That blog about stuff (and things)

Another iteration

2011-11-19T08:43:00.001-08:00

It's election day in Vancouver, and once again, in the spirit of harm reduction, i'll be plugging my nose with one hand and letting pragmatism guide the other one, as i step into the polling station. My heart is with the #Occupy movement, and i'm unhappy, of course, with the obtuseness of Mayor Robertson's assertion that "It's time for the encampment to end." It's distastefully disingenuous for him to dismiss the legitimate value, both in principle and in practice, of the occupation.

Naturally, i have my own doubts and concerns about #OccupyEverything; as usual, i think there are important questions being raised by critics, skeptics, and outsiders. However the movement's openness invites creative reflection: the idea that we are all part of it, the 99%, rings true — and reminds me of how inspired i was, and still am, by the radically inclusive rhetoric of the Zapatistas. I was one of the thousands who came out for the initial #Occupy gathering at the Art Gallery. In the weeks since, i've been reading and thinking a lot about it. Steve Collis has written eloquently and thoughtfully about his experiences of #Occupy, and his words have stuck with me.

This morning i was reading about the recent legal proceedings, and the defense lawyers' argument that the #OccupyVancouver camp should be allowed to remain because it is serving as a homeless shelter. It has also served as a gathering place where (homeless people and) activists can re-imagine community together. It reminded me of how Colin Ward described the history of the Tredegar Medical Aid Society in England (in his Very Short Introduction to anarchism, page 27). What would be possible if #Occupy were recognized as a place for experimental provision of services?

I've been impressed with some of the current City Council's accomplishments, including their efforts to house the homeless; i've especially liked Councilor Kerry Jang's statements challenging NIMBYish opposition. And for that i think they deserve more time, so i'll put an [X] beside Gregor Robertson's name on my ballot today. I see potential for further progress through a continuation of their work; but mostly i'm aware of the potential damage that an Anton/NPA council could do. Obviously, Anton is the only mayoral candidate with anything close to the support base needed to win an election, so even if i was completely persuaded that someone else deserved the job, under current circumstances i can only vote for "the juice man" and his team. I'll also be supporting the COPE slate, and my friend Nicole Benson. I urge you all to do the same.

As we witness (and/or participate in) this next iteration of municipal politics, another cycle of time has been completed in my own little world. One week ago today, Roy blew out his candles on a vegan peanut-butter-chocolate cake in the company of some amazing friends and family. To top it all of with another reason to celebrate, we (finally!) got into a housing co-op. (Sigh of relief.) I was asked yesterday if having a child has changed my perspective by keeping me "grounded." I sure hope so.

Thanks (to a man i admire)

2011-10-10T01:04:00.000-07:00

It’s that season of solemn / ecstatic gratitude again, but i can’t bear to think about how lucky i’ve been this year (even though it’s been one of the hardest of my life), so rather than succumb to an inevitable paralysis of shame, perhaps i’ll steer away from personal matters and put forward an example of that for which any lover of beautiful, elegant prose can give thanks: a thick steak of pith.

A few months ago, after exhuming it from the bottom shelf, behind a box, in a dusty basement corner of the venerable MacLeod’s (Vancouver’s oracle of lost, obscure and precious books), i sat down and began reading a short literary biography of one of the writers, and one of the men (i use the word consciously — it seems that, by far, most of my favourite thinkers and writers are women) whom i most admire: George Woodcock. I was just two or three stiff, yellow pages in when i began to feel new stirrings of affection, both for the subject and the biographer, Peter Hughes. Several of Hughes’ evocative phrases have stayed with me throughout the busy days since i first luxuriated in his prose, so i’d like to share a few paragraphs with you, my dear friends on the interwebs. Enjoy!

From Peter Hughes’ biography of George Woodcock
1974, McClelland & Stewart

Soon after Peking and Washington refused him visas because of his anarchist involvements, the New Left attacked him as a reactionary because he questioned some of its despotic and philistine tendencies.^[2] Few writers could make that claim. Fewer still would want to.

One of the few might be George Orwell, Woodcock’s friend and the subject of his finest biography. He too was awkwardly independent and paid for his integrity by living a “life against odds” that intersected Woodcock’s own life and sympathies at several points. Beyond all the tastes and views they shared, beyond the opinions they fought over — Woodcock was a pacifist, Orwell a fire-breather, and their acquaintance began in a wartime Partisan Review controversy — both men upheld liberty and decency through writing that escapes all the mandarin categories of literary criticism.

Woodcock agrees with and expands the opinion that Orwell’s many works, essays, novels, stories, reportage, political memoirs, whatever their apparent differences in form and genre, are all of one kind. They are all polemic; each one has designs on the reader and tries to make him take sides in a serious dispute.^[3] In works as varied as Homage to Catalonia and Animal Farm that attempt and those designs shape design in its other meaning of literary pattern and form. This notion of kind can also explain the bewildering diversity in Woodcock’s writing; for it helps to reveal the powerful impulses and interests that give consistency and depth to his work. He is not, however, with the exception of a few hectic editorials in his magazine Now, writing polemic. By the time he got down to full-time writing in the postwar forties political anarchism was a lost cause. Now a polemic delivered on behalf of a lost cause is an elegy or an epitaph, and the tone of Woodcock's biographies of the great anarchists is something quite different from either.

What he really created was a kind that might be called persuasion, which Matthew Arnold somewhere describes as “the only true intellectual art.” It differs from polemic in stressing the good cause to the virtual exclusion of the usual assault on the bad. In reading the life of Kropotkin or Godwin or Proudhon we cannot forget the assorted evils of bourgeois reaction, but we are not allowed to think of them in those hackneyed terms. Most political propaganda allows nothing except hackneyed words and ideas.

I was going to end there, because i think that last sentence deserves to echo throughout the land, however i’ll include a few more lest any reader be left with an impression of Woodcock that fails to capture his depth:

One result is the corruption of language through slogans, a process traced by Orwell in one of his essays. Another result is the erosion of independent thought in our time by what Woodcock attacks in an essay as “The Political Myth.” We shall see how deep and complex his writings about myth really are, but we should not be surprised that something as collective, irrefutable, and overpowering as myth would make Woodcock uneasy. It substitutes one kind of visceral appeal or another for persuasion, and tramples under truth, common sense, and liberty to satisfy a mass impulse.

…Wasn’t that tasty?

----------------
Postscript:
I had no idea that David Suzuki was this year's winner of the George Woodcock lifetime achievement award! Check out this great picture of him with Margaret Atwood.

read about it here.

: )

Border guards make broken hearts (an essay on Love*)

2011-09-10T12:30:00.000-07:00

*and friendship, and stupidity.

Yes. My passport is expired.

It didn’t seem to matter last weekend, when Sara and i drove down to Seattle with Roy in the back seat. He waved gleefully out the window at the border guard, toddler-shouting: “Hi! … Hi!”

She smiled, waved back, and sent us on our merry way.

Not so yesterday, when i arrived at the train station, without a car, without a female companion, and without a smiling child to distract from my otherwise obvious malevolent criminality. My mom was babysitting Roy. Sara was already in Seattle; she’d had the day off and went shopping. Her own expired passport had (again) presented no obstacle when she crossed the border in a rented vehicle after breakfast. But i was just one lowly soul in the long line waiting to board a sold-out southbound evening train.

A thick-necked man’s body filled the blue uniform that sat in front of me. It delivered an error message with affectless automaticity:

[ … EXPIRED … ].

Me: “Yes, but we were allowed to cross just last weekend…”

(A refreshed error message displays on the face-like screen of the man-like interface.)

Me: “But… it’s our anniversary.”

Of course, Americans might be forgiven for fixating mechanically on their own unromantic anniversary this weekend. Forgiving them, however, does not imply ignoring or excusing the folly of their fear-based policies.

Two hours earlier, i had exchanged goodbyes with my new co-workers, each of whom, in their loveliness, offered thoughtful acknowledgments of the reason for my planned weekend retreat. (“Eight years! Congratulations. That takes a lot of work.”) We know friendship is a species of love, because it sees the world in those terms.

Tomorrow marks the earth’s eighth orbit since a day that changed my life irrevocably… when i sat down next to a very pretty girl on the bus.

~~~

When i met Sara, i was immediately disarmed and enchanted. Our conversation began on the long commute up to Burnaby Mountain, and continued through the morning into the afternoon. It became an email exchange late that night, and a phone call the following evening — a call that lasted until morning.

Two days later, we met after sunset at the east end of False Creek, to walk and talk. And to stop in a symmetrical spot along the seawall, to share a long, luxurious embrace that became an unprecedented, soft, delicious kiss that turned the air around us into curtains of private twilight. The autumn evening felt like spring, and we slow-danced under the Granville bridge.

I fell, like a cartoon anvil, in love.

Today, eight years later — after innumerable arguments; unfathomable fights; accumulated silences that seemed like they might never end; disagreements that may remain unresolved eternally; misunderstandings mistaken for evidence of hopelessly opposed perspectives; after entering into the covenant of parenthood, braving storms of joy and horror in that responsibility; drowning together in love for our son; rediscovering time in his generous hugs; suffering the damage of subconscious conflicts; healing from hurtful outbursts; comforting each other after nightmares; continuing to excavate ever-greater vulnerabilities; clinging to shared hopes for the security of co-created lives; through euphoric sex and torturous monogamy, maintaining the danger that fuels passion; through gifts and rifts, impasses and apologies — i’m still falling.

Falling in love, banging my head on every protrusion on the endless way down.

If i wasn’t still falling in love, or following love’s spiral path, how could i ever tolerate the ubiquitous, outrageous, infuriating absurdity of human beings? How could i endure the indignities of life in a kafkaesque labyrinth of congealed stupidity and laziness? Without love, how else could someone as arrogant and eccentric, as sensitive and confused as me, ever survive?

If i wasn’t in love yesterday, how could i have persevered in the face of that chorus of uniformed morons impassively reciting an incoherent script of indifferent bureaucratese, conveying an empty and cynical lie about consistent principles and processes, and the hallmarks of a good, orderly society?

What else besides love can insulate our hearts from the incessant bombardment of hollow, pernicious pieties meant to persuade us that love matters less than polite deference to the arbitrary caprices of authority?

~~~

In an hour or two, i will meet Sara somewhere near the border.

Somehow, we will salvage this celebration, and renew our belief in a romantic ideal. We will do what we can to rekindle the furnace of an unreasonable dream that demands everything from us — impossible patience; superhuman reserves of sheer blind, stubborn will; and an endless acceptance of daily, sometimes deep, disappointments — all in exchange for just one (rare) reward: a fleeting experience of infinite truth, beauty, certainty, splendour and peace.

Each drop of such relief offsets at least eight weeks of the cruel, stupid, drudgery that constitutes most moments of our otherwise intolerable and (almost) worthless lives.

~~~

Postscript:

The cosmic truth revealed?

the awful truth about my youth

2011-08-09T07:29:00.000-07:00

last night i had a dream
i revisited the past

i could feel all of the pain but
i couldn’t change the facts

i could feel all of the shame but
everything was still an act

i could feel all of the loneliness but
i couldn’t make contact

i woke up with a song in my head and
clarity at last

it went: “life is a delivery
you never wanna get back…

My son was bullied yesterday...

2011-07-27T17:34:00.000-07:00

My son was bullied yesterday. By another toddler. At the playground right around the corner from our home — where we play every day. The other kid, only two months older than Roy, first dumped a shovel-full of sand and gravel on Roy's head. His mom, who was nearby, tried to respond appropriately — she picked him up and took him away telling him that was not ok, etc.

Roy just stood there. Looking scared and sad.

I can't express the terrible feeling i have now, writing these words. The feeling i had at that moment. The feeling i've had ever since. It's just a fucking evil, horrible pain in my heart. I can't bear to let myself feel it for long. It will paralyze me if i don't fight it.

I tried to comfort Roy. I hugged and kissed him. I told him that was a very mean thing that other boy did to him. I tried to brush dirt and gravel out of his hair (there was too much).

"Dirt." He said. Pointing his little index finger at his beautiful head, with his beautiful lips in a little frown.

I am dying and killing monsters on a battlefield in my mind. I am calm, fucking psychotically calm, on the outside.

"I know," I say. "Dirt." "That was mean."

Borrowing the language of the "Safe Spaces" program, which i've only heard of through Roy's (awesome) daycare provider, i tell Roy: "That was not safe."

"Dirt." He said.

A few minutes later, after having made a gesture of apology (a gentle hand on Roy’s face) under the focussed direction of his mom, the same kid walked past Roy and pushed him. To the ground.

I am tearing flesh from the bones of burning demons in a volcano of pure evil. I am vomiting oceans of blood and crushing my skull with my fists.

I am calm.

The other boy’s mother removes the aggressor. This apparently incorrigible repeat offender. She carries him home. She is telling him he can’t play anymore, etc.

My son is silent.

Or i'm deaf.

