Alternity

Greetings, British Wizarding World!

Like many of you, I’ve been reading with interest the discussions among Hogwarts students (and parents) who bemoan the state of their education and have determined to take their future into their own hands.

I think any of us who have passed through Hogwarts’ halls in the past several generations can attest that there have always been unpopular subjects and professors. It’s the prerogative of all students to grumble about their schoolwork.

I am forced to agree that there are significant problems with the current slate of faculty, as well as the quality of certain subjects as they are being taught. In all fairness to the Headmistress, some of the deficiencies have been inherited, and some doubtless forced upon the school — and whether that can end anything other than badly is yet to be seen. Were I a parent with children at Hogwarts, I should be alarmed and worried not only for their educations, but their safety — as the events of this week show with painful clarity.

But the less said about Amycus Coward the better. It’s on something a little less drastic that I write currently. I’m pleased to see that Hogwarts’ students remain as resourceful as ever, providing their own solutions to the limitations of their tutelage. But where those solutions touch on our history, our social order or our race relations, the new lessons bear particularly careful examination.

A wise man once said, ‘those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.’ It seems to me that the problem facing all British wizardom right now is its willingness to ignore history. Perhaps even more disturbing are the revisions to history taking place with governmental encouragement, and our children’s willingness to absorb as much of this alternative history as they can amass.

We all remember our past experiences differently. Recent conversations I’ve had have made that fact abundantly clear. But when we deliberately revise history, we actively alter our perceptions of the past, our role in the present and our options for the future.

Take History of Magic, for example. While it may be difficult to focus on the lessons of a teacher who, let’s face it, wasn’t that engaging while alive, and is even less inclined to be dynamic or exciting now that he is vapourous, it is nonetheless important to remember that there is another reason the so-called ‘Council’ object to his teaching. That reason is that his version of history predates the lies and propaganda that the Ministry wishes to force upon the whole population. They would have your young people classify his teaching as merely an annoyance to be endured, learned by rote, spit back for the purpose of exams, and set aside in favour of the ‘definitive’ new timelines. But these are in themselves nothing more than alterations of the facts. And Professor Binns, if nothing else, has always prided himself on his reverence for facts.

Now, let’s not take that argument too far. History itself is a flawed and evolving picture, too often written only by the winners. Benjamin Disraeli said, ‘Read no history: nothing but biography, for that is history without theory.’ What he meant was that every historian brings his own perspective to the story he tells. How does one evaluate the stories one hears, separate the appeal of the poetic from indifference to the mundane, read between the lines to guess at what is not being told?

Statistics and facts can be manipulated. Theories can be spun from nearly any angle to support nearly any hypothesis. Even photographs and interviews may be staged so that they become as much theatrical exercise as a Christmas concert. The single best method to distill the past is, simply, to examine it from more than a single point of view. No one person is the sole arbiter of the Grim Truth: only collectively, taking all perspectives into account, can we fully understand and decide what is best to believe.

In conclusion, parents of Hogwarts: Think twice before you tell your children to discount their History of Magic lessons – or the older ‘arcane’ texts available in the library. Remember how it was before you each became an agent, willing or unwilling, of oppression and subjugation. (Here’s an exercise for you: This holiday, drag out your old books from your attics and cupboards and compare them to your children’s. Just how different are they?) And students: Think twice about what your textbooks tell you, especially in History, Muggle Studies and even Defence Against the Dark Arts. Anything written within your lifetimes is subject to revisionism on the scale of the most infamous governments in, well, in history. Consider not only the point of view of the winners, but the losers. And never, never accept what you are told just because you are told it is so.

Greetings, British Wizarding World.

Tonight’s lesson is about being wrong. About thinking you know your friends so well that you cannot be mistaken in them and about judging the people around you without taking all possibilities into account.

It’s also about being able to forgive.

