[tr?id=412420552559426&ev=PageView&noscript=1]

[tr?id=412420552559426&ev=PageView&noscript=1]
[tr?id=1090834961073306&ev=PageView &noscript=1] #[1]The Walrus » Feed
[2]The Walrus » Comments Feed [3]The Walrus » iCal Feed [4]The Walrus »
Why Nostalgia Is Our New Normal Comments Feed [5]Your Brain on covid-19
[6]Artifacts [7]alternate [8]alternate

IFRAME: [9]https://www.googletagmanager.com/ns.html?id=GTM-N4P92WG

[10]Skip to content

[11]The Walrus

Fact-based journalism that sparks the Canadian conversation

(BUTTON)
* [12]home
* [13]Articles
+ [14]Special Series
o [15]Common Ground
o [16]Dirty Money: Seven Cases of Global Corruption
o [17]The Beauty Conversation
o [18]The End: How We Die Now
o [19]Sex Ed: Beyond the Classroom
o [20]Opioids: A Public Health Crisis
+ [21]Environment
+ [22]Business
+ [23]Health
+ [24]Politics
+ [25]Arts & Culture
+ [26]Society
* [27]COVID-19
* [28]Events
+ [29]The Walrus Talks
+ [30]The Walrus Talks Video Room
+ [31]The Walrus Leadership Dinners
+ [32]The Walrus Gala 2021
+ [33]The Walrus Events Sponsors & Partners
* [34]Subscribe
+ [35]Renew your subscription
+ [36]Change your address
+ [37]Magazine Issues
+ [38]Newsletters
+ [39]The Conversation Piece
* [40]Shop
* [41]The Walrus Lab
+ [42]The Walrus Fact Checking
* [43]Donate

Search for: ____________________ Search

[44]Arts & Culture

Why Nostalgia Is Our New Normal

For hundreds of years, doctors thought nostalgia was a disease. Now, it’s a
name for our modern condition

[45]May 7, 2020May 7, 2020 - by [46]David Berry[47]David Berry Updated
18:53, May. 7, 2020 | Published 11:58, May. 7, 2020
[48]Vintage and damaged photo of a girl and her father playing
outdoors. The father is wearing a yellow shirt and shorts and carrying
his daughter, a child with pigtails. They are standing in front of a
bungalow with an open door. Shanina/iStock

Nostalgia has an air of total irreconcilability. There is the feeling
the word describes, of course: a fundamentally impossible yearning, a
longing to go back even as we are driven ceaselessly forward, pushed
further away from our desire even as we sit contemplating it. But it’s
the actual feeling, too, that ceaselessly resists any attempt to give
it shape or sense. If we say we feel nostalgic, in general or about
something in particular, it rarely needs an explanation, and there
likely isn’t a good one anyway: Why should it be the smell of our
grandmother’s cookies or the feel of a particular sweater or the sight
of a certain tree in a certain playground, and not something else, that
sends us searching backward? Why is it welling up now, on an otherwise
unremarkable Tuesday? Why haven’t I felt this way for a long time? Why
does it matter? And that assumes it even occurs to us to interrogate
this sudden rush: one of nostalgia’s more persistent qualities is its
ability to elide reason, to be felt deeply without prompting any
further inquiry.

It’s this strange aura of elusive profundity that makes nostalgia seem
less like some sort of modern condition and more like a universal
feeling that took us some time to put our finger on. If feelings in
general are internal experiences that demand expression whether or not
we have the means for it, our inability to actually do anything with
nostalgia might be what kept it ineffable for so long. Most kinds of
longing can be settled in one way or another, if not necessarily to the
satisfaction of the yearner. Nostalgia can only be lived in or
abandoned: it is yearning distilled to its essence, yearning not really
for its own sake but because there is nothing else to be done. Maybe it
resisted definition for so long because naming it doesn’t help resolve
anything anyway.