~~~

Prior to all this i had been describing — to the bully's mom — some of the insights i’ve gained into childhood aggression through a DVD (Aggression in Young Children: The Interactive Guide to Observing, Understanding and Intervening) based on research by Professors Richard E. Tremblay and Jean Gervais (more info here). Is this irony?

~~~

Roy woke up in the night, upset. I went to him, as i always do because i’m a much lighter sleeper than Sara. But Roy wanted her. He needed her, not me.

I’m cold and scared. I need her too.

Before going back to bed, i stare at a picture of him, taken on our way back from the park. Does he look at me differently now?

I’m trying to hold on… to something… hope.

But it’s slipping: I’ve failed to protect him. My son! This world is full of hurt and unfairness and cruelty sometimes and i can’t keep it from affecting him... Or me.

(I was supposed to change the world and make everything right before this could happen!)

I had evil, violent nightmares. All night.

Oh, God… gods… anyone. What are we going to do?

Renaissance

2011-03-30T10:44:00.000-07:00

I think i’ve mentioned it before: my vague ambition to someday write a book (or something) about the "Maple Ridge Renaissance" (a strangely localized explosion of creative brilliance i witnessed among friends and acquaintances in the late 90s, which continues to inspire me today). I was reminded of that project this morning, while reflecting on recent events in my personal life.

An obvious point of reference is my birthday. I’ve been 33 for three days now… and i’ve been feeling compelled (by some numerological and nostalgic impulse) to write a list of reasons why Back to the Future Part 3 was such a dismally disappointing movie. But of course Roger Ebert has taken care of that for me. And, as i should have expected, he did better than that; he concludes with the following wisdom:

“The one thing that remains constant in all of the "Back to the Future" movies, and which I especially like, is a sort of bittersweet, elegiac quality involving romance and time. In the first movie, McFly went back in time to be certain his parents had their first date. The second involved his own romance. The third involves Doc Brown and Clara. In all of these stories, there is the realization that love depends entirely on time. Lovers like to think their love is eternal.

But do they ever realize it depends entirely on temporal coincidence, since, if they were not alive at the same time, romance hardly would be feasible?”

Ebert, as always, demonstrates the rich rewards of applying genius attention to ostensibly mundane material. And Ebert is, obviously, a genius in the classic sense: i predict he will be honored posthumously as one of the greatest writers of the modern era. His reviews remind me of Walter Benjamin’s insightful sensitivity and awareness of the latent significance in each layer of life’s routine scrapheap.

So my inexplicable resurgent fascination with Back to the Future — a cinematic mythos that dramatically shaped my imaginative horizons — during the days before and after my birthday, serendipitously led me to Ebert’s brilliant soliloquy about love, which speaks directly and eloquently to the tide of feelings that has lately both buoyed my spirits and flooded my fearful heart.

I have always tried to live with appreciation of luck. I have said hundreds of times, over many, many years, that i must be one of the luckiest people on Earth. The reasons keep piling up, and my fascination with fortune deepens with my appreciation.

I have a lot to be grateful for; now more than ever.

After everything i’ve put her through, Sara still welcomes me into her life, and loves me with a gentle generosity i feel profoundly unworthy of.

She made me a Christmas-themed birthday: filled my stocking with chocolate and comic books, and baked me a Guinness / Black Forest cake. And Roy gave me Duplo that we can play with together, along with the most precious hugs and kisses a dad could ask for.

I don’t know how or why i am so fortunate, but i desperately want to do what’s right with all i’ve been given.

As i continue to work on refining my purpose, i look forward to my days and nights with this family — luxuriating in simple quotidian pleasures like eating, watching movies, and playing. And with time, i’ll get better at moving through turbulent feelings, including my fear that it’s all just a dream.

Robots Revisited

2011-02-17T21:34:00.000-08:00

Continuing where i left off last time: I just stumbled upon the two awesomest things in the world.

1) the video for Dan Mangan's awesome song ROBOTS:

Yeah. It made me cry... (Like that's hard, but still).

2) This TEDtalks video: Cynthia Breazeal on "The rise of personal robots":

See? I told you so.

my heart... beeps

2011-01-26T12:27:00.000-08:00

Today is the 90th anniversary of the word ROBOT. What better way to commemorate it than by ignoring all of my messy, confusing emotional difficulties and concentrating on the (apparently) tidy world of technology?

This week i:

installed a new (bigger, faster) hard drive in my MacBook (after cloning my old one, to be safe).
installed a ton of new RAM — quadrupled my memory!*

Then:

Today at work (i really love helping people solve computer problems) i managed to help a prof get her weird old Toshiba laptop working with the new projectors (had to fiddle around with the [Windows XP] displays control panel a bit; for some reason it would only work as extended desktop, not mirroring).

…and then (still at work) i used screen sharing (via MobileMe remote access) to copy files and do stuff on my iMac at home — which also enabled me to use Safari on my iMac to Google workarounds when Safari started to hang on my MacBook (BBoD for like 20 minutes). That’s how i found this sweet Terminal command that kills the Flash plugin: bringing Safari back to life without having to quit and reopen all my 40 windows. Yay!

Then i scanned an old Herbert Read essay (about art, of course) so i can read it on my iPad.

i love computers.

*sort of, in theory... My MacBook now reports having 8GB RAM, but it seems that only 6GB can actually be addressed by the system. That’s fine, though. Based on a few days of giving this machine a good workout, it looks like a little under 4GB is what i actually “need” on a regular basis (and anything more is just elbow room). Oh and yes, of course: i always enjoy talking about RAM.

Stuff That’s Happened (an incomplete list)

2010-12-29T16:37:00.000-08:00

Been a long time. (Eight weeks?! In twitter-time that’s like… eons.) By now, this old-fashioned blog might as well be an ancient ruin… or an abandoned laboratory in some obscure secret location… full of dust… and zombies.

What can be said after so long? How could i communicate (in anything but the most crudely inadequate terms) even only those normal and inevitable upheavals that are bound to have taken place — let alone any radical changes in my life / circumstances? Faced with the impossibility of a smooth continuity, there is (always) a temptation to just flip the table over and start fresh…

But i’ve kept coming back to this same space, to catalogue my thoughts here, for so long (and through so many mutations) that it seems like it would be an unnecessary formalistic pretense to close this blog and begin a new one. Besides, doing so would simply present a host of similar challenges: rather than struggling with how to continue i would struggle with how to begin… What’s the difference, really?

I don’t know.

So here’s a slanted and heavily expurgated, roughly chronological recap:

• I decided to take a more conscious and active interest in my physical well-being (eg: to consult medical professionals about my multifarious idiopathic afflictions).

• Roy celebrated his first birthday (a million friends came to visit; of course i took no pictures).

• Admirers of Voltairine de Cleyre celebrated her 144th birthday (my comment was published on her memorial site).

• Roy got an ear infection and became even more adorable than usual, due to increased need for snuggles.

• Apple (finally!) released iOS 4.2 (and iPad users heaved a sigh of relief).

• I befriended a superhero.

• Wayde Compton launched a new book, in which (among other things) he coins the brilliant term “pheneticizing.”

• New life forms were discovered, here on Earth, whose (arsenic-based) DNA is unlike anything previously known to exist.

• I began to experience an (agonizing / euphoric) emotional breakdown / (re)awakening.

• Roy started walking, almost… (he’ll walk with me, if i hold both his hands).

• Admirers of Super Mario Bros. celebrated the 25th anniversary of the original game.

• I wrote one of the best essays of my career as a student, and it nearly killed me.

• Roy got another ear infection and we spent three hours at the Children’s Hospital on Christmas Eve.

• I started to realize i don’t know who i am (anymore).

Not to mention dozens of significant political events and occasions. But this ain’t a freaking newspaper. Geez.

Maybe i’ll fill in some of the gaps, later. Or maybe i’ll just stick to movie reviews… I’m gonna give myself until next year to figure everything out. (I’m up for a challenge.)

Peace, Love and Understanding

2010-11-01T01:28:00.000-07:00

I'll keep this post short, without getting distracted.

I've just spent an hour or so learning about the Understanding Campaign. It's an interesting idea, based on an appealingly simple premise.

In their words, "The Understanding Campaign wants everyone in the world to read just one word of Arabic." (Of course they don't mean only one word and no more, but let's not get tangled up that kind of analysis.) If i understand them correctly, i think they're suggesting something not only unobjectionable, but, as a speaker of the university prestige dialect might say: "positively counter-hegemonic".

After reading their site, listening to interviews, watching videos, and otherwise attempting to see the campaign in context, i would put it this way: the implication (and i think they're right, BTW) is that, basically, if lots of people everywhere, but especially in the U.S. and English-speaking countries, learn the Arabic word for "understanding", then we would be one small, but concrete step closer to a world free from conflicts based on ignorance and fear.

Lovely, you might say. Ok, but the reason i'm staying up past my bedtime to share this pleasant little discovery is that the Understanding Campaign is actually at a crucial point.

The founders are serious about making their nice idea a reality. Specifically, they want to facilitate a literary exchange with university students in Iraq, and so they have engaged with Kickstarter (which i hadn't heard of before but sounds awesome), a "funding platform for creative projects" — you can read about it for yourself, but it strikes me as similar in spirit to Proudhon's economic ideas.

In accordance with the Kickstarter process, a group proposes a project and sets a dollar amount that would allow it to go forward, then they set a date by which they think they can convince enough people to pledge that much money. But no money changes hands unless they are successful! (It's a sensible way to run things, because it allows people to pledge funding to anything that they think is cool, with no risk that their money will go to a project that never gets off the ground).

The Understanding Campaign has received 242 pledges that tally up to about 92% of its funding goal. However, as of right now the campaign has less than 63 hours left to reach its goal before the deadline (Thursday afternoon).

So i'm writing this to say: i think the Understanding Campaign is a cool idea and that their project should be given a chance to go ahead. They want to print some stickers and exchange books and ideas between North America and the Middle East; it won't cost a lot of money to get started, but it will take some (their goal is $10,000 USD).

People who pledge get stuff, too. I'm getting a T-shirt.

It shouldn't be too hard to get pledges for the last few hundred dollars in the next couple of days, but it would suck if after all they've done so far, they're left with just a good idea and some new friends. That's not nothing, of course — in a way, that's the point: good ideas and new friends are great things — but the people behind the campaign are very close to starting something far greater.

فهم

That's the word. Spread it around.

The Grateful Dad

2010-10-11T00:50:00.000-07:00

Another festive occasion… another festering controversy? Thankfully, in Canada, we don’t officially commemorate a conquest every autumn...

“We” (though ‘we’ must never tire of reminding ourselves that ‘our’ deficient language, English, fails to distinguish {lexically} between the inclusive and exclusive senses of that pronoun — the ambiguity of which facilitates both insidious and simple confusion) just give thanks.

I won’t try to untangle the question (let alone assume an answer, or proceed to apologize for it) of just who this elusive, unstable thanks-giving “we” might be. I’ll try, rather, to speak only for myself:

Today, i give thanks.

I hope not to strike a moralistic pose: the world doesn’t need another lecture about the virtue of gratitude. But i am feeling very grateful today.

Sara’s mom paid us a visit this weekend, and babysat Roy last night. We therefore had our first real date (as in: an evening out, alone) since he was born, almost eleven months ago.

Eleven months between dates (or longer, given the nature of ‘dating’ during pregnancy…) is a bloody long time. It was weird, because we were both a little worried about Roy (would he freak out?). Turns out he did pretty well. He cried a bit, and stayed up too late, but eventually took his bottle and fell asleep.

Meanwhile, we bought snacks and went to a movie. A late show. It was like being in our twenties again! ;)

We saw Never Let Me Go.

Let me just say this: O.M.G.
And, furthermore: Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Someone at TIME magazine called it “a plea to live and love well” — the story is a whole lot more unsettling, and better, than that (rather pedestrian and Hallmark-ish) sentence suggests, but it’s true enough. This movie is far better than whatever the best things written about it say. And since the worst things written about it all seem to say the same thing — that the movie's not quite as good as the book — i’ve decided i have no choice but to prioritize the consumption of the original novel (i might get the audiobook from iTunes, or download the e-book, for easy and immediate access).

The story haunted my sleep and stayed with me all day: on our walk with Roy through Jericho Park, on my bus ride to Granville Island to buy pumpkin beer (verdict: it sounded like a good idea), and throughout our Tofurkey feast this evening, i have continued to hear echoes (and see shadows) from Kazuo Ishiguro’s world…

It boils down to this: while the dystopian horrors of a fictional society are good metaphors for the injustices of our own, what we must confront, in the end, is the ‘injustice’ of all mortal existence.

Death itself is not (necessarily) unjust, at least not for each of us as we face the inevitable ourselves. It is most unjust while we live — with the loss and the absence of others whom we loved.

About two weeks ago, i learned of an old friend’s passing... The inarticulate numbness that came with the news has been slowing me down lately. Maybe that’s a good thing...? But when my brother told me that Solomon Burke died this morning, it seemed even more important to write a short acknowledgement of today's persistent feelings.

I am so grateful for all that i have in my life right now. For my family, our health, our happiness (despite the challenges), and our love. The relative freedom and security that makes these things possible is also not to be taken for granted (nor should it be romanticized, as greater and more perfect than it is); however, at the moment, i just want to express thanks.

In particular: Thank you Solomon Burke, for your voice and your songs — and especially for the 2-disc Soul Alive! concert album. Thank you to CFRO/Co-op Radio for introducing me to Burke so many years ago. And thank you Shane, for telling me about Burke’s passing.

And thank you David Phillips, for all the joy you brought to your friends and community over the years; all the feasts and dancing; all the great conversations and flowers and ‘trespassing’ adventures. I will miss you. Roy will hear the legends.

Rage, Baby, Rage

2010-10-02T01:08:00.000-07:00

An epic tale of bedtime.

“[I'd like] ...to remind the reader of... the defiant animal faith that each new baby brings back into the world with the very act of birth” — Lewis Mumford.

Well it’s October. Summer is history (all these sunny afternoons notwithstanding) and the autumnal transition period is also behind us. It’s been a bumpy ride.

There's a lot going on: between Roy’s teething (and switching to more solid foods) and growing, and catching a mild cold (which interfered with the poor guy’s already disrupted sleep patterns), plus his rapidly increasing mobility, and his increasingly complex and confident vocalizations — along with his recent discovery of a hitherto unsuspected aptitude for sudden fits of actual baby-like crying. Not to mention the beginning of my “final” semester (of coursework, while my thesis looms) and the daunting preparations for the end of Sara’s maternity leave, with all of the adjustments that will require…

You could say we’re feeling some pressure.

Still, every day has interludes of serenity and joy. Our brief visit with some dear friends and their newborn daughter was a highlight last week:

(Congratulations Matty & Lara — and welcome to the world, Hunter!)

However, the moments of tranquility and levity have seemed further apart lately — savory nuggets of serendipity in a congealing temporal and emotional soup of stress and exhaustion. (*Sigh.*)

I'm settling into my new routine, including this part-time job with Computing & Media Services at UBC (why yes, i can look up the password you forgot; sure, i can help you set up that projector... it’s actually pretty fun, especially when i get to help people learn stuff, or troubleshoot problems i don’t already know how to solve). Mostly i’m trying to get into the habit of writing consistently throughout the week.

That way i can methodically chip away at sections of my thesis while “sharpening the saw” (in Covey-speak) and making incremental progress on other writing projects. One part of my writing-action-plan will be to sustain a pace of production for this blog, and to strike a balance between the passions from which it springs...

Which reminds me: a friend recently published what, according to the reviews, sounds like a fantastic poetry book, inspired by Jack Spicer. I’ve yet to get a copy, but i should do so soon — now, if ever, i need to make time for poetry.

Anyway, today i was just going to post a quick update, along with two tidbits of parenting info, however Roy’s struggle this evening at bedtime prompted a more substantial reflection.

First the easy part.

I wanted to share some information that contributed to our decision (many months ago) to take Roy out of swimming class — even though it was lots of fun.

A study described here apparently indicated a significant correlation of infant exposure to chlorinated pools and bronchiolitis infection, which in turn increases the risk of chronic respiratory problems including asthma. I’ve been meaning to mention it here, since we decided it sounded persuasive enough to warrant a precautionary withdrawal.

The full peer-reviewed article is “available” (for $15 USD) here. Actually, even with free access to academic journals through UBC, the online version won't be unlocked until 18 months after its publication. (I promised myself i would not get sidetracked and launch into a rant about the despicable stupidity of the academic publishing industry's restrictions on public access... Because that's not what this post is about.)

On a happier, less anxious note: i’ve started attending a very cool weekly event for dads (or other male caregivers) and babies at the Vancouver Public Library called “Man in the Moon.” It’s lots of fun, with silly songs and interactive games, and best of all it’s a chance for babies to see other babies and dads to see other dads, all hanging out together.

Roy and i went for the first time two weeks ago, at the Kitsilano branch, and it was absolutely packed. We were officially on the wait list but Marcus, the facilitator, kindly allowed us to stay. Unfortunately Roy’s naptime pre-empted our plan to remain for the whole hour that day, but in a doubleplusgood turn of events, it turns out that the event also takes place two hours later at the Dunbar branch — which isn’t as crowded, so that’s where we will be going on Saturdays from now on. Busy but exciting times.

Anyway, about this evening.

Roy’s been crying a lot more lately. It's kind of surreal, because he hardly ever cried at all, until this week. Things are changing.

There are exciting changes, like when Sara phoned me today (while i was actually making some progress on my writing) to tell me that Roy has started crawling forward (he’s been going in reverse for months) and standing up unassisted!

It’s amazing to see how much he develops even in a single day. But all this change, all this learning and exploring, takes a toll — and our little guy is definitely expressing a greater range of emotions lately. The last few nights, in addition to waking up more frequently, he’s been waking up the whole neighborhood with operatic howls and sobs.

:(

It’s a terrible feeling, when the baby-soothing techniques we’ve used all these months (with such success that we felt a little like the Oilers with Gretzky), suddenly stop working and our adorable little buddy becomes inconsolable.

Since the beginning, our “secret weapon” has been a little melody that Sara composed days after Roy’s birth. We found early on that our duet's simple harmonies had an almost hypnotic power to calm him down... But our musical magic seems to be no match for the feelings brewing in Roy’s heart these days.

This evening, after all our usual bedtime routines, Roy raged against sleep like we had never seen him rage before.

He certainly has stamina. It took hours. Breastfed to the point of bursting, cuddled and cradled in Sara’s arms, he just kept a steady pace of relentless distress. She tried soothing him long enough for me to clean up the whole kitchen and get started on the bathroom; usually he’s passed out before i’m done washing the cutlery.

When Sara finally came out of the bedroom, it was not for a quiet victory dance, but for a shift change. However when i walked in and picked him up, i could tell this wasn’t a crying fit that could be extinguished with a bottle and a lullaby. Nevertheless we had to try something.

So we improvised. It had been a long time since we’d had any kind of difficulty like this, but during Roy’s initial adjustment to life at home, he had seemed to mellow out when i played my harp. So, as terribly clueless as i remain about any sort of proper technique, i started strumming and plucking the heavenly strings.

I wish i could say it worked.

But since nothing seemed to make any difference, i just kept playing anyway, sometimes singing a little, quietly — faintly hoping that, eventually, between his violent wailing cries, he’d catch a note or two and become distracted. Or simply get tired enough to pass out. Which is what happened i guess. But even after he stopped crying and kicking, his breathing was still punctuated with squeaky little sobs, and it stayed that way for another hour or so.

He ultimately fell asleep in the most ridiculous position a human body of any size could hope to get into: lying horizontally across his crib, his feet dangling out over the side through the bars, his bum up in the air, arms straight, and his face turned to one side.

I couldn’t bring myself to move him though, for fear of awakening the creature from the swamps of sadness. Sara bravely entered his lair and tucked him in. As i write this, his sobbing has finally stopped and Sara and i are sitting on the couch looking slightly less frazzled than Tina Fey and Steve Carrell in the posters for Date Night.

Speaking of which, i’ll end by saying that it was a delightful surprise to hear, earlier this week, that our very friendly neighbors down the hall have generously and spontaneously offered to babysit for us sometime... I can only hope that either they possess very powerful magic, or that our little Roy’s rage phase soon follows summer into the past.

Oh: one more thing, back on the whole awesomeness of being a dad theme… By now everyone on the interwebs has seen it twice, but this scene from Glee is worth a third viewing. There’s no music, but it makes me want to sing.

EDIT: After all that, Roy slept through the night, and woke up (briefly at 6, finally at 8) happy as a clam.

A moving story (with pictures)

2010-09-01T10:00:00.000-07:00

Well, it’s Wednesday.

The Rio Theatre’s biweekly “Movies for Mommies” event is today, and Apple’s gonna make some big announcement, too; but i’m skipping the former this time around (to catch up on some work), and i’ll hear all about the latter soon enough, no doubt. No, these things aren’t what makes today special.

For those of us so afflicted, Wednesday means: new Comic Book Day.

Today, for example, Marvel Comics will have a new batch of FREE digital comics ready to be downloaded through its iPad (and iPhone/iPod) app. Every week, Marvel gives away half a dozen issues, just like the proverbial dealer’s narcotics samples, to get us hooked. And it works quite well. Giving me the first issue of a good story arc for *free* makes a pretty compelling temptation to buy the next issue (and the next…).

But, as i shall explain, today is a very special day for comic books…

~~~~~

Last week, on my bus ride home from work, i was enjoying the first issue of an especially good free sample from Marvel: issue #1 of a Spider-Man and Wolverine team-up miniseries — pretty cool in itself, but even better when it starts halfway through some crazy time-travel adventure, with our heroes living amongst proto-human primates on the eve of some prehistoric mass-extinction event. Now that’s entertainment.

Anyway, i wasn’t the only one on the bus to be impressed. Over my shoulder, it turns out, was a member (or friend, at least) of the venerable team behind Vancouver’s own legendary Comic Shop! He seemed both intrigued and somewhat disturbed, however.

“Sales are down,” he told me, “and now i can see why.”

I have to admit, i felt a little guilty. But only a little. After all, i had just spent pretty much all of my remaining discretionary money at the Comicshop only a few days earlier…

Let’s rewind a bit.

~~~~~

About a month ago, again on the bus — that’s where life happens, after all — rolling east on West 4th Avenue, i noticed a huge banner in the Comicshop window declaring a moving sale. I took a photo:

On my way home that day, the crucial question was answered. Moving? Where? …Right into “my” little corner of Kits (i’d soon find out, as noted here, this area is actually where the Comicshop got started too… The old spiraling cycles again). I took another picture, but...

The new storefront was looking pretty rough. It used to be “Fun in the Sun” (a decent discount surf/skate/snow sportswear shop, now located at 4th and MacDonald), which had some kind of reflective film on the windows; i used to stop out front with Roy so we could wave at our reflections. That shiny film had left some funky scum on the window, and all in all, the place sure didn’t have an auspicious, well-cared-for appearance.

We might forgive some people, for example a commenter on this article, for having expressed doubts about the Comic Shop being able to get the new place up to spec in time. A member of the Comicshop team, however, asserted that they would indeed be open: today, September 1st, at 10 AM (and that anyone present for the opening would enjoy a 10% discount). True to their word, when i walked by yesterday evening, the place already looked as good as a Christmas tree. Judge for yourself: photo #3.

But i’m getting ahead of myself...

~~~~~

One quick aside: We have lived here, a short walk from Jericho beach (and the Premier’s office, yay!) ever since our discovery of cheaper rents on this side of town than in those more (covertly) prestigious neighborhoods of East Van. Proximity to UBC has proven a bonus too. Sara’s old place was near Rx Comics on Main Street, which is also a great shop.

So the Comic Shop has moved: from 10 minutes up the road, to less than a minute from my door. Well i sure can’t complain.

But nevertheless there is a feeling of loss. The Comic Shop, in its familiar location a few doors down from Sophie’s Cosmic Café, is where i bought comics on family trips to Vancouver as a kid. It contributed to the mythologization of this city in my mind.

I’ve fallen in love with Vancouver several times, but the courtship began at the Comicshop.

~~~~~

Returning to recent events: when i had some time after first seeing that banner in their window, i checked the Comicshop website, and not only was it a month-long moving sale, but the discounts would increase as the moving day approached!

Now, the fact is, ever since Roy was born, in order to make space for baby necessities, i’ve been trying to eliminate as much of my physical library as possible, including comics. It’s hard. I’ve collected books all my life, and the first items in my collection were comics.

But there are limits, so i have enthusiastically welcomed the advent of iPads (and the iBookstore, as well as other means of acquiring content) as an opportunity, not only to eliminate many physical books (especially academic and reference tomes), but to simultaneously upgrade them: to searchable and completely portable e-books. Exciting times, i say.

But of course these changes don’t look like improvements to everyone.

As i’ve been shifting my comic collection from boxes in the closet to files on my computer, whatever money i spend on comics has also shifted from “brick and mortar” comic shops, to online direct digital sales — and as we know, digital content can also be shared for free, so that’s a factor too.

Generally, i’m an advocate of file-sharing, but i’ll save detailed discussion of the pros and cons of “free” peer-to-peer proliferation vs. higher-quality commercial modes of comic distribution for another post.

Suffice for now to say that i have indeed been persuaded to give Marvel money for digital comics, enhanced with ComiXology’s “guided view” technology (individual panels isolated, each rendered full-screen) which makes reading digital comics effortless — and much more enjoyable than having to navigate through mere scanned images of entire pages. However, i have also acquired many comics through file-sharing networks, especially scans of older issues or less-popular titles that have not yet been made available for purchase (like The Silver Surfer, whom i adore).

No matter what your moral intuitions are about the meaning and future of either content restrictions or copyright itself, i think Cory Doctorow makes some really good points in his anti-iPad rant. And his criticisms of the Marvel app are fair, but he neglects to mention (and, i think, fails to appreciate) how just plain awesome it is. Mr. Doctorow is right, though: the problems are serious. As one commenter (on a Marvel discussion board) put it, describing my situation as well:

“I've bought comics via the Marvel iPad app and the ComiXology app. I just found out that ComiXology has a website where one can view all the comics you've purchased from them...except the Marvel comics.”

Yup, that’s unfair and stupid. But this is not a day for ranting about DRM (that day will come soon enough). Today is a day to celebrate…

Long story short, constraints of shelf space and finances aside: i happily failed to resist temptation, and grabbed a stack of old back issues at The Comicshop's moving sale — they were going for 80% off! I scored some serious gold. But i’ll ~~brag about~~ review my purchases another time.

