June 28, 2025

TO BE FULLY A CITIZEN:

Hitting the Doorsteps: There may be no better way to get involved in politics than canvassing – knocking on your neighbors’ doors and taking time to listen. (Daniel Payne, May 12, 2025, Plough)

An MP’s campaign has the feel of a community project, with a shambling cast of characters you might at other times find involved with the local scout troop or running a church fair. For six weeks the office was full and loud with activity. All available space was crammed with the latest batch of leaflets, the windows blocked up with boxes, desks piled with literature or deliveries to be processed. Volunteers piled in to stuff envelopes, expecting to be paid only in cups of tea.
My job was to help arrange the candidate’s schedule and prep him for awkward and difficult questions he could get thrown – anything from his thoughts on China invading Taiwan, to single gender spaces, to unpopular plans for a new housing estate. And, of course, all those of us who could were expected to hit the streets to canvas voters. As someone who had urged other Christians to engage with politics, here was a chance for me to put it into practice. What better way than by canvassing!

Canvassing is simple. An app has the registered voters of an area logged. You knock on a door, tell them you are campaigning for so-and-so, and ask if they have thought yet about how they might be voting. You log their response in the app and move to the next door.

It is exhausting work. Each door is an unknown. One door could be friendly, chatty, open to questions. The next could be utterly uninterested. The next could chew your ear off about proportional representation and the need for voting reform. The next could be coming off the back of a terrible day at work, with the kids acting up and the dinner burnt, before you knock on the door asking for a vote. I had the demoralizing record of waking up sleeping babies two doors in a row.

Canvassing requires good walking stamina and a thick skin. Don’t take a sharp word or a slammed door to heart. Always beware of the dog.

Once you knock on enough doors in communities like these, you start make connections.

After visiting all (then) 106 Superfund sites in NJ on the campain trail in 1985, and canvassing with the candidate (who had first been elected to the NJ Senate by knocking on every door in his district), I went to work for a Naderite organization, the New Jersey Environmental Federation. We raised money to lobby for a bill requiring the polluters to pat to clean up the toxic waste sites they had created (taxing the externalities) by doing door-to-door canvassing. People were rather uniformly courteous and a perhaps surprising percentage supported the effort. It’s one of the most worthwhile experiences you can have, meeting your fellow citizens.

WHY MAGA IMAGINES DONALD MUSCULAR:

The Dark Magic of Words: Why Fascism and Illiberalism is So Seductive to Writers: Ed Simon Looks at Eduard Limonov, Gabriele D’Annunzio, Yukio Mishima, and Others (Ed Simon, June 23, 2025, LitHub)

Myth and fantasy are what the fascist trade in, of Russia made great again, or Italy made great again, or someplace made great again (it’s always some place), but at the expense of our souls. This is the danger of an artistic temperament at its most extreme, what Nietzsche celebrated as the “Dionysian” in The Birth of Tragedy, where the artist “enriches everything out of one’s own fullness: whatever one sees, whatever wills is seen swelled, taught, strong, overloaded with strength” until all of reality merely becomes “reflections of his perfection.”

Such idealization of pure experience is an idolatry of death, since such an artist can’t envision the world beyond their individuality, can’t conceive of others enduring after the poet’s extinction. Think of Limonov’s “Yes, Death!,” of D’Annunzio’s 1894 novel The Triumph of Death.

GOS:

The goshawk’s name was bestowed by medieval falconers and honours the birds’ formidable predatory powers (Mark Cocker, 6/05/25, Country Life)

What really makes a goshawk hard to see is its blend of sheer speed and inherent caution. They are widespread in Britain, particularly north and west of a line from the River Severn to the Tweed, where there are an estimated 1,200 breeding pairs. In all places, they are lovers of deep woods and spend most of their time within the canopy, dashing along rides or weaving through the trees, using shock tactics to flush and catch prey. In Europe, goshawks can sometimes occupy heavily urbanised places, but remain invisible to the public. There is a celebrated colony in downtown Berlin, Germany, and, although it might be the scourge of the city’s pigeon flocks, its human neighbours remain blithely unaware. The species is particularly partial to pigeon flesh, with some studies putting it as high as 60% of the entire diet. Yet goshawks have the power to overwhelm larger birds. Part-ridges, coots, mallards and even capercaillie — the latter three times the weight of its assailant — have all been recorded.

I once saw a female retrieving an egret from a dyke, where the prey had fallen after the raptor had struck. They will also adjust to more modest fare: squirrels, starlings, sparrows and beetles are fair game for males, which have only two-thirds the bulk of their mates. For all their fondness for deep cover, goshawks will forgo their ghost status during the pre-breeding period. For a few spring weeks, especially on sunlit March mornings, they sail high over their territories, circling and swooping. The climax of these nuptial displays is when a male and female fly together, bonding in a deep-winged, slow-motion butterfly action that they alternate with passages of effortless soaring. A mystery attaching to Britain’s population centres on the precise nature of its origins.

As Helen MacDonald relates in H is for Hawk, T. H. White’s the Goshawk is kind of insane.