Appropriately for the elusiveness of the concept, the word nostalgia
did not originally mean what we now consider it to—also appropriately,
it was coined with a longing for a time when there was no word for what
it described. In 1688, a Swiss medical student named Johannes Hofer
gave the name nostalgia to a malady he had noticed in young Swiss
people who had been sent abroad—chiefly mercenaries, one of
Switzerland’s prime exports at the time, though also household servants
and others who found themselves in “foreign regions.” As was the style
at the time in the nascent field of “medicine more complicated than
bleeding humours,” Hofer used a portmanteau from an indistinctly
highfalutin form of Ancient Greek: nostos roughly means “home”—although
it more often means “homecoming,” which incidentally was also the name
for an entire subcategory of Greek literature, most notably the
Odyssey—while algos means, more simply, “pain,” derived from Algea, the
personifications of sorrow and grief, and a common classification at
the time, attached to a variety of maladies that have since gotten
either more precise or more vernacular names. (If you ever want to
stoke excessive sympathy from, say, your boss, tell them you have
cephalgia or myalgia—a headache or sore muscles, respectively.)
* [49]How Fear Takes Hold of Our Bodies
* [50]Why We Get Nostalgia About Junk Food
* [51]Why Being Bored Is Good

So nostalgia literally means “pain associated with home”—or, in
slightly more familiar terms, “homesickness.” This is not a
coincidence, but more relevantly, it’s also not a case of fancy
medical-speak being dumbed down for popular consumption. At least not
generally: the English word homesickness is a more or less direct
translation of nostalgia. But the original term is French, maladie du
pays, and not only does it specifically refer to the tendency of the
Swiss to powerfully miss their home country, it precedes Hofer by at
least thirty years. Hofer’s coinage brought a specifically medical
dimension, insomuch as medicine as we know it existed in his time:
Hofer’s observations were quite detailed but still entirely anecdotal
and subject to a lot of conjecture. What he lacked in scientific rigour
he made up for with linguistics, attempting to legitimize medicine’s
dominion over the concept with multiple coinages, including nostomania
(obsession with home, which, as you’ll see in a second, is probably
more accurate to the “disease” as he conceived it), philopatridomania
(obsessive love of one’s homeland), and years later, in the second
edition of his thesis, pothopatridalgia (pain from the longing for the
home of one’s fathers, which certainly has the advantage of precision
if not rhythm).

Though the difference between mere homesickness and medical nostalgia
was mostly a case of ancient language, Hofer nevertheless describes a
serious disease, one that could progress from simple physical ailments,
like ringing in the ears or indigestion, to near-catatonia and even
death. Its root cause, according to Hofer, was “the quite continuous
vibration of animal spirits through those fibres of the middle brain in
which impressed traces of ideas of the fatherland still cling.” As
Helmut Illbruck explains in his book Nostalgia: Origins and Ends of an
Unenlightened Disease, essentially what that means is that the
nostalgic suffers from a powerful obsession with their home that
eventually makes them entirely insensate to any other experience or
stimulation. Illbruck points out that the action Hofer describes does
loosely capture how the brain seems to store, process, and recall
memories, which may explain some of why his concept caught on, at least
in the medical circles in which it persisted for the next few hundred
years.

As it happens, though, a primordial understanding of the structure of
the mind isn’t the only key insight that would stick to nostalgia even
as its conception developed. There are two other big ones. First, Hofer
recognized that nostalgia was less about whatever the nostalgic claimed
to be missing than it was about “the strength of the imagination
alone”: it seemed to have less to do with any material differences in
the patient’s circumstances than it did with the collective weight of
their memories, even though those were centred on a very real and
specific place. Hofer’s final, curiously potent observation is his
suggested cure, which he meant quite sincerely but which elegantly
captures the futility of trying to tame nostalgia, disease or
otherwise: “Nostalgia admits no remedy other than a return to the
Homeland.” In all his observations and diagnoses, Hofer does not seem
to fully appreciate that home is often more time than place. The proof
of this will reveal itself as nostalgia evolves into something so
incurable that it stops being a disease entirely and as its longing
begins to be associated specifically with times past—but we are getting
slightly ahead of ourselves.

Doctors proceeded to speculate about the causes and potential cures of
nostalgia until roughly the twentieth century, often ignoring Hofer’s
observation about the imagination’s effects, causing some curious
mutations in the idea. Nostalgia did remain almost the exclusive
province of the Swiss for the first few hundred years after its
naming—one of the original German words for homesickness, in fact, was
Schweizerkrankheit, or “the Swiss illness.” Hofer’s near-contemporary
Johann Jakob Scheuchzer—a Swiss naturalist who was chiefly interested
in rescuing his countrymen’s reputation from accusations of
weakness—suggested that it was the change in air pressure (and maybe
even quality) that made them so prone to debilitating longing. He
suggested that a brief stay at the top of a tower or on a hill might
restore some of their strength. There isn’t much proof Scheuchzer’s
conception of the disease or cure ever really worked, but there is some
indication that this sort of thinking is where Switzerland got its
reputation as a healthful place to recover in a sanatorium or spa. Well
after Scheuchzer, eighteenth-century physicians spent some time looking
for a physical locus for nostalgia—a specific brain structure or
bone—which was just as futile, with even less of an impact on Swiss
tourism.

