subliminal tyranny

the golden age

2009-10-06T14:19:00.002-04:00

During this golden age of
spiritual awakening,
Will we still be consuming spirituality?
Will it still be for sale?
Will we still need multi-million-dollar sanctuaries?
Will we still be fawning over icons?

Didn't your Master tell you
when you fixate on the individual
the quest stops?

Why the big secret?
Why the air of mistrust?
Isn't this knowledge
already within us?

number eight

2009-09-11T22:18:00.002-04:00

Here we go again
plug yourself in
grab your partner
and start the dance all over again

They did it! They did it!
We'll get them, by God!

there will always be "them"
we'll keep counting the years
and listen to the same story each time
and there will always be "them"

what does it mean to love thy neighbour
when I'm told to be afraid of them?

today
we commemmorate
fear
of ourselves.

Strange Days & Fantastic Voyages

2009-06-19T12:07:00.003-04:00

The Iranian election result has caused quite a stir, not only in Iran itself with several million people taking to the streets, but also among our major news outlets in the Western world, as trigger-happy media barons pee with glee over this pile of cannon fodder to be used against Mahmoud Ahmadinejad that suddenly fell into their laps as if directly from the gods themselves.

Sadly, regardless of who assumes Iran's Presidency, the American war drums will not yield, as both candidates were declared "hostile".

What I find most interesting is our depiction of this series of actions. We provide round-the-clock coverage when people protest against someone our leaders don't like, and portray such actions as "peaceful" and the authorities' counteraction as "repressive". However, when the same thing happens in Mexico, we don't seem to care all that much, perhaps because, in this case, the mastermind behind the electioneering happens to be neoliberal-friendly.

In a discussion yesterday evening, processed food was mentioned, and I contributed by saying I viewed newscasting in the same light: pre-processed information for our consumption with no nutritional value.

There isn't much I can do about the current situation. My hope is this: when you're watching Iran, think of Mexico.

On that note, I'm off to India for five weeks. I may sprinkle an entry or two while there; I may not. Nonetheless, I'm sure I'll have lots to discuss upon my return.

Mahalo.

Cheat to Win

2009-06-11T16:52:00.003-04:00

It may not be "hip" in some circles to follow sporting events, but alas, I have been doing so since I was a lad. I adopted many a hero through the television set as he made the key play or scored the winning goal. Though I am not as ardent a fan as I once was, I still keep my eye on the score sheet from time to time.

These days, I flip through the sports pages and notice something different from what I used to read as a youngster: cheating, once a rare occurrence, has seemingly become the norm, as I now see story after story of an athlete failing a drug test. Even our most sparkling of heroes is not immune from the temptation of "performance enhancement" (we need not name names here, as they have received enough scorn already). The respective braintrusts of each sporting federation are scrambling to implement anti-doping protocols in a frenetic effort to "clean" their competitions.

Come to think of it, cheating isn't all that new to us, and no matter what actions we take to purge corruption from our precious pastimes, it always resurfaces.

In the past few years, many professional athletes have been accused of enhancing their abilities through foreign substances, many of whom have been found guilty and punished accordingly. There are countless other examples of cheating in sport; examples include unfair adjustments in automobile racing, match fixing in European football, video-taping opponents' practices in American football, point shaving in basketball, to name but a few. Pete Rose, the all-time leader in base hits in Major League Baseball, may very likely never be inducted into its Hall of Fame over allegations that he bet on baseball. Perhaps the most salient of these is the infamous "Black Sox Scandal" - featured in the film Eight Men Out, which I highly recommend - in which eight members of the Chicago White Sox collaborated in throwing the 1919 World Series because (as I understand the story) they bet against themselves.

Should we be surprised that people are cheating in these competitions? It's happening everywhere, not just in the sporting world. In Canada, scandals are brewing over Minister of Natural Resources Lisa Raitt's mishandling of Government documents (and her comments over isotope production), and Ontario Minister of Health David Caplan's misappropriation of funds, and former Federal Minister of Transportation John Baird's "fuck you" to the City of Toronto in response to a request for funding (rumour has it Mr. Baird withheld transit funding for the City of Ottawa so that his buddy would win the Mayoral election), and former Prime Minister Brian Mulroney and the bag of money. In fact, how does one seek election in the first place? You have to scratch and claw and trample any oncomers (even within your own ranks) for the prize.

Furthermore, how many of us cheat on our taxes? How many of us have cheated on exams and assignments without being caught? How many of us cheat the system in other ways in order to get what we feel is owed us?

