The message is everywhere.

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

The oft quoted John 3:16. It's been swirling in my frontal cortex lately. It's sad that so many have had to die trying to stop us from destroying ourselves. I was once told we need a crisis to know better. Is gang warfare not a crisis? Is global warfare not a crisis? Is the military-industrial complex not a crisis? Is crippling poverty in our own backyard not a crisis?

How many more will drive themselves to insanity before any of us listen? How many more will have to die?

I suppose we can never have enough martyrs.

For your viewing pleasure, may I recommend the respective codas of Delhi 6, Malcolm X and The Dog Who Stopped The War.

The message is everywhere.

Kindling Malcolm's Dream

Forty-four years ago today, the world lost one Malcolm X, champion of rights for his African sisters and brothers, gunned down by his own former colleagues in the Nation of Islam, presumably because he said too much and knew too much and wouldn't take crap from authority. This is not a requiem for Malcolm X by any means, for I cannot profess to know much about the man; rather, his tragic demise is one of many examples of the war we are waging on each other, a war that keeps us suppressed.

This week, with my own two eyes, I witnessed two more examples of this "war of all against all", as Thomas Hobbes so described it. Tuesday, the Tamil student union at York staged a rally demanding justice for the people of Tamil Eelam, caught in a twenty-five-year-long bloody war between the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) and the Government forces of Sri Lanka. These students were waving flags of the LTTE, which seemed to upset a group of Sri Lankan students who proceeded to voice their displeasure. Afterwards - I don't know precisely what happened, for I was in a meeting at the time - one side tried to set fire to the flag of the other (I was told someone from the Tamil group instigated the burning and was met with a similar response from one of the Sri Lankan side) and tempers flared. Thankfully, the powderkeg did not erupt, as cooler heads prevailed. Oddly enough, I had emerged from a meeting with a professor who investigates the automatic associations we make to witness the consequences of automatic associations: perhaps the mere sight of the flag invoked chilling tales of the LTTE, which fomented such a fervid response from these students. More importantly, though, how do we get to such a point when we're ready to kill each other over a flag? What series of events led to these automatic associations being made?

The very next day, I found myself amid a crowd of students arguing over the apparent Israeli apartheid in Palestine, as it is so deemed. Some Jewish students had congregated around a pro-Palestine display in a high-traffic area on campus, claiming some members of the latter group harrassed them, calling them "dirty Jews" and the like, while the pro-Palestine clan retorted with claims that Jewish students were doing the same to them. Students from both sides tried their best to plead their respective cases; thankfully, the situation did not become too heated, but there remained many unhappy people on both sides. All the while, I was thinking how easily this wall separating people into "Israel" and "Palestine" can come down if we realize we are not defending ourselves from some foreign invader hell-bent on destroying us; we are killing each other. Even those on the side of the conqueror are themselves oppressed, wheedled into buying the lie bestowed upon them by their "leaders".

These are but examples of our "us versus them" mentality that results in an "us versus us" war. The television tells us to fear "Terrorists" and "Thugs" and "Gangsters"; once upon a time, it was "Communists" or "Japs" or "Krauts" or "Jews" or "Negroes". The newspapers admonish against giving "handouts" to "bums" who need nothing more than a swift kick in the ass to cure what ails them. Our teachers and parents try their best to keep us away from the "losers" who won't amount to anything in society. Our employers pit us against one another for that coveted "dream job". Hell, even on the so-called "Left", I see factions who preach taking up arms and sticking it to the cops and soldiers and government officials.

I say, if we want peace in our world, this mentality has to go, for it lies at the core of our chaos. We must put an end to the notion of "ingroups" and "outgroups"; we are all part of the same ingroup: we are living, breathing, thinking, feeling organisms. Just two days ago, I had a friend from one circle meet two from another, neither knowing anything about the other initially, and all we needed were two hours to become friends. There were no nationalist or religious or racial barriers; there were four people sitting at a table, learning how connected they truly are.

I wish to invite you all to experience togetherness one day in its purest form (contact me at m1s1nf0rmat10n@hotmail.com to learn more). As I mentioned in a previous entry, very few of us know how to love because, quite honestly, we never learned such a thing, for we were so busy learning to distance ourselves from each other and not be happy with the people we are. Let us learn to love again! Let us learn to love the world and ourselves, for we are the world and the world is us, and so long as the world remains in chaos, so too will we, and so long as we remain in chaos, so will the world around us.

Perhaps Minister Malcolm X will rest in peace when we cease killing each other, when we are free from our own wretchedness, the very wretchedness that drove his brothers to end his life.

Shalom. Salaam. Mahalo.

And, from the cracks in the pavement, the flowers grow.

I hope to cook something delicious today. I certainly feel the deliciousness the world offers us. I have had a wonderful week in a sense that my experiences during that time have kindled my hope for better days ahead, which is why I want here to prepare for you a most succulent dish that will tingle every taste bud and warm the very depths of your soul. Today's recipe includes the thoughts and feelings of some people I encountered over the past week, combined with dashes of Bradley Burston and Alice Miller, blended with bits of ancient wisdom, and topped with a sprinkle of optimism I never thought I would ever find.