Gradually, the notion of nostalgia attached itself almost exclusively
to soldiers—Swiss mercenaries being very popular hires in armies across
the continent and doctors being a regular part of army life. It would
take a little more than two centuries for doctors to figure out that
there might be something more than a mysterious nerve disorder causing
young men whose sole job was dismembering other humans and dying
gruesomely to yearn for the comforts of home; in the meantime, cures
and coping methods grew a little more creative. There are stories,
including one from Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s Dictionnaire de musique, of
foreign officers banning the playing of Swiss ranz des vaches—cow-based
folk songs historically played by herdsmen on horns as they drove their
cattle down from mountain pastures—and even the sound of cowbells, lest
they paralyze troops in nostalgic reverie. (It became a tenet of folk
wisdom about the Swiss that the ranz des vaches had this power over
them; it featured as metaphor or plot point in eighteenth- and
nineteenth-century philosophical dialogues, dramas, poems, and operas,
particularly by German Romantics, who were constitutionally interested
in a disease that spoke so acutely to our conceptions of self.)

By the 1800s, the terrors of nostalgia finally spread to other
countries’ soldiers. To stop the spread of the disease, Russian
physicians recommended burying alive anyone who started showing
symptoms—which apparently did prove quite effective. On the other side
of the Atlantic, the American Civil War saw several outbreaks among
young fighting men even though they technically had never left their
homeland, per se. Their physicians were a bit kinder, suggesting that
occasional removal from front line fighting would bolster their spirits
(not that the doctors didn’t also suspect that nostalgia betrayed a
deep flaw in a soldier’s character). The American army apparently
continued furtive explorations of the concept all the way up to the
Second World War, chiefly as a way to reduce desertion, and nostalgia
maintained some interest for psychologists and psychiatrists in the
first half of the twentieth century, albeit in a downgraded form: it
became less disease than symptom or even disposition, usually of people
who had far bigger and more immediate problems. (A 1987 survey of its
common historical-psychological invocations cited “acute yearning for a
union with the preoedipal mother, a saddening farewell to childhood, a
defence against mourning, or a longing for a past forever lost.”) Yet,
despite these last tendrils, the civil war was really the last time
anybody was diagnosed as a nostalgic, as such: nostalgia was largely
abandoned by the medical community by the last decades of the
nineteenth century. This seems to have had less to do with any
particular breakthroughs regarding brain structure or mental health
than with the general inability of anyone to make meaningful headway on
understanding, let alone curing, nostalgia.

As it moved out of the medical realm and into the cultural, though,
nostalgia did not fully shed its strange stigma. It first took hold in
the worlds of philosophy and theory, albeit used interchangeably with
the idea of homesickness, where it tended to be classed as a symptom of
disorder—if not of the individual then of the society they had built.
Friedrich Nietzsche, in The Birth of Tragedy, is indicative of this
line of thought: “One is no longer home anywhere, so in the end one
longs to be back where one can somehow be at home because it is the
only place where one would wish to be at home.” From almost its
earliest nonmedical considerations, nostalgia was regarded as a kind of
reaction to the modern condition, a port in the discombobulating and
alien storm that was modern life. Philosophers, critics, and theorists
are still exploring variations on this theme, though as an object of
critical theory, nostalgia has gradually lost any meaningful sense of
place (or even, arguably, of time) and gotten more tightly entwined
with the notion of authenticity and our search for the same (as such,
its usefulness and meaning spiked slightly with the waxing and waning
of postmodernist thought). This is what underlies something like
Baudrillard’s observation, in Simulacra and Simulation, that, “when the
real is no longer what it used to be, nostalgia assumes its full
meaning”: the underlying implication is that, if we were awash in some
sense of the authentic, we would not have much occasion to look
backward to find it—let alone yearn for a return.