~~~~~

Questions about what will become of comics, and of comic shops (and the people who run them, and the people who love them), will remain open for quite some time yet. As indeed, i sincerely hope, will Vancouver’s flagship Comic Shop. I wish them luck — i hope they really do live long and prosper.

In particular, i look forward to walking around the new shop with Roy... though it’s hard for me to comprehend the idea that, before long, he’ll be walking in there on his own little feet! I imagine myself, eventually, watching him pick out his own favorite hero stories.

But that’s a few Wednesdays down the road.

The Ambiguity of Opposition

2010-08-30T10:59:00.000-07:00

It is rare to find a use of language, a phrase or articulation, that has not already been released and lost in the echo chamber of text on the web.

When this phrase — the ambiguity of opposition — dawned on me, literally in the shower (eureka?), it gave a name to something i first understood through i diagram i sketched on a post-it pad nearly ten years ago. And it seems indeed not to have been discussed before, at least not in these terms (note: i assume there are terms and axioms of geometrical logic applicable here, but my ignorance of them has necessitated this probable re-invention / rearticulation).

My phrase aims to indicate the importance of distinguishing between the best (aka: strongest) argument against an idea, and an argument that is simply its (direct) opposite. It is a gesture towards more thoroughly / rigorously critical engagement with the complexities of particular problems, ideas and arguments.

Here is the diagram. The question it asks is: Which arrow “opposes” the red arrow? The answer of course is they all do; determining which opposition is most useful will depend on both one’s frame of reference and one’s purpose.

In this highly abstracted form, it may seem perfectly insignificant; but it’s conceptual inevitability underlines its importance. In any process of decision making in which a change is desired, and especially in developing a political strategy, whenever we are considering which direction is best, we have more, often better options than a mere about-face.

I'll leave unstated (for now) my judgment of the implications for anarchist activism; no big news there. However i will add, since i think it's generally worth noting, that over time — as with sailing — several tacks may be required to reach a desirable destination.

The point is simple enough: to generate good ideas we have to work harder than simply inverting bad (or flawed) ones. Such “opposition” merely reproduces the original idea’s defects, in a mirrored fashion. The problem of the pendulum swing, so to speak. It’s a familiar problem, and i’m not presenting anything new as a solution; but i may have achieved some useful novelty by re-casting the issue in (abstractly) clear terms and representing it visually.

I’m writing a more detailed explanation of the implications of this ambiguity, in (what passes for) academic language (i may find a place for it in my thesis), but i think the diagram largely speaks for itself; once the intention is made explicit, the meaning is apparent.

We need better ideas, not merely opposite ones.

Ultimately, awareness of this “ambiguity of opposition” may also be useful for illustrating when the impulse to compromise will yield no improvement. But first we have to recognize our position.

—

It’s going to be a busy week. I have some half-baked thoughts (about food and shopping, among other things) that are almost ready. I’ll be sharing them here very soon.

Golden Hours

2010-08-07T11:29:00.000-07:00

First, i have to say, though i may be the only person in Vancouver to feel this way: i really missed the rain. That was a long sunny spell. Nothing wrong with a little sunshine, but come on, this city is supposed to be lush and green… It needs to be watered.

Anyway, this will be the first of a few posts focusing on some of the themes and thoughts emerging from various movies, shows, games, sites, books and other media we (Sara and i, mostly) have been turning to lately for entertainment.

Not that there’s a whole lot of time for such indulgences, really. But throughout the summer, and especially in the weeks since we got back from our epic travels (which maybe i’ll recap in another post), after we’ve finally put Roy to bed for the evening — which is a feat in itself sometimes, even though he’s not a fussy baby in general — once we’re on our own with two or three hours to act like grown ups… well, that’s what we do i guess: we usually have a snack and/or a cup of tea and watch something on TV. Although in our case “TV” means a 24-inch iMac, and “something” means Buffy the Vampire Slayer (and Angel).

Yeah, Buffy. Right now, that’s our jam.

And, just in case we aren’t the very last people on Earth (or the internet) to discover Buffy, let me just say, for the record: it’s actually even better than the best things you’ve heard anyone say about it. Probably ten times better. I’ve become a huge Joss Whedon fan in recent years — “backwards” in a way, because the first Whedon creation i ever saw was the life-changing masterpiece Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog. After that, on the recommendation of a very enlightened friend (who generously lent us the DVDs) we watched Firefly and Serenity. And we even managed to catch a few episodes of Dollhouse before it got cancelled (yup, i plan to buy it when the full series becomes available this fall). But we hadn’t watched Buffy.

Well, that’s not strictly true. Of course i remember when the original movie came out (the one with Luke Perry — hence my never watching it, to this day). But because i had heard, from so many reliable sources, that the show was exceptionally good, i downloaded it, put season one on my iPod and started watching it at the gym. And started going to the gym more often. But, though i was enjoying it, season one didn’t kidnap me and hold me for ransom. That happened later… Since i am resolutely opposed to even the slightest spoilers, i’ll say no more (for now), because i actually want to write about something else. A bunch of things, really, but i’ll pick one or two.

Last night we decided to interrupt our ongoing Buffy marathon — we’re on season five (season two of Angel) — and put on a movie for a change. Hey, we like to mix it up sometimes. When we’re feeling a little more energetic, we might play LEGO Harry Potter on the Wii (which is wicked, btw), but more often, we’re in a pretty passive mode in those stolen hours before our bedtime. So we let the actors (and directors, etc.) do the playing; we just watch.

Sara wanted to see The Golden Compass because she just finished reading the (audio)books. I’d overheard bits of the story and thought it sounded cool, so i was into it, but i enjoyed it even more thoroughly than i could have expected. I was literally cheering — especially for the Ian McKellen-voiced armored bear: holy shit, that bear fight was insane!

I had no idea, until after the usual post-movie IMDB and Wikipedia browsing, that the movie, and the books, had been so controversial. It seems awfully silly of course, but this is an “American” movie — based on a book by an English author, but… sometimes i forget how lucky we are to live in such a thoroughly secular country.

After enjoying the film, but subsequently learning of its embattled creation and existence, and having Sara explain several weaknesses arising from the film’s deviation from the source material — especially its compromises on the book’s criticism of authoritarian religious dogma (in general, and the Catholic church in particular) — and after reading about how the watering-down of those critical elements in the movie still wasn’t enough to prevent all kinds of wacky religious fanatics from attacking it (which certainly contributed to the disappointing box office performance in the U.S. that seems to have killed all hope for the sequels), i arrived at a conclusion.

The Golden Compass could have been an awesome achievement of profound cultural significance; instead it is “merely” a great adventure movie.

After sleeping (briefly, it seems), i felt that the sordid real-world tale of compromise in the face of censorship and intolerance ultimately overshadowed the joys of the fictional tale of a young heroine riding a noble polar bear. And that just makes the censorship even more upsetting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s always been plainly amazing to me that anyone actually believes in “the sky bully” but i’m slowly gaining an understanding of how religious institutions gain power, and of their parasitic relationship with people’s faith. That is, i’m learning some of the historical explanations (not justifications) of how the church could become (and, in some places, remain) so powerful for so long.

In my own immediate experience also, i’m gaining some insights into this.

Since we humans are (some say uniquely) animals that can modify our actions based not only on learning from things that have actually happened, but also by imagining things that could happen in the future, we can imagine our best possible future: success, integrity, happiness — this is often like taking a pleasant nap, and though such little dreams may not be folly (apologies, Voltairine) they are easy to forget — or, we can imagine our worst nightmares: failure, guilt, tragedy. And we (can) act accordingly: based on either the hopes or fears that our imagined futures inspire.

It’s an easy (not so “secret”) trap to fall into, to claim that we should focus only on the positive futures, and not dwell on the negative ones; but uncritical optimism isn’t just quaintly silly, it can be outrageously irresponsible. We may not individually be risking colossal oil spills, but anyone’s actions can have serious consequences. What’s on my mind, of course (no, it’s not "diversity of tactics" this time) is our baby.

Recently, we’ve had some of our first experiences of (moments of) genuine terror as parents.

In addition to the unspeakable fear that comes with Roy’s new ability to move around, and therefore hurt himself, comes new dimensions of potential guilt — which, perverse though it may be, is one example of where visions of hell (and heaven, of course) can be a comfort. A guilty conscience, wrapped in anger at oneself, can take comfort in knowing that eternal damnation awaits the souls of those who deserve to be punished. It can make things seem right, on a cosmic scale, when things here in the world seem wrong (and “it’s all my fault”). Don’t worry nothing horrible has actually happened. But i’m terribly aware of how easily something serious could.

Of course, i don’t believe in an angry, fearful, jealous, vengeful god. Or even, as Nick Cave put it, an “interventionist” one. I basically agree with Bakunin that, if such a god existed, it would be our job to destroy him. However, i also agree with Einstein, when he said: “I believe in Spinoza's God who reveals himself in the orderly harmony of what exists, not in a God who concerns himself with fates and actions of human beings.”

Thinking about this stuff set off an intricate chain of associations:

First, it reminded me of Michael J. Fox’s most recent book, and his gestures toward belief in a heaven without a hell (because there’s plenty of hell here on Earth), which in turn called to mind that chapter on hell in Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, which brought up Ulysses being banned, which made me think of an episode of censorship from my childhood: the Calgary comic shop (Comic Legends), where i bought hundreds of X-Men, Spiderman and Daredevil comics, got sued for selling obscene materials to minors, and there was a whole culture war that ensued… Ultimately this train of thought brought me back to the present, reflecting on the recent Pride parade (my first, and also Roy’s) and this great article from Xtra West.

So maybe being a happy dad isn’t as simple as i might’ve hoped when i announced that i was going to focus my writing less on the details of political debates, and more on the joys of culture and relationships, because of course those are all riddled with difficulties (including political schisms) and subject to debate as well, and even mundane moments of daily life contain hints of both bliss and torment.

Speaking of heaven, i was near there on Thursday, when Joanna Newsom and her band played at the Vogue — not as nice a venue as St. Andrew's-Wesley (where i saw her last time), but it wouldn’t matter where she played: her songs always take me closer to that celestial realm. But Sara (and Roy) couldn’t join me, so (despite the presence of many beautiful friends, for whom i’m deeply grateful), there was an extra layer of emotional potency in the music: the empty seat beside me seemed to echo with both enormous gratitude for my family, and the longing to share more of life with them than is possible.

The experience deserves a fuller description, but Roy’s awake now and i want to play with him. I’ve been showing him my musical instruments, and playing some songs. Today seems like a good day to sing Here Comes the Sun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

PS: We'll be bringing Roy to Under the Volcano tomorrow; i'm looking forward to it, but i also can't believe it'll be the last one. So many memories...

Good-bye Mr. Blowhard

2010-07-31T01:38:00.000-07:00

It seems to me, based, for example, on the comments i’ve seen posted (why-oh-why do i read comments sections?) in response to critical activist bloggers (like this one) who have the courage and integrity to publicly condemn highly public personal attacks being made against other activists — that:

most “radical” (and especially “anarchist”) activist discourse has, by now, devolved into something with less sophistication than the recipe for microwave popcorn.

So, because the emergent “radical” gangland language scares the shit out of me — in some ways even more so than angry cops — i’m making a point of shifting this blog in a new direction.

A few words to mark the transition…

Because, in theory, i write this for my own amusement, and for communication with my friends and family (though it’s open to the wide world of the web, and you!) and because following, let alone participating in, the constant status competitions (and insults and pathetically juvenile territorial pissings) that dominate online activist “debates” does not in any way amuse me or constitute communication of any value or significance in my view, i’m filing for a divorce from “the” activist “community” (and from anyone who is comfortable with that dubious phrase).

I plan to continue my passionate, sinful common-law relationship with activism; but i am *so* done paying any attention whatsoever to the prattle of sectarian fanatics.

The one-dimensionality of contemporary activist culture(s) may someday be overturned by a new (and improved?) Herbert Marcuse — but in my case i intend to simply, albeit emphatically, shrug. The coin was flipped and in response to the spirit of Emma Goldman’s (apocryphal?) quip about dancing, it has been decided that no, there shall be no dancing among “revolutionaries.” This has not been recognized because the “official” reply is that of course there will be, there must be dancing, dancing galore!

But it is always the same dance, forever. The same song. It isn’t even music anymore.

So i give up.

Not on justice (of course); not on people (for heaven’s sake!); not on anarchism (by god!). But i’m quite ready to give up on the charade of anarchist identity, and the bitter contest for cool radical street cred that it has become. I never wanted the prize, i only ever wanted to call bullshit on the game and end it — to help restore what i imagine(d) were the golden days of good faith pluralistic movement and community-building in a spirit of joie-de-vivre. Now i’ll just call bullshit and and exit. Not with a smash, but a whimper (and a groan).

Justice — which i understand in anarchist terms — is always worth fighting for. The prestigious label of “anarchist-therefore-most-authentic-revolutionary” is not.

If angry people seduced by a romanticized, violent gang-like mentality are determined to harass, insult and intimidate anyone who publicly questions or deviates from their paradoxically orthodox understanding of “anarchism” (which, in particular, valorizes property destruction, aka “diverse” tactics), then fine: let them claim victory. The kinds of verbal (and actually physical) abuse that self-appointed “revolutionary” missionaries of social justice are willing to inflict on “traitors” has disgusted me right into a state of withdrawal.

However, i should mention one happy aspect of this disturbing and painfully alienating period has been a renewal of my experiential appreciation of the importance of feminism to my politics and ethics.

I’ve been reminded of how central feminism has always been to (the development of) my political awareness. The vitality of contemporary feminism, and its many critical, proto-anarchistic tendencies, is a huge source of inspiration and consolation in the face of an ascendant yet moribund macho (pseudo-)anarcho-hooliganism. In fact, the power and momentum of feminism can help sustain exiled anarchists, and keep us connected to our actualities. It can help us to live in the world, in as broad a sense as possible — rather than in a ghetto.

My hands will hammer out letters, my feet will gladly pound the ground in picket lines — and in civil disobedience, when appropriate; my ass will stiffly sit in meetings, and it will shake grotesquely during celebrations, and my mind will luxuriate in reading. And my heart, a little brokenly (or not broken but walking with a limp, a little droopingly) will indeed go on (props: Celine Dion). And i will conspicuously count and share my blessings: my family and friends.

Over time, i expect that, through my (and “our”, since i am not alone) efforts, some small amount of good will eventually and cumulatively come... and very little harm. Though this is perhaps recklessly optimistic.

I will always carry with me, as i have for many years, some sadness for anarchism — for its having been barbarously sawed off of the classical liberal tree from which it sprang. It has been turned into a club, and will no longer put forth new leaves (but will recruit new members, if they pass inspection). A new branch may grow in its place, or from another tree, or an entirely new, more beautiful tree may grow.

…And maybe someday giant cockroaches, perhaps with some residual human DNA, will frolic among rainbows in an era of perfect justice — or, at least, will struggle for justice in a context of hope and meaningful solidarity.

Maybe. But i won’t hold my breath.

Starting now, i’m going to put my productive blogging energies into a more balanced effort to honor the wide variety of sources of joy in my life:

I'm going to write about the beautiful people (Roy, Sara, and y'all-know-who-you-are), and the wonderful things — by which, in addition to objects of the natural world, as well as ideas, experiences, achievements (including political victories), and other intangibles, i absolutely do also, specifically, mean commodities: the many amazing products, by-products and cultural artifacts that emerge from (and sometimes despite) the existing, abominable industrial economic system — as well as the heavenly places (that’s you, Vancouver) that i love.

I may occasionally mention or describe especially timely or generally interesting aspects of my ongoing academic inquiries into anarchist political philosophy (i’ll still share my favorite quotes, etc.), but such things shall no longer be either the only or even the primary subject of this blog. There are far too many other interesting (whether frivolous or important) things to think about. I’ve been neglecting them.

We do not live for struggle, we struggle for life. And life should be joyful.

Therefore another name change is in order... This blog began personally, as “ryanarchy.” It went through an awkward stage as “Rye/Anarchy,” and then suddenly became these “Anarcho-Dad Rants” when Roy was born. The subtitle has grown up too, from an overly wordy effort to encapsulate broad, heterodoxical and heterogeneous interests, to an overly succinct distillation of essential elements.

The title(s) may change again soon, but to represent my humble aspiration (rather than my achievement) of greater happiness (for myself and all of humanity), i've settled on “Happy Dad Rants” for now.

I hereby declare this blog free from the tyrannically self-censorious, hyper-political meta-anarchistic narrowness of focus that once infected it. I’ll write again soon — and more frequently, i imagine, now that the curse has been lifted.

But until then... game on!

&amp;amp;lt;a href="http://video.msn.com/?mkt=en-us&amp;amp;amp;from=sp&amp;amp;amp;fg=shareObject&amp;amp;amp;vid=8cb424dc-cbdb-40be-90c5-8fb450462d2f" target="_new" title="Season 4 - Music Video - "Game On""&amp;amp;gt;Video: Season 4 - Music Video - "Game On"&amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;gt;

"This" is why i’m an anarchist.

2010-07-01T18:08:00.000-07:00

Toronto police terrorized a young family (not unlike my own) in their reckless, irresponsible pursuit of an allegedly reckless, irresponsible “anarchist” protester.

John Booth was amazingly charitable in his assessment of the cops’ actions: “The problem with the whole thing was that it was a very poorly researched and very poorly executed plan… A little due diligence on their part could’ve avoided the whole situation.” Apparently, in addition to veterinary science, Mr. Booth is also an expert in the field of diplomatic understatements. Hey, that’s a valuable skill too.

The tale is laced with bitter irony for me: This is why i’m an anarchist.

I’d like to extend the sentiments of a protester quoted by Globe writer Lisan Jutras, with whom she was mass arrested and stuck on a bus for hours; Jutras tweeted:

“They don't even know what they're protesting,” said a cop.
“Yes I do,” said one.
“What?”
“This,” she said.

The best concise characterization of anarchism i’ve ever read may have been the slogan on a fantastic patch i saw for sale at the NYC Anarchist Bookfair in 2009; it said: “Anarchists have to be as patient as slugs.” In hindsight, i really wish i’d bought the patch (if you know who made it, please tell me!). But, of course, i had already spent all my money on books.

Patience, respect for others and profound concern for all consequences of one’s actions (taking care not to make decisions without consulting those who will be affected by them); these are among the virtues, values and commitments at the core of my understanding of anarchism. So, as an anarchist, i’ve been increasingly frustrated, for years, with certain interpretations or appropriations of anarchism — though my frustration has begun to bloom into real anger during some recent debates about "diversity of tactics."

Therefore i’m quite sympathetic to the very many people (other activists, bystanders, shopkeepers, reporters, academics, and others — maybe even some fellow anarchists?) who also feel frustrated; as Andrew Potter tweeted: “I can't figure out who I hate more in all this, the anarchists or the cops.”

I submit this as further evidence that we must, in struggle, vigilantly distinguish ourselves from those we oppose. It doesn’t matter whether there are agents provocateurs among those who are destroying property. What matters is that we can’t be sure. This situation should be easy to avoid.

But, in the words of one commenter on a post at wagnignonviolence.org (where i first learned of the Booths’ treatment by the police), “Violent anarchy is an amazingly myopic philosophy, since effective anarchy–if we truly want freedom–requires so much more self-discipline and critical thinking than anarchists of this ilk seem to give.”

