Hope

It is 8 PM and I am just home after a stimulating talk with a young person I met at my local library. I was actually on a walk with no intention of stepping inside the library. Library is one kilometer from home and I had planned on going all the way to the intersection from my house where 2 kilometers finish, and then come back – marking my 4 kilometers for the day. But I feel an urge to walk into the library. I go inside. It just feels good to wander among racks full of books. After I have had that bit of satisfaction, I approach the front desk person and ask her about the hold on Ajeet Caur’s ‘Khanabadosh’ I had placed. She informs me that the library system is trying to locate the sole copy of the book I have requested, and that it may or may not arrive, but that it is upto me to keep or cancel the hold request. I want to keep my hope alive, so I let it stay. I have a few more questions for her to which she responds in a nonchalant manner with a few well-practiced shrugs. “Wow, that’s a lot of ‘I-don’t-care-shrugs for one evening,” I think aloud walking sadly away from her. That is when I notice that the library has a few sales going on. Two dollars for a hardcover, and one dollar for a paperback. That is where this stash comes from today. With no credit card on me, no phone tap facility enabled, and with a mere 5 dollars bank-note in my pocket – I am going shopping toward the back of the library. I choose these three books and come back to the front desk. But I do not want to deal with the negative energy of the shruggy young lady who seems to have had a bad day. Now I approach the other staff member, a young man. He cashes me out, and I ask for another book lying behind him – the book is named – ‘Storying Violence’ – on Coulton Boushie’s death and acquittal of his killer. This case is close to my heart. I often refer to the case in the class when talking about Indigenous people and their present. This book is not for sale, but I can borrow it. I do. Meantime, the young man notices the Atwood I am buying. (Isn’t it sheer luck that I find this Atwood for sale – for TWO DOLLARS?). “Are you a fan of Atwood’s too?” he strikes a conversation. “Yes! How can you be a student of literature and not be?” I ask. And then he goes on to talk about a few of Atwood lectures he had attended, tempting me to sign up for a few myself. “I am not much interested in fiction,” he says, “just that I like what she says about mistakes one makes while writing, etc. etc.” I have no clue what he is talking about, but I like the idea of learning from one’s mistakes. “Oh, and I am also very impressed by Jane Goodall’s talks,” he continues. “I see,” I encourage him, knowing nothing about Goodall’s writing/talks. Having seen her work and admired her for it, I do know about her conservation work, and I do know what she does. “What stands out for you in what she says?” I ask him. “That human beings always find a way,” he says with shining eyes, “ I like that she speaks from a conservationist’s point of view that we may be living in the worst possible times right now - with climate change and what not, but we will bounce back. I feel a certain hope that if she is saying this, there definitely is hope.”

I look at him as he continues from across the fibre glass screen, “see I am a student of literature.” “Can I adopt you, kid?” I want to ask, but then think that it might weird him out, and I hold my tongue. “I am at the U of T and am finishing my degree in culture and history. I am not so much interested in fiction as I am in the vision of the future. Atwood and Goodall provide me with that.” “So what culture are you the most interested in?” I ask. “Maya, Inca, and Aztecs – in what is now South America,” he answers, adjusting his face mask. “Then you must have read Charles C. Mann’s ‘1491’,” I said. “No, I don’t think I have, but I would love to. Tell me more about it.” I speak a little bit about it and tell him that I seldom leave books half-read, but this one is quite taxing. I add that it is essential for everyone interested in Indigeneity, culture and history. He shifts gears a little to tell me about his project. It is about shadow puppetry in China and his fourth year paper is on the topic. He tells me that it is difficult to find scholarly articles. “There must be few takers for history, and literature courses in the university?” I say with despair for I know as a teacher in literature and liberal arts that someone speaking about literature with a shine in their eyes belongs to a dying breed. “No, no, there are quite a few of us!” he interrupts. “Like – 10-15 or so?” I joke. “See, ours is a small campus,” it seems he is apologizing for the campus. “I know ! my son goes there too, and it is not that small, is it? So how many ARE you?” I persist. “Perhaps a few hundred?” he says tentatively. Now I see that hope too ! In these weird times when universities and colleges and institutions are trying to stick to only ‘practical’ ‘job-oriented,’ ‘trade-oriented,’ ‘labour-focussed,’ courses and programs, and are trying to prove the finer aspects of life as redundant, this kid gives me hope. If today’s young people are still reading literature, and are still researching into history and contextualising it with their present, it gives me hope that we will sustain. As Dr Goodall says, humans are the smartest beings, and they will find a way to bounce back. Thank you, Michael. We need more of the likes of you.