It took some time for the popular conception to catch up to the
cultural theorists. Homesickness as an idea percolated through the
first half of the twentieth century, but it wasn’t until the fifties
and sixties that nostalgia, as both concept and preferred term for that
concept, really started to insinuate itself into the popular
consciousness. Like much about nostalgia, the precise reasons for its
sudden surge in popularity are fuzzy and elusive: Fred Davis, in his
1979 study of contemporary nostalgia, noted that, even in the fifties,
nostalgia had been considered a “fancy word,” limited to professionals
and “cultivated lay speakers,” but that, by the sixties, it was in
common enough parlance to be the subject of consideration in popular
books and magazines. One theory Davis alludes to is that, as the notion
of “home” became less potent—as people moved around more frequently,
gained easier access to wider-spread sources of information, and became
less creatures of a specific place—homesick lost some of its power, and
nostalgia slipped in as a way to capture the same feeling without being
tied down: essentially, nostalgia became a better metaphor for the
feeling it was trying to describe. The concept of home became a time,
not a place, so we needed a new word for it.

This is more or less still the modern conception of nostalgia, although
the digital age has added another wrinkle. As artifacts and
representations of the past have become easier to access, nostalgia has
gradually become a more active process. Classically, nostalgia was best
understood as something happenstance, a rush triggered by some
unexpected encounter—the classic example being Proust’s madeleine. Now,
we tend to think of it as something we freely indulge if not actively
seek out, the desired result of rewatching YouTube clips or buying a
careful recreation of our favourite junior-high sweater.

If adding more agency to the experience has made nostalgia seem more
prevalent, though, the underlying impetus remains the same:
reconciliation with ourselves. One of the bitterer truths that
nostalgia helps us deal with is the fact that we so rarely know when
things are ending. Nearly all of the widely accepted momentous
occasions of a life are those rare times when we are definitively,
incontrovertibly aware that something is over: graduations and
moving-away parties and retirements and funerals—admittedly it can be
hard for a person to fully appreciate the importance of their own
funeral—but even birthdays and anniversaries and weddings and births
too. Some of these events, of course, tend to be dominated more by the
optimism of potential, but I don’t think it’s excessively cynical to
suggest that we’re able to really indulge the future precisely because
we’ve had a chance to process and accept the fact that things are
changing, that our school days or our pure independence or even just
our twenties are definitively over. (And, of course, it’s not at all
rare for even the look-forward events to provoke nostalgia for the past
that’s about to be left behind.)

For all the big moments of finality and (ideally) transition, though,
there are thousands of less obvious and often profoundly more
meaningful endings that we realize only in retrospect, whether their
finality creeps up on us across the ages or announces itself with
thunderous realization. When was the last time your daughter fell
asleep on your chest? The last time you had a drink with your best
friend? The last time you ate the pasta at your favourite restaurant?
The last time you petted your cat? The last time you felt like a kid?
The last time a song made you cry? The last time you kissed your ex?
The last time you hugged your old man? It’s not just that we don’t know
while it’s happening but that we literally can’t know until the
experience is well and truly out of reach. We don’t know what we’ve got
until it’s gone, and we don’t even know when it will go.

The idea that things will go on forever is simple delusion on our
part—all things pass, etc.—but, as delusions go, it is surely among the
most understandable if not the most fundamentally necessary. The
knowledge that life is fleeting is barely digestible in retrospect; in
real time, it’s debilitating. We yearn to go back because life is loss,
loss, loss, all the way down.

Adapted from On Nostalgia, forthcoming from Coach House Books.

[52]David Berry
[53]David Berry
David Berry is a writer and cultural critic in Toronto. His work has
appeared in the Globe & Mail, Hazlitt, Toronto Life, and elsewhere, and
he was an arts and culture columnist for the National Post for five
years. On Nostalgia is his first book.

Enjoy What You’re Reading?

Fact-based journalism is our passion and your right.

We feature Canadian voices and expertise on stories and events with a
global impact, from the mainstreaming of cannabis to the fallout of the
SNC-Lavalin affair to Canada's response to COVID-19, and we firmly
believe that this reporting can change the world around us.
We’re asking readers like you to support The Walrus so we can continue
to lead the Canadian conversation.

Every contribution makes a difference.
Please support The Walrus from as little as $2.

Donations of $20 or more will receive a charitable tax receipt.
(BUTTON) Donate Monthly

Tagged[54]arts and
culture[55]excerpt[56]homesickness[57]nostalgia[58]philosophy

Related Posts

[59]Illustration of an interconnected network of people, separated by a
blazing yellow network that resembles a cable and separates the people
into different boxes. The colour scheme is green, orange, and purple––a
conceptual illustration of the internet network.

[60]This Is the Internet We Were Promised

April 29, 2020May 1, 2020
[61]A photograph of the poet, Bronwen Wallace, in black and white. She
is wearing jeans, a white shirt, and a scarf tied around her neck. Her
hands are in her pockets and she is smiling at the camera.