It saddens me to see how many anarchists have completely rejected the “radical admissions” that George Woodcock urged us to make, in the final pages of (the 1986 revised edition of) his famous history of anarchism. The opportunity to update and re-articulate his admissions in my current academic writing (my thesis project) is cold comfort.

At a time of outrageous abuses of state power, an anarchist critique ought to be taken more seriously than ever. Instead, those who espouse anarchism today often successfully live up to the very worst stereotypes of destructive stupidity that enemies of anarchism have been promoting for almost two centuries.

Windows are smashed by marauding anarchists. Hundreds of people are herded into custody (and many are hurt) by marauding police. Giant fences are erected between the powerful and the public. Fear proliferates...

I think i might have nightmares tonight.

Describing the 4 a.m. police invasion of their home, Hanna Booth said: “…they’re in my room. I’m in my panties and a tank top, my kid’s screaming his head off, he’s so scared, the tension in the house — it was just the most horrible and absurd thing.”

Horrible and absurd. I imagine that about captures the experience of many Torontonians during this G20 summit.

Between idiotic smashing and burning (and media fixation on images of it) and even scarier “security” measures (and the inevitable, brutal fiascoes they lead to), what are reasonable people (let alone those who profess a radical commitment to liberty and justice) supposed to do?

I don’t know. But tonight i’m going to kiss Sara and Roy and try to keep these words, which i read for the first time yesterday, in my mind as i drift off to sleep.

“I don’t know if you’ve known anybody that far back; if you’ve loved anybody that long, first as an infant, then as a child, then as a man, you gain a strange perspective on time and human pain and effort.” — James Baldwin, The fire next time (p. 4).

Happy Canada Day,
r.a.m.

PS: i share the suspicions of many who have wondered how exactly it came to be that two squad cars just happened to be sitting in the street with no officers there to protect them… Seems like maybe a new twist on the familiar (anti-theft) tactic — in any case it gives new meaning to the phrase — “Bait Cars.”

My little giant.

2010-05-12T00:21:00.000-07:00

It’s almost midnight. I need to have a shower and go to bed. I’m tired, but too distracted to focus on anything — let alone something as concrete and mundane as hygiene or sleep.

Six months! How can my little Roy be six months old already? It makes no sense… Just the other night he was a tiny handful, blinking at me as he sat bundled into his swing. I remember so clearly this winter, how terrified i was when i felt his little fingers and they were cool to the touch — how i dashed to find his little mittens. My little baby.

Little. He still is. But he’s also a giant.

