Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix...
or Did J.K. Rowling Ever Read Ayn Rand?
John Lalor
Cultural Notes No. 54
ISSN 0267-677X
ISBN 9781856377553
An occasional publication of the Libertarian Alliance,
Suite 35, 2 Lansdowne Row, Mayfair, London W1J 6HL.
© 2007: Libertarian Alliance; John Lalor.
John Lalor is an Irish freelance journalist, doing a doctorate in clinical
psychology.
The views expressed in this publication are those of its author, and
not necessarily those of the Libertarian Alliance, its Committee,
Advisory Council or subscribers.
FOR LIFE, LIBERTY AND PROPERTY
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
138 minutes, UK/USA (2007),
Cert: 12A, 138 mins
Starring: Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, Imelda Staunton, Alan Rickman, Rupert
Grint.
I admit it: I'm a fan. So far, I've read the first five books of the Harry
Potter series. OK, so it's not the most ingenious writing ever, and the
concepts are hardly novel, but something that's gotten kids reading adventure
stories in such large numbers can't be all that bad.
But there's something more in these books. They bring kids back to a different
time, in a land far, far away, where political correctness hadn't been
invented, and the health and safety industry hadn't commenced destroying all
semblance of risk, fun and excitement. Fighting, scheming and disobedience; a
child having self-belief when all others take the easy option; the
acknowledgement of good and evil; indeed, the mere existence of people of
better and worse ability - all of these things are in serious danger of being
subverted by the egalitarian, risk-free, moral-subjectivist agenda of the
Nanny Statists.
But, more still, there was something quite different in the fifth instalment,
whose movie-version has just been released. It didn't take me long to realise
that there was something all too controversial and disobedient about it. It
almost seemed objectivist.
Most of the movie is set in the school for witches and wizards, Hogworts. Ayn
Rand herself, and, more recently, Edwin Locke and Leonard Peikoff, have railed
against the debilitating effects of statist education. Replete with "unknowables"
and the dissemination of falsehoods, Rand believed that modern education so
destroyed the minds of children that they entered the real world pathetically
ill-equipped to think for themselves.
The major conflict between Harry and Dolores Umbridge - his Defence Against
the Dark Arts teacher; a Ministry of Magic drone who slowly takes over the
school, Hogwarts - is about lies. Harry, an honest, decent boy, simply
believes his senses - leading to his spreading of the news that evil Lord
Voldemort is back - and is frustrated to the point of anger by the insistence
that this is simply not true. The Ministry has turned rotten - not unlike the
Senate in another sci-fi franchise, Star Wars. From the Minister of Magic
himself, Cornelius Fudge, through his underlings at the Wizengamot, a
corrosive impotence has spread. Morally, there is no-one to stand up to not
merely Voldemort himself, but to the idea that his return is imminent.
Ostrich-like, they hide from the truth.
But the impotence is not something contained solely within the Ministry; it is
to be spread to the children's minds. Imelda Staunton, who plays Umbridge, is
superb in the role. She is the embodiment of the state zealot, positively
evangelic about the righteousness and infallibility of the Ministry.
Substitute "Ministry" with "State," and the plot flows as one continuous
sounding about the dangers of state-control of education, criminal-justice,
crime - indeed, everything in the lives of these witches and wizards. Whatever
is believed to be best practice by the Ministry must be executed by agents
like Umbridge, and the health of the Ministry is paramount.
Rowling's premise has always been the necessity for the students to learn to
arm themselves against evil, and each year (i.e. each book) has brought a new
teacher, so difficult and dangerous is the task in the face of the mounting
threat of Voldemort and his minions. So, just when the children need to be
taught how to succeed - whether in Harry Potter, or in Rand's writings about
the real world - they are being laden with useless, contradictory and
inhibiting "skills". In these less-is-more times of continuous assessment,
learn-by-rote (very important to Umbridge) and pointless courses where
inspirational and important ones once existed, the belief that filling
children's heads with information has completely missed the point of truly
worthwhile education.
Harry and his friend, Hermione, are stunned that the Defence Against the Dark
Arts course has been - you guess it - dumbed down. They are not to be taught
practical skills, just theory. When Harry states the obvious - that there is a
lot of evil out there, and that theory will not protect them - Umbridge
scoffs, replying that there's nothing to worry about. After Umbridge shouts at
Harry, "I won't have talking in class!" following more questioning of her
authority, Hermione responds, under her breath, "You won't have us thinking."