[62]The Poet Whose Work Helped Set the Stage for #MeToo

April 24, 2020April 27, 2020
[63]Illustration of two hands reaching for one another across the frame
and unable to touch. Behind the hands are blocks containing text that
says "Quarantine: Contagious Disease" in all capital letters.

[64]The Plague Story We’re Living Through

April 16, 2020May 1, 2020

Post navigation

[65]Previous Article Your Brain on covid-19
[66]Next Article Artifacts

Our Latest Issue

[67]Cover of the June issue of The Walrus magazine. June 2020
What astronauts can teach us about isolation.
PLUS: comedy’s growing generational divide and the climate crisis is
forcing thousands around the world to flee their homes.
[68](BUTTON) Start my subscription today[69] (BUTTON) Your Account

Upcoming events

[70][placeholder-curiosiyu-events.png]
[71]View all events
__________________________________________________________________

Stay in
Touch.
Get The Newsletter.

____________________
____________________
Sign Up

By signing up you agree to receive email about events, articles,
offers, and the impact of The Walrus in your community. You can
unsubscribe at any time.

Part of The Trust Project

[72][Trust-Logo-Stacked.svg]

The Trust Project is a collaboration among news organizations around
the world. Its goal is to create strategies that fulfill journalism’s
basic pledge: to serve society with a truthful, intelligent and
comprehensive account of ideas and events.
[73]Learn more.

Behind The Story

Type: Excerpt

Excerpt: An excerpt or short part of a book or story, published with
the permission of the author/publisher.

Editorial Policies

(BUTTON) Read Our Policies

Editorial Policies

* [74]Editorial Standards Page
* [75]Ethics Policy
* [76]Diversity Statement
* [77]Diversity Staffing Report
* [78]Corrections Policy
* [79]Ownership Structure, Funding
* [80]Founding Date
* [81]Masthead
* [82]Mission Statement with Coverage Priorities
* [83]Fact-checking Standards
* [84]Unnamed Sources Policy
__________________________________________________________________

Editorial Standards Page

This policy can be found [85]on this page.
X

Walrus logo with tusks and Canada's Conversation

About The Walrus

* [86]About Us
* [87]Our Staff
* [88]Contact
* [89]Submissions
* [90]Careers & Fellowships
* [91]Advertise with us

The Walrus Lab

* [92]The Walrus Lab creates customized solutions to help our clients
meet their promotional needs.

Subscribe

* [93]Magazine
* [94]Weekly newsletter
* [95]Events newsletter
* [96]The Conversation Piece Podcast

More

* [97]The Walrus Books
* [98]The Walrus Podcasts
* [99]Magazine Archives
* [100]Policies & Standards
* [101]Privacy Policy
* [102]Cookie Policy

© 2020 The Walrus. All Rights Reserved.
Charitable Registration Number: No. 861851624-RR0001