It isn't every week that I make several new friends. Often times, I convince myself that meeting people is difficult, and that I have nothing to say that will captivate anyone. This week shook this very belief to its foundation, for I was presented with several opportunities to engage people, and I feel I took full advantage of them. It began with a chat about health awareness; as diminutive as it may seem to my larger argument, you will soon see that it bears significant relevance. On second thought, it began before that, in my morning seminar, when one of my classmates expressed her desire to change the world for the better, but felt she hadn't the time to undertake such an endeavour because she needed to earn money to survive; in my humble opinion, a classic case of learned helpless if I ever saw one.

Later that same day, I overheard a discussion between two people about the recent strike on campus and where the blame for it lies, so I decided to engage the participants and offer my own take on the situation, which then led to a lengthy conversation between myself and a complete stranger - I didn't care that I missed my lecture, I was so delighted to be able to connect with someone. We discussed a variety of issues, but what I found most arresting was her pessimism: though we agreed that the world will benefit from a greater sense of unity, she didn't feel this to be within our grasp. The only answer I could offer was the fact that the two of us, two complete strangers who had not met before in this lifetime, had just spent the last hour in deep discussion, during which time they learned a great deal about one another; for that one hour, two strangers shed their respective façades and became one.

Still on that same day - it was quite an eventful day - I had the opportunity to voice my displeasure with the attitudes pervading both sides of the recent labour disruption by standing before a group of students and administrators and questioning whether or not I could believe any so-called authority figure in light of what happened, for I - and I trust many others share this sentiment, both at school and elsewhere - felt caught in the middle of a power struggle. Once upon a time, I would have been too afraid to stand up and make my voice heard. Later that evening, one of my classmates offered me her hand in gratitude for my attempt to counter the instructor's seemingly anti-Union rhetoric in the lecture. We proceeded to discuss our views on the state of the world and our respective visions for the future. Again, two otherwise complete strangers ceased being so.

The following day, I had a chat with another student on campus to whom I was introduced by a mutual friend. Initially, there was a sense of trepidation, but it did not take long before the words flowed from our mouths. One thing she said that struck me was the difficulty she has meeting new people, a feeling to which I can definitely attest. This seemingly small revelation served us two-fold: first, it helped dissipate the feeling that we are alone in the world; second, the fact that we overcame any reservations we had and agreed to meet one another speaks volumes that, just maybe, that feeling of unity is well within our grasp.

Just yesterday, my friend was telling me how she felt about the state of the world, saying we are all slaves to the richest families on the planet and that social outings such as the one in which we found ourselves serve to numb us to the realities of this world, thereby perpetuating them. Suffice to say, she was dismayed by the lack of togetherness in this enclave, saying we do not allow ourselves any sort of understanding because we are so busy trying to take for ourselves, be it drink, drugs or sex. She then introduced me to her friend who had recently been hurt by a dear friend of hers, an issue she seemed to feel comfortable sharing with someone she had just met. Our discussion then led to her close friend in high school who left for Israel and joined the IDF during the Intifada and now walks around with an assault weapon slung over his arm, to the weight of the expectations her family bestowed upon her, to the practice of meditation - at this time, as an aside, she asked if bringing your mind to rest makes you a robot, which I found amusing because it does the opposite: robots are such because they adhere inscrutably to programmed beliefs, whereas meditation washes these beliefs away, leaving only you.

That was my week of fun and enlightenment. I felt much closer to my surroundings this week than I have in... well, ever. I realized just how many people feel disenfranchised by the perils of this world: would I have learned this had I behaved like a traveling salesman claiming to have the solution without first listening to the problem? I look at myself past and present and wonder how on Earth I could be that person wanting to flee, longing to die. Perhaps my role in all of this is not to tell others what I think the answer is, but to inspire them to find it themselves. Perhaps, in all this, however arduous a task it might be, my role is to uplift the downtrodden and empower the disenfranchised.

This might seem like a fitting coda to my latest entry, but I would do this delicious dish a disservice by not addressing the opposite end of the spectrum: having broached unity, it is time to discuss division.

Bradley Burston, who writes for the Ha'aretz daily (a link to which can be found on the sidebar), comments regularly on the conflict between the State of Israel and Hamas, as he is among the many caught in the crossfire, having choice words for either side of this divide. He frequently warns against our condemnation of either side: by directing our ire at one side, we play into the machinations of the other. Reading his columns prompted me to recall details of Alice Miller's book on child-rearing, titledFor Your Own Good. To me, it seems one side feels the need to punish the other for this series of transgressions, that one side feels the need to keep the other in line as an authoritarian parent would do his/her child, which makes me wonder: what did these people, those in the Knesset and in Hamas, endure as children? did any of them receive unconditional love? how would all this transpire if they are offered such? Though not nearly as bloody, the recent labour strife at York played out in a similar manner: a profound sense of mistrust and a desire for power pervaded both sides at the table. Mind you, in both cases, one side wields a lot more clout than the other, but the roles can easily be reversed. During our discussion, my friend reinforced the notion that we are shaped by our childhood experiences; the relationships we have then manifest in the ones we have now. Suffice to say, if the seeds of division were planted within us as children, why are we surprised to see them blossom as adults?