My question is, how to we pass judgment on our sports heroes for cheating when we are guilty of the same crime? Moreover - and I thank whomever it was who raised this point, though I do not remember her/his name - who are we to pass judgment when the emphasis is on winning? We have long since abandoned the principles of fairness and goodwill in favour of being number one, so why are we so shocked when certain parties do not play the game fairly?

Wait... is the game even meant to be played fairly?

And just who is behind all this cheating? Would the Black Sox Scandal be entrenched in American folklore had Charlie Comiskey given his players a fair shake, thereby attenuating their desire to screw him and get a little something for themselves in the process? Did the sudden rash of home runs not rekindle interest in baseball, and did the owners not need their star sluggers to give themselves a little extra boost in order to create this buzz? Do national pride and corporate bucks not ride on these athletes of track and field to win, win, win and smash every record in the process? If I am running for office, is the goal not to win the election? so what stops me from pulling whatever strings that need pulling in order to do so?

And what happens when these people are caught? Throw them to the wolves, that's what; make the masses think justice will prevail in the end. Who gives a damn about these people, when newcomers are waiting to take their places in the game? Politicians and professional athletes are as expendable as you and me. Their superiors tell us the whole is tainted by a few "bad apples" when the whole system is rotten to the core.

However, all is not lost - as you know, I attempt to paint that glimmer of hope, faint as it may seem, in each of my yarns of late. Perhaps it's time we deemphasize winning and allow compassion and goodwill to manifest. I learned a valuable lesson as a boy, one that has been reiterated in my adult years: it matters not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game. I realize this is something most of us do not wish to hear, for we must win at all costs, but I ask you, how much do we lose when we seek to win? Many of us have lost careers, reputations and loved ones while seeking a particular triumph; many still have lost our sanity, our scruples, even our dignity, and for what? For how long does a "victory" last? Trophies become scrap metal, and record books turn to mulch.

In my playing days, as I ascended the levels of competitiveness, the fun diminished; the most fun I had was when we didn't keep score, when we played because we loved playing. Perhaps we ought to cease keeping score - goals, points, ratings, whatever measures of "success" we have espoused - and just play.

Mahalo.

Label You, Label Me

2009-06-06T09:46:00.003-04:00

Today is the day we in the West commemorate "D-Day", the invasion of Normandy by the Allies leading to a string of defeats by and subsequent fall of the Reich in Germany. Today, I want to discuss labels - I've been meaning to do this all week, but other duties prompted me to wait until now; perhaps there is some sort of divine reason why I'm writing this on "D-Day".

I recently read a study investigating labels and their associated stereotypes. It found that using the noun form of a descriptor rather than its adjective to define an individual prompts the user to automatically associate this person with the stereotypes that correspond to said descriptor; for example, I am more likely to use stereotypes if I label someone "a blonde" or "a Jew" rather than describing that person as "having blonde hair" or "being Jewish". When you ponder it for a moment, it makes sense: if I am labeled this or that, I become that label and everything that is attached to it, though I suppose the "scientific proof" is necessary to put our minds at ease - I'll get to deference to authority soon enough. In the context of war, labels detach us from others (and also ourselves): during World War II, we were the "Allies", the "Krauts" and the "Japs"; afterwards, we were the freedom-loving, God-fearing (notice the paradox?), decent hard-working people and the "Godless Communists"; today, we are the same and they are the "terrorists". If you want the perspective of the other side, we are the "Capitalist pigs" and the "Great Satan".

See what a mess this is? Wouldn't it be easier if we just considered each other as people? As living creatures held to Mother Earth's bosom?

Another funny thing about these labels is their capacity to determine the voices to whom we listen. If I have the label "General" or "Senator" or "Scientist" or "Scholar" or "Guru", chances are you're going to listen to what I have to say. Studies have shown (because we seem to need studies to show us) that by wearing an expensive suit, people will start taking me seriously, moreso than they would if I'm clad in a t-shirt and jeans. Do I suddenly become different by donning the suit? Does the suit provide some magical link between myself and the vast ocean of knowledge? My friend once told me a fable of a wise man who spoke to the masses and was unsuccessfull because they sneered at his garb, but when he returned wearing a business suit, the masses started to take his words seriously. My friend said the moral of this story is, sometimes, you have to adorn yourself with certain garments in order for people to listen to you; my concern is, what does that say about us? that we listen to the image and not the message?

Everything we experience has to have a label as well. Music is classified as this genre or that genre, each containing several sub-genres (and, of course, we end up defining ourselves and each other by our musical tastes), and some musical acts find these lines cutting right through them. We label certain experiences as "pleasant" or "unpleasant", "deviant" or "good", based on the most salient criteria in our minds at the time. We seek "fulfillment" in our lives but aren't quite sure what that means. Some of us claim to be "enlightened" or "aware".