I remember reading him my old book about Finn McCool and Cúchulainn and the giants’ causeway — which is really a hilarious story about Finn's wife saving Finn from a beating (by convincing Cúchulainn that Finn himself is actually just their infant son). No wonder stories of giants have persisted for countless centuries: we are all born into a world of giants, but that world fades gradually into memory and then myth. Until we become parents and the illusion is restored but also reversed. When i hold Roy up in the air and look at him smiling down at me i somehow tap into that awareness of having once been so small. And i also become aware of his experience of time — or rather his experience of futurity. Damn it: children really are the future.

~~~

I had the honor of being asked to play guitar at a friend’s memorial service this month. His sudden passing was an enormous emotional shock, and even more so because he had suddenly been in my thoughts only a day before. Having been confronted so bluntly by mortality, in the same breath as my son’s first half-birthday, i’ve never felt so awake — or so grateful — in all my life.

I’ve started my Master’s thesis project — an “immanent critique” of contemporary anarchist activism. I’m actually worried that it may alienate some of my dearest friends; but i feel compelled to let my doubts to run their course. How else can i believe my own convictions?

So, as i feel closer now, closer to my partner and our child than i have ever felt to anyone, i’m also feeling somewhat alone… Re-reading Ursula Le Guin’s The Dispossessed, thinking of Shevek, an ambiguously epic subtext seems to emerge from every quiet (or loud) moment.

Reading, and listening to the birds, at UBC. Changing Roy’s diapers at night (he’s teething! He has two sharp, little teeth! And, i have learned, teething means more frequent diaper-changes). Making dinner. Staying up with Sara, watching old tv shows we’ve downloaded, after Roy’s gone to bed. Staying up alone, after Sara’s gone to bed, to write this. Waking up before both of them, sneaking into the living room to do some early stretches with the Wii Fit. Reading Ulysses to Roy before his morning nap. Riding my bike home from campus. Washing dishes. Staring at pictures from Roy’s first six months.

This is one hell of a life i’m living. Happy half-birthday little guy. I love you so much…

in (fear, anxiety, ambivalence and) ...solidarity?

2010-02-20T01:48:00.000-08:00

The ongoing controversies and debates over "diversity of tactics" have been very much on my mind this week (of course). Fortunately, in a few hours, some good folks will be hosting a serious conversation about it.

If, like me, you've been somewhat ambivalent in the aftermath of (some of) the recent anti-olympic protests, you might enjoy this piece — i did. It summarizes several major concerns that i share, and manages to articulate some complex thoughts with admirable delicacy…

At least two friends have already posted it on FB, but i'm passing it on again, because i think this is important (and useful) stuff.

However i’m afraid it ultimately begs the question(s) of what solidarity and “respect for ‘diversity of tactics’” might actually mean… And i think it falls prey, at times, to some of the (covertly) authoritarian tendencies that plague what ‘we’ call the left…

I’m left with questions, such as: What underlies the fears of "going soft" etc.?

And: Are the venomous (“nothing i hate more…”) dismissals directed at "conservative" leftists — and those (like me?) who would “demand order and regulation and discipline in the movement” — completely genuine?

Or are such statements mere formalities: required for ‘legitimate’ participation in a ‘radical’ discourse that is governed by a dogmatic (and mercilessly enforced) vanguardist (neo/pseudo-) anarchism?

(note: of course, i don't entirely endorse the criticisms in the links [eg: "reform vs. revolution" = bor-ing!], but there are some interesting parallels to be found, for example, between this and what i've been enjoying, lately, in the works of Nancy Fraser — concerning "the general political problem of how to construct cultures of solidarity that are not homogenizing and repressive").

What i mean is: i feel that this author, in daring to critique the prevailing (…with us or against us) reactions on both sides of the debate within the left, is couching his critique in violent pieties to establish credibility — why is this (and the frequently apologetic tone) necessary? Perhaps because the author knows how vicious and unforgiving our “comrades” can be…

I (Still) Want a Torture Inquiry

2010-01-15T15:02:00.000-08:00

Dear Prime Minister Harper,

this response (below) from your office is wholly inadequate and, frankly, disturbingly dismissive of extremely serious accusations that have yet to be satisfactorily investigated. The fact that I have received such a perfunctory response at a time when you have prorogued parliament — and thus disrupted the inquiry that was underway — would be shocking, if it did not fit so neatly into the pattern of contempt that your administration has established.

I wish to reassert my support for a thorough inquiry into the allegations of Canadian complicity in torture. I also call on you to publicly acknowledge that your administration's failure to prioritize this inquiry is totally unacceptable.

I look forward to a more serious reply.

Sincerely,
ryan andrew murphy

-----
On 01-12-2010, at 7:08 AM, Prime Minister/Premier ministre wrote:

On behalf of the Prime Minister, thank you for your recent correspondence regarding the handling of Afghan detainees. Our office has noted your concerns. Please rest assured that your comments have been carefully reviewed.

On the occasions when our military and officials have been presented with credible, substantiated evidence of mistreatment, they have taken appropriate action. In May 2007, in response to concerns regarding prisoner treatment, we signed a new Afghan detainee transfer agreement enhancing the previous Liberal arrangement and ensuring a more robust monitoring mechanism.

Our soldiers serving in Afghanistan have done an excellent job in extremely adverse circumstances. Accusations that our troops are complicit in war crimes are wholly inappropriate and constitute nothing more than second-guessing the Canadian Forces almost four years after the fact and 12,000 kilometres away.

Thank you for taking the time to write.

Sincerely,
Susan I. Ross
Assistant to the Prime Minister

2009-12-17T20:21:00.000-08:00

Dear Santa Claus,

What a year! I feel so overwhelmingly lucky. Every day has so much to look forward to.

This morning (after transacting with the diaper service delivery guy), i lay quietly in bed and simply beheld the beauty of my sleeping son. Roy looks just like he did in the 3D Ultrasound video (that i watched half a dozen times during Sara’s pregnancy), which kind of makes sense, following the “4th trimester” concept; he mostly holds his hands up by his face, occasionally scratching his head with his little fingers.

I’m so in love with him that it makes me cry.

Sara and i had a good cry together the day before yesterday, when we received Love You Forever by Robert Munsch (as a gift from the Peak House team), and each took a turn trying to read it, and were overcome by our emotions.

How did i get so lucky Santa?!

Did it help that i’ve always believed in you? Were you in fact somehow winking at me, sending these life-altering gifts? And, incidentally… did you secretly underwrite Elf in 2003, ensuring that it would be the first Christmas movie Sara and i saw together (just a few weeks after we fell in love)? Well, if so, it worked. We fell even deeper in love, and Christmas became additionally magical for us.

...

In the time since i started this letter, i have to let you know i’ve seen a new dimension of joy unfold before my eyes. I changed Roy’s diaper, then took him for a stroll around the apartment, and as we stood in the soft morning light by the living room window, he gazed up at my smiling face, and smiled back!

He’s had smiles before, but only ‘inner’ smiles, not ‘social’ ones. He was looking into my eyes, and we exchanged smiles. We did it at least a dozen times!

So Santa, as the central supernatural being in my pantheon, i just want to thank you so much for these blessings that continue to bloom in my life. But also, of course (being aware of the traditional contents of our correspondence), i’m left wondering: how can i possibly reply to your annual interrogative?

What would i like for Christmas?

I won’t bore you with perfunctory disavowals — we both know i am abundantly wealthy in all the ways that Scrooge famously wasn’t, before he met those three spirits that Dickens sent him — so i won’t guiltily pretend to believe that being extraordinarily fortunate (both lucky and privileged) either exempts me from further desires, or renders my desires indecent. (An inner critic asks: How could i ask for anything more? Well... i could ask humbly and politely, for example, with an appropriate measure of gratitude for all that i already have).

I know you’re well aware of my standing order for a Global Peace and Goodwill package (with extra civil liberties and economic justice); so i won't go over that again. I trust your elves are working on it (how are their consensus decision-making workshops going?).

In deference to the annual anti-materialist objections, and the concerns (which i know we both share) about holiday waste, i’ll begin with my intangible wish-list. Oh, but first: thanks for granting my midsummer wish for restored funding to the MAP Van, and for the early surprise of the official renaming of Haida Gwaii! Those things have already made this Christmas great. You rock, Santa.

1) The first thing i would like for Christmas is...
To have some meaningful conversations about the ambiguities of Christmas.

I'd like some progress (new insights, improved dialogue and/or even cultural synthesis) in the ‘[secular] Christmas’ vs. ‘[multicultural] holiday’ schism… (y'know: the distinctly leftist sub-strain of the broader, frequently absurd, Christmas controversy — which usually centres around insane paranoid zealots, bigots and fanatics threatening to boycott any business that shows a hint of secular or multicultural sympathies).

Specifically, i'd like to see some productive acknowledgment of the tensions between those who problematically (often implicitly) assert the ‘secularity’ (and therefore ostensibly inclusiveness) of Christmas celebrations (ie: if “Everyone’s Irish on Saint Patrick’s Day” then can’t “everyone” (who might like to) “be 'Christian'” at Christmas time?), and those (including but not limited to many members of distinctly non-Christian communities [whether atheist, faith-based, ethnic, or ‘other’]), who assert that ‘Christmas’ — no matter how secularized (or in fact deeply pagan) it might be — is a reminder of ongoing, insidious Christian hegemony.

As i’m sure you can understand, Santa, i find myself with (at least) one foot in each camp (of course debates around the socio-cultural ethics and politics of holiday celebrations involve many more dimensions than just these two, and many more issues than can be acknowledged or discussed in one Christmas wish list!).

On the one hand i love Christmas, but on the other hand i’m all too aware that my relationship with this holiday is mediated by layers of privilege…

I’ve always happily rejected Christian dogma, yet i’ve also retained a sense of entitlement to some kind of (albeit vague, secular) ‘Christian’ identity, especially at Christmas. My position is hardly unique (a recent, in many ways disturbing, poll confirmed Canada as a land dominated by “[Christian] believers, but not belongers”). As a “white” / non-racialized “person of pallor” with (long-severed) Irish-Catholic roots, i have the luxury of choosing when i wish to ‘identify’ (usually strategically, [eg: to challenge fundamentalist prejudices]) as any kind of (secular) ‘Christian’. Thus, I can “come out” as ‘Christian’ when it suits me, but also, crucially, no one else has the power to “out” me, because i can legitimately disavow any real (or specifically/narrowly) Christian theological commitment.

[EDIT: i found this interesting post, which articulates a position similar to mine, except i imagine this chap might like to challenge my vaguely pantheistic inclinations.]

The important thing to recognize about this doubly luxurious, optional, loose, secular / quasi-Christianity is that it is — because of the configurations of power in North America — completely incommensurable with the experiences of (racialized or otherwise marginalized) people who are positioned outside of what is normal by their non-observance of Christian holidays, most notably Christmas.

This morning, a Google search for ‘Christo-normativity’ brought me to two interesting and relevant discussions.

The first author, Asher (“an anarchist Jew from Aotearoa / New Zealand”), stated that he is "sick of hearing: ‘Christmas isn’t a Christian holiday, it’s a secular family one!’” Fair enough... But proposing “social revolution” as a solution to complex social conflicts always seems like a cop-out to me. Sure, revolution sounds promising; but what can be done (this Christmas / holiday season) to make a positive difference in this situation?

The second author, Abbey L. Ferber, more helpfully asks: “...how do we create a more inclusive culture, a climate where everybody feels included?” and goes on to say: “I don't have the answer, but I can think of many ideas. As a starting point, it would be wonderful if organizations had meetings or discussions to brainstorm ideas about how to make their environments feel religiously inclusive. Simply demonstrating that this is an issue worth thinking about is one step to making people feel more included.”

It certainly is “worth talking about” of course. She moves the discussion forward by reminding ‘us’ to think about people

“whose religions have unwisely failed to schedule a major holiday in December. Because of Christmas, December has become defined as THE holiday season. Even within Judaism, Chanukah is only of minor significance, yet it has become the most widely known and recognized Jewish holiday because it falls close to Christmas on the calendar.”

The last two paragraphs of her post gesture towards my own hopes for the holidays:

“This [situation] is what Shirley Steinberg and Joe Kincheloe call "Christonormativity." It means that Christianity is the normative culture in the US [and Canada], and we are oblivious to what that means for non-Christians. Experiencing the overwhelming sense of exclusion I feel at this time of year, I try to use this insight to understand what it feels like for LGBT people in this heteronormative culture of ours. Or for people of color in this predominantly white culture. It gives me some insight into what they experience all year round. And just as most Christians are oblivious to how non-Christians feel this time of year, my privilege allows me to be oblivious to how it feels to not be white and heterosexual.

“So, my hope this holiday season is that we will all take a few minutes to stop and think about what it means to have privilege, as well as what it means to strive to be inclusive. Not everyone is made to feel that this is the "most wonderful time of the year."

Hear, hear!

Nevertheless, i still have some ambivalence. I think that a lot of objections that get raised around Christmas on the grounds that it is actually a Christian holiday are somewhat misguided and historically illiterate, since many of the main rituals we recognize today as ‘Christmas traditions’ are in fact pre-Christian in origin. Does this matter today? Perhaps not much. But i feel like it can help emphasize that Christmas doesn’t “belong” to Christians.

Overall, i believe that Christmas, in its current form in North America, entails (in Nancy Fraser's terms) a serious “recognitive injustice” to all those whom it casts as other. But, while it may be nauseatingly naïve, my first impulse is still to share Kermit the Frog’s sentiment, from his song The Christmas Wish:

“I don’t know if you believe in Christmas / or if you have presents underneath a Christmas tree / But if you believe in love / that will be more than enough / for you to come and celebrate with me.”

So please Santa, bring me more ideas about how to love Christmas and yet also be in solidarity with those whose struggles (against Christo-normativity, among other things) i share. As Ferber points out, such understanding will be of use all year round.

I'll try to be more concise from here on...

2) The second thing i would like for Christmas is:
Increased awareness of (what i call) the “anti-countercultural critique.”

This could be viewed as either subordinate or superordinate to the preceding wish. That is, it could contribute something to the enrichment of dialogue outlined above, but it also has implications far beyond this holiday season…

I wish for many self-identified rebels, activists and indeed anarchists to receive copies of The Rebel Sell by Joseph Heath and Andrew Potter, just as i received a copy for Christmas in 2004 (from my Uncle in Ottawa). Oh, and i hope that they actually read it... Carefully.

3) Following from the above, i also wish for:
Increased popular engagement with democratic decision-making structures that currently exist (and redoubled efforts to expand and improve those structures — specifically to the extent that they can be applied to the economy).

4) Closer to home, i wish for:
The continued health of my little baby. (And for his first words to be something like: “Let's destabilize the gender binary!” Or: “Reinstate provincial grants for post-secondary education!” Or: “I can't believe they're closing the Bloedel Conservatory!” Even just something like: “Fuck the Olympics — we need social housing!” would be lovely).

5) Naturally, i also wish for:
Even more love, luck, happiness and hope for me and my little family throughout the coming year. And in particular the serenity, courage and wisdom to *manage my time* and maximize opportunities to hang out with my baby and my lady.

6) The shopping list

Thank you Santa, for listening to all the above. Now that i’ve mentioned some of my biggest intangible Christmas wishes, here is what you’ve been so patiently and indulgently waiting for: my wish list of things from your magic workshop!

First though, of course, it should be noted: i readily acknowledge that most of the human beings in whom you would usually instill your generous spirit have already acquired whatever material things it is they may see fit to exchange with me during this year’s gift-giving ritual, so this list is mostly for reference and conversation purposes. There’s always next year...

a) An Amazon Kindle (or comparable e-reader device)
You know i would happily get rid of half my library if i could easily replace it with electronic texts for reference. That would be an amazing gift to me and Sara, who has suffered all these years with my ballooning collection.

b) Super Mario Bros. Wii
Dude, i just know this game is going to be awesome. And i promise i will never let enjoyment of it interfere with my real responsibilities.

c) Wii Fit Plus
Santa, i know you noticed i lost some weight this year… Wii Fit gets half the credit. The new version is even better. You might want to get one for yourself too. Just sayin’.

d) Books… there’s a few (of course).

i) A copy of Joseph Heath’s new book Filthy Lucre: Economics for People Who Hate Capitalism
I can only imagine this one’s gonna prompt some major revisions in my thinking, just like Rebel Sell did.

ii) A copy of My Vocabulary Did This to Me: The Collected Poetry of Jack Spicer
i saw this at Duthie Books on 4th. I must have it!

iii) A nice hardcover copy of Joyce’s Ulysses.
Do i need a reason?

iv) Anything by Scott McCloud.
Understanding Comics rocked my world; now i want it all.

e) A sequel to Elf (perhaps featuring Harvey Keitel as buddy’s naughty uncle!)… But only if all the original cast (and crew) will reprise their roles.

f) A time machine.
Hey, you know i’ll just keep asking every year until i get one...

Well Santa, i'm sorry my letter was a little long this year, but i’ve had a lot on my mind. Please give my very best wishes to Mrs. Claus and everyone at the pole.

In solidarity (with Christmas spirit to make your sleigh fly),
ryan andrew murphy

PS: we just finished watching Love, Actually (again). So i'm all teary-eyed (again).
Merry Christmas from the three of us.

Holy crap: i'm a dad!

2009-11-27T03:59:00.000-08:00

It's been two weeks. I haven't had any time to think, let alone blog (i do consider the former a prerequisite for the latter, inconveniently for me).

There are, of course, many many things i'd like to think / write about, but for now i'm simply posting a link here to the birth announcement that we sent out last week:

Roy Oscar Anachie Rozell

I'm a dad. Am i happy? I'm in love! But it may be a while before i can elaborate — and i'm not sure whether i will choose to do so here... or even whether this blog will continue or not, as i re-evaluate "everything". After i hand in my final papers for the semester (and: do the dishes, have a shower, clean the bathroom, and change as many diapers as it takes), i'll try to find some time to write some of what i'm feeling / experiencing. Then i'll decide where those words should go.

Thank you, world. I am so lucky...

The revolutions

2009-06-24T23:09:00.000-07:00

Last night a friend and i stood at Hastings and Gore, holding candles for the MAP (Mobile Access Project) van. Among those standing with us, i recognized Libby Davies and Spencer Herbert. This evening i sent the following letter to the premier:

------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Premier Gordon Campbell,

I can only echo the words of the editorial in The Vancouver Sun [Cutting off funding for street prostitute van is unconscionable; June 17, 2009]

"...it is nothing short of extraordinary that the province would eliminate funding for a project like this in a city still reeling from the murders of scores of women."

According to the executive director of PACE, who was interviewed on the CBC yesterday morning, the MAP Van program only costs $250,000 a year. It is outrageous that such a project, saving the lives of the most vulnerable women in the province, could be scrapped at a time when the government is spending incalculable amounts of money on the dubious spectacle of the olympics. I urge you, as a man -- and as a fellow resident of West Point Grey -- to take immediate action and restore funding to this urgently needed service!

For almost two weeks now, the survival sex trade workers in Vancouver have been in serious danger without the MAP Van. Do the right thing: fund the MAP van now!

I look forward to your response...
------------------------------------------------------------------

Tomorrow i get to hear an old friend speak about the work we do at Peak House, and its connection to human rights. I know this is short notice, but here's the flyer (it is supposed to be a fund raiser)...

Vikki always gives me new insights and perspective on what it is that i "do".

I also just have to shout out to anyone who happened to catch Lightning Dust (and Ladyhawk & the Constantines) last week: i was reborn (as usual) in the sweaty euphoria of your beautiful tunes. If god(s) were dead it would be necessary to recreate them, and hearing the Webbers' heavenly harmonies would easily do the trick -- it makes me feel holy every time.

Meanwhile, amidst all the sound and fury, the struggles and glories, the lovely rain and the new Ghostbusters video game, this week brought something else; the most revolutionary experience of my life so far.

In a quiet little room, a woman wearing a white coat held a goopy instrument up to my lover's beautiful belly and then, on a blueish monitor screen, i beheld a tiny little face. Little fingers. A perfect, tiny spinal cord. And two tiny feet. I saw the future in the present. And everything changed.

There’s no place (left)... like home

2009-05-14T11:45:00.000-07:00

Today is the anniversary of Emma Goldman's death. She died in Toronto in 1940; my brother just moved there. If we travel in similar circles in space, do we circle each other in time too?

Sara (who continues to feel pretty pukey, by the way, though we are told the unpleasantness should abate any day now, as she enters the quasi-utopian second trimester) took this picture as we walked past Emma’s former residence in NYC.

The night we got home from our trip, i knew exactly what had to be done: i ran out and rented The Wizard of Oz. Having a good cry with Dorothy about the terrible beauty of what lies over the rainbow and the sad, wonderful fact that there really is “no place like home” seemed like the right thing to do. I really do love coming home.

In the days that followed, while finishing an essay, i found myself reading about Emma’s lectures on Nietzsche; i was reminded of these while listening to Irving Wohlfarth’s discussion of Walter Benjamin’s “anarcho-messianism” at SFU last week. Plenty to think about, but then along came the election. And the referendum... Which will be the the focus of my blogging energies today.

-------------

I’ve already written about why this referendum was significant, so rather than simply hurling curses at everyone who campaigned against BC-STV (and those who stood by as this battle was lost), i would like to share a little simile:

Arguing that there are better systems of proportional representation than the one on the referendum ballot is as helpful to the disenfranchised as promulgating architectural ideas while we are trapped in a burning building... We don’t need a better blueprint, we need an axe and a fire extinguisher!

The people behind the “No” campaign (including Bill Tielman and Andrea Reimer — whom i’ve been inclined to support, at times, in the past) claim to want electoral reform, but prefer another system (MMP) to that which we had the option of adopting immediately (STV). Thanks to them, we’re still trapped in the current system (FPTP); the movement for reform is exhausted and demoralized, and the media proclaims a triumph for the status quo. This is their desired outcome?

Their detrimental insistence on “the better” over “the good” (borrowing again from The Rebel Sell) is completely transposable onto “radical” and anarchist contexts: what i am saying to the “No” campaign i also say to fellow anarchists who “refuse” to vote “on principle”. As i’ve said before: voting, always an act of at least some distaste (especially for anarchists) — choosing someone else (or, under STV, choosing some few others) to make big decisions, rather than making them ourselves — can be best understood as a form of Harm Reduction.

Everybody knows Harm Reduction saves lives — why are people able to understand that when it comes to the dangers of injecting drugs, but not the dangers of electing governments?!

My hallucination of the burning building haunts me because i am so appalled by the obliviousness of those who comfortably decline urgently needed reforms on the basis of flaws in the proposed improvements. This strikes me as a contemptible denial: we must frequently face critical choices between imperfect options. If we refuse, we might as well curl up and die.

Because people do die, because of politics. And people do suffer, because of the flaws in our existing political system. These existing flaws are like existing flames. While a risk of fire can be planned for, a deadly blaze already ignited must be dealt with immediately, with the tools at hand.

We can reduce the heat of existing flames. And we can help the people whose lungs are filling up with smoke. To “refuse” to do so — to claim that we should apply some set of principles other than those that pertain to emergencies — is to ignore the consequences of the current system to those whom it harms the most! In this particular case, the broad, but appropriate term for the victims of this system — the electoral system — is: the disenfranchised.

To argue against BC-STV based on the claim that it doesn’t help the disenfranchised “enough” is like saying “No, we shouldn’t save that family’s house. Let it burn! It’s ugly! It was a fire-trap all along! They’ll be much happier in a safer, more beautiful house.” The day that firefighters begin making such judgments will be the apotheosis of this high-minded “progressive” idealism.

So i dare say: we need not refuse amelioration of lousy conditions today, on the basis of plans for radical improvement tomorrow — such patience is characteristic of an unaccountable, privileged position. If we can do both: put out the fire and build a new house... which do you think we should do first?