Recently, some of you may have read a conversation between two correspondents discussing the summer camping trip for the Young Protectors’ League. (This organisation itself intrigues me greatly, by the way. What is its purpose? A thinly veiled recruiting ground for Death Eaters, perhaps?) Anyway, the troop leader had announced that older students participating in the outing would be trained to cast the Cruciatus Curse in case they need it to ‘protect’ their younger charges. Now, why on earth any of them would need to cast an Unforgivable Curse in the first place is beyond me, but then, perhaps things have so changed in England that teenagers are really so unruly, torture is the only way to control them. But what’s really disturbing is that the assertion that they might have to use it against some unnamed external threat was misunderstood by at least one 'concerned' parent, who took it to mean it would be applied to the students themselves. Yet far from objecting, that parent merely countered with the suggestion that the Imperius curse would be a better choice for removing the student from impending danger!

I know. It took me a couple minutes to absorb that one, too. This ‘prominent’ citizen of the Protectorate suggested that one Unforgivable might be preferable to another – and an altogether justified method, at that!

Now, I gather from my readings that Government doesn’t want you calling them Unforgivable anymore. They want you to think that their use can be pardoned – not even in extreme cases, but in more mundane circumstances as well.

But there are things in this world that are Unforgivable. Centuries ago, our leaders decided that casting these curses ought to be punishable under the fullest extent of the law. They understood that to inflict unbearable torture, to wilfully commit murder and to exert full control over another person’s mind were all heinous acts that at no time should be acceptable. We’ve always believed this magic to be an abuse of the powers with which we have been endowed, no matter the cause or the subject of the spell.

Other acts are Unforgivable and don’t require the use of magic. Betrayal leading to the death of a trusted friend or loved one, for example. It would be pretty much impossible to excuse such a choice, no matter what the reason. No amount of fear, self-preservation instinct or ambition can possibly absolve the disgrace of selling one’s honour. It’s not like mistaking a true friend for a false one. That is much more readily erased through our capacity to extend mercy, as well as our gratitude at learning that our doubts were unfounded. And it’s understandable: Anyone can imagine ulterior motives in a climate of suspicion and fear or piece together an agenda out of circumstantial evidence. What's more, there are ways in which one's true friends can be subverted through no fault of their own.

But that brings me back to the Imperius Curse and why it is truly Unforgivable. Use of the Imperius renders someone who might be a true ally into a false one. It robs the victim of his will, until he will lie even to his spouse, his family, his children or his best mates. It makes a mockery of the concept of forgiveness: How can one forgive the act, but how can one not be merciful to someone who was not in control of his actions?

More than that, it’s essential to recognise that in a place where the Imperius can be considered a viable option for forcing a young person to obey and where the Cruciatus can be considered appropriate punishment for offering a dissenting opinion, it is even more vital that we distinguish for ourselves the Grim Truth about what is, and is not, worth our mercy. We must remember where the lines ought to be drawn, so that torture, forced control and murder no longer occupy a forgivable place in the daily lives of witches, wizards, Muggleborns and Muggles.

Greetings, British Wizarding World.

I don't know about you, but the journal chatter this week or so has been very disturbing to me. Not the news about the Derby escapes - how's that search party working out, by the way? - but the sorts of headgames being played among several of the so-called 'in-crowd' of first-years at Hogwarts. This class holds my interest for a number of reasons, not least of which is that it's the first class raised entirely within the current regime. Oh, I know virtually all Hogwarts’ current students have no memory of any other era in our history. But the first-years seem particularly vicious this term.

I know a little something about popularity games - and bullying - at school. I was both its victim and its perpetrator, to my discomfort (and remorse) now that I look back on it. We thought we lived atop the world back then, and the brief stint of persecution we suffered as 'ickle firsties' only served to confirm our suspicion that we were the few, the proud and the unstoppable. And after our first year, we were, for the most part.

That meant that we also made some pretty awful decisions. (My sympathies to Headmistress McGonagall, whom I am sure still remembers with equal regret and amusement the days when Potter and Black alternately glorified and besmirched the reputation of Gryffindor House.) And there were always a few who protested that we were being cruel, but for the most part, people would rather turn their heads and secretly thank their stars that we chose someone else to single out. Given the way almost everyone, apart from a very few affected parties, barely reacted to the events I’m about to mention, I see that the callow attitude hasn’t changed – although the stakes are considerably higher.

