The Ambiguity of Opposition

It is rare to find a use of language, a phrase or articulation, which 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 had first understood through a 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 its 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

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

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!

"This" is why i’m an anarchist.

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.

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?

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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)

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

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.