Trumpenstein: on making monsters

Wonderful, isnt it?

I looked up from my book; the uber driver clearly wanted to chat. Looking around, all I could see were mounds of grimy snow lining the streets of New Haven. I wasnt sure what was so wonderful about them.

He went on: I remember getting off the plane twenty two years ago. I had never seen snow in Pakistan. I wasnt even sure how the snow got on the ground. All I knew was that I liked it. All I knew was that my new life had begun.

Taking my distracted really as encouragement, he told me about how he acquired a visa in the 90s, came to America, and built a life for himself here. He was quite pleased with the $2500 he was making per month, and counted himself among the lucky ones. He went on to describe his conversion to Islam and the peace he had found in his new religion. Curious that he had converted to islam amidst anti-muslim rhetoric, I asked him what he thought of the Trump administration. He told me that it was against his creed to hate anyone and that he remained hopeful: Inshallah.

Was this ignorance or innocence? I couldnt decide. As I mulled over his words, my eyes fell on the cover of my book it featured a rectangular face with electrified hair on the scalp, and lightning bolts for eyes. A jagged scar ran down the forehead and bolts stuck out of the side of the head. Underneath the gruesome face, in a Gothic font, was one word: Frankenstein.

At the age of nine, I had an odd fascination with horror-themed novels Dracula was my favourite. For some reason, I avoided Mary Shellys Frankenstein. Based on Cartoon Network parodies, I had inferred that it would be a tale of a genius who had created a monster that ended up plaguing society in general and him in particular. Two decades later, I had picked up a copy of Frankenstein on a whim. Half-way through the book, I realised that all I knew about Frankenstein from pop-culture references was wrong.

Frankensteins creation began life full of toddler-like wonder. For instance, he describes his first encounter with fire as follows:

One day, when I was oppressed by cold, I found a fire which had been left by some wandering beggars, and was overcome with delight at the warmth I experienced from it. In my joy I thrust my hand into the live embers, but quickly drew it out again with a cry of pain.

As he journeys through the world, he scares every human he encounters. They take one look at his visage and either run or attack him. Later, he finds shelter in a pig-sty and is able to observe an impoverished family. He becomes fond of them and begins cutting wood and clearing snow for them without their knowledge. With time, the creature actually manages to teach himself to read, write, and speak. The gentleness of his soul is clear when he celebrates being able to speak, albeit crudely.

My organs were indeed harsh, but supple; and although my voice was very unlike the soft music of their tones, yet I pronounced such words as I understood with tolerable ease. It was as the assyet surely the gentle ass whose intentions were affectionate, although his manners were rude, deserved better treatment than blows and execration.

I tried to picture this gentle, albeit malformed, creature, but Shelly provided no description. All I had to go on were the reactions of the humans to the creature. Victor Frankenstein, the creator of the being, only refers to him as demon, devil, fiend, wretch, or monster. Though his words are gentle and his intentions benign, the very sight of him leads people to fear him and reject him.

Sadly, when the creature tries to befriend the impoverished family, they spurn him and run away in fear. Driven by loneliness, rejection, and unearned prejudice he actualizes their impression of his exterior and transmutes into their worst nightmare. The following passages describe his murderous metamorphosis:

There was none among the myriads of men that existed who would pity or assist me; and should I feel kindness towards my enemies? No; from that moment I declared everlasting war against the species, and more than all, against him who had formed me and sent me forth to this insupportable misery.

Once I falsely hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning my outward form, would love me for the excellent qualities which I was capable of unfolding. I was nourished with high thoughts of honour and devotion. But now crime has degraded me beneath the meanest animal. No guilt, no mischief, no malignity, no misery, can be found comparable to mine. When I run over the frightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the same creature whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness. But it is even so; the fallen angel becomes a malignant devil.

Here we are. Khuda hafiz (may god be your protector)!

As I walked away from the taxi and its astoundingly hopeful driver, the parallels between the world around me and the world Mary Shelly constructed were eerie. Much as Frankenstein referred to his creation with derogatory epithets, powerful political players are vilifying immigrants as murderers, drug dealers, and rapists. In the lexicon of the President, muslim seems to be almost synonymous with terrorists.

The blanket travel bans will embitter hitherto benevolent groups and generate monsters where none exist. The unprovoked attacks against immigrants such as Indians will embitter groups of people who aspire to make sizeable contributions to American science, technology, and culture. The stigmatization of gay and transgender populations, who only seek the freedom to be themselves, will disfigure American society.

Until I read the novel, I had been calling the creature Frankenstein because the distinction between Frankenstein and Frankensteins monster isnt clear in pop-culture. I dont know if Shelly wanted the monstrous actions of Frankensteins creation to be ascribed to Frankenstein himself, but that is what has come to pass.

Perhaps Mr. Trump should take heed before he creates monsters of his own.