Diagnoses are yet another example. My mother thinks I may have Asperger's syndrome, and she may be right, but should I then be defined by it? Must I carry the weight of another label? Will people see me differently with this diagnosis branded to my forehead? The amount of overlap between labels on the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders (commonly known as the DSM) is astounding, and there seems to be a label for just about everyone. I still don't know why the course I took was called "Abnormal Psychology": with a label for everyone, who can really be deemed "normal"? who decides what "normal" is? Do I have to be defined as "bipolar" or "autistic" until my dying day?

I don't know about you, but all these labels leave me confused.

Do these labels really define who we are? Each one of us has more dimensions than we can count, so how do we come to define each other by a single attribute? Do we love convenience that much? Are we afraid to delve deeper? By branding everything and everyone, do we lose sight of them? Do we lose sight of ourselves? So what if I'm a White male? So what if I was raised Greek Orthodox? I'm a lot of other things, too, all of which interact with one another. I am also you, and you, and you, and you.

Why was this day labeled "D-Day"? Because "we" beat "them"? What does it mean to be "we" and "them"? Were we not assisted by the Soviet Union in our triumph over Nazi Germany? If they had lost the battle of Stalingrad, would we be having this conversation? Do we disregard their contribution because "they" are not "us", because "their" values differ from "ours"? Perhaps these wars might be avoided if we ceased classifying ourselves as "us" and "them".

Do we really need to be slaves to these labels we create arbitrarily?

Fallen Angels Revisited

2009-06-03T00:15:00.003-04:00

I can't profess to know the story of Lucifer, the angel who fell from Heaven - how many of us can? - but I can't help but ponder the possibilities.

I postulated that Lucifer grew displeased with how Heaven was being run - perhaps Divinity became too bureaucratic - and was cast out for daring to change things. I wonder if Lucifer didn't simply drive himself to madness and subsequently land himself in the Underworld to dwell for all eternity. I wonder if Lucifer just couldn't take trying to conform to Heaven's rules when he was incapable of doing so, and rather than adapt to his needs, he was rejected by his surroundings. I wonder if Lucifer could no longer stand being met with blind eyes and deaf ears.

Earlier in the week during which I wrote my entry on Lucifer, my horoscope prognosticated the coming of an angel. After searching hither and thither, the angel finally came to me as I was riding my bicycle one sunny Friday morning, that angel being Lucifer. I wonder if this visit was intended to dispel the propaganda and posit the possibilities of how this fallen angel's fate was sealed.

I wonder...

Nosce Te Ipsum

2009-06-02T17:07:00.003-04:00

I'm sure I've touched upon this topic over and over, but what the hell? I feel like writing, so I'll write again about my favourite topic: us.

I used to feel dreadfully alone in the world. I could be in a sea of people and feel no connection to them. I would sit and commiserate and lament my not being able to relate to anyone. I hear friends describe the abyss in which they find themselves, seemingly unable to escape.

I also see the incessant need for many of us to distance ourselves from societal affairs. Most of us feel that, because we are not directly involved in, say, one person's poverty or injustice, that the problem is not ours. I also see the tendency for many of us to point fingers at others, to divert the attention away from ourselves, and blame them for their plight.

I had a conversation with my mother about how certain people think too highly of themselves. She claimed these people love themselves too much, while I argued to the contrary, claiming they adopt this persona as a means of defending themselves against their own self-loathing; in other words, they fear being inferior to the group, so they act as superior (I believe Alfred Adler theorized this).

What does all this mean? Is this simply another of a long series of my crazy bantering? Are you wondering when I will finally begin to make sense? Perhaps even I don't know what I'm saying most of the time.

I suppose the point I'm hoping to make is: Why must we feel so alone?

For whatever reason, we seem to focus on how different we are from one another. We have trouble relating to others because they don't know how we feel, but is this true? We cast stones at each other because we feel we have the answers and they don't, but is this true? We blame others for their problems while washing our own hands clean, but is this true? We label others as burdensome to us, but who is the true source of the burden?

We see people as "us" and "them", but is this true? Who are "us" and "them"? Do "they" not also think and feel? Do "they" not also interact with the universe and form beliefs about it? Do "they" not also fear and doubt and worry? Do "they" not also love? Do "they" not also desire to live?

There was an open question posed asking what the solution is to all society's ills. Many shared their opinions on the matter, and some subsequently attacked the opinions of others. I wonder if any of these people know where the solution actually lies. I've had this discussion plenty of times with people from some political stripe or another claiming theirs is the answer, and I wonder if they really know. When I see these debates, I'm always left wondering if anyone wants to identify the problem, or spend their energy clinging to their solution.