I have hope that these feelings of isolation and helplessness will dissipate, though not through any mechanical solution. Like our physical bodies, seeds of hope and unity need to germinate. This means the "new world order" will not happen overnight, nor in a day, or a week, or even a year: much like anything in life, it is a process in its nascent stage that will grow and flourish, during which time, we must learn to love one another and ourselves (enter health awareness). Soon, we shall see that, just as easily as we become creatures of hate, we can be those of love. We are slaves to the extant world order so long as we believe we are, so long as we continue to assign meaning to that over which the few at the top of the Ivory Tower have control.

Freedom - real freedom - is not as elusive as we believe it to be: it lies within each of us. Andy Dufresne said that there is something inside us that these prison walls, these armed guards and politicians who do their best to subjugate us cannot possibly touch. If you feel broken, if you feel your heart has been hardened by misfortune, you can be fixed again.

I hope you enjoyed this latest concoction of mine. I hope I didn't skimp on the deliciousness.

Mahalo.

Damn straight the revolution will not be televised.

Sometimes, I feel my voice will never be heard. Now matter how loudly I yell, no matter how large a banner I carry, I feel no one is really listening; rather, they are either staring at me as if I have the plague or simply ignoring me altogether. As sad as this seems, I find solace in knowing I'm not the only person harbouring these sentiments - not the most pleasant matter on which to find commonality, I know, but it helps mitigate the loneliness.

On Friday, I ascended the stairs out of the subway tunnel to discover a spark of social upheaval in downtown Toronto: members of the local Tamil population had congregated in the streets to protest the actions by the government forces of Sri Lanka - specifically, their wanton subjugation and slaughter of Tamil citizens - and the subsequent inaction by the global community that prides itself on "stability", "security", "freedom" and "peace". I had a quick chat with a young lady distributing flyers with a fervent determination to have her voice heard, hoping people will understand the plight of her sisters and brothers. I commended her on the work she was doing, though I could not help but remark on the reality of the situation here: as soon as I go home and switch on the news, I will be told that these people in the streets standing up for their rights as human beings are "terrorists". If it isn't awful enough to be repeatedly kicked while you're down, the moment you fight back, you are branded as murderers. It isn't easy having your voice heard when no one else is allowed to understand you.

Yesterday, the World Social Forum concluded in Belém do Pará, Brazil. What exactly is the "World Social Forum", you might ask? Well, if you weren't aware, I don't blame you, for it didn't receive all that much face time on our major media outlets, as most eyes fixed their respective gazes upon the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland. When the world's wealthiest convene to figure out how to fix their crumbling economic model so that they can continue making money for themselves, it seems only fitting that they would bring their cameras and reporters with them. When a group of people convene to sound the death knell of this dilapidated model and propose to supplant it with a more sustainable one built at the grassroots level, not one of us hears so much as a peep. That's not to say this voice has fallen completely on deaf ears; unfortunately, some ears need to hear this voice more than others, and the only voices they hear are telling them what products to buy and what television programs to watch.

Today, we, the students of York University, returned to class. On the surface, it appears to be a joyous occasion, as we can finally salvage our school year and meet our chums whom we haven't seen in nearly three months. Those who know me best know I have an insatiable need to peel back the veneer of anything I see, which is why I have mixed feelings about my return to class. While I am eager to finish my degree - is a degree worth all that much, anyway? - the circumstances surrounding my return are not lost on me: the labour issue was not resolved, the workers were forced back to work by a government whose members, already garnering exorbitant sums of money, didn't hesitate to give itself a twenty-five-percent pay hike in 2007. Mind you, Union machinations aren't exactly sacrosanct, but when its opponent fights equally, if not more, dirty, does it see any alternative? When the golden rule of the game we play is to grab as much as one can by any means necessary, can the Union be faulted for doing the same? Perhaps it is better served trying to change these fetid conditions, but its tactics are beside the point I wish to make. Looking back, I wonder how many people consulted the Union website for updates versus the University website. When your opponent would rather throw millions at lawyers and public relations experts in an effort to defame you than give you a fair shake, it's little wonder why your voice falls on deaf ears.

As is custom in my tales of doom and gloom, there resides a glimmer of hope. In isolation, these voices did not resonate all that well, but together, they can. Certainly, there will be groups of people who are expert in certain causes, but these belong to a much greater cause, thus our myriad voices become one echoing cry for justice, for peace, for respect, for love. This voice will only grow louder and louder, so loud that not a single soul will be able to ignore it, despite the best efforts of the few to foster our silence. No longer will we swallow the swill that says "Leave everything to us!", for, after failing us time and again, everything will be left to us!

As Gil Scott-Heron so eloquently stated, "The revolution will not be televised... The revolution will be live!"