-------------

When i was working at the polls, i invited people to read the summary (even though it sucked) on the implications of the referendum question; no one read it. Maybe they really had read about it before — most people (at the polling station where i worked) at UBC voted for STV, and the STV campaign had a huge presence on campus... Did people elsewhere even know what they were voting against?

Another thing that bothered me about the “No” campaign was its invocations of stereotypes of the “fighting” Irish; simply showing that politicians do indeed argue there (in a country devastated by centuries of war) and hinting at the Irish temper — this is supposed to strengthen the case against their electoral system? Cheap, stupid and desperate. And, apparently, effective.

Props to Fred Bass for mentioning the evidence (in a comment on Libby Davies’ page [whose uncharacteristically feeble endorsement of STV speaks to the depth of the NDP’s backwardness throughout this election]) against the dubious claims that STV is somehow bad for women: referring to the many conspicuously successful STV-elected women, including Mary Robinson; Fred didn't mention that Ireland is also the first country to elect successive female heads of state.

I’ve also heard some grumbling about the lack of clear information about BC-STV, but i’m just not convinced it was that hard to find or understand — for example, Charles Demers did a fun, and concise, demo — but i do agree that much of the information in the campaign got bogged down in technicalities (Charlie did the right thing, for a general audience, and ignored the mathematical details of the “transfer value”).

The summary provided by Elections BC contained no image of the ballots themselves. I think that the most effective illustration of the most important difference between the two systems would have been to just show the two ballots. On one ballot (STV), there is a list of candidates with numbers written beside each; on the other ballot (FPTP), the same list, with an X beside one candidate. Such a stark juxtaposition illuminates the most significant difference: voters have exponentially greater potential influence over the electoral process. (Of course it should also have been emphasized that under STV everyone is free to continue voting as they always have — the right to rank candidates is optional — why not just let those of us who want it so badly have it?)

Would clearer illustrations have moved us to victory? I don’t know. But the notion of contrasting what is with what could have been reminded me of a quote i’ve loved for years, which, when i first read it, was attributed solely to Noam Chomsky, but is, in fact, from the 1986 book “Liberating Theory” which he co-authored with several others. The words are actually those of a fictional composite character (“Coho” personifying the ideas of the book: what the authors themselves call the “dumb” label “complementary holism”): "Once you accept the possibility of attaining a humanist alternative, you have to be a terrible hypocrite, coward or cynic to live passively with the contrast between what is and what could be."

-------------

So today, 69 years after Emma Goldman’s life of struggling and dancing (and being thrown in prison, exiled, and demonized) came to an end, my convictions about the urgency of our struggles today are more fervent than ever... To celebrate Emma, i think i’ll re-watch Maureen Stapleton’s Oscar-winning portrayal of her in Warren Beatty’s REDS. Will i still like the movie (i haven’t seen it since high school)? I have a hunch that it’ll be a healthy antidote to the current cinematic celebrations of regressive masculinity (in Wolverine and Star Trek — both of which i [nevertheless] quite enjoyed, by the way). In any case, i’m looking forward to getting recharged — whether the charge is positive or negative, at least i’ll have something to run on.

The Anarchist Dork Manifesto - prologue

2009-04-30T02:23:00.000-07:00

I've been catching my breath for a few days, and savouring the sweetness of my own absurdly giddy fanboyism... The result has been a minor flurry of creative activity; in particular, i've been inspired to "embrace the dork side" and all the strange, funny, awkwardness of it all. Coming soon: manifesto of an anarchist dork.
How can i sleep tomight, when i know Wolverine premiers at midnight? ...only 22 hours to go! Oh epic, heroic, phallic power and hairy-chested musclemen! Good god, such spectacular, dizzying, simple, shameless, guilty pleasures...

Hoping for heaven, rowing for shore

2009-04-17T23:04:00.000-07:00

Drifting towards sleep, reflecting on this week in New York, and anticipating our immanent return to the city i love — small, unsophisticated Vancouver (kidding! Geez, don't get defensive) — i wanted to take stock of all i've seen and done, and learned and thought (and eaten and bought), but i got distracted. A conversation about The Pirate Bay and Louis Riel lead us to wonder today about whether or not we've been sleeping soundly in a state that legally murders its citizens; it seems the answer is yes, but so far (since 1976), only in theory.

Remembering this huge inescapably clear difference between the state to which my passport belongs and this one i am visiting brought Obama back into my thoughts... Naomi Klein says it's time for Obamafans to "stop hoping and start demanding." While i'm a little dismayed by her haphazard choice of words, i naturally agree with the commonsensical thrust of her statement. Her phrase, in context:

"If the superfan culture that brought Obama to power is going to transform itself into an independent political movement, one fierce enough to produce programs capable of meeting the current crises, we are all going to have to stop hoping and start demanding."

I will be one of the very last people on earth to suggest anyone should "stop hoping" but in addition to keeping our hopes alive, and hoping harder (and more imaginatively) than ever, we do indeed need to demand action from those (like Obama) who occupy positions of power that enable them to turn (some of) our more modest hopes into realities. Without the momentum of hope, our demands will be impotent (and ignored).

Demanding things is pretty hard work. To seriously demand concrete action from powerful authorities can also be frightening. Powerful people are often quite intimidating, and speaking to them with sustained conviction can be even more difficult if the powerful individuals happen to be charming, disarming, charismatic and persuasive, as we can probably all agree Obama is. Whether one is setting boundaries with friends, petitioning an MLA, filing a grievance at work, or challenging an interloping neighbour, a creep on the bus or an aggressive police officer, standing up to an authority — and demanding accountability from them — is hard enough; sustaining and following through on demands in the face of smiles and nods (whether patronizing or in good faith) can be exhausting, even confusing and mind-numbing.

So, while i naturally enjoy Klein's contributions to our ballooning collection of Obama-related neologisms (i think hopesick is my favorite today), and i applaud her warnings about a "dangerously deferential" attitude towards charismatic authorities, i remain (surprise!) optimistic about a burgeoning renaissance of both hope and civility, especially in politics, especially in the USA. But the question of how we avoid letting civility become a pretense for obfuscating or avoiding disagreement remains open and, i think, productive. Of course, you may disagree. :)

And while i'm on the subject, here's a current petition from Avaaz, "demanding" Obama end the Embargo against Cuba. You know what to do.

My summary of our NYC adventures will have to wait until a later post. I'll get to it soon, but as much as i love the comfy chair in this hotel, the bed is quite nice too and, after i've spent a few hours there, i hope to get up early enough to enjoy the shiny new gym downstairs, one last time... I'm getting pretty good at being on vacation. Sometimes i surprise myself.

Oh, ps: our first night back in Vancouver there's an "Oscar Wilde & Anarchy" event at Spartacus. I shall be there, in my fanciest pants.

all is (not) well in the state of new york

2009-04-11T22:58:00.000-07:00

As i write this, sitting on a luxurious Aeron chair in a comfy Manhattan hotel, a student "Rally for Justice" at Union Square is probably over, having ended either peacefully, in a spirit of celebration and solidarity, or violently with a rash of new arrests by the NYPD...

It may be just after midnight in Vancouver, but i'm well over the jet lag now, so it's past 3am for me and the rest of NYC, thus i won't be reporting in any depth on the events that have come to my attention. However, i'm certain that some folks back home will be interested in the ongoing struggles at The New School, so i'll say a few words and include the links.

I first heard about the situation this morning, as i drank a cup of tea and read this article in the NY Times. Before i go on, i feel compelled to say that it's been surprisingly and dishearteningly difficult to get clear and substantial information about the unfolding events. The materials Sara and i were able to collect from the activists all appear (from our wide-eyed, Canucklehead perspective) to have been written by and entirely for "insiders" — either fellow New School students or at least fellow New Yorkers (who might have been following the long-brewing story), so the Times article is the best i can recommend for a quick & general backgrounder.

After some digging around, i've cobbled together the following ultra-brief summary / analysis of what strike me as the salient points:

Students have at least twice occupied campus buildings recently, demanding the university president Bob Kerrey resign; Kerrey has entirely lost the confidence of the faculty (they have voted); it's hardly surprising based on all accounts of Kerrey's actions as president over the past 7 years in general, and the past few months in particular — eg: Kerrey recently attempted to appoint himself university provost (after four or five provosts resigned)...

Sure enough, when we got to the the Anarchist Bookfair this afternoon, there were ongoing updates about the students who'd been arrested on Friday. They have all been released without bail.

For more info:

An earlier Times article includes disturbing video of police aggression against the protestors. The "New School in Exile" website includes a variety of videos from which one can glean insight into their grievances. The "New School Reoccupied" blog contains posts ranging from the aforementioned "insider" updates, to (what i take to be) more entertainment-oriented accounts of their activities. Overall, the most illuminating source of information has been the Student Senate's website, but there might be more coverage to come on the New School Free Press' site.

In any case, suffice to say these protests, along with the bookfair — which was awesome, of course — have added a fascinating and unanticipated dimension to my first taste of the big apple. After visiting friends in Brooklyn, we bought even more books at the Strand and Forbidden Planet. It's been a feast... Will we be able to wake up in time for the Easter Parade & Bonnet Festival? Hopefully we'll make it to the Anarchism & Anti-Colonialism workshop being offered in the afternoon by a panel of Anarchist People of Color... Then i expect we will fight for our right to read. Quietly.

No matter what the coming days look like, i know my nights will be filled with fabulous anarchistic dreams (if i get any sleep).

The Vegan & The Anarchist Take Manhattan (plus: a referendum reminder)

2009-04-11T06:10:00.000-07:00

This post might be more accurately titled: The (pregnant) Vegan & The (allergy-stricken) Anarchist (sleepily, nauseously, and snifflingly) Take Manhattan (plus: a referendum reminder)

I'm still in a bit of a daze, but i wanted to post a few words about falling in love with the big apple. It's true; my lifelong suspicions have been confirmed: I heart NY.

I was smitten with this city from the first time i saw (cartoon) Spidey swing over the streets on TV when i was a kid; from the first time i saw Ghostbusters (hearing my mentor Winston Zeddemore proclaim his love for this town). Over the years my crush on New York continued through movies like The Fisher King and, of course, two of my seasonal favorites (for which i remain unapologetic) Scrooged and Elf. And that's just the cinematic romance; then there's the music, the literature, the art, the politics... good heavens. How could i not be seduced by a place where every crack in the concrete is legendary?

Anyway, as my luck would have it: today is the third annual NYC Anarchist Bookfair! I couldn't sleep in this morning (and we have definitely been catching up on sleep in the city that never does); it's like a special anarchist christmas! Visions of radical independent publishing dance in my head...

I won't recap every step of our adventure (i could write a Joycean epic about the first evening alone), but i will say that we've had some amazing vegan meals; last night we dined at the Candle Café. I'm sure i'll be writing some poems about the food soon (and adding new sections to my ongoing description of the great buffet that awaits us all in the afterlife).

I'll try to post again before it's over, but chances are we'll be busy: celebrating Sara's birthday, visiting her friends and their new baby, buying too many books, trying to see all the museums and get into the Daily Show, and so on.

But before we head back into the hustle & bustle, i have to remind all my lovely friends back home in Vancouver: there's only one month left to persuade everyone you love to vote YES in the electoral reform referendum on May 12th. We came within 2% of victory last time! Please, talk to your family and friends.

Changing the way power is exercised in British Columbia, specifically by empowering voters to indicate (dis)approval of multiple candidates will invite a significant deepening of political engagement and accountability.

I've wanted to be able to rank political candidates ever since i spoiled my first ballot in an Alberta provincial election back in the dark days of my adolescence, in the chilly shadow of the Conservatives' dynastic one-party government. I grew up in Ralph Klein's riding. The elections were pure formality; he won by a soul-crushing landslide every time. If i could have ranked candidates, rather than merely scrawling a dispossessed rant on the ballot, i might have indicated an acknowledgement of the legitimacy of two or three quixotic non-conservatives, and leant my weight to one or two joke/protest parties. And i would have declined to rank Ralph at all! It's a nice dream... But this summer we have a chance to make it come true in BC. I beseech you all: don't let obfuscation and mystification of the single transferable vote system scare you or your folks away from it. Yes, it's more complicated than first-past-the-post. Democracy is also more complicated than dictatorship; is that an argument against democracy?

The debate can be frustrating, but i look at it this way: whether or not you're fully persuaded that the proposed BC-STV system will actually bring about all of the particular hoped-for beneficial results (to name a few: more power-sharing, more independent and small-party MLAs, increased voter turnout and political engagement due to the vastly increased probability that [at least] one of each voter's top choices for political office will actually get a seat), we can be sure to see improvement in some of these areas of concern. Given the calamitous state of things in BC politically and economically (Campbell's opposition-free legislative reign; ubiquitous homelessness and poor-bashing), can we please agree that the current system is a collosal failure and a sad scrap of the potential for democracy?

The referendum is a chance to exponentially increase the depth of popular influence on the legislative assembly. Don't let it pass us by.

Time & Quietism Or: Speechless spin cycle — blogging from the laundromat

2009-03-31T19:54:00.000-07:00

What a month: i turned thirty-one, got into grad school (officially, at last) — and... drum roll... i found out i’m gonna be a dad!

So, i've spent much of March in stunned silence. Whether it was contemplating the eruptions of violence here in Vancouver, or over in Ireland, or struggling with the implications of the chasm between positivist and post-structuralist epistemologies, i’ve been doing a lot of staring quietly into space lately, asking myself: what the hell should i do? And now i’m confronted by the fact of imminent parenthood, too.

I’m excited, sure; i’ve always wanted to be a dad. But i’m terrified too. Really fucking scared. Some of this is “useful fear” such as that which motivates me to be more organized and to “do my homework” (learning about pregnancy and birth, and how to remain calm / relax enough to be supportive and helpful to Sara, etc.); but some of this is unhelpful fear such as … well a whole bunch of lame crap i’m trying not to get too distracted by.

I manage to get (sometimes pleasantly, sometimes just obliviously) lost in the quotidian minutiae quite regularly, but when i catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror or something, my reflection winks and says: “Hello, Daddy!” and i am suddenly paralyzed, entranced by some vague shape on the horizon of my mind. What am i gonna do?

All i know is that i don’t know…

I do think that i’ll be turning to art more often in the coming year(s); as in recent weeks i’ve found myself reading and writing a lot more poetry, and even producing some music for the first time in many moons. In this i’ve been inspired (and gently compelled) by the “A/r/tography” course i’m taking. This course has also contributed to my deepening fascination with (and hope for anarchistic applications of both) pluralism and post-structuralism, and that’s another way of saying i’m enjoying it. However, even though i’m always grateful for all of the interesting puzzles of this life, some days it feels a little overwhelming to consider all these overlapping and intersecting challenges: financial, professional, academic, intellectual, emotional, physical…

So, on days, like today, when i feel reduced to a furrowed brow and a thought bubble containing only question marks, i thank god for video games (...and the simplicity of clean socks — speaking of which, i owe a special thanks to my lovely friend McKinley for these amazing hand-knitted socks haunted by the ghost of Pablo Neruda: gracias amiga).
Amen.

After these messages, we'll be right back... where we started.

2009-02-17T01:21:00.000-08:00

Two related thoughts for the week, in lieu and in anticipation of more substantive ramblings...

While i sympathize with the concerns underlying it, and i genuinely enjoyed the presentation of this ad campaign from Avaaz.org, if i were to spend money sending a message to Obama concerning his meeting with Harper, it would be about Afghanistan, not climate change. Harper's regressive positions on the environment should prove a feeble obstacle for a president committed to serious action on that front. However Harper's hawkishness combined with Obama's own apparent optimism about warring for peace in Afghanistan is a troubling combination indeed.

If i had a full page ad in the Washington Post from which to advise Obama, i would invite him to read Gwynne Dyer's article "Obama's Vietnam" (the phrase itself should be familiar to him by now, having been used in at least two other noteworthy articles: here and here).

Of course most Canadians oppose Harper's environmental policies; that's pretty obvious. But Obama himself is proposing what amounts to a (further) vietnamization of Afghanistan — and especially troubling, from my vantage point, is that this time around Canada is actually more tangled up in this madness than the yanks (so far).

Demand a global carbon cap? Certainly! But, while inaction on such matters will ultimately prove truly omnicidal, the ongoing murder of Afghan civilians (along with the slowly growing death toll on "our" side[s]) remains an astonishingly clear example of bloody deaths that can be prevented today — by pursuing the possibility of negotiations with insurgent groups.

That is what i would want Obama to think about this week. And so that is what i'll be thinking about...

Dear Mr. President:
a little less killing, please.
(Both immediately and in the long term.)
Thank you.

PS: on a lighter and more local note, the 9th annual People's Prom was the best one yet!
Hope you all can make it next year.
xo

anarchobamanaugulationmania

2009-01-22T01:59:00.000-08:00

A long (and long-overdue) post-inaugural / new year’s “revolution” blog.

“What the cynics fail to understand is that
the ground has shifted beneath them…”

— Barack Obama

Part Zero:

For a laugh, here’s my (Omamaphoria-induced) contribution to your expanding list of Obama-related neologisms:

anarcho-bamist: an anarchist who is impressed / inspired by Obama.

anarch-Obama (or anarchObama / anarcho-bama): an articulate, intelligent, earnest, elected democrat, concerned with their own legitimacy.

inaugulation: inaugural inoculation (against cynicism).

Part One:

Today i woke up from a dream and reality was more exciting. Guantanamo Bay, a place i’ve visited in nightmares, is going to close. Obama called the prison “a stain on America’s reputation” — it seems incredible, to me, that the new president of the United States might actually see with his own eyes what Sunera Thobani received death threats less than eight years ago for pointing out: that “American foreign policy is soaked in blood.” Guantanamo is only the first of innumerable stains Obama will have to wash out, but it is a beginning about which any conscious human being can breathe a sigh of relief.

Many people, including my dad, expressed worry — shortly after his coup in 2001 — that Bush would look for a way to hold on to power at the end of his term(s). But of course today such fears seem surreal: clearly Bush himself never wanted to be president, and barely ever was. (He wanted the perks, not the job.) He couldn’t get in that helicopter fast enough. Who on earth wasn’t relieved to see him leave? Part imperial autocrat, part obnoxious frat boy, part wanna-be hillbilly, Bush II was truly all bad. Scholars and scalpers alike will struggle to articulate the scale of his failures. We can expect to hear more phrases like: The most criminally incompetent statesman of the modern era. The worst orator in the public realm in a generation. Etc. A war criminal. An asshole. A clown.

His accomplishments are an astounding inversion of achievement. He embodies the words: just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse…

Almost any mammal who sought to proceed him would have looked promising. Almost. Sarah Palin seems to have been sprung from the same zoo, and — while i don’t condone the incarceration of animals for human entertainment — it’s good to know she’s back there. For now. I imagine her bizarreness will attract more tourists to Alaska than an entire chorus line of dancing bears. However, we are all indebted to her for catalyzing the long-overdue recognition of Tina Fey’s comedic genius.

Speaking of the power of laughter to make dark days more bearable: as i sat, paralyzed with horror during Israel’s mass-murdering kick-off for 2009, John Stewart summed the situation up with a bit of brilliant wit beyond even his usual high standards: demonstrating the “range” of perspectives presented in the US media by American politicians, Stewart concluded (on the January 5th show, if you want to look it up) that the Gaza strip is “the Möbius strip of issues: there’s only one side!” I hadn’t laughed that hard yet this year.

But seriously…

Part Two:

I maintain: the idea of legitimate government is something everyone, but anarchists in particular, should be very interested in (with ever-vigilant skepticism, but nevertheless). This is a propitious moment for people who share basic concerns for human rights and justice (in all domains: social, economic, ecological, etc.). All of us living in this context, anarchists, liberals, even the spectral conservatives, have a relationship with the idea of democracy, and as Edward Said says of Orientalism: it is certainly much “more than a mere collection of lies.” To me, as an anarchist, recognizing the power and complexity of ideas is a first step to harnessing their power to motivate change.

Here’s an excerpt from an essay i handed in on Monday, lamenting the way “lazy-minded fools” (to abuse my favorite Jimi Hendrix lyrics) drove Murray Bookchin to give up on anarchism:

Bookchin tried to warn us: Social Anarchism or Lifestyle Anarchism. I wish i could have told him, before he died, that i heard his warning: we are social beings! Life is of the social; “true individuality… depends on a social context.” (Beihl: 16) Perhaps he should have said “before” rather than “or”. Either way, i feel remorseful knowing in his last years he “felt alone and misunderstood, a man out of his time”. (17) It’s too late to hug Bookchin, but not too late to heed him. As Stephen Collis describes Phyllis Webb’s poetics as one of “response” (one of public engagement, despite being flooded with the tensions between public and private) and as Webb herself speaks of the “future” as “tact” (Collis: 15) — it is clear: we are concerned with each other. We share, create, withdraw, re-create, etc. We like spirals, which are both cyclical and linear, and it is their both-ness that makes them flexible. Makes them bouncy. Exciting. Useful. Fun.

Anyway, i will be returning to the idea of [engagement with] democracy, and its purported thorniness for (some) anarchists, again. Hopefully i won’t share Bookchin’s fate of having my faith eroded by decades of cruel personal attacks.

Moving on…

Part Three:

Recently i’ve been reminded of one of my favorite lines from one of the great movies of my childhood: Winston Zeddemore (the first African-American Ghostbuster) in his job interview, saying “If it has a steady paycheque in it, I’ll believe anything you say.” Believing things is easy. Reconciling beliefs and reality, even to the extent that we can change reality, is not. And getting a job isn’t easy these days either. As indicated by the recent headline from The Onion —“Black Man Given Nation’s Worst Job” — many people are ready to take whatever employment they can get.

So how about that inauguration? Quite a show. Of course the first thing that must be said is about the first things that were said, and who said them. The invitation of homophobic, anti-choice zealot / bestselling author Rick Warren to give the invocation has been rightly described as “an utter nightmare and a total insult to the LGBT community.” Some people, caught in the dazzling headlights of Obama’s inspiring oratory, might be tempted to rationalize the decision in terms of Obama’s aim to ameliorate the intense polarization of American political culture, but veteran gay Democrat Barney Frank (interviewed in last week’s New Yorker) would like to disabuse us of any such illusions. He explains that the invitation was a wrong turn attributable to the fact that “Obama tends to overestimate his ability to get people to change their opinions, and underestimates the importance of confronting ideological differences.”

In an editorial published after Warren’s invitation was announced, New York Times writer Frank Rich opines: “It’s bizarre that Obama, of all people, would allow himself to be on the wrong side of this history.” He goes on to quote historian — and Obama campaigner — Timothy McCarthy who does us all the favour of putting things plainly, saying: after such a poor start, it is time for Obama “to start acting on the promises he made to the LGBT community during his campaign so that he doesn’t go down in history as another Bill Clinton, a sweet-talking swindler who would throw us under the bus for the sake of political expediency.”

So Rick Warren’s presence was, to recycle Obama’s reference to Guantanamo, a “stain” on the inauguration. Warren seemed to steer wide of language that would point back to the ideological sewer he calls home, and in doing so he reminded me of our famously evasive renegade Prime Minister — whose outrageous arrogance catalyzed December’s constitutional crisis (a tragicomic/farcical echo of the abovementioned fears that Bush would cling to power) and set an abysmal new precedent for unaccountable oligarchy in Canada. That whole melodrama certainly deserves a long post of its own, but it will have to wait for the time being…