References

Visible links
1. https://thewalrus.ca/feed/
2. https://thewalrus.ca/comments/feed/
3. https://thewalrus.ca/events/?ical=1
4. https://thewalrus.ca/why-nostalgia-is-our-new-normal/feed/
5. https://thewalrus.ca/your-brain-on-covid-19/
6. https://thewalrus.ca/artifacts/
7. https://thewalrus.ca/wp-json/oembed/1.0/embed?url=https://thewalrus.ca/why-nostalgia-is-our-new-normal/
8. https://thewalrus.ca/wp-json/oembed/1.0/embed?url=https://thewalrus.ca/why-nostalgia-is-our-new-normal/&format=xml
9. https://www.googletagmanager.com/ns.html?id=GTM-N4P92WG
10. https://thewalrus.ca/why-nostalgia-is-our-new-normal/#content
11. https://thewalrus.ca/
12. https://thewalrus.ca/
13. http://thewalrus.ca/
14. https://thewalrus.ca/special-series/
15. https://thewalrus.ca/common-ground/
16. https://thewalrus.ca/corruption/
17. https://thewalrus.ca/the-beauty-conversation/
18. https://thewalrus.ca/death/
19. https://thewalrus.ca/sex-ed-beyond-the-classroom2/
20. https://thewalrus.ca/opioids/
21. https://thewalrus.ca/category/society/environment/
22. https://thewalrus.ca/category/current-affairs/business/
23. https://thewalrus.ca/category/society/health/
24. https://thewalrus.ca/category/current-affairs/politics/
25. https://thewalrus.ca/category/culture/
26. https://thewalrus.ca/category/society/
27. https://thewalrus.ca/covid-19/
28. https://thewalrus.ca/the-walrus-talks/
29. https://thewalrus.ca/the-walrus-talks/
30. https://thewalrus.ca/the-walrus-talks-video-room/
31. https://thewalrus.ca/the-walrus-leadership-dinners/
32. https://thewalrus.ca/gala/
33. https://thewalrus.ca/sponsors-and-partners/
34. https://thewalrus.ca/subscribe/
35. https://secure.indas.on.ca/care/wls/login.php?tcode=r
36. https://secure.indas.on.ca/care/wls/login.php?tcode=a
37. https://thewalrus.ca/category/issues/
38. https://thewalrus.ca/about/newsletters/
39. https://thewalrus.ca/podcasts/the-conversation-piece/
40. https://store.walrusmagazine.com/
41. http://thewalrus.ca/the-walrus-lab
42. https://www.thewalrus-factchecking.com/
43. https://thewalrus.ca/donate/
44. https://thewalrus.ca/category/culture/
45. https://thewalrus.ca/why-nostalgia-is-our-new-normal/
46. https://thewalrus.ca/author/david-berry/
47. https://thewalrus.ca/author/david-berry/
48. https://s3.amazonaws.com/walrus-assets/img/Berry_NostalgiaExcerpt_735.jpg
49. https://thewalrus.ca/how-fear-takes-hold-of-our-bodies/
50. https://thewalrus.ca/why-we-get-nostalgic-about-junk-food/
51. https://thewalrus.ca/why-being-bored-is-good/
52. https://thewalrus.ca/author/david-berry/
53. https://thewalrus.ca/author/david-berry/
54. https://thewalrus.ca/tag/arts-and-culture/
55. https://thewalrus.ca/tag/excerpt/
56. https://thewalrus.ca/tag/homesickness/
57. https://thewalrus.ca/tag/nostalgia/
58. https://thewalrus.ca/tag/philosophy/
59. https://thewalrus.ca/this-is-the-internet-we-were-promised/
60. https://thewalrus.ca/this-is-the-internet-we-were-promised/
61. https://thewalrus.ca/the-poet-whose-work-helped-set-the-stage-for-metoo/
62. https://thewalrus.ca/the-poet-whose-work-helped-set-the-stage-for-metoo/
63. https://thewalrus.ca/the-plague-story-were-living-through/
64. https://thewalrus.ca/the-plague-story-were-living-through/
65. https://thewalrus.ca/your-brain-on-covid-19/
66. https://thewalrus.ca/artifacts/
67. https://thewalrus.ca/subscribe
68. https://thewalrus.ca/subscribe/
69. https://secure.indas.on.ca/care/wls/login.php
70. https://thewalrus.ca/event/the-walrus-talks-curiosity/
71. https://thewalrus.ca/events
72. http://thetrustproject.org/
73. http://thetrustproject.org/
74. https://thewalrus.ca/sitewide-policies/
75. https://thewalrus.ca/sitewide-policies/
76. https://thewalrus.ca/sitewide-policies/
77. https://thewalrus.ca/sitewide-policies/
78. https://thewalrus.ca/sitewide-policies/
79. https://thewalrus.ca/sitewide-policies/
80. https://thewalrus.ca/why-nostalgia-is-our-new-normal/2003-09-12
81. https://thewalrus.ca/about/our-team/
82. https://thewalrus.ca/sitewide-policies/
83. https://thewalrus.ca/sitewide-policies/
84. https://thewalrus.ca/sitewide-policies/
85. https://thewalrus.ca/sitewide-policies/
86. https://thewalrus.ca/about/
87. https://thewalrus.ca/about/our-staff/
88. https://thewalrus.ca/about/contact/
89. https://thewalrus.ca/about/submissions/
90. https://thewalrus.ca/about/careers/
91. https://thewalrus.ca/advertise-with-the-walrus/
92. https://thewalrus.ca/the-walrus-lab/
93. https://thewalrus.ca/subscribe/
94. https://thewalrus.ca/about/newsletters/
95. https://thewalrus.ca/about/newsletters/
96. https://thewalrus.ca/podcasts/the-conversation-piece/
97. https://thewalrus.ca/books
98. https://thewalrus.ca/podcasts
99. https://thewalrus.ca/category/issues/
100. https://thewalrus.ca/policies-and-standards
101. https://thewalrus.ca/privacy-policy
102. https://thewalrus.ca/cookie-policy

Hidden links:
104. https://thewalrus.ca/