Here I go, pointing fingers at everyone again. I cannot profess to knowing what the solution is, either, for I have come to my own conclusions that may or may not be accurate. Perhaps I can suggest a starting point, though I'll leave it to you to take what you will from it.

I wonder how many of us know ourselves - I mean really know ourselves - enough to know where the solution lies. I wonder how many of us actually look at ourselves; I wonder how many of us desire to do so. We seem to want to focus the spotlight outward, on "them", yet are afraid to look critically at "us".

I believe there is an old proverb that say for every time I point my finger at someone, a thousand are pointing at me. Right now, your fingers are probably pointed in my direction, and you may be passing judgment on me based on what I write here, as I'm sure I've done to you along the way. Perhaps each time I put myself out here, I call upon your assistance in seeing myself, should I choose to accept what I see.

My feeling is, these problems are allowed to perpetuate because we are afraid of ourselves. We distance ourselves from them because we cannot bear the thought of our being connected to them, which in turn exacerbates our being part of the problem. We deny ourselves each day, when we idolize this person and denigrate that person and distance ourselves from those people. We are all such beautiful people capable of so much; our potential is limitless, yet we incessantly erect barriers around ourselves.

The burden does not lie within anyone else; we create the burden ourselves. I can decry the use of my tax dollars being "wasted on losers", but all I am doing is burdening myself with my own insecurity. Similarly, by denigrating others, are they burdening me by disagreeing with me, or by being "stupid", or am I placing the burden on myself by resorting to bickering and name-calling? Do I see this in myself while engrossed in the act?

In the grand scheme of things, we are akin to water molecules in an ocean; I may be this molecule and you may be that molecule, but together, we comprise the vast ocean, and not one of us is any more or less important than any other. If I could give advice - moreso to myself than anyone else - it would be this: don't let your being this particular molecule detract your vision from the ocean.

Nosce te ipsum: know thyself!

The Hunt... is on.

2009-05-26T13:23:00.003-04:00

Though it may be a couple of months overdue, I was reminded of the annual seal hunt by our faithful friends in the media, who mentioned that our Governor-General Michaëlle Jean stands in solidarity with the Inuit on their right to hunt seal in the North Atlantic - at least that is how I understood the report; I can't tell where they're going with these stories half the time.

From what I gather, the Inuit have been hunting seal since they've been Inuit, primarily because their survival depends on it, so who are we to tell them to stop now? Case closed, right? Well, not so fast. If it was a matter of the right of the Inuit to hunt seal, this would not be an issue. I fear many proponents of the seal hunt are quick to use the Inuit as a convenient diversion from the real issue.

The seals are being hunted en masse for two reasons: (1) the fish they eat are a source of revenue; (2) the seals themselves are a source of revenue. Our fishing industry becomes vexed when these seals eat into their profits, so it dispatches its henchmen - decent working people trying to keep a roof over their families' heads and food on the table - to neutralize the threat. Subsequently, the fish survive, the trawlers catch them, and they end up on the market. Funny enough, the same people (more or less - I consider them the same people) make a killing (ha!) off of the seals they kill. Blubber? Meat? Pelts? Sure! Let's make a few more bucks!

If there is indeed a threat, it is not posed by the annual spring increase in the North Atlantic seal population, but rather the intrusion of industry in the name of income. In nature, there is harmony - a grand balance, if you will - and we are disrupting it, primarily in the name of personal gain. The Inuit recognize this, as did the remainder of the Aboriginal tribes before our forefathers decimated them. In the grand scheme of nature, there is a balance - that is to say, the net sum is always zero - things are born and things die. Conversely, in the grand scheme of profit, there is growth and only growth, at least that's what we are convinced is necessary for our survival. Of course, we are witnessing the consequences of such logic, given our teetering on the brink of what might be the worst economic collapse the likes of which we've ever seen - quite possibly the death of our economic model altogether, though in past instances, this has allegedly been a ploy by the super-rich to buy up all our assets at bargain-basement prices, but this time around, what resources will be left to buy, and will any of the locals let them? - so perhaps we ought to recognize this universal equipoise and right soon. This growth in profit has come at an insurmountable cost to our habitat, a debt that may take centuries, millennia, even millions of years to repay.

Like anything else, this is not simply a yea-or-nay issue; we must examine it in context before passing judgment. As usual, we draw a line in the sand - or, in this case, ice - and sort ourselves on either side, all the while sidestepping the actual issue: our messing with nature in the name of profit. I have no problem with the Inuit hunting seal, mainly because I trust them to know what they're doing.