There were three recent occurrences at Hogwarts that serve as background for our discussion today. You may have read about them; I know that the students are still talking about some of them, even if they say they're not. The first is the Headmistress's decision to assign her library assistant to a student for a personal valet; the second is the disappearance of Amycus Carrow's servant; and the third is the treatment a half-blood student received from several of her classmates. Keep each of these incidents in mind as we continue.

What do these events have in common? They have to do with how we view and exercise our authority as wizards over other beings. For the moment, let's pretend that Muggleborn wizards and witches are actually not members of the same race, with every right to wield the powers with which they were endowed. Does that mean that we therefore have the right to rob them of dignity or autonomy? Does it mean that they are unfit to be trusted with their own choices, their bodies, their very lives? And if we believe that, then how far is it to go to begin persecuting those who are more than half Muggle? Half-Muggle? Less than half?

Apparently, it’s not far at all.

To give someone complete dominion over another intelligent being is to invite him to abuse that power. The longer one has access to such power, the more likely one is to exert it in harmful ways. Even if a 'master' is good, kind and gentle to his ‘slave’, the knowledge that he can if he so desires cause physical or mental harm is a heady potion, impossible not to drink eventually. Over time, that license corrupts its wielder, warps his sense of what is acceptable. The cutting remark becomes a cuff to the ear; a day under lock and key becomes a week in confinement; the swipe of a boot becomes the swish of the Cruciatus curse. And it is superficial differences that become the justifications for one person to tear down someone else.

Physical violence is possibly the worst privation one human can inflict on another. But just as damaging in its way is the psychological effect derived from systematically denigrating a segment of the population, collectively – or individually. While physical pain can do permanent damage, psychological trauma robs its victims of their pride, their self-confidence and their sense of their boundless potential. It doesn’t matter whether the wronged party is male or female, Muggleborn or ‘pure’, destitute or well-heeled. Prejudice is poison.

The Protectorate wants you to believe that it doesn’t matter what happens to the Muggles, Muggleborns and Squibs whose lives have been stolen. It matters because whatever their abilities, they are still human. It matters because the question of equality among humans was settled a long time ago, and yet the oppression of one man by another persists. What does it say about us – not as wizards and witches, but as men and women - that we have returned to a practise deemed illegal in our nation since 1833? For one hundred and fifty years, England had no slaves.

Now?

Why have we turned our backs on lessons already learned by nearly every civilised nation in the world? Why are we teaching our children that it is acceptable – even desirable – to persecute each other based solely on who their parents are or were? There’s no honour in beating down someone who has no recourse for fighting back and it’s a lie to say otherwise.

Anyone who believes that slavery is humane if managed well or that abuse is all that slaves deserve, ask yourself: What would you do if someone snapped your wand, took your freedom, cast you down and forced you to labour for others – not for any specific crime, but simply because you happen to be British?

Well, let's not dwell on that unpleasant thought for the moment. Instead, think about this simple, but Grim Truth. Slavery brutalises both the slaver and the enslaved.

Greetings, British Wizarding World, and Happy Christmas!

Forgive me, I can’t suppress an ironic smile over that phrase: Happy Christmas. Perhaps many of you are so occupied slicing into your puddings and opening packages that you have not spared a thought for how singularly unhappy Christmas is for the vast majority of souls living in Britain. If you have, thank you, and I hope you continue to let the thought propel you through the year to come.

But tonight I don't wish to upset your celebrations with dire pronouncements of poverty, disease, abuse and the loss of vast amounts of knowledge that accompany the oppression of Muggles and Muggle-born citizens. Instead, I'm simply going to tell you a Christmas story.

Once upon a time, there was a very old, very proper family of purebloods. For generations they had protected their reputation and made sure that their sons and daughters married only other witches and wizards as pure as their own family – even when that meant that occasionally, cousin married cousin. Now and again one member of the family would rebel, but any such action would more likely than not result in the family turning its back on the lone dissenter.

Into this family were born two brothers. One was the darling of his parents' eye, but the other seemed out of step with his relatives. It wasn't all too obvious at first. As youngsters, both boys played together, fought occasionally and neither of them thought much about how different they were.

