spectators were like family. I had my name on the front of my vest. They called out my name and urged me on. They called out strangers and cheered for all of us. It was a carnival atmosphere without the darker side. (If there was a darker side, I didn’t see it or experience even a whiff of it.)
 
One of my most memorable experiences of the day (apart from what happened near the end) was seeing the sea of people before me as far as the eye could take in. Bobbing heads filled the entire street. Spectators filled the pavements. Music was blaring. Makeshift DJs and commentators put speakers on their balconies and commentated as we ran past. The most memorable experience (apart from what happened near the end) was turning the corner and approaching Tower Bridge. You couldn’t fit more spectators in on the pavements along the approach and over the bridge. Runners were shoulder to shoulder and the entire landscape was people. The bridge loomed in front in all its majesty, the sun catching the stonework. Its features, normally ignored by me and others as we struggled in traffic, stood as a monument to the greatness of all of us and, in particular, my adopted country. The surge of optimism and pure electric energy from spectators sped me along even faster. I kept looking at my watch, reminding myself to slow down.
 
This was far from my anticipated experience. Ten days prior, I watched the weather forecast with increasing concern. It was supposed to rain heavily on the day with a significant wind. As it happened, the day was perfect. 10 degrees Celsius, rising to 16 degrees by mid-afternoon with a light breeze. On the run-up to the day, I tried to manage my expectations. When I started training, I felt that I could run a sub four-hour marathon. Then, this summer, I modified my expectations to a sub five-hour marathon. On the day, I was bracing myself for a 5 hour and 20-minute marathon. As it happened, and purely down to the spectators, I was running a pace for a 4 hour and 25-minute marathon. I was pain free and grinning from ear to ear.
 
I was thanking Runners World for taking me through a tried-and-tested schedule of training. I was thanking the taper. I was thanking the spectators. I was even thanking the chili for leaving me in peace during the run. Everything was perfect.
 
I enjoyed watching the miles click by. I remember how hard the half marathon was just two months earlier and the impact dehydration had on me. I grinned as I hit 15 miles. I was feeling strong.
 
I began to feel the distance around 18 miles. I reminded myself of my brother's email and his comment of "if not now, when?" I persevered, maintaining my cadence with a short stride. All was well. I thought that I would rarely find myself with the perfect weather again. I mustn’t slow down. I must persevere.
 
At 20 miles, I knew I was going to finish. Up until that point, doubts lingered. But my body was getting tired.
 
At 22 miles, I was reaching my longest run ever. I was in Virgin territory. 
 
At 23 miles, I stopped thinking about anything other than the remaining distance. I was definitely in the present. I took a longer breather after my water stop but was still on track to sub 4hrs 30 mins. 
 
At 24 miles, I had to take a full one minute (maybe two?) break. I stopped next to a rail that separated spectators from runners. I leaned over to stretch and I felt a panic rise inside. I wasn't going to make it. I wasn't fit enough. Not good enough. My body was leaching my life energy from recesses that didn't want to release any more energy.
 
Then the voices next to me said my name. That I could do it. I was just about there. Keep going. I looked up and two strangers looked at me with an earnestness that should be reserved for close family. They willed me to keep running. I did.
 
At 25 miles, I hit the proverbial wall. My legs were fine. No pain. Just nothing left in the tank. The kettle had no more water in it but was being flicked on. I was done. I stopped and grabbed the rail. A paramedic happened to be standing there and saw me falter, almost as though I was about to faint (I wasn't; just misjudged the rail). He started talking to me gently. Reassuring me how close I was. When I didn't move, he asked if I needed medical help. I feared being pulled into one of the tents. I met his eye and reassured him that I would finish the race and that I was fine. Just tired. He nodded and stepped aside (I hadn't realised how he positioned himself in front of me) and I ran on.
 
I made it, maybe, 300 more metres. I stopped again. The spectators must have sensed that I was in trouble. They chanted my name and encouraged me. I was bent over, unable to run.
 
Then I did. I started running and got a roar of support from both sides of the road. I ran another 500 metres. 
 
I had to stop another time, same thing happened. The spectators would not let me quit.
 
I turned the corner, knowing that the Mall was the end line. Buckingham Palace was obscured by spectators roaring their support for everyone. 
 
I stopped to ask the marshal how much further to the finish. 700 metres.
 
I was in so much ... what? Not pain. Emptiness. No energy. I just had nothing in the tank.
 
I started off again. There was a massive sign saying 385 metres to finish line.
 
I pulled from some crazy reserve, thinking that I would sprint the last 400 metres.
 
That proved short lived and I zombie-ran until I saw the finish line. Head up, I ran. I saw the white line on the ground, passed it, and asked the first marshal whether that was the actual finish line. He said yes. I walked into a physical wall to put my head against. Another marshal kept me walking.
 
By this point, I was fine. Walking was OK. Well, more of a shuffle.
 
I collected my bag, changed into dry clothes, put on my finishers t-shirt over my warm jumper and hung the medal around my neck.
 
I was done. Too tired to celebrate or think. I had no phone, so I went to the agreed meeting place.
 
The rest is a blur of congratulations by family and any stranger who saw me. We took an eccentric (by which I mean, INSANE) rickshaw to the hotel where my charity was hosting a reception. Shoshi and I sat with two grandkids on our laps as two speakers blared ABBA and Bee Gees (Stayin’ Alive) loud enough for people a block away to turn and look. Many danced as we drove by. (A couple really got into it; the guy did his Travolta thing and the girl did something that looked very disco-esque. Very cool, very in-the-moment.) The rickshaw had LED lights and fuzzy faux fur (red, of course). It was tacky and garish and I loved every second of it. Totally insane and a great way to arrive at the five-star Hotel where the charity reception was being held.
 
Afterwards, when looking for a taxi, I still had my massive (bonkers, really) finishers medal on. People enjoying a pint in posh bars would stop their conversation and say "well done, sir". As did the door man, the taxi driver, and a dozen other strangers walking on the pavement. It was truly surreal.
 
It was an amazing day. Only good memories. I record it here because memory fades so quickly and I fear that fiction will eventually replace fact. (In twenty years, I may remember that I ran sub four hours and passed Prime Minister Boris Johnson in the process!)
 
Thank you to all of the volunteers, supporters, other runners, and all of the sponsors who made such a wonderful day possible. 
 
It gives me hope.
 

I will be running the London Marathon on 3 October 2021.

I am looking for sponsors and all monies go to charity.

