The Prince and the Pauper

  Thoreau and Machiavelli are men of two very different times, places, and systems of government. Thoreau is a member of a union controlled by a democratic government machine, whereas Machiavelli is the citizen of an empire with a singular royal ruler calling the shots. Their philosophies about power and the government subsequently reflect this. While Machiavelli explores the careful balancing act that makes a successful prince, Thoreau explores the citizen's quest for justice, and how it may be achieved in a governmental machine. Thoreau takes the view that a person must put their whole being into whatever actions they take in order to be just and true, whereas Machiavelli preaches subterfuge as a leadership tactic- the promotion of a good self image, while privately acting on less appealing qualities.
  We can see from Machiavelli's language that he admires a prince/authority figure that can charm their citizens but keep their country in line with an iron fist. Machiavelli promotes his version of this ideal nation, where the citizens obey the idealized version of their prince while unconsciously falling compliant to his less noble designs. Thoreau champions the complete opposite, putting the power in the hands of the individual and asking them to see past the trickery of the machine of government (or a prince) and question whether the system is just. Machiavelli preaches compliance and strong leaders as a solution to government, whereas Thoreau promotes revolution and civil disobedience as the way to counterbalance the machine of government -which may not be exercising power justly-  hopefully changing it for the better, or eliminating it's necessity completely.

I'll Be Thankful When It's Over.

  Thanksgiving is one of the most stressful holidays. It seems that somewhere down the line it was decided that; in order to accurately celebrate Thanksgiving, a maximum number of relatives must be gathered. It doesn't matter that each of these relatives has a different opinion on how to cook the turkey, mash the mashed potatoes, and distribute the seating. Long story short (or as it goes in our family; long story even longer), Thanksgiving is marked in my calendar as an appointment for an atomic family feud.

  My mom and her sisters compare recipes and force feed innocents to determine whose stuffing is stuffier, whose is saltier, and whose is prettier. My Uncle Patrick stoically mashes the potatoes, a task he has quietly overtaken as the years go by. My grandfather introduces me to his kitchen assistants for the 50 millionth time and I feel guilty as I keep returning to them with new plates of half eaten appetizer food. I try desperately to find a quiet spot to sit and read, like moses searching for an oasis in the Egyptian desert, but I am accosted by aunts. I am forced to hear my family's opinion on everything. EVERYTHING.

  And stuffing! Don't even get me started on the stuffing. Stuffing makes me sick! So do a lot of things. My stomach is about as strong as a 2 year old child.  I don't know, it has just always been that way. Unfortunately, my family seems to suffer a collective gap in linguistic knowledge. "No thanks" is an abstract concept, missing from their vocabulary and comprehension.

What??
You.... don't want another serving?
Is the food not GOOD?
Is it ME?
Are you trying to lose weight?
Amy, has she been eating properly?
You need your protein you know!
Do you have something against the Saldanas?
WHY?

  Meanwhile my father -in all respects a foreigner- sits nervously, tensely eyeballing my elbows to make sure they never touch the table. As an English man, Thanksgiving means nothing to him. He focuses instead of the sanctity of the family meal, and the stringent etiquette which he assumes is required.
"Treat every meal as if you were dining with the Queen." he would say. Ugh.

  Simultaneously, my Grandfather is testing the general football knowledge of the table. My father seems to shrink in his seat, like a turtle returning to its shell. My cousin Noah is being interrogated about his most recent romantic attachment. The ginger Puerto Rican Jew reclines, allowing his sister to answer for him, as she so frequently and readily volunteers her opinions.

  "Another one of those mindless Asian girls..." my cousin Julia interjects, issuing a trademark 11 decibel scoff and an earth shaking eye roll. And you thought I was condescending... ha ha ha.

  "Hey, you know what they say about Jewish guys and Asian girls..." I say, wiggling my eyebrows at Noah.
...No one seems to think it's funny.

  My Grandpa is a dear and laughs to fill the awkward and frankly judgemental silence, but I'm 100% sure he heard 0% of what I said. I'm also pretty sure he thinks I'm 21, because he keeps pouring me wine. "Red or white?" he asks- his Brooklyn accent faded but present.

"Green." I respond.

No one seems to think its funny.

Hamid and Changez, Brothers Through Circumstance

            I, like many other book readers, typically read the back covers of books before starting them. Usually, the back cover gives a brief summary of the book and a small biographical blurb about the author. So it comes as no surprise that The Reluctant Fundamentalist follows suit. This usually standard format gained a whole new meaning however, when I noticed something fascinating within the two blurbs. They mirrored each other. The summary says that Changez is from Pakistan. Hamid is also from Pakistan. It says that Changez studied abroad at Princeton. Hamid, summa cum laude at Princeton. These similarities continue , though more discreetly, for one would have to look up an extended biography of Moshin Hamid (which I did).

            Now the question is, what does it matter? I think that in order to proceed along this line of thought we need to dismiss the notion that writers are just blank faced creativity machines shrouded in anonymity. Hamid is far from anonymous, in fact, he probably seeks attention for his book. His book is written on a controversial topic with a dangerous tone towards terrorism. Because we know that Hamid and his character Changez are so similar in many ways, there is a high risk that Hamid's book maybe interpreted as his own declaration of anti-American sentiments, like those of Changez.

            My understanding of the book as a whole is enhanced in an irreversible way with the knowledge of Hamids fairly parallel life. Ethos is given in large doses to reader, knowing as they read the descriptions of Changez’s Princeton social life and his outsider-ness that they are probably reading Hamid’s personal account. Hamid gains my trust as an accurate and relevant storyteller for the particular story, and this makes it harder to place the story in a fictional light.

            It seems to me that this loss of “fantasy” in the story is something that it gains. Hamid’s goal in writing this book was to educate Americans on the lives of transplanted Muslim Americans, and show them the downward spiral, aided by anti-Muslim bigotry, that pushes those successful citizens toward hatred of the US. Hamid wanted to make the story as real as possible. I believe that in getting his point across it is necessary for the reader to see the story as very possible, and a very real threat. Hamid’s biography shows us that this story is not plucked from thin air, it is solid and made from a base of real experiences.

            Although further reading of an extended biography on Hamid reveals that he has some pretty drastic differences with the Changez near the end of the book, this seeming discrepancy adds another level of introspection to the book. By presenting the reader with both his own successful American story and Changez’s eventually disastrous one, Hamid is showing the reader that they could have so easily gone the other way. While Hamid reaped the benefits of an American education and capitalism, Changez was disheartened and eventually made to resent America. Hamid wants the readers to know that he could have easily lived Changez’s life. Had he been exposed to just a bit more Islamiphobia, to a bit more of the horrors of capitalism, or even met Juan Bautista, he could be in Pakistan right now lecturing on the poisonous nature of American society, inadvertently encouraging future terrorists, like Changez did. The Reluctant Fundamentalist is not just a tale feared by Americans, but a tale feared by innocent Muslim/middle-eastern people everywhere, who are slowly poisoned by the tyrannical capitalist giant that is America.