Then the older boy went to Hogwarts. And when he was Sorted, although nearly his whole family expected him to join their ancestral House, he was placed elsewhere. It was a great shock to everyone, first and foremost himself. But it was no particular tragedy, since his new roommates quickly became his best mates.

The younger brother followed him to Hogwarts where he was Sorted 'correctly,' living up to his parents’ expectations. They held him up to his sibling as an example of what a wizard should be. This was none too satisfactory, for either of them, putting a strain where none should be.

As time passed, the elder brother grew closer to his new friends, and more and more estranged from his family. His beliefs grew more and more to resemble his friends’ and he began to see that his family had been wrong about many things they had always taught him: wrong about the intrinsic value of blood, wrong about the importance of class, wrong about the direct proportion of happiness to solvency and wrong about the things that make life worth the living.

It was Christmas during his fifth year, and both brothers were home for the holiday. The family had just enjoyed their traditional holiday feast, including a fine goose that the house elf had roasted to perfection, and were sitting down to the pudding. The youth’s father even offered him a glass of sherry as a sign of his impending majority. But either the spirits loosened his tongue, or the spirit of the season filled him with too much sympathy for those less well off, for when the topic turned to the question of blood, he could remain silent no longer. He said something, perhaps impolitic, but no less true, and before he knew it, his parents had ejected him from their home and hearth with no more than the robes on his back and the wand in his hand. On Christmas Day.

Standing in the square, he tried to think of what to do. He was too young to Apparate, and he could hardly arrive unannounced at the homes of any of his friends, no matter how close he considered them to be. Before he could even stick out his wand-hand for the Knight Bus, the door of his house opened and a figure came out into the snow. It was his uncle, a man who rarely spoke, but always listened. 'That was a brave thing, my boy,' he said proudly. He pressed a few Galleons into the lad's hand. 'Here. This ought to get you through the holiday, at least, and then when you are back at Hogwarts, we can determine the best plan for you for the summer holidays. This time next year, you'll be of age and can do what you wish.'

'Uncle, I don't need—'

'This is not charity,' his uncle assured him, 'but a reward for speaking the truth. Especially around those we love, and at times when we are pressured to get on together, it is difficult to choose what is right. Your mother was wrong, and you said so. You may find that being your own man is worth the occasional price.'

'The price of being homeless on Christmas?' the youth asked bitterly.

His uncle smiled. 'I think if your friends are any friends at all, they will understand the circumstances.'

Leaving him thus surprised to find that not everyone in his family disagreed with him, his uncle winked and went back inside. As he watched his uncle go, he caught a glimpse of a face looking out at him from the window. His brother was watching. The young man could not decide whether his brother looked upon him with contempt … or envy. They watched each other for a few minutes, but neither moved toward the other. At long last, his brother withdrew from the window, but did not emerge through the door to say goodbye.

Shivering with the cold, the youth took his uncle's advice and summoned the Knight Bus. When he arrived at his best mate's home, apologetic and a bit bedraggled, they assured him that they didn't mind in the least. They made a place at the table and continued to do so for countless Sundays and holidays to come. In time, he came to think of them almost as his own parents to replace the ones he lost on that Christmas night.

And although it pained him to turn his back on his blood, he realised the Grim Truth: That to do otherwise – to betray his true friends for the sake of his lineage – would consign him to a far worse fate than disownment. He would be turning his back on his own heart. He also realised another truth: That a family that expects its members to follow blindly in the steps of oppression and to ignore one's innermost convictions, is really no family at all, but a prison of its own kind. For all the world, he would not have traded places with the brother he left behind. In many ways, his uncle had been right, and breaking free was perhaps one of the best things he ever could have done.

This Christmas, remember that family comes from two places. And blood relation may not be the most important, or even the dearest, factor in choosing where and how you keep the holiday.

But whichever way you keep the season, remember too that this Yule, this closing of the year, celebrates that even in darkness, we can be in light. That even in the coldest time, we can find warmth – the warmth of kindness and generosity and love.

Happy Christmas.