Returning to our creepy crypto-fascist preacher, i do think one aspect of Warren’s invocation merits further attention. Warren spoke of hope for “civility even when we differ.” It has already been pointed out that Warren’s attacks on queer communities are a “strange model of civility” but the idea of civility is a difficult one, worth thinking about. Sure, sometimes it gets cynically used as a means of silencing justified outrage, but i think it has a lot of potential power. It is a key ingredient of pluralism — something i’ve become more and more interested in recently, especially since reading this fantastic piece from Claudia Ruitenberg (a brilliant UBC prof i was lucky enough to take a course with last semester). Of course the challenges of pluralism are very familiar to anarchists, for example in the recent debates about “diversity of tactics.” Civility and pluralism, along with democracy and engagement, are “unpopular” themes i intend to explore in the coming months.

One more thing about the power of the spectacle, i have to say: Aretha Franklin brought a tear to my eye with her rendition of My Country Tis of Thee — when she sang “Let freedom ring!” you know she really meant it. At such moments, i relish the freedom to let go for a moment and just give myself over emotionally to a musician and i luxuriate in the euphoric glimpse of a vague but shared idealism. It’s a life-sustaining feeling. I also couldn’t help but be reminded of that scene from School of Rock where Dewey Finn says “Everybody wants to party with Aretha!”

Part Four:

I wanted to say something about the Gaza rally i attended at the Vancouver Art Gallery recently. It was raining cruelly, yet there were certainly hundreds of umbrellas gathered together for the event. The part i saw however, didn’t go very well. There were many three-word-chants, of course, and shouts of “Shame!” at the usual intervals, right on cue. But things unraveled during a bumbling speech from Vancouver-Kingsway’s new NDP MP Don Davies (who by all accounts is a very nice, earnest, political activist). He implicitly invoked the most irritating of logical fallacies: the fallacy of the golden mean, which is a real pet peeve of mine, and the crowd reacted harshly. Davies’ mind-boggling blunder was to utter a condemnation of Hamas’ rocket-fire in the same breath as speaking of Israel’s completely incommensurable mass-slaughter of Palestinians. That’s the kind of “both sides” crap we expect to hear in the American media (it’s what makes John Stewart’s “Möbius strip” analysis so friggin’ hilarious), but it was beyond distasteful — just shockingly stupid really — to hear it from a Canadian MP at a rally against Israel’s war crimes.

Davies’ moment of ineptitude as a speaker, however, provoked a revelation of something that also disturbed me (in my perpetual naiveté): as he backtracked and stammered, suddenly we were hearing a different voice (i couldn’t see anything but umbrellas — i assume someone grabbed the microphone from him). This voice declared that “we” (ostensibly the damp, heterogeneous crowd) “do not support a two-state solution” to the conflict; according to the angry voice, “we” support a “one-state solution” (a “free Palestine” — well, who wouldn’t want that?).

I was actually surprised to hear this position expressed seriously. I had thought that there was a consensus that, in the foreseeable future, the only plausible means to end the violence is a two-state solution; but what i heard at that rally made me wonder if polarization has intensified too much for that idea to remain viable. A grim thought. I found this interesting article from the L.A. Times that suggests, if the two-state solution is dead, the only hope is for a one-state “solution” (if you’re thinking a “free Palestine” guess again): democratizing Israel.

Honestly, a two-state solution sounds a lot easier than that, but i could be wrong. In any case, i hope Mr. Davies is taking notes from Obama (who, so far, seems to have a real knack for evoking the complexities of a situation without reducing them to formulas that abandon all perspective), and i wish him better luck (and encourage him to prepare more carefully) in future public appearances, and in Ottawa.

Part Five:

I think that everyone who gives a shit about politics (human rights, social, economic & ecological justice, etc.) has some serious work to do. That much was also true during the Bush presidency of course, in a very different way. Today, in addition to forging new working relationships to overturn injustices and accelerate progress (our perennial concerns), we have to ask ourselves, with renewed willingness to confront inconsistencies between belief and reality: how — in what ways, to what extents, and by what means — shall we engage with the existing political structures?

Of course, we must continue to aggressively challenge the legitimacy of the power structures with/in/under/against/through which we struggle, but the second stage in this spiraling process of anarchistic critique is to vigorously champion their/our moments of success. Doing so will help us propel and steer them forward: towards the goals of justice (and ultimately, an anarchist hopes, their radical transformation / obsolescence — perhaps not too far over the utopian horizon).

On that note, let me state for the record that i’m decidedly not interested in pursuing serious conversations with people who object to incremental progress. You can go ahead and call me an “incrementalist” anarchist; i would rather be an anarchist “without adjectives” but i‘ll welcome adjectives that get hurled as insults if they in fact describe me fairly. Voltairine de Cleyre was right that “Little dreams are folly” but I don’t have much patience left for people who think change is only possible, or good, if it all happens at once.

Let’s say goodbye to Guantanamo Bay, and raise a glass to progress, then get back to arguing about what to do next. It is a very exciting time to be alive.

Happy new year.

PS: one of my resolutions is not to neglect this blog for months at a time, so i’ll be back soon; there are several things of a more personal nature i plan to write about so:
Hasta pronto companer@s...

Art & Anti-Colonialism: Launch!

2008-03-20T01:34:00.000-07:00

It's here!

West Coast Line 55

"Art & Anti-Colonialism:
The 2004/5 Cedar Table Series
Anti-Colonial Art Contest"

Vancouver Launch event:
(there will be another event at SFU, TBA)

Friday April 4th 2008
7:30pm
Spartacus Books
319 West Hastings
Vancouver, Coast Salish Territory
FREE !

Featuring readings and reflections from the contributors.

(copies of the issue will be for sale @ $10
and we will be accepting donations towards a permanent installation
of Anti-Colonial Art Contest grand prize winning mask/sculpture "Teen BC")

This issue of West Coast Line, 3 years in the making, commemorates
the events of the second Cedar Table Series at Simon Fraser University.
It contains full transcripts from all the events and
reproductions of the winning pieces from the Anti-Colonial Art Contest.

Contributors include:

ryan andrew murphy (guest editor)
annie ross
Peter Jacobs
William Ignace (a.k.a. Wolverine)
Arnie Jack
Rick Ouellet
HOCK E AYE VI Edgar Heap of Birds
Sharene Razack
Sunera Thobani
Leonard George
Merit Ichin
Pascuala Patishtán
Michael Stevenson
Nate Woodbury
Susan Cormier
A.S. Matta
Valentine Gomez
Marlee Ouellet
Scott Stonechild
Adriana Contreras
m.d. caroline lefebvre
Noemi Kozikowsa
Erika Fuchs
Nadine Chambers
Barbara Charlie
Sandy Scofield
Lisa Sterling
Erma Robinson
Tania Willard
Gwaai Edenshaw
Mary Aski-Piyesiwiskwew Longman
Lucie Idlout
Sarah Caufield
Margaret "Grandma" Harris
Theresa Neel
Jerry Zaslove
Roy Miki
Rita Wong

Finding Meaning Saves Lives

2007-11-04T11:51:00.000-08:00

This morning i learned of an attack that was made — in a national newspaper — against a former classmate of mine. Robert Fulford of the National Post (unofficial soapbox for Canadian cynicism) wrote a piece called “Lex Luthor hearts Superman: Your tax dollars at work” in which he basically accuses Jes Battis of stealing money — by being awarded a research grant for his work on homoeroticism in popular culture. Jes responded to the attack with more humour and patience than i could have mustered.

Many issues were brought up in the exchange, but for me i was reminded of the article i read some time ago in the Georgia Straight called “Finding meaning in life key to curing addiction”.

Lately i’ve been reading Victor Frankl’s classic Man’s Search for Meaning and when i read Jes Battis’ response to the attack against him i remembered one of Frankl’s lines about life in Auschwitz. Speaking of the psychological torments of the camps and his fellow prisoners’ inevitable contemplation of suicide, he says: “...once lost, the will to live seldom returned.”

New pathways to meaning:

Counter-hegemonic readings of (supremely accessible) iconic cultural texts — such as Battis’ queer reading of young Superman and Lex Luthor — can help to provide an ontological foundation for discursive spaces in which to safely begin the collaborative work of psychological healing (from homophobia, for example).

This is not intellectual wanking. This is completely practical, vital, real-world stuff.

I see this in action every day in my work as a youth counsellor. In fact, one of the strengths i feel i bring to my work is the willingness and ability to help young people see and appreciate the philosophical profundity of the self-healing work they’re doing — and to assure them that there are intellectual and cultural communities in which they would be welcome. Often i have to do a lot of explaining (decoding jargon, paraphrasing, etc.) but the experience has been mutually rewarding and has even occasionally led to therapeutic breakthroughs for the young people i work with.

Incidentally, reading about Jes this morning reminded me of my pivotal experience in early adolescence (about which i have written, in an article published in Adbusters a few years ago), of discovering the historical tradition of anarchism — knowing that generations of people had built a movement based on ideas similar to my own profoundly changed my perception of reality, at a crucial time when despair and alienation were a serious threat to my well-being. As the protagonist of the film Year of the Dog put it (upon discovering veganism) “It’s nice to have a word that describes you. I’ve never had that before.”

The sense of belonging, the meaning of community, obviously saves lives — it is a salient level in Maslow's hierarchy of needs. And Jes Battis’ significant contributions to the creation of community should be applauded. The fact that so many of the National Post’s readers so eagerly attack him makes me very sad because it strikes me as an example of what people who have no sense of connection to the whole of humanity act like, in the agony of alienation. Again, i think of Victor Frankl.

So many of the comments seem to reverberate with a despairing, fanatical economic adversarialism — as if giving someone money always means stealing it from someone else. I see this reductio ad absurdum as the tragic kernel of prevailing statist (socialist and capitalist) economic theories... A sketch of an anarcho-synergistic economic model is something i might dare to attempt some day. (I’ve heard Michael Albert has interesting ideas along these lines).

Ultimately, i was driven to write this post because both the NP article and many of the comments posted below Battis’ response to it ignorantly and arrogantly dismiss his work and attack him personally — and i felt attacked alongside him. So i wanted to raise my blog’s voice in protest, to assert that i am part of the intellectual community against which these attacks are being made, and to emphasize that we are a community which, beyond being legitimate, actually makes important contributions to society. Even saves lives, and helps to make them worth living.

R.I.P. Demonoid?

2007-09-30T15:00:00.000-07:00

Today the ugly rumors were confirmed: Demonoid.com (reportedly one of the world's most popular BitTorrent tracker sites) has been shut down, but only for Canadians.

The group responsible for locking us out of our own collective media library is the Canadian Recording Industry Association (CRIA); but these dinosaurs are enjoying what will inevitably prove to be a short-lived victory. Whether or not Demonoid itself is able to reopen to Canadian file sharers, as one poster recently put it: "We are in an era where the old rules of rights management cannot survive. Pandora's Box is open, the cat is out of the bag, you cannot go back without causing more damage, if you can go back at all. Adapt or die."

In my opinion, such confidence is securely founded on two things.

First, I am certain of the justness of file sharing, which, as another poster pointed out, is in fact the only means of accessing much "obscure" (ie: unprofitable) media: "People don't go to demonoid for Britteny Spears. They go for Jazz and Classical recordings that have not been available for purchase in the US for 20 years. They go for medical textbooks. I got a full Principa Mathmatica there for cripe's sake. It's where Americans get 30 year old BBC productions. I'd been wanting to see The Sweeny for years. I'd have paid for it given the chance. The copyright Nazis don't give a shit about 90% of what's there and 90% of the people using Demonoid don't give a shit about any of the stuff the copyright Nazis give a shit about.")

Incidentally, I also believe that the reason so much media remains unavailable except through file sharing is because of the dinosaur corporate business models that have not kept up with emerging technologies. Thus, we (media users/consumers) are punished doubly: first by having to work our asses off (for example) to digitize media that hasn't been/won't be remastered and/or re-released by it's original producers (instead of simply buying a digital copy of it, like so many of us would clearly be happy to do), and then we're accused of stealing it! Many media artworks (eg: movies available only in VHS; old/obscure publications [of particular interest to me is the library of millions of digital comic books created by readers who scan the often hard-to-find originals, a specialty of Demonoid]; as well as independent/obscure recordings) owe their entire contemporary (digital) existence and/or circulation to dedicated file-sharing fans - but instead of being thanked for enriching and maintaining our collective cultural heritage, we're threatened by bureaucrats and business giants who have no legitimate claim to the artworks we've rescued from oblivion.

The second pillar of my confidence in the inevitable vindication of file sharing is the conviction that media artists themselves will not tolerate the restrictions that the big business copyright-dinosaur lobby is pushing for. Already, a swarm of Canadian musicians have created an antidote to the CRIA, they call it the Canadian Music Creators Coalition. Through spokesperson Steven Paige (of the Barenaked Ladies), they say:

"We, as Canadian music creators, have identified three simple principles that should guide copyright reform and cultural policy.
- ...we do not want to ...coerce fans into conforming to a rigid digital market artificially constructed by the major labels.
- ... Laws should protect artists and consumers, not restrictive technologies [ie: DRM technologies]
- Third, we strongly believe that cultural policy should support actual Canadian artists. We call on the Canadian government to firmly commit to programs that support Canadian music talent. The government should make a long-term commitment to grow support mechanisms such as the Canada Music Fund and FACTOR, invest in music training and education, create limited tax shelters for copyright royalties, protect artists from inequalities in bargaining power and make collecting societies more transparent."

As for Demonoid itself, when i visited the site moments ago it simply said: "The latest changes to the site are giving us some problems - We'll be back soon"

Too good to be true? I certainly hope my favorite community-conduit to completely otherwise unavailable media reopens, or that another one, of equal quality, emerges to fill the crater left by CRIA's assault.

**EDIT [Nov 6]: Well, this has been a highly rewarding learning experience. There is always hope: Praise The Proxy Saviour!

**EDIT [Nov 10]: And sometimes hopes are dashed... The latest from Demonoid:
"The CRIA threatened the company renting the servers to us, and because of this it is not possible to keep the site online. Sorry for the inconvenience and thanks for your understanding."
...La lucha sigue. ¡Venceremos!

some things can't be explained...

2007-08-27T19:22:00.000-07:00

(line from Dusan Makavejev's "Sweet Movie")

Too busy, as usual... Even less clarity, even less certainty, even more stress, even less sleep. We (Sara and i) went blackberry picking last weekend - inspired, for my part, by Steve Collis' reading at Under the Volcano two weeks ago (on the heels of our trip to Nova Scotia for my dad's 60th). But i wouldn't usually bother to post such quaint reflections to this blog... not that they're unworthy of commemoration, of course. But, rather, i was moved to update this page because:

I recently received word that there's been a paramilitary attack against the Zapatista municipality of Olga Isabel; the very municipality i visited (with an MSN delegation of human rights observers) in September of 2002. The courage, dignity and humour of the people who hosted our group for that week spurred me on to increased activism upon my return to Vancouver. In particular they prompted me to align myself with indigenous resistance in Canada, and to learn more about my own history... both of which are crucial elements of work i've done since. Here's a link to the details of the recent attacks against them.

And speaking of resistance at home, the recent actions of the Quebec police deserve more outrage than they have elicited.

Oh, and i might be looking for a new job again - just maybe - for a couple of reasons that have basically nothing to do with my current job, which i love in every way except one: the schedule is slowly killing me just as it prevents me from taking so much as a single evening or weekend course... So if you happen to hear about a decent job with regular hours, don't hesitate to let me know... Thanks.

Restore funding for Aboriginal Languages

2007-06-06T08:57:00.000-07:00

Greetings cyber-citizens!
As usual, it's been a while... Well, here's a letter i sent this morning to one of the few conspicuously legitimate elected representatives on this continent. I'll post any replies and follow-up... Once again, click here if you want to get a word in also.

Hello Mr Siksay,
first, thanks and congratulations for all of your good work keeping human rights on the federal agenda.
i'm writing to ask you if you have yet received any response from Bev Oda to your January letter calling for the reinstatement of the 160 million dollars of funding for Aboriginal Languages: Has the Minister responded (favourably)? If not, will you be raising the issue again? It has been brought to my attention by friends and colleagues from coastal First Nations that now is an appropriate time to increase pressure for this funding, with the AFN's National Day of Action approaching.
please let me know if there have been any developments in this area recently, and as a voter who is passionate about the revitalization of First Nations languages, thank you for your work on this important issue - as you know, it is an extremely time-sensitive one.
sincerely,
ryan andrew murphy

Cordón Blog / al cumpleaños

2007-03-28T11:32:00.000-07:00

In the final hours of my 28th year, i contemplate my paltry blog and feel vaguely obligated to make a new post. The long pauses between postings speak volumes about unresolved conflicts:

As i divide my time between the banal interrogation of falsely modest personal demons, my "careers" (paid work plus largely unpaid creative and intellectual work), the ongoing recalculation of viable & sustainable degrees of involvement in activist/solidarity work and attending to my individual and relational well-being, it seems the same kinds of questions come up in all spheres:

What am i doing? (What is the nature of the projects i'm engaged in?)
Why am i doing it? (What is the purpose: for whom and/or what parts of myself am i doing it?)

What is this blog for/about?

Its inconsistencies, the shifts in style and content are a surprisingly accurate reflection of the tensions in my mind between different needs, desires, goals, visions, whatever. Between different ideas of who i am (and/or who i wish to become / again).

Thinking of Bridget Jones' Diary (to me, a film - though i'm sure the usual caveats about transmediation apply; maybe if i finish all these, i'll get around to reading the original) as well as having seen it done by friends in their admirable blogs, it occurred to me to infuse this entry with some data that might serve as a representative sample of my year:

Bachelor's Degrees earned: 1
Grad school applications rejected: 1
Concerts attended: lots
Concerts performed: 0
Songs included in compilations: 1
Poems published: 1
Visits with my Grandad in Florida: 1
Old friends rediscovered: several
Funerals attended: 1
Weddings attended: 2
Car accidents: 1
Collage parties thrown: 2
Lobsters eaten: 2.5
Brief bilingual speeches at protests outside the Mexican consulate: 1
Tattoos: 1
New languages studied: 1
Episodes of Star Trek TNG watched: all

Happy Birthday to me!
And to all of the blogosphere: yeehaw!

Colonial Art...

2007-02-24T11:12:00.000-08:00

My friend Jerry sent this letter to the Sun (and me) yesterday. Enjoy.

..............................................
Steven Hume’s complaint (Vancouver Sun, 22 Feb 2007, pg. A.17) about “political correctness” in regard to what he terms “censoring art from our past” trivializes the issues by labeling the First Nations complaint with the catch-all term “political correctness”. By innuendo he insinuates that the First Nations’ concerns about the Southwell Mural entitled “Courage” in the legislature building are similar to Fascist and dictatorial regimes that destroyed paintings, burned and censored literature, banned and exiled authors, intellectuals and dissidents, and in the recent past destroyed statues, or pillaged libraries and archives. He refers to the “degenerate art” exhibitions as displays of artists who “offended” the German sensibility. He refers to the Taliban’s destruction of religious icons. His comparisons are cheap and historically false. The paintings from the “degenerate art” exhibits were confiscated, housed and held for ransom - that is stolen. Books were burned. Artists and authors were persecuted, imprisoned or murdered, and many were herded into reservations otherwise known as concentration camps. Political opponents likewise. The logic that the First Nations’ concern has any relationship to these events is guilt by association. It would be far more fitting of him to explain to readers why a people whose land has been confiscated, whose children were incarcerated in residential schools, whose households were turned into subsistence economies, and whose culture and languages were rendered obsolete might be “offended” by the art work in an official building representing them as subservient in a land where they are citizens. While stupidities have been committed in the name of ‘political correctness’ this concern about the painting goes much deeper. A more correct analogy would be if Jewish survivors of the holocaust were asked to accept as an official representation of their legacies and their lives the very stereotypes that were pervasive in the society that decimated their culture and their families because of phobias against Jews and non-Aryans. Jews, Gypsies, Slavs, the sick and crippled were the “natives” of the time. Yes teach the next generation and this one too about the causes, and find ways to do that. Keep the painting as illustration of a historical perspective. Consult many about how to do that. Don’t trust all art historians. Don’t trust all journalists. Don’t trivialize the issue by meaningless comparisons. By the way, Paul Klee is not a cubist.

Jerry Zaslove
Professor Emeritus
Simon Fraser University

happy holidays blogworld!

2006-12-24T19:15:00.000-08:00

"Goodness makes the badness go away
Goodness makes me happy every day
Badness cannot start
if there's goodness in your heart
Goodness makes the badness go away"
- The Smurfs

Feliz Cumpleaños

2006-11-29T22:47:00.000-08:00

Happy Birthday to Cam and Silvio Rodríguez.

Vamos a Andar, amigos...

I need a new cave

2006-11-14T23:05:00.000-08:00

Been away from the blogosphere for a while - busy back in "reality" with writing, work, etc. but two urgent items were brought to my attention this evening, so here they are... If you're reading this i hope you have a minute to take some action (write to the bad guys / donate to the good guys / tell others)...

First, i heard about the Massacre in Chiapas...

Then (moments later) i learned that Bear Mountain Resort CEO Len Barrie meant it when he said "if we want to blow up a cave and put up a hotel we will" (whether or not it has traditionally been used for Native ceremonies and burials).

According to Cheryl Bryce of the Songhees First Nation, the Bear Mountain developers (led by Barrie and fellow former-NHL player Mike Vernon) blew up just such a cave today.

In an email, Justine Batten (Director of the Archaeology Branch of the BC "Ministry of Tourism, Sport and the Arts") explained to Bryce that blowing things up is the best way to understand and protect them: "... the Heritage Conservation Act does not protect sacred sites that contain no physical evidence of use or habitation. Before we know whether this cave does fall within the protection of the Act an impact assessment needs to be completed and this can only be done safely by removing the roof of the cave. This work will recommence on the site."

If you have questions about this method of "assessment" (reminiscent of witch trials: the destruction of the cave enables us to determine whether or not it was sacred), feel free to contact Ms. Batten (Telephone: 250 952-4305 / Fax: 250 952-4188 / email: justine.batten@gov.bc.ca). Just be prepared to hear something along the lines of: "...the Provincial position is: Given the existence of the Douglas treaty, aboriginal rights and title were surrendered under the terms of that treaty..."

How am i supposed to sleep with all that noise??

Viva Vitus!

2006-10-03T22:55:00.000-07:00

Last night, on my first excursion to this year's VIFF, i was lucky enough to catch Vitus. I can't remember the last time i had that much fun watching a movie - it was even more euphorically adventurous than any of the high-quality superhero films of recent years, perhaps at least partly because the "hero" of this one is seven years old for the first act of the film, and twelve for the second. Here's the trailer (which naturally doesn't quite do justice to the film, but gives a fair sense of it). Apparently, as i discovered during a perfunctory web search, the film exhibits many parallels to the legend of St. Vitus, who (according to some sources) is the patron saint of children...

Toes get stubbed on borders

2006-09-15T09:14:00.000-07:00

Celebrations are in order, as a good friend has at last gained "residency" in Canada - after having resided here for many years. Life's a lot less stressful when you don't have to worry about getting deported. The timing is a little ironic, as she turns her sights southward to her family... and the ongoing electoral crisis in Mexico.

The CEPR (a group of American economists) has been analysing the 'partial recount' data released by the Mexican electoral authority; they found "a significant reduction" of votes for Felipe Calderón (whom the electoral authorities have nonetheless declared president-elect), and correspondingly significant gains for populist Andrés Manuel López Obrador (aka: "AMLO"). Their most recent update contains even more dramatic numbers; note in particular at the bottom of the page where they estimate that "it would take about 200 hours" to decipher the data. Clearly, no official effort will be made to determine the actual outcome. Obrador will announce his next move at the "Democratic National Convention" this weekend.