As for the rest of us, I think we have much to learn.

Suburbia

2009-05-25T09:48:00.002-04:00

For most of my life, I have lived in Suburbia. As I am reliant on public transit for mobility, I can say what a pain in the ass it is to move about the city from where I am - I spend a good three hours each day commuting to and from school - but aside from that (and my friends living in different parts of the city), I can't help but find Suburbia rather fascinating.

Upon first glance, Suburbia seems rather quaint, even tranquil: the quiet residential streets lined with trees and single-family dwellings sprinkled with sounds of backyard gatherings around the barbecue, children playing and dogs barking. As we peel away the veneer and peek beneath the surface, however, we find the real Suburbia, and so the fun begins.

Just the other day, I could overhear my neighbours yelling back and forth at one another (this is what I get for leaving my window open to allow for circulation). This time, I didn't hear anyone tell them to shut up, which I might have expected; perhaps I could have been the one to lay it on them, but why deprive myself of the wonder and amazement I experience when observing human behaviour? That's the psychologist in me, I reckon. As I was saying, at that point, I thought to myself how much longer these people might live, wound so tightly, their souls would make for exceptional snare drums.

So much more lies beneath Suburbia's pristine shell. Within these pastel houses, some are drinking away their sorrows (or using other substances to achieve a similar end), some are screaming at their teenage children for staying out all night, some are about to have a heart attack or stroke, and others have other reasons for their misery. Many waste away in front of the television set, and all are drowning in the sea of expenses necessary to maintain the illusion.

But wait, there's more! I imagine in every other household, there exists some form of mental illness as described by our latest source of dogma, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders - going even further, I might be so bold to claim there is a general disharmony in just about every household. Drug dens have begun operation on our quiet residential street, but not to worry, folks, for your kids won't have to venture into Skid Row to buy their pot! Nowadays, the local residents have taken to complaining about the influx of "immigrants"; how ironic, given that most of these people were once "immigrants" themselves (in my neighbourhood in particular, there is an increasing Middle Eastern presence that is starting to vex the White residents; they worry that the Muslims are taking over as indicated by their television sets, despite the fact that most of these new residents are Christian - further along the ladder of irony, Christianity happens to be the precursor to Islam). Lest we forget the ever-pervasive panic over losing all of our wonderful stuff. Television tells us to beware of the criminal element who will steal our children and DVD players in the night, but won't tell us why.

My mother always wondered why, growing up, I was always so negative. When I see my neighbourhood - and I mean see my neighbourhood for what it is - I wasn't the only one; is it any wonder why, immersed in negativity, I was mired in depression for so many years? How often have I heard how "good" things are in Suburbia? I hope my latest entry has served to question such an assertion, if not smash it altogether.

Someone once commented on this place resembling a cemetery. The more I think about it, the more I see the resemblance: much like a cemetery, we have these decorative dwellings for which we paid exorbitant sums of money, and lie dead within them. Appearing seems more important than being, than living. This place is a cemetery, though it doesn't have to be, if only we could just let go.

Look carefully at the image you see before you, for it is cracked, and through these fissures will you see the truth. Soon, there will be nothing to conceal the truth - the fact that it has remained hidden has exacerbated the problem. I must clarify, this shell will not crumble with the physical infrastructure; rather, it will dissolve as do our ignorance and fear.

In Christian folklore - I was raised as such, so these examples are readily available - it is said that Jesus the Christ will return, and when he does, we will stand naked before him, i.e. we will not be able to hide anything anymore. If you ask me, I don't believe he ever left; in fact, I wonder if we really need a Jesus Christ to see what is.

A Lamentation

2009-05-22T08:38:00.003-04:00

Yesterday morning, I awoke to discover that two suspects had been arrested for the murder of eight-year-old Victoria Stafford, or "Tori" as she is more affectionately known. For those who may not know, Tori went missing in her community of Woodstock, Ontario, on the afternoon of 8 April, and is now presumed slain. The media were thrown into a frenzy upon news of these arrests, pledging to keep the public updated on any developments as they unfold.

I cannot imagine losing a child, especially in this manner. Young Tori would have celebrated her ninth birthday this July; now, her parents must prepare for her funeral. There is much sadness and anger among the community at large - both the town of Woodstock and the greater community connected through multimedia - over the demise of this child. My heart goes out to the Stafford family and the friends of Tori, and whomever else she might have touched during her short time on this planet in this form.

While watching the coverage on the television, I could not help but wonder why