Well, after all, from the point of view of the Ministry, isn't an obedient,
passive, dependent group of young witches and wizards far more manageable and
pliable?
All readers will have encountered mind-numbing, infuriating bureaucracy, and
will readily identify this behaviour in Umbridge. No matter how wretched, how
condescending, how suffocating she acts towards the pupils, she maintains the
veneer of the perfect teacher: smiling, quiet, succinct, agreeable, and
gracious - in other words, patently dishonest. She is the impossible face we
have all met at airport security, at our children's school, at the Department
of Motor Vehicles, and so on. The connection? State bodies and their
life-sapping bureaucracy.
When one sees for themselves the ways in which these agencies operate, what
becomes obvious is that the interaction between state-agent and Ordinary Joe
or Jane is to be as dehumanizing as possible. I was a school prefect in my
senior year in high school, and the school principal would instruct us as to
how to deal with younger, disruptive pupils. We were to act as if we were
listening, and nod at appropriate times, but we were never to actually engage
in discussion. Regardless of claims and protests from the pupil, we had only
one response - predetermined before the naïve young soul opened their mouth.
Likewise, I was reminded of this rotten relationship when I saw Umbridge deal
with the pupils. What is worse is that we realise (and she eventually states
this herself) that she hates the children with whom she spends so much time
working. Reminded of any harangued, bitter, tired state employees you've met
recently, who, above all else, cannot abide the public they "serve"? This is
what pointless, obstructionist policies do to once-enthusiastic employees.
Umbridge's effect on the school atmosphere is poisonous. A giant wall in the
ancient building becomes a testament to her rules and regulations. She has the
school caretaker, Argus Filch, nail decrees to the wall - the amount of which
is so large that his ladder balances precariously, at a dangerous height, so
as to fit them all. (A small point about imagery, but significant when one
thinks of the ever-increasing mountain of Federal laws produced annually.) For
every problem she perceives, there is no reasoning or debate, but laws - i.e.
force and punishment.
Something I realised in my trips to Eastern Europe - where my morbid
fascination with Communism and state-terror brought me to various museums
covering the brutality of the 20th Century - was that the suffering that
occurred was so much more than just monetary and social freedom. They were
emotionally crushed: every last dream they had; every waking moment of privacy
and peace - they were stolen by heartless bureaucrats and state thugs, all in
the name of the state. So, too, we see this in Hogworts. For instance, I find
the constant drone of public announcements about health and safety in malls,
train stations and airports - invariably telling us we are forbidden from
innumerable activities - to be deeply unnerving. Likewise, the pupils at
Hogwarts feel a constant stream of oh-so-terribly-polite messages from
Umbridge raining down on them. One-by-one, their assumed freedoms and
enjoyments are being eliminated.
The most heinous crime of all - thinking for themselves - leads the pupils to
form their own class, hidden away in a secret chamber. Its purpose is for them
to learn how to defend themselves against evil. Their society is called
Dumbledore's Army - named after the school principal, Albus Dumbledore, who is
one of the few adults they can trust. The parallels with education in the real
world are striking: the inability of the Ministry-run education system to
prepare the pupils for the outside world; the realisation by the pupils that
they themselves, led by Harry's magical expertise, will have to teach
themselves. Again, substitute the self-teaching of the pupils with home
schooling or private, supplementary tuition, and one would be forgiven for
thinking Rowling knows just how bad state schools have become.
Suspicion and distrust are in the air at Hogwarts: the existence of the
subversive Dumbledore's Army and their illicit training sessions are under
threat of being discovered by the Ministry. With her use of the Truth Serum,
Umbridge turns pupil against fellow pupil in her effort to discover these
covert activities - the very divide-and-conquer policy that Stalin used to
destroy perceived enemies within his ranks. After all, when the state is to be
defended, the end justifies all means.
While the translation of the story from book to film is somewhat lacking -
like the failure to develop the characters, as well as a loss of depth in the
story - the general philosophy that Rowling seems to be conveying makes it
well worth a trip to the movies or bookstore. I was certainly caught up in the
continuous parallels between the story and my anti-statism tendencies. Whether
or not the plot was compelling or the characters credible mattered little in
comparison to the joy of following an underlying theme of ghastly
disobedience.