If you can read Spanish (or have a good bilingual dictionary, a verb conjugator, and a little patience), you might enjoy Marcos' insightful response to ("friends" and) critics of the "other campaign" (who have claimed that the EZLN and allied groups do, or should, support Obrador). Essentially: the election was a fraud, but even if it had been legitimate (and the 'leftist' candidate had won), little would have changed for those who are concerned with building alternatives to the state.

As i witness the unfolding electoral spectacle (and contemplate its consequences), i can't help but wearily recall the perennial debates around whether or not a principled engagement with electoral politics can be consistent with anarchism. It's a pretty boring and sophomoric discussion for the most part, in my humble opinion. Much of it boils down to false dilemmas ("to act" rather than "to elect" - can't we do both?) and posturing. While i agree with virtually every word of Jaggi Singh's analysis, i am nevertheless convinced that we can choose the lesser evil and refuse to co-operate with it. Or as Jaggi himself has said: we can walk and chew gum at the same time. Anarchists sympathetic to the Parti Populaire des Putes (People's Prostitutes' Party) could show their support by voting for them as well as supporting sex trade workers by direct action (like Copwatch).

I consider voting to be another form of harm reduction: injecting heroin is inherently harmful, but at least one can use a clean needle (and a safe injection site); states are inherently harmful, but at least citizens can exert an influence on the state (unlike a corporation, unless you buy shares) - to hopefully make it slightly less harmful. It may not seem like a worthwhile difference to some (especially to people of privilege), but to people on the margins it can matter a whole lot where the lines get drawn...

Anyway, here in the land where elections are lost "fair and square", an almost-amusing group of the usual, hard-core loonies (who warn of "secularists attempting to eliminate Christian morality") has recently complained to the provisional Canadian government about the continued funding of Out on Screen, the group whose hard work brings us the delights of Vancouver's Queer Film Festival (and whose Out in Schools project is especially impressive, i think).

As usual, click here to find your MP and, if you have a minute, remind them that not all of their constituents are anti-choice, homophobic neanderthals (it's probably easy to 'forget'). You could even warn them that some of their constituents might be anarchists - who actually vote!

The Hunsdale of Notre Dame: A True Story

2006-08-28T12:00:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, while i was quixotically studying French amidst a throng of anglophone revelers at l'Université du Québec à Trois-Rivières (a dismal experience, but with some highlights, including a brief detour to the Montreal Anarchist Bookfair), i met a friendly, charismatic young man named Shawn. Years later, having begun my degree in Linguistics and Women's Studies at SFU, i bumped into him again. Naturally, this coincidence gave rise to a measure of mirth for both Shawn and i, and we forged a rapport characterized by good-humoured greetings in the hall and on the street.

I had been organizing events with the SFU Linguistics Student Union - an activity in which i was aided considerably by the exemplary work of Hattie Aitken, the SFSS student union organizer at that time. The following spring i decided to become even more involved in student union activities, and i won (by acclamation - meaning no one ran against me, a process which i believe should be replaced by a "yes/no" vote for unopposed candidates) a position on the board of the student society. My acquaintance Shawn also ran for and won a position in the election. That fall, he enrolled in a Women's Studies course that i was taking. Thus, inevitably, we ended up spending a lot of time together.

By that point, i had already developed a degree of frustration with this young man's penchant for sophistry, but that's a common vice in academia, so i didn't allow myself to become seriously upset with him. Rather, i would usually try to laugh off his refusals to genuinely engage with the serious and complex issues we faced in class and at work: He's just one of those incorrigibly playful and free-spirited 'artists', i would tell myself...

As a side note, having spent the last few weeks carefully dissecting (and savouring) Joyce's "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man", i have a renewed contempt for poseur artists (and a renewed appreciation of Joyce, about which i will write at a later time).

Eventually there was no denying that his unwillingness to take things seriously had myriad negative consequences, including two that i find inexcusable: other people consistently ended up doing work that Shawn neglected, and valuable class-time was regularly spent entertaining his specious and frivolous arguments - which he dependably interjected to demonstrate his ignorance of the course texts (not to mention the problem of men taking up lots of space in a Women's Studies class). In fact, the only mitigating factor in the crescendo of my irritation with this colleague of mine was his frequent absence from both meetings and classes.

Towards the end of the term i served with him, i began to notice a strange and troubling pattern in his voting: an unprincipled fidelity to the positions of the Canadian Federation of Students. This kind of behaviour always baffles my poor, naive little mind at first. Why would anyone ignore facts pertaining to specific issues and simply advocate allegiance to a particular party? But upon reflection, there's no mystery to it: Shawn Hunsdale is a polititian, in the most common, vulgar sense of the word.

Many months have passed. I've completed my undergraduate studies, and my brief career in student politics is over (though i continue to work on projects initiated during that period, including an upcoming issue of West Coast Line which will document the series of anti-colonial events i co-organized). But Hunsdale continues to haunt me. A couple of weeks ago i joined a long list of former student society board members in signing a letter condemning recent actions of the current SFSS board (of which Hunsdale is now president).

The most egregious offense of the Hunsdale board is their recent firing of Hattie Aitken - the very one whose expertise and organizational skills inspired my initial confidence in the SFSS, which prompted me to get active on campus.

A former colleague of mine, who enjoys a reputation for diligence and attention to detail, has posted information and comments concerning these events on his blog, including the letter to which i attached my name. The Georgia Straight even ran an article on the "controversy" last week, and another one this week about the political fallout (quoting yet another former colleague, who is now engaged in the optimistic enterprise of impeaching Hunsdale and the others responsible for Hattie's dismissal).

In principle, i believe Hattie should be reinstated with compensation and an apology (because i am convinced of her innocence, and of Hunsdale's ulterior motives, as described in the Straight articles); however, if i were her, i can't imagine i'd be eager to return to a work environment where i had been so badly mistreated. I sure as hell wouldn't work with that guy again. On the other hand, in her decades of service to SFU students, Hattie has seen many dozens of board members come and go... both good and bad.

Meanwhile i still can't speak French worth a damn, but i did enjoy the film Bon Cop Bad Cop, even though i probably only got half the jokes.

Grand Men . . .

2006-07-31T14:33:00.000-07:00

R.I.P Murray Bookchin, 1921-2006.

I read some of his history of the Spanish Anarchists while i was living in Barcelona in 1998. I think i'll pick it up again to toast his memory tonight.

The toxic load really got me down at work this week. After involuntarily sleeping for 14 hours, i took a day off to get diagnosed with prepatellar bursitis and watch Leonard Bernstein's first "Unanswered Question" lecture. That, along with Ibuprofen, made me feel a little better.

In a particularly serendipitous turn of events, i finally got around to sending Noam Chomsky a copy of my book (of poems about him and Jack Spicer) a few weeks ago. His thank-you note arrived on Saturday afternoon, moments before i had to head out the door to work. I had been in a pretty foul mood - having missed a booklaunch, a concert, and a tea party in the preceding 12 hours due to my stress-induced coma, but somehow a few words of thanks from Chomper seemed to outweigh all the bad stuff. I climbed on the bus feeling safe and protected in a happy little golden bubble of satisfaction. Remarkably, no one threw an egg at me.

Today my dad shared a great quote with me: "The right to swing my fist ends where the other [person]'s nose begins." It is attributed to Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. I like it as a concise corrective to one of my perennial pet peeves: infantile libertarianism. Yes, Dorothy, there are other people to consider.

It's a little frustrating (to an obsessive citation-monger like me) that - like Freud's famous remark on the Irish - there is no identifiable source for Holmes' gem. However, i'm working to develop appreciation for the uses of such phrases, independent of their dubious authenticity. I can usually resolve the whole wrestling match in my mind by invoking that great scene from Smoke Signals, where Thomas is asked "What do you want, truth or lies?" and he replies "I want both." I found this interesting article on the film today, which reminded me of Ward Churchill's piece from several years ago.

Speaking of Churchill (and footnotes), is anyone else out there feeling the same mix of emotions about the conclusions drawn by the Boulder research misconduct inquiry? What i mean is: i'm deeply troubled by the prospect of specious, cynical dismissals of all of Churchill's work on the basis of its purported flaws, and by the highly suspicious timing of the investigation itself. Ward insists, in his response to the committee, that no serious scholar's work "could withstand the type of scrutiny to which [his] has been subjected".

I'm inclined to believe him, and it seems likely that he is currently facing termination because of the backlash against his statement about September 11th. However (especially after my recent experience as a juror), i couldn't help empathizing with the committee members during their press conference. I've been ambivalent about some of his ideas for a long time, but i have insisted and will continue to insist that - like the authors of The Rebel Sell, elsewhere on the left - Churchill asks difficult and very important questions that deserve to be taken seriously (whether or not "we" like their implications, and certainly whether or not he has always footnoted scrupulously - which is argumentum ad hominem). Simply put, we ought to honour his call for all lefties to operate "on a basis of mutual respect" - which i think might best be accomplished by embracing what has come to be called "diversity of tactics" rather than interminable and self-defeating factionalism (the absurdities of which were hilariously demonstrated in the second half of my favorite scene from Monty Python's Life of Brian - the first half can, i think, be read as both feminist and pro-trans, but i tend to read generously).

Okay, i've got a hike to Berg Lake (and subsequent trip to Worsley, AB) to prepare for.

A Diabolical Turn

2006-07-26T00:05:00.000-07:00

There must be some physicists who can back me up on this one: heat makes time flow more slowly.... I experienced it the past three days at work.

My mind's been busy this week (in moments when a cool breeze has disrupted meditation on what lobster death must feel like)...

The Vampire government continues to demonstrate spectacularly deadly short-sightedness on both the foriegn and domestic fronts. Fresh from applauding the PM's outrageous statement on Israel's bombardment of civilians (and now UN observers) in Lebanon (and his cynical encore photo-op), the conservatives have now announced they'll sit back and record the death-throws of Insite before they'll consider renewing the successful program's funding. Click here for an *easy* way to tell Harper that his contemptuous indifference is disgusting.

On a more positive note: as i settled into my new "youth counsellor" duties this week, i was momentarilly relieved when i read about the intuitive approach to recovery outlined in this article (from the straight).

Also, the Tyee posted their Canadian Books story, including a slimmed-down version of my statement. Here's the original:

On Joy Kogawa’s Obasan
by ryan andrew murphy

Canada is full of great writers. Canada is also full of crap. Many of Canada’s best writers know this, but few have indicted Canada as artfully as Joy Kogawa.

While Kogawa may shrink from the credit I wish to give her, I like to think her character Aunt Emily would not. Every page of Obasan is brilliant; however, Emily’s dialogue in particular stands out from the tapestry of memories and dreams. Early in the text, Emily cautions her niece (the protagonist), “You are your history. If you cut it off you’re an amputee.”

If Emily is right, then Canada is a land of amputees; the self-congratulatory exaltation of “multiculturalism” only masks a powerful and long-standing prescription for quiet homogeneity.

Emily, like Kogawa, is Canadian and demands to be recognized as such. But unlike many “Canadians”, especially “white” Canadians (from where?), she refuses to amputate her history, despite all it’s pain and horror, because that would let other Canadians – the ones who bore responsibility for (and inherit the spoils of) the Japanese internment, for example – off far too easily.

Emily even writes a manuscript attempting to “find the right mix [of words]” to “make familiar, make knowable, the treacherous yellow peril that lived in the minds of the racially prejudiced... Like Cupid, she aimed for the heart. But the heart was not there.”

Does the praise that Obasan has won suggest that Kogawa has found the words her character sought, and that, after all, there is a “heart” in this country?

I think it is several generations too soon for anyone to indulge in the luxury of imagining that we live in a vindicated Canada. But if such a vision is deemed worth pursuing, Kogawa’s book may be our best compass.

I had considered flogging the metaphor some more (mentioning that one needs more than a compass to find one's way), but i was already well over the 150-word limit. They seemed to like it anyway, which is nice. Thanks dad, for attending the symposium on my behalf (and getting my prizes signed by the authors)!

On the heels of last week's serendipitous theme of good people, this week seems to have brought visions of bad things happening to them... The first time i heard of Mike Frastacky was this evening, when i read that he'd been killed. Made me think of Rachel Corrie; not because of the circumstances of their deaths, but because of the choices they had made.

Similarly (but of much greater importance - because we can do something to help him), the first time i ever heard of Dr. Gazi Walid Falah was this afternoon, when i learned that he'd been arrested by the Israeli police earlier this month, in a Kafkaesque manner reminiscent of the "Secret Trial Five" in Canada. This news naturally brought the Cuban Five to mind, but it also made me think again of the Portnoy Family (in Newfoundland) for whom i wrote this letter of support two months ago:

Dear Honourable Minister of Citizenship and Immigration, Monte Solberg.

In October of last year over one thousand people gathered at the Sacred Heart Parish in the small Newfoundland community of Marystown for a special prayer service in support of the Portnoy family - who have taken sanctuary in the church since early that month. The Portnoys, originally from Moldova, sought sanctuary in the church to avoid deportation to Israel.
As if the threat of deportation weren't sufficiently troubling, Angela Portnoy is pregnant and has been repeatedly denied safe passage to a hospital for medical attention. Thus, the immigration bureaucracy's apparent determination to destroy this family's well-being extends not only to the parents and their four living children (two of whom were born in Canada), but also to their children yet unborn.
I join the thousands of Canadians who have demanded a stay on the deportation order that continues to menace the Portnoys; I join them in demanding that Alexi Portnoy (who has already been deported) be allowed to return to Canada immediately, and that the entire family's immigration application be fast-tracked in recognition of the completely unwarranted suffering they have already endured due to the immigration bureaucracy's unconscionable blindness and callousness.
It is in your power, Honourable Minister, to exercise Ministerial Discretion to overrule this deportation order. I hereby add my voice to the chorus of Canadians urging you to do so.
I further join the many Canadians who are calling for an immediate moratorium on all activities of the Canadian Border Services Agency in light of the number of conspicuously incredible deportations performed by that agency in recent years. This agency should, in the interest of Canada's professed commitment to human rights (enshrined in our Charter as well as the UN Declaration), be publicly investigated for human rights abuses.
The Portnoy family, who have lived in Canada since 1996, are only one of many families who have been denied a life in Canada - after having already built one. Such abuse of power by unelected bureaucrats must be halted immediately.
I await a substantive response to these concerns.

Sincerely,

ryan andrew murphy
Tuesday, May 2nd, 2006

...Monte has yet to get back to me.

All in all, the heat and the heaviness of this week have fostered a (slightly crispy) black humour in my waking mind, and a straightforward Inferno in my sleeping mind (and the two have been overlapping more than usual lately). If it hadn't been for a couple of therapeutic visits to The Irish Heather, and a couple of well-timed mood-boosting news stories (like this one - which my mom passed on to me), i hate to think what might have become of me... I might've become just a little bit bitter or something.

peace out,
ry

I see good people . . .

2006-07-19T14:41:00.000-07:00

This might sound crazy, but i'm actually feeling quite optimistic at the moment.

Sure Israel is on an insane killing spree, but i've been really encouraged by the ubiquitous outrage that the slaughter and destruction has elicited. The best part is: people are being moved beyond disgust - to resistance. Naturally, everyone i've talked to is especially furious about Harper's pathetic response: essentially applauding Israel's "twenty heads for an eye" approach to "defense".

The most crucial thing that needs to be understood, as i see it, is that the Israeli assault on Lebanon is terrorism pure and simple: terrorizing and holding an entire nation hostage (including - "the real story" according to the Canadian media - anyone who presently happens to be within the Lebanese borders), in response to a particular group's actions.

If you wanna add your voice to the chorus, one of the most under-appreciated activists in Vancouver has posted some helpful info on her blog. And the indomitable Libby Davies has of course posted an examplary statement on her site.

Besides that, there seem to be a lot of cool things coming up in the next little while, like "Selling Security" tomorrow, or the booklaunch for "Sociology for Changing the World" next week... or the Bedouin Soundclash show at the Malkin Bowl (ie: where we can sit outside and listen for free in the park).

I guess i'm probably also in a good mood because i'm one of the winners of the Tyee's "Canadian Novels" contest - they're going to publish my short statement on Obasan by Joy Kogawa.

In other good news, Guujaaw (aka: my buddy Gwaai's dad), is being honoured with the Buffett award for Indigenous Leadership today.

So maybe i'm just nuts, but somehow i can't shake the feeling that things are gonna be ok... eventually.

Head-in-the-Sand Holiday

2006-07-04T22:22:00.000-07:00

Sara & ryan's long weekend film binge:
On Saturday we saw The Devil Wears Prada at the Fifth Avenue Cinemas. Place your bets now on whether or not Meryl Streep wins her third academy award for this movie. I've got $50 says she does.

Then we went to the Pacific Cinematheque to watch The Battle of Algiers (it was encouraging to see how many people agreed that watching a film about an anti-colonial revolution was a good way to spend Canada Day; of course we all should have been here).

The next day we picked up Sara's (first ever!) new bike and went out to Riverport in Richmond and saw Superman Returns (in Imax 3D, of course). I laughed, i cried, and i left the theatre beaming with absurd euphoria.

After the movie, as we were riding our bikes toward Steveston, thinking of visiting Finn Slough or maybe stopping in at the tea room of the London Heritage Farm, some exemplary human specimen threw an egg from a moving vehicle... After indicating my disapproval of such behaviour, i threw my yolk-soaked shirt on the road. Sara rinsed it with water from her bottle, bless her perversely inperturbable heart. We carried on riding into the late afternoon sun until i heard a fishy noise and noticed a rusty nail in my tire.
Whoosh! The following evening we rode to the Hollywood and saw The Notorious Bettie Page. We stayed for the double-feature and caught On a Clear Day, which i loved. It almost made me regret spending the weekend watching movies instead of swimming... Maybe i'll go swimming tomorrow.

I guarantee you that swimming will be more fun than Nacho Libre, which sets a new low for fart-joke films. It manages to be mostly boring despite all the action and absurdity; i recommend postponing the three funny moments in this movie until it airs on tv. I should have been even more disappointed, considering how much i actually like some of (writer) Mike White's other work.

The highlight of the weekend turned out not to be a movie after all; this afternoon i spent an hour wandering through the Haida exhibit at the VAG, with Jerry Zaslove. So i'm feeling pretty luxuriously overstimulated now.

Oh and: Happy Birthday Caelie! Sorry we missed the sing-along.

Hope in Hicksville

2006-06-30T23:18:00.000-07:00

I have a new job! I'm a full-time youth counselor (starting in two weeks). I'll be working here. I'll keep my old job, but just part-time/on-call. I'm really stoked about moving in a new direction (more suited to my skills and temperament)... especially since i've been so frustrated lately by constant communication problems and conflicts at work. Nevertheless (and maybe it's just because i know i'm not 'trapped' there anymore, but) i actually do feel like things are starting to change, slowly, for the better - so i'm willing to stay involved with DEYAS for now. Maybe it'll actually start to honour the exemplary commitment of its founder.

Anyway, i wanted to announce to the world that HICKSVILLE by Dylan Horrocks is the single greatest comic book of all time. Period. I'm going to be standing on streetcorners downtown once a week from now on, handing out copies of it like The Watchtower.

Strawberries and teachers against the war

2006-06-24T20:50:00.000-07:00

God it's hot today.

Cheers to anyone who made it to the Peace Forum march... or the West End Seniors' Network's "Strawberry Festival" (where i could be seen volunteering despite acute sleep deprivation).

In unrelated news, i recently reconnected with two of the amazing teachers whose hard work (and patience and creativity and determination, etc...) made it possible for me to graduate from high school.

If you're looking for a really easy way to tell Gord Campbell to start treating teachers with the respect they deserve, click this: http://www.bctf.ca/Fax/

Time for me to take my frothy Irish vitamins,
ry

Forum On Oaxaca, Atenco, and "the Other"

2006-06-22T14:58:00.000-07:00

I just heard about this event (below).

Also, for anyone interested, a 47-minute documentary about Atenco ("ROMPER EL CERCO") produced very recently by canalseisdejulio and Promedios/CMP and other independent media collectives in Mexico, is now available.

I haven't seen it yet, but i've ordered a copy from http://www.mexicosolidarity.org
and as soon as it gets here, i'll be able to lend it or make copies...

Incidentally, i found it interesting that the event is sponsored by a church group; i've just started reading the autobiography of Daniel Berrigan, a pacifist catholic priest who was imprisoned for his activism. It was a graduation present from my dad's friend Garry.

------------------------------------------------

"Repression in Atenco, Mexico
and
Why the Other Campaign?"

A PUBLIC FORUM
Saturday June 24th

6:00 p.m. Unitarian Church
949 49th. West Ave. (near the corner of 49th & Oak)

Free! Everyone is welcome!

We hope you can join us for this event, where we will have at least 4 very special guests from Mexico, including:
Gabriel Sainos (Totonaca healer who participates in the Other Campaign), Heriberto Salas (of the People's Front in Defense of the Land of Atenco), and a teacher from Oaxaca who will discuss recent and ongoing police repression in that state.
We will also have guests who are participating in the Six Nations and Sun Peaks struggles, as well as a traditional Coast Salish welcome.

The Forum will discuss:
- The Other Campaign in the context of the national social movement and the Mexican federal elections
- People's Front in Defense of the Land and the repression in Atenco
- The role of the independent media in the case of Atenco
- The defense of the land and connections with the Indigenous movement in Canada.

Sponsored by:
The Social Justice Committee of the Unitarian Church
Organized by:
The Other Campaign Vancouver and Organizations in Solidarity with Atenco
Email: atenco_vancouver@yahoo.ca

the good, the bad, and us

2006-06-21T03:26:00.000-07:00

Hello friends and neighbours,

Thanks to those of you who sent me graduation well-wishes.

To show you all how much i appreciate your support and encouragement... i invite you to read the story below (from the CBC) about how our Conservative government is representing the interests of "Canadians" at the UN. But if that's too depressing, just remember:

MEANWHILE...

On June 16th, 8000 people came out to "RedStock" (AKA: the Concert for Kanenhstaton) in Brantford, Ontario. Well over $18000 was raised for the Six Nations protesters during the 12-hour, 40-band outdoor concert. The protesters continue to hold their ground at the barricade, despite on-going threats and harrassment...

AND... (if that's too much like "chicken soup for the anarchist soul" here's a reality check)

In Mexico, as the Presidential election-circus continues, the "Other Campaign" (which developed from a proposal of the Zapatistas' 6th declaration: "It is like a campaign... but very otherly, because it is not electoral" - Marcos) is building momentum. Some of the biggest demonstrations in Mexican history have been organized in the past two weeks, many fueled by massive outrage in the wake of state terrorism in Atenco.

The brutal repression of the "Other" perpetrated there by the Mexican police included hundreds of beatings and arbitrary arrests, more than 40 vicious rapes, including that of Italia Mendez - the first individual to report her assault publicly, and two confirmed killings: 20 year-old Alexis Benhumea, who died (after 34 days in hospital) from injuries inflicted by the police, and Javier Cortés, the 14-year-old boy whose autopsy confirmed what the witnesses already knew: that he was killed by an officer's bullet during the police riot on May 4th.

All this horror is unfolding during the first weeks of Mexico's tenure as the president of the new UN Human Rights Council - which brings us back to the article below...

The first session of the UN Human Rights Council is happening right now (June 19 - 30) at UN headquarters in Geneva. If you're in the neighbourhood, say hi to them and congratulate them on their timing.

The long and short of it is: there's a lot of ugly, evil shit going on. But if you're pissed off and wanna do something about it - you're in good company. So let's get it on.

love,
ryan andrew murphy

=====================================

Canada opposes UN aboriginal treaty

CBC News
http://www.cbc.ca/story/world/national/2006/06/20/aboriginal-declaration.html

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"If you have come here to help me, you are wasting your time...
But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine,
then let us work together."
- Lilla Watson