My goal is to raise £2,500—details can be found on this link:
https://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/BaronDeschauer

It will be my first marathon and I have been training for this for over a year. I recently finished the London Landmarks Half Marathon (my first half marathon) on 1 August 2021. I came 6660th out of approximately 14,500 participants. I was so nervous that I arrived 2 ½ hours before the race. When it started, I uncoiled and burst past a large number of people. It didn’t feel like I was running fast until I looked at my Garmin (watch) and realised that I was running fast for me. I didn’t slow down as I was feeling strong and I needed to burn off my nerves. Miles 1-6 blew past and I was pleased at my pace. I wasn’t going to set any course records but I was well on my way to running sub-2 hours for the half marathon.

Prior to the race, I was wondering how I would handle the water stations. Would I stop? Would I run with the water? Where did I put the bottle after drinking its contents? Should I sip and run? Would I hold the bottle or put it in my pocket? Should I have some form of harness to hold bottles while I ran? It caused me a lot of worry. On the day, I was handed a 250ml bottle of water. I tried to sip. I carried it and hadn’t finished it when I came to the next water station. I poured it on my head and took another bottle.

At mile 10 (circa kilometre 16), I started to feel a bit sluggish. I was hot. My pace was slowing. I shrugged off the pace as I had started so well, I didn’t mind being slower later on. I was fixated on the sub-2 hour finish. I knew that I was fit enough to run 30 km and I no longer felt any pain in my lungs or ‘stitches’ in my side that I felt when I started training over a year ago. My joints weren’t sore. And yet I got slower. My body wasn’t responding to me. At the next water station, I stopped and drank the water completely before continuing. I took another bottle and alternated between pouring on my head and sipping. I realised too late that I had become dehydrated.

I became very aware of my body as I hit 20 km as I constantly checked my Garmin to see how much further I had to go. I had eaten a dodgy shawarma the night before and had joked that it could be my undoing. I was slowly becoming undone. 2 ½ hours before the race, I didn’t need to use the toilet. An hour before the race, it would have been nice to have visited the loo. But the queues were long and I figured that I could hold whatever was there for the next few hours. Just before the race, I realised that I needed to go. It was too late. The participants had been divided into six different waves. These waves would enter their designated pen that would then filter them onto the course in a controlled fashion. It works for animals and it works for runners. As I stood in the pen, feigning a few stretches and mindful of the numbers of people around me (the UK was registering 25,000 new covid cases daily prior to the race), my body told me that I needed the loo. I told my body to relax and that it would be over before I knew it.

The voice on the speaker reminded runners to ‘start slowly’ so that they would have a strong finish. I had read the same previously—along with the warning to not change anything (especially dietary) prior to a race. It was one of the reasons I ate the shawarma. It is something that I had eaten regularly. The only difference was that this was a different source of shawarma. Too late to worry about nonsense. I ran.
There were toilets along the way. I knew that. I only started looking for one actively after 16 km. At 20 km, I saw the green ‘vacant’ colour on one of the doors and slammed myself into it. It was the nastiest thing I had seen apart from a truck stop near Ankara, Turkey back in 1989. I opted to do the minimum necessary and continue running.

My body was now partially relieved but still crying out. I didn’t understand why I was so sluggish. I thought about the marathon on the 3rd October and started contemplating withdrawing. How could I be faring so poorly when I ran 21km every weekend for the last month prior this day?

I persevered.

My head down, I willed myself to keep moving. It was not a ridiculously bad pace but it was not something I would be bragging about later. (That being said, I am writing about it now, so there you go.)
Then I saw it. The mile 13 flag. 10 Downing Street was the finish line, just around the corner. I pulled myself together for a big finish. I rounded the corner and pushed my internal afterburner button. I burst ahead, legs stretching ahead of me. I passed other runners like they were standing still. I laughed inside at how amazing I must be looking. Kicking butt. The finish line appeared but it was still a couple of hundred yards away. I felt my afterburner fuel dissipate and I returned to slug pace. I would have stopped had it not been for the cheering crowds (not for me, but for everyone) and the finish line. I knew that my two grandkids were at the finish line cheering me on.

I gutted it out.

I heard the chanting of my name just before I passed the finish line. I looked around to see the two kids and their mother waving at me. I kept walking, trying to find a way around the metal barriers. Medics were treating other runners who had collapsed. Other runners were resting and recovering. I picked up my goodie bag (with a finisher medal and shirt) and made my way to the kids. Max took my medal and put it around his neck. Oscar grabbed my hand and we made our way for burgers and fries.
​
As I waddled and limped along post-race, I forgot to stretch. That was going to be another lesson I wouldn’t repeat on marathon day. But, at the time, I didn’t think about anything apart from the fact that I had completed the race that no-one (including myself) thought was possible only a year earlier.

Free Radio, Free Skype, Free Food

“Honey, can you also pick up some KFC eggs—you know they taste the best—and some Ford flour? Greg is home this weekend and I’d love to make pancakes.”

            “You don’t mind if I also pick up some Huawei bacon with that?”

            “Only a bit. Get some bread and milk while you’re at it, will ya?”

            “Microsoft or Apple?”

            “Apple, always,” she says with a smile. “Microsoft bread feels so corporate. All squares and so correct.”

            Mike laughs at his wife’s barb. He has always been a Microsoft man and she will always be an Apple girl. He couldn’t understand why Amazon didn’t deliver the free food. Always the premium Whole Food brands. Great if you were a double income no kids family or not living in the city with kids. Every penny mattered. Especially now with the economy so fragile.

            Mike walked to his corner store, all bright with happiness and warmth. The freshly baked wares transport him to his grandmother’s kitchen and he is five years old again. The familiar cereals line the aisles, beckoning him to try them and live a healthier, happier life.

            He has his list and diligently picks up the KFC eggs, Ford flour, Huawei bacon, Microsoft milk and Apple bread. Total cost: five cents. Perhaps he’ll drive his new electric Ford Mondeo to the new KFC shop and pick up a family bucket; or maybe Greg would prefer Taco Bell or Pizza Hut…

---

The above represents a possible approach to addressing poverty in a post-capitalist modern developed economy (ie. ours). Food would be for sale as usual, offered up on the moving feast that is modern advertising—engaging, humorous and omni-present (on and off-line). Certain food, as determined by the advertisers, would be effectively free to all.

            How? The idea is simple, implementation less so.

The idea: a method to create both a new advertising income stream and provide free/subsidized food to the public. Companies are to advertise on food (initially generic but then evolving as the market matures). For example, everything from eggs to milk to coffee have been branded to provide value for its promoters; 95% of these goods are generic and can be sourced inexpensively for the purpose of providing free food. Start with essentials: eggs, milk, butter, flour and move to fruit and vegetables.

