Title taken from a Noam Chomsky article (The Progressive, 1986)

Carrots and pancakes – or at least using the latter as an incentive for the former. The keyword here is incentive, which is indicative of a snippet of Haibane pedagogy; pedagogy being the foremost area discussed in a directed study at school, incentive was a big issue. The point of incentive, as I understood, was to create a gateway in hopes that the person would soon forget about the ends and become fascinated by the means. The caveat, however, was that not all people would forget about the very thing that had captivated their attention in the first place – the incentive – thus the double-edged sword.

In this third episode we saw Reki use pancakes as incentive to get the younger Feathers to eat their carrots properly. It seemed impossible, considering the bitterness of the carrots.[1] Yet after the old lady announced that “whoever finishes their lunch plates will get pancakes for snack,” the youngsters went at the carrots with a Goku-like fervor. The point here I’m trying to examine is how the communal archive of Haibane-knowledge develops – in this case, partially, by example. There’s a few things to take into consideration first: (1) there is the knowledge that the Haibane possess – however, that’s not to say all Haibane know everything there is to know, it just indicates that there is a certain amount of knowledge available that pertains to the Haibane. (2) Here’s where we get into the theoretical schism: is the continual process of knowledge building an accumulation or an advancement? Advancement implies knowledge as an always-present-singularity that perhaps “discards” old or obsolete information. Accumulation implies that everything is stored and archived. I prefer the accumulation method which would agree with our own reality; we have libraries. However, the Haibane are in the opposite situation. They have a library, but, nevertheless, it seems that they have no continual archive of knowledge – what they know is as-always-present. Perhaps the defining trait of this, or so I have observed thus far, is the lack of old people: I haven’t seen an old Haibane yet.

Haibane knowledge is thus bifurcated into two systems of contribution: (1) age groups and (2) external sources like The Communicator and the townsfolk. The first system doesn’t necessarily “contribute” as much as it provokes inquiry, yet the spurring of questions is nevertheless a contributive method. I think that the apparent restriction of age does say something very significant about what the Haibane can possibly know, and what they are “allowed” to know – what defines their bounds of thinkable thought, although this is not so much so a discursive thing as it is simply a matter of physical accessibility.[2] The environment of the Haibane accompany our theme of a fence around knowledge; the walls of the city, the distinct separation of Old Home to the “human” town, how Old Home seems to be reminiscent of a castle or fortress, or perhaps, in aesthetics alone, a vague reference to Eden.

I think I mentioned before how “Old Home” was quite an interesting name to give to a house full of mysteries. And now so even more since it contradicts our supposed lack of age – lack of wisdom, per se, yet abundance of youth, abundance of blissful ignorance. Ignorance, perhaps with exposure to luxury, develops into yearning, which is always evident in Kuu’s desire to fly. What’s possibly more noteworthy is how she believes in believing – “if you really believe, you can fly someday for sure. I believe that.”[3] The necessity for a counter argument provides us with Rakka saying “maybe you’re right” – maybe is the important word. And so there’s a lot of uncertainty here: Kuu’s belief in believing seems rather unstable, therefore what is Rakka’s “maybe” really aimed at? – which level of belief is she “questioning”? Or rather, if one level of belief is questioned, doesn’t that mean the act of believing as a whole is also questioned? Insofar as believing is “wrong,” the belief of belief is “wrong” as well as the belief you are believing in. There is a probability that Rakka is correct in second-guessing Kuu’s steadfast blithe. It seems to be the more preferable option since, well, the Haibane seem to know very little about themselves – that is if we compare the metaphor of flight to the freedom of knowledge and enlightenment.

Kuu wants to fly – wants to know – but she also wants to talk to crows – learn from the things that represent freedom. Interestingly, the crows representation seems to indicate several contrasting things like that freedom, yet, simultaneously, ostracism and exclusion. In this case the relationship somewhat mirrors that of the Haibane to the town: Kuu wants to be able to talk to knowledge, while the town shuns it away as a God would a certain silver-tongued snake. This protective conditioning shows itself in Kuu’s juvenile desires, but is not apparent in Rakka’s mindset since she hasn’t been exposed to her environment long enough – nor is it blatant within Reki’s character because she perhaps “knows too much” and is not willing to divulge painful information to Kuu.

Reki does seem to be the most disconnected and melancholy of the Haibane – is this a coincidence seeing as though she’s our established “mother,” what with her taking care of Rakka and everything? I think Reki does have quite a burden on her shoulders – pun intended, perhaps – and she sort of does embody this “fallen Lucifer” kind of mystique that does make you wonder “how much does she really know?”

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[1] I thought carrots were sweet? – especially when boiled…
[2] Again, this plays into the whole conduit of the self, the ways in which we record data.
[3] 16:04

Other Haibane posts: [1] [2]