Advertisers paint or label food enabling it to be free. (It is likely that they’ll come up with something much cleverer than this, but you understand the concept.) The business model is not dissimilar to free newspapers which are distributed free of charge but survive on advertising revenues. Or radio that is enjoyed by millions while distributing advertising—the radio thrives as the distributer, the listener enjoys their niche music preference, the companies advertising reach a wider audience. Cost of advertising will be directly proportionate to the audience reached.

For food, instead of 30 seconds on television or 15 seconds on radio or the 5 seconds on the internet (before the user can skip the ad), children (and their parents) will see products being advertised every time they look in the fridge or cupboard (or trash bin).

Advertising agencies can tick the moral/social box for their corporate clients. The public will (hopefully) appreciate a wider choice of products that can be used as entry level participation for free while requiring payment for the wider range of products (think of the internet business model where products such as games/apps are given for free in order to draw in users—and expand their base). We all use Adobe to open our pdf files, but only businesses or those that require it pay for the license to access the real power of Adobe. Result: a very broad base of usage and knowledge of Adobe for general users subsidized by the businesses and creators of products in the Adobe medium.

The objective is that everyone is able to access this “free” food. It becomes a new channel for advertising revenues. The upside is that the “poor” will benefit from real food and those who can afford to pay will develop brand loyalty—by enjoying the “free” food and buying from the non-free range in due course.
True, food is not like IT (where the cost of development is expensive, and copies are virtually free to make). Food is better. We are what we eat. You can stop playing a game or a version of an app, but you can’t stop eating.

Just about anything can be turned into an advertising opportunity. As John Wanamaker (1838-1922) said, “half the money I spend on advertising is wasted; the trouble is I don’t know which half.” What is proposed is to increase the canvas on which advertising can occur. Newspapers have always been driven by advertising revenues. The internet posed a problem for advertisers and developers alike, but that circle was squared. Billboards, radio, and free newspapers are still very effective. Moving billboards such as cars and buses are a common site. Famous people/families love to advertise themselves through the naming of buildings/bridges/statues. Clothing and fashion have been branded to the point where the advertising has become part of the desire—think Nike, Channel, and so on. Adam Smith would explain this evolution of capitalism in terms of innate animal spirits. To that end, why not extend it to food and promoting the end of poverty?

Toilet paper is an obvious choice where countless advertisements would be studied by the lavatory’s occupant at their leisure. This may not have happened (yet) because brands may not want to be rubbed on anyone’s posterior. But it remains a very untapped source of quiet time that might have a significant impact on prospective purchasers. For the purpose of poverty eradication, I suggest that those who advertise on the toilet paper would be doing so to allow underprivileged people to receive free quality toilet paper and save that little extra for food. Tampons, sanitary napkins, and baby diapers are other socially responsible products that would be suitable for this proposal. It may turn out that people like the idea of something free (underprivileged or otherwise) and it becomes mainstream.

All fruit (tomatoes, apples, oranges, bananas) are perfect candidates for this form of advertising. Those who consume the products become wed to the brand and those who are socially minded will (hopefully) choose the brands that undertake the free food programme.

It is not suggested that this is a magic bullet for poverty. Poverty is a broad-spectrum dilemma that spans homelessness (involving mental issues) to families with both parents working who can’t make ends meet. In a country like the United States where advertisers spend $200 billion annually[1], it is not a big ask to find a subsidy for the officially poor circa 38 million people.

The most common types of advertising are displays, social media, newspapers/magazines, outdoor advertising, radio/podcasts, direct mail, video ads, product placement, event marketing and email marketing. What is proposed is a mixture of most of the above types with a twist: the medium would be food. The market would be the recipients but also the kudos that are generated for the promoter itself (for self-promotion, industry best-practices awards, news articles, public interest, etc).

            Wait, you say, haven’t we already tried this? Isn’t this an extension to welfare and the expansion of big government, and the social statehood? Who is going to regulate what food is to be free? If the past is anything to go by, marketing and consumers tend to race to the bottom of the barrel—we’ll end up seeing unlimited KFC chicken making the general population more obese, with its knock-on detriments of diabetes, heart disease, and so on. If we are pushing free food on the public, should we ensure that they get a balanced diet? Would we deem certain products as essential within the free food model? Why not utilise a Universal Benefit Income instead where we give away money instead of food?

            Have we tried this already?   If you can go into a store near you and find free food with the only proviso that it has advertising on it, then someone is already doing it. I am not aware of any such programme in place. Various food agencies provide guidance against advertising junk food to children but this is primarily focussed at advertisements during certain times of day. Public health concerns have banned almost all forms of smoking advertisements. The idea being proposed is to advertise on food. The food becomes the medium—not dissimilar to a billboard, bus, or bench. This medium is brought into our homes, is seen by our families and friends, and sits in our plain view until consumed. It would be like McDonalds advertising on eggs—with the benefit that the consumer receives free eggs. McDonalds then gets a flash in the subconscious (and conscious) mind of every member of the family that opens the fridge until those eggs have been consumed. The egg carton can be covered with McDonalds (or KFC as in the dialogue that opened this paper) advertising and the eggs can be sprayed with the McDonalds/KFC logo in the same way as every egg has a logo and best before date already. The advertising on the carton may be of upcoming specials, coupons, that the consumer can then take and use the next time they go out for a meal.

            Extension of welfare/social state?     The opposite is true. The state may impose regulations to reduce abuse of this untapped medium BUT the operation of this form of free food is 100% profit-driven. We do not live in a purely capitalistic world. We live in a post capitalist world better described as corporatism. These corporate bodies are increasingly being reminded that there is a social contract and they are benefiting themselves by benefiting others. Case in point is an August 2019 posting by the Business Roundtable (a non-profit association of CEOs from major US companies) signed by nearly 200 CEOs (including Jamie Dimon of JP Morgan & Chase, Tim Cook of Apple, Jeff Bezos of Amazon, Larry Fink of Blackrock, etc) setting out the shift in focus of companies from purely shareholder benefit to include social benefit. The group said that it must invest in their employees, protect the environment, and deal fairly and ethically with their suppliers. A poignant preamble to their statement states: “…we know that many Americans are struggling. Too often hard work is not rewarded, and not enough is being done for workers to adjust to the rapid pace of change in the economy. If companies fail to recognise that the success of our system is dependent on inclusive long-term growth, many will raise legitimate questions about the role of large employers in our society.” [Emphasis added] We are at a maturity point in capitalism/corporatism where the delivery of free food provides an outlet for a new class of big business intent on doing some good—while remaining true to their core values of making money over the long term.

            Who is going to regulate this?           Food is already branded and heavily regulated. The mark-up on many non-essential products is very large. Essential products such as milk, eggs, bread, coffee can be purchased in the open market and packaged with the third party’s logos and advertising campaign while providing the product for free. This party will be subject to the same regulatory guidelines in place for milk, egg, bread, and coffee companies that produce and sell milk, eggs, bread, and coffee. While governments have a penchant for regulating things, nothing new is being proposed. Spooked competitors may look to derail the new scheme through legal (court challenges) or social (scaremongering) tactics. If this does occur, it reinforces the viability of this proposal.

            Race to the bottom/Balanced diet?    The government, like parents and teachers, can only advise what is best for your body to consume. We are told not to drink or smoke or eat the wrong foods. Do we listen? Of course. Do we follow their advice? We would like to. But peer pressure and cultural habits will over-ride much of this. It takes a lot for a government to change cultural habits. It has taken almost three generations to curb smoking. Obesity may take another three. Advice will remain the same as before. The only difference is that under this system, a very poor parent with a very limited budget will be able to afford to bring home luxuries such as butter, eggs, milk, fruit and vegetables that the rest of us consider essentials. Instead of foraging the cheapest source of calories (usually junk food), a parent can now source quality food. Temptations are always present and it is not proposed that we are to create such a Nanny state so as to prevent people from buying what they want. What is proposed is that we deliver the options. In all likelihood, popular sweets and junk food will be a desirable food group to give away for free. The problem is that it may not meet the same criteria as the essentials. Junk food will be eaten and discarded. What brand loyalty will be gained? Consumers may look at it as a free hit of junk food and continue their foraging. Alternatively, and reluctantly, regulators may look into banning the use of certain junk food within this advertising medium. I, personally, would be against regulatory interference and feel that the market should find its natural balance. (For example, advertisers may determine that junk food is not a good medium on which to spend their advertising budgets. They will be constantly recalibrating and looking for the biggest bang for their buck; how long will the medium sit in the purchasers’ homes before being consumed and thrown away?)

            Why not just give away money to people instead of food? The people could then spend it as they see fit. The Universal Basic Income (UBI) has been proposed in various forms by exceedingly intelligent people throughout history. I am, personally, not in favour of it as a permanent institution but I do believe elements of it might be beneficial in times of crisis. In any event, it is a very different solution than the Penny Foods[2] that I propose.

            What is Universal Basic Income? It is an unconditional, automatic payment in cash paid to all individuals in a society as a right. In theory, the state would pay every legally resident adult man and woman a fixed sum monthly regardless of ability, need, or intended use of money. No country has successfully implemented (yet) a pure version of UBI. However, the underlying philosophy behind it has influenced welfare policies such as the UK’s current Child Benefit (originally implemented in 1946 to encourage larger families). Brazil has implemented a version of UBI in its Bolsa Familia policy (2003 onwards). Effectively, Bolsa Familia is a cash-transfer programme to help deliver cash to those who most need it. Tellingly, it is conditional on children going to school, receiving vaccines, etc. Bolsa Familia has been received well by the public of Brazil and economists around the world.

            There are a lot of benefits extolled by proponents of UBI, namely:

1. Reduction of poverty rate and inequality/insecurity of citizens
2. Freedom for employees to take chances with alternative employers
3. Provides a cushion to employees whose jobs are threatened by automation
4. Reduction of government bureaucracy
5. Less incentive to cheat welfare as pure UBI is unconditional
6. Fundamentally ethical as goal is poverty reduction

The detriments of UBI are predominantly fuelled by uncertainty, namely:

1. Costs are to be very high; is it sustainable?
2. Negative impact on labour market; no one knows how it will react
3. Productivity decrease
4. Increase of wage pressure and inflation throughout the system
5. Progressive taxation
6. No real reason to implement UBI for reasons of technology as technology has historically created more jobs than it has destroyed
7. Increased economic migration
8. Another layer of regulation will spring up instead of deep reform
9. Once implemented, UBI is VERY difficult to disengage

 
Why am I taking up so much space talking about something that is purely theoretical? Because the smartest people (such Economics Nobel Prize winners Peter Diamond and Christopher Pissarides) and richest people (such Elon Musk and Richard Branson) and some of the most powerful people in the world are seriously contemplating this. 2020 Democratic candidate Andrew Yang advocated a $1,000 per month Freedom Dividend to every American adult.

President Nixon contemplated implementing a version of UBI to help alleviate poverty in the United States. His vision was for every poor family (with zero income) to receive the equivalent of $11,000 2020 dollars per year. His policy failed to make it past the Senate.

Elizabethan Poor Laws, (more correctly The Poor Relief Act 1601) legislated the transition from charity to taxes to fund the poor. This was administered at the local parish level. Life was still exceedingly harsh if one was poor in the early 17th century (and 18th, 19th, 20th for that matter). The difference was in how poverty was to be handled. The Poor Laws were tweaked over the centuries and corruption set in. Landed commercial interests benefited disproportionately over time. By the time the Speenhamland System (also known as the Berkshire Bread Act 1795) was put in place, a series of bad crops made famine a real possibility. The solution: give every man a fixed amount of bread (approximately 8 ½ pounds of bread per week) plus 1 ½ loaves for every other member of his household. The exchange? The man would work for either nothing or very reduced wages. The result: it worked very well until it didn’t. A number of factors played a role in the system’s demise, primarily the doubling of the population, improved thresher technology and the adoption of the gold standard by the government. This system was not universal and was not able to be passed into law despite William Pitt the Younger’s best efforts. The system died with the passing of the Poor Law Amendment Act 1834. In retrospect, critics such as Karl Marx felt that the system was harmful to labour by keeping their salaries artificially suppressed.

While politicians may give lip service to UBI, the ability to pass such a massive social welfare programme may not be feasible. Nixon’s Family Assistance Plan was supported by then congressman George H.W. Bush and Donald Rumsfeld. Today, many academics espouse UBI as a possible solution to poverty. I disagree on only one point: the permanence of the system. I believe that giving citizens direct benefits is generally a good idea as they are best placed to implement how the money is to be spent. During the most recent financial crisis (2007 onwards), I believe that society and the markets would have been better served if their citizenry were each given £100,000 or €100,000 or $100,000 as the case may be. I understand that the fabric of the banking system was at risk. The politicians chose to save the system—which, in part, was correct. How they chose to save it was less than ideal. We have seen a significant crystallisation of social status over the last decade. Social mobility, or at least the sense of social mobility, has lessened. The divide between the rich and poor is increasing. More alarmingly, the divide between the working rich/affluent and the super-rich is becoming insurmountable. The power of capital employed is too great to overcome.

But none of that is overly relevant to the proposal at hand: namely, the use of food as an advertising medium to provide free food. Why? Because UBI is a government-led, top-down new system and Penny Foods is a systemic, market-driven expansion of an existing system. How the details are worked out and how they are implemented are things for the market to determine. All of us make up this market.

UBI may be a great idea on paper. Whether it can be delivered is unknown and, possibly, irresponsible until further tests are carried out. It could be the next evolution of capitalism or a tipping point that allows the rich to wash their hands of social responsibility of the poor and watch as any benefit conferred is inflated away (in kind and in real terms). 

A more responsible and natural progression for capitalism is to use the mechanisms of earnings to spread benefits through an advertising medium. 

Questions may arise over what is given away free. Unlimited KFC may create more overweight citizens (with its diabetes, heart disease, and other knock on effects). But it is unlikely that KFC would give itself away as this destroys its value. Instead, KFC could advertise on eggs, milk, bread, butter, sugar, coffee which would be free to consumers. People would eventually associate KFC with eggs, butter, and milk. When they want to have some lunch, where do you think their subconscious takes them? McDonalds? More likely, KFC (or any of its stable of brands). KFC would be sitting in the fridge and cupboards permanently.

Savvy advertisers would want to match their products with their advertising medium. Pampers sell premium diapers. But there may be a synergy that a competitor can find that allows the competitor to give free diapers with their advertising on it. Say, car manufacturers? Or IT giants? Or housing builders in a specific area where mass construction is occurring.

The issue of who advertises what, how, and for whom should be market-driven. In other words, regulation should be light enough to allow this advertising model/medium time to establish itself. There may be some missteps such as a marijuana producer advertising on eggs, milk or bread. Or smoking companies advertising anywhere. Marlborough eggs or butter? Or alcohol that advertises on milk? Free Absolut milk? Or Budweiser milk? It can be made to look and feel cool (which is the gateway to the real product being sold/advertised). There is a reason why the ‘sin taxes’ (smoking, drinking, etc) are such reliable revenues for governments.

What will it cost to do this? Time will tell. Penny Foods (for lack of a better way of referring to this ‘free’ food), may initially operate on a different metric than usual advertising CPM (Cost Per Thousand views) analysis. Penny Food is seen by those carrying it home. It is found in the fridge, cupboards and trashcans. In an urban environment, it is not hard to extrapolate and demonstrate large numbers of views passing over a carton. By virtue of it being in a supermarket will also generate significant numbers of views.

In 1994, a firm in the UK designed a spray to put logos and advertisements on eggs. The cost? £6,000 per million eggs in 1994 money. They were looking at doing bananas as well at the time. In 2006, CBS (a broadcasting conglomerate) placed laser imprints advertising their TV shows on 35 million eggs (randomly inserted into the food supply). In 2012, an Israeli firm imported the technology from the US and etches logos/advertisements on eggs measuring 5% of an eggshell’s thickness. The cost? Approximately one third of a penny per laser carving.

Sticking with eggs, the cost of wholesale eggs in the US has fallen to fifty cents per dozen. A pack of four eggs in a Penny Foods/advertiser’s carton (cost of circa 20 cents with engraving and carton) is not dissimilar to handing out fliers. Google averages $2 per 1,000 views. At 20 cents, the product would only need 100 eyeballs to match Google’s reach. 100 eyeballs from shelf to fridge to kitchen table to trash bin. Most importantly, it endures.[3]

At present, egg lasering/labelling is predominantly used to mark the freshness of the egg (best before dates) and the logo of the manufacturer.

I call my parents on the other side of the world for free on Skype. Do I care how this happens? I listen to the most recent pop hits and social commentary for free on my car radio on the way to London. Do I care how they do this? I plan to stop by the shop and pick up some free essentials for my family. Should I care too much how they do this? At the very least, I hope to see a massive reduction, if not elimination, of food banks as we open our arms to the least privileged amongst us and say ‘welcome back’ and try this.

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If you find this interesting, please forward this to your friends. Let's get a conversation started!

Baron A. Deschauer

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Footnotes:

[1] Source: Statista.com; Advertising spending in the US 2010-2019, published 8 January 2020

[2] Penny Foods is a possible branding name for all foods that fit in this category. Branding of the virtually free foods may help destigmatise the poverty/charity element of the advertising exercise. In an odd way, it makes the food more desirable and it still remains effectively free. The objective is to service the entire market place. The reduction of poverty becomes ancillary to the primary objective of utilising this new medium.
 
There may be advantages to selling food for one penny in that a contract is created (consideration of one penny) and all of the legal and consumer benefits that may bring. It may also help in monitoring (and, monetising) the buying habits of people who buy penny foods (ie. what else is in their shopping cart).
 

[3] For completeness, the average CPM for radio (daytime) is $12-16 for adults between 18-49 and $8-12 for adults 50. For television, CPM is between $9-25 (but this is calculated based on the number of people watching the show, not necessarily the commercials). If Penny Foods was able to deliver a CPM of $12 or less, it would be commercially viable.
 

In my exuberance (hubris?), I booked the London Landmark half marathon for 31 March 2020. It is now 3 February and I don’t know when the injury will heal. My fear is that I won’t heal in time and I won’t be fit for 31 March.

Those around me are tired of hearing about the marathon. Or shoes. Or the training schedule. They like it; they admire it; but they think I’m nuts.

The idea of a marathon has taken hold of me. Beyond the physical endeavour—which does require training—there is a mental state of being that you need to find if you are to be successful. It has become my Zen. Possibly even my muse.

The marathon is a greedy mistress. She takes from the body until exhaustion stops the body cold. The body must feed its mistress while keeping its mind strong. The body can do it; this, it must remind itself of constantly. When the mistress sees the strength, she changes tact--challenging with speed, pace and elevation changes. The body, entranced, battles ever forward. I fear that the mistress's demands eventually breaks every body.

Despite injury, I also booked the New York full marathon which is run 1 November 2020. In my madness, I am even contemplating booking the Berlin full marathon which is run 27 September 2020. In my mind, I thought that the September marathon would be a good precursor for the November marathon. I haven’t booked it yet, but watch this space.

Another thing I learned: I am currently very slow in marathon terms. I aim to run the full marathon in under 4 hours. World record is 2 hours. Qualifying times for marathons (to get a ticket on merit) is 3 hours. All the rest of us need to either get picked by ballot (rare) or run for a charity (easy, but requires fund raising).

As a result, please check out my links below and sponsor me please! It is for very good causes that are dear to my heart. The London Landmarks half marathon is being run for the Autistic Society (www.nas.org.uk).  New York full marathon is being run for a children’s charity that promotes running/athleticism for children (click https://www.runwithtfk.org/Page/AboutUs   for details).
 
 
My London half marathon donation page:
https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/Baron-Deschauer
 
My New York full marathon donation page:
https://runwithtfk.org/Profile/PublicPage/85020  
​

That's it for now. I am still writing but not publishing at the moment. Please remember to click and donate!! (And thanks for reading this.)

Hello all. It has been a while since I last blogged.

In the interim, Simone Valiceli has begun translating my Man on the Run series into Portugeuse. She created a promotional video (in Portugeuse) and then created one in English. Here it is:

We live in a world full of dystopian movies and books, drawn from the horrors of war, famine, and history. Where do these works of fiction draw their inspiration from? From what recesses of our mind do we create images of the living dead and fears of an enemy so great and powerful that any resistance would be futile? For many in Europe and all who have studied twentieth century history, the Nazi regime springs to mind as the embodiment of that horror and destroyer of all who opposed them.

Did the Nazis create, amongst other things, the concentration camp? We can understand efficiency and organisation—something for which Germany is well known—but when these skills are superimposed on a system that is designed to break the body and mind of the enemy, the result is terrifying. Is it possible that a regime known for its clinical barbarianism could have been inspired by a country like Canada—better known for its wheat fields, Rocky Mountains, and limitless opportunities?

Adolf Hitler was an artist and avid amateur historian before he became one of the biggest mass murderers in history. He was, along with millions of other Germans, a fan of the adventure stories of Karl May. Karl May’s books, still in print, have sold over two hundred million copies to date. May’s Winnetou novels detail adventures of a German surveyor (Old Shatterhand) and a noble Mescalero Apache. At the time, May was as popular as today’s J.K. Rowling or Stephen King. Hitler, as Fuehrer, is quoted (in Table Talk, a series of WWII monologues delivered by Hitler 1941-1944 recorded by Heinrich Heim, Henry Picker, and Martin Bormann) as saying “… I owe him [Karl May] my first notions of geography and the fact that he opened my eyes to the world. … I went on to devour at once the other books by the same author.” As Fuehrer, Hitler kept the entire May collection in his bedroom.

In Alan Gilbert’s article The Cowboy Novels that Inspired Hitler (in the Daily Beast.com), he quotes:
“Of Ukrainians, Hitler insisted, ‘There’s only our duty: to Germanize this country by the immigration of Germans, and to look upon the natives as Redskins.’ “

“To justify the slaughter of Poles, Hitler conjured North America: ‘I don’t see why a German who eats a piece of bread should torment himself with the idea that the soil that produces this bread has been won by the sword. When we eat wheat from Canada, we don’t think about the despoiled Indians.’ “

As a result of May’s works, Hitler was fascinated by all things connected to the North American “Indians” and the cowboys who tamed the Wild West. Of particular interest was the implementation of camps that contained the population of the Indigenous people. (In the United States, these holding areas are called Indian reservations; in Canada, they are called Indian reserves. Despite knowing they hadn’t reached India, Europeans continued to call Indigenous peoples Indians. Canadian legislation forces the continued use of this pejorative word by virtue of the Indian Act.)

When sifting through the archaeology of historical documents, it is impossible to point to any one action and say with certainty that Hitler did x because of y. What we can say is that he was drawn to the conflict of the American “Cowboy and Indian” and merged it with his twisted epic vision of an Aryan German Empire (aka Third Reich). For Hitler, it is difficult to say whether he drew any specific inspiration from Canada’s system of Indigenous containment. What is striking is how he adopted a similar methodology when processing prisoners in his Nazi camps as the Canadians employed in processing its Indigenous in their camps (ie. Indian Reserves combined with the Residential school system).

When Hitler sought to control the politicians and undesirables, he put them in concentration camps. At that time, there was no association with the death and genocide that we think of today. There was abuse in concentration camps as there is abuse in prison; there has always been and will likely always be. Concentration camps existed in Canada and the United States to intern the Japanese and Germans who might have been potential enemy combatants during the same war. The British in South Africa created concentration camps during the Boer Wars (1900-1902). This was just another name for a camp that was something less than a prison but more than house arrest or relying on the integrity of the person. It was the physical movement of people into a concentrated area to watch, educate, and discipline.

Although the United States government created concentration camps as early as 1838, the use of this method of internment became prevalent from the 1860s onwards as the borders of the United States moved ever westwards. The U.S. government referred to these concentration camps as Indian reservations. Reservations referred to land that the government had to set aside to house the ‘Indians’. Canada decided to force the assimilation of Indigenous people from its reserves. It concluded that basic education and training in physical work would make its Indigenous people productive members of Canadian society. Boys would be taught agriculture half a day and girls would be taught domestic chores half a day. The other half would be spent in the classroom. (The thinking was that they could increase labour without threatening the opportunity of European settlers.) In contrast, Nazi camps ensured that all able bodies were put to work—making toys, shoes, counterfeiting foreign currency, as well as munitions.

From before Canada was formed in 1867, the colonial government decided to begin a systematic assimilation of the Indigenous people with the stated objective of ‘taking the Indian out of the Indian’. A boarding school system called residential schools was thought to be the most effective way of washing away the unwanted cultures, languages, and customs. Children were taken from their families and placed in these residential schools (for most, year round). They were not allowed to speak their language, act ‘like Indians’ or even wear their familiar clothing.

It is difficult for us to imagine a world without the harrowing images of the Nazi concentration camps. Broken bodies, walking dead, and sallow eyes in striped prison outfits fill our mind’s eye. Forced labour, strict discipline, and winnowing rations kept the prison population in check. Names were replaced with numbers. Identities all but ceased in the camps. When the Russian and Allied forces liberated these places of death and disease, the world saw a glimpse into the deepest horrors of its collective heart. This was an unthinkable existence perpetrated in and by a modern, liberal European country against its own citizens as well as those it saw as its enemies. This was war.

Since WWII, we continue to witness atrocities perpetrated by nations against others, but few of this scale. Today, we hear of bombings (suicide and otherwise), beheadings, and other medieval-like inflictions by one group over another. We deem these groups outlaws and rogue states and terrorists. This is also the face of war, just updated.

Concentration Camps of Canada, draws attention to both the realities of the reserves where the Indigenous of Canada live to this day as well as the efforts by Canada to forcibly assimilate its one-time allies. The residential schools were not happy places for their pupils. Sadly, the usual sexual abuses existed and these grab the headlines. But the horror was the institutional backing of a policy recently deemed cultural genocide by both the United Nations and Canada’s Supreme Court Chief Justice Beverly McLachlin. It was a time where corporal punishment was the norm and these schools applied it to the point where it was considered abuse even for the times. Children were stripped of their ‘Indian’ name and given a number or a Christian name instead. They were constantly beaten—for speaking a language other than French or English, for doing anything considered ‘Indian’, and for not conforming to the Church-administered curriculum. Eighty thousand survivors of this system are still alive today (the last residential school was only shut down in 1996). Broken from reliving memories, many testified of the horrors to Canada’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission. This commission published its report in 2015 where it concludes and agrees with the United Nations that Canada committed a sustained and systematic policy of cultural genocide. Where the Nazi camps lasted a little more than a decade, Canada’s continued for almost 150 years.

At the heart of the problem is poverty and a system that is too quick to give the benefit of doubt to those in power and too quick to dismiss concerns raised by those without.

Originally, Concentration Camps of Canada was envisioned as a text book with the main character (Migizi) demonstrating the multitude of injustices faced by Indigenous Canadians. Every element of Concentration Camps of Canada is based on the truth—gleaned from personal interviews as well as stories published by the official Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada 2015. The project was then winnowed into a story for brevity. Written for non-readers, it moves quickly and touches on matters that will, hopefully, resonate beyond the pages.

The story of Canada’s residential schools does not carry the shame history ascribes to Germany’s camps—nor should it. It is a terrible tragedy inflicted on a people who were subsequently forgotten by the world. If that statement were true, this subject would be closed. The truth of the matter is that the misguided approach that manifested itself in residential schools remains alive today in Canada’s treatment of Indigenous children through the Child and Family Services agencies. At present, we watch but rarely see the on-going damage to an already shattered culture.

To quote from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s executive summary at page 37 ff:

“It can start with a knock on the door one morning. It is the local Indian agent, or the parish priest, or perhaps, a Mounted Police officer. … There was a big truck. It had a back door and that truck was full of kids and there was [sic] no windows on that truck.” Larry Beardy travelled by train from Churchill, Manitoba, to the Anglican residential school in Dauphin, Manitoba—a journey of 1,200 kilometres.

… Campbell Papequash was taken, against his will, to residential school in 1946. “And after I was taken there they took off my clothes and then they deloused me. I didn’t know what was happening but I later learned about it, that they were delousing me; ‘the dirty, no-good-for-nothing savages, lousy.’”

…Murray Crowe said his clothes from home were taken and burned at the school that he attended in north-western Ontario.

… Gilles Petiquay, who attended the Pointe Bleus School, was shocked by the fact that each student was assigned a number. ‘I remember that the first number that I had at the residential school was 95. I had that number—95—for a year. The second number was number 4. I had it for a longer period of time. The third number was 56. I also kept it for a long time. We walked with the number on us.’

[at page 101 of the TRC] Discipline was ‘too suggestive of the old system of flogging criminals’. Children were chained together. In at least one instance, a boy was chained to his bed and flogged by the principal.
Abuse was not unreported. As early as 1886, Jean L’Heureux, a recruiter for the Roman Catholic Church, was accused of sexual abuse. No charges were laid. Over time, the government ignored and dismissed claims from the Indigenous alumni as baseless.

The schools were meant to cost the Canadian government nothing—as the forced child labour would generate income and the poorly paid missionaries kept overheads low. This model soon proved unsustainable and schools received a fixed amount per child. The unintended consequences was an increase of students who were too young or too sick to attend officially. This compounded the deaths. Official figures admit around 3,500 children dying while in care but unofficial figures estimate tens of thousands of children buried in unmarked graves—not too dissimilar to recent revelations about a care home run by Catholic nuns in Lanarkshire where at least four hundred (400) children are thought to be buried in a field without any markings. Or Ireland’s Tuam mother and baby home where Catholic nuns buried nearly eight hundred (800) babies and young children who died in their care—all in unmarked graves.

The Royal Mounted Police apologised in 2004 for its role in the residential schools. In 2008, the Prime Minister of Canada, Stephen Harper, issued a formal apology for the creation of the residential schools and the abuses carried out within it. All of the churches involved have apologised except the Catholic Church. The Pope has “… offered his sympathy and prayerful solidarity” for the Catholic Church’s role and abuses in the residential schools.

Nazis understood the role of their camps. On the surface, it provided a source of free labour, available subjects for their medical experiments, and a place to put dissidents without killing them outright (initially). The reality is that it formed a key component of Hitler’s strategy. His war was total—cultural, physical, and emotional. His objective was to cleanse Germany and the world of unwanted people (from Jews to Gypsies) and unwanted cultures. The camps have become synonymous with death but there were things worse than death—people being reduced to the living dead.

The consequence of the Nazis and WWII created a crisis of faith amongst Jews (and others). How could God allow such evil to be committed against his chosen people? Yet, three years after the last Nazi camp was liberated, the State of Israel was born.

For the Indigenous Peoples of Canada, the survivors have no land to return to. None of the reserves on which they live are theirs. Everything remains owned by Canada. They don’t even own their home on the reserve. Worse, they are not allowed by law to own their home or anything else on the reserve. For a policy that had its stated aim being assimilation, Canada failed to inculcate the most fundamental tenant of post-industrial modern existence—ownership and money.

War is all about subjugating your enemy’s will to your own. With the Nazis, everyone knew where they stood. With Canada, most of the world remains ignorant of the facts. There has been no Auschwitz-Birkenau or Bergen-Belsen moment in Canada where the world’s consciousness becomes aware of the plight of a people. No news reels would broadcast the images of troops liberating an emaciated people. Unlike Auschwitz-Birkenau or Bergen-Belsen, there would never be a liberation of Canada’s concentration camps.

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 *** If you are wondering who Duncan Scott was (pictured above), here is an exerpt from Wikipedia***

Prior to taking up his position as head of the Department of Indian Affairs, in 1905 Scott was one of the Treaty Commissioners sent to negotiate Treaty No. 9 in Northern Ontario. Aside from his poetry, Scott made his mark in Canadian history as the head of the Department of Indian Affairs from 1913 to 1932.
Even before Confederation, the Canadian government had adopted a policy of assimilation under the Gradual Civilization Act 1857. One biographer of Scott states that:
The Canadian government’s Indian policy had already been set before Scott was in a position to influence it, but he never saw any reason to question its assumption that the 'red' man ought to become just like the 'white' man. Shortly after he became Deputy Superintendent, he wrote approvingly: 'The happiest future for the Indian race is absorption into the general population, and this is the object and policy of our government.'... Assimilation, so the reasoning went, would solve the 'Indian problem,' and wrenching children away from their parents to 'civilize' them in residential schools until they were eighteen was believed to be a sure way of achieving the government’s goal. Scott ... would later pat himself on the back: 'I was never unsympathetic to aboriginal ideals, but there was the law which I did not originate and which I never tried to amend in the direction of severity.'[5]
while Scott himself wrote:
I want to get rid of the Indian problem. I do not think as a matter of fact, that the country ought to continuously protect a class of people who are able to stand alone… Our objective is to continue until there is not a single Indian in Canada that has not been absorbed into the body politic and there is no Indian question, and no Indian Department, that is the whole object of this Bill.[7][8]



 

Gandhi, if not Christ, is the figure most people visualise when discussing the power of peace. Gandhi was asked whether his pacifism would have worked against Nazi Germany. He replied that he didn't know but it would be something to try. He was a brave man and his pacifism was, paradoxically, aggressive in the face of aggression. Christ tried to bring a message of love to the world. Both men were killed. Both men's philosophies are stronger than ever.

Unfortunately, most of us are not Gandhi or Christ. Is the reality that the threat of violence is the real secret to peace--that which keeps us in line?

Do we slow down to 30 miles per hour in towns because of our concern for children or because we could face a stiff penalty and/or lose our licence? Do we refrain from punching that no-goodnik because we would prefer to turn the other cheek or because we would likely end up jail (or reprimanded and given a 'record'). When we are starving and see food behind the windows of shops, do we refrain from helping ourselves because we want to lose weight or because we will end up in jail if we indulge? 

I am prepared to accept that there are really wonderful, honest, and trustworthy people in the world. I would put it at around 1-2% of the population. In like manner, I am also prepared to accept that there are thoroughly rotten, nasty folk who are either damaged from circumstances (external injustices visited upon them from birth) or are intrinsically bad people. I would ascribe a similar number to them (1-2%). The rest of us are on a continuum/spectrum somewhere in between.

Most of us will go the route of least resistance. If a nasty person is in charge, we allow our nasty traits to rise to the surface (again, look at Nazi Germany). If an enlightened person is in charge, we strive to elevate our outlook and see the bigger picture; we put aside pettiness for the larger goal (witness Gandhi's role in bringing riots in a partitioned India to an end). Both leaders demand (and get) sacrifices. Unfortunately, life and history is full of nasty people who rise and aspire to the highest offices. The result is a population that follows (and is pushed by) these nasty people.

How are we ruled? By laws, presumably. What if we break these laws? We are punished. What if we object to the punishment (or are unwilling to subject ourselves to the punishment)? Those who punish bring in reinforcements, usually carrying batons or watercannon or guns. What if we continue to object? We are forcibly subdued, sometimes injured or killed, and almost always face an extreme version of the punishment. In essence, the will of the people is enforced upon us. To project its will, society needs those to carry out its wishes. The most powerful societies self-regulate, content with the knowledge of who and what they are. The weakest societies resort to enforcing laws with police and, in extreme cases, the army. (In various religions, we are kept in check by the threat of eternal damnation or variations on the theme--quite a lot of violence behind the peace...)

The result? We obey the rules.

The threat of violence keeps the peace. Now, all we need to do is to ensure that those who are making the laws and governing us adhere to the same laws and are guided by the unwritten rules that make up our society. If not, the dissonance will create social disorder and dissatisfaction. (We see a lot of this dissatisfaction in the UK today as well as throughout Europe. That, however, is a conversation for another day.)

"Only a fool learns from his own mistakes." When I first heard this, I paused, trying to understand how someone could say something so obviously ignorant. It took a while before I realised that this was a logical statement: only a fool learns by doing; a wise person learns from others. 

That being said, we would all be reduced to quivering bowls of jelly if we were afraid of making mistakes. We MUST be willing to make mistakes--and learn from them--as well as scanning the horizon of experiences and learning from those as well. 

I would like to share one lesson that I learned the hard way: you can not delegate everything. Specifically, you can not delegate critical decisions. As the protagonist (of your life), you must decide which way you are going to jump. You can listen to advisors, seek out wisdom, and study every decision until you sweat. Life is about making those critical decisions. You can delegate a driver to take you to the intersection (or a manager to oversee your daily operations), but you need to decide whether to go straight, left, or right (or fire, hire, or build).

As I reconvene my non-writing life, my inclination is to delegate as much as possible. I believe in finding and employing talented people. These people are specialists in their field--from litigation to land management. Their job is specific to their field of expertise and they will fill in forms, represent me, and safeguard me better than myself. However, there comes a point where I need to say 'enough', or 'change direction'. I need to say go forward, left, or right. 

As I stand at a very real crossroad, I need to decide which way I am going to go. If life has taught me one thing, only I can make this decision.

We live in an age of abundance--if one is lucky enough to be born in a developed country (the 'ovarian lottery' according to Warren Buffet). For those of us who have a full belly and a roof over our head, we look beyond the survival of ourselves towards bettering ourselves and our environment, or satisfying the luxuries of the flesh, mind, and soul. We may eat more or better food. We may partake in gratuitous sex and mind-altering drugs. We may meditate and contemplate the wonderment of life. 

But, as Billy Joel famously said, you still wake up with yourself.

As I navigate the social-sphere (ten months since I first joined), I am struck by how irrelevant and important the social media is. Countless tweets and FB comments wash over me--as mine undoubtedly wash over others.  And yet... the President of the United States chooses to communicate via Twitter... and we all take notice.

The social sphere has become a virtual crowd on the street with newcomers (ie. those under 30 years old) to life seeing it as their normal. I wouldn't walk around with a sandwich board announcing my wares in real life. Why should I do that in the e-world? People continue to flow past, some glance, and the rest ignore. 

To navigate this brave new world I will look to the past instead of the present. That may make me a dinosaur, but at least I will be true to myself. For those who are brazen and like to make a splash in the real world, the e-world will offer unlimited possibilities to make a fool of themselves. They will be true to themselves. For me, I have been generally content with a good book, a good scotch, and a good cigar while having a conversation with another person. I am waiting for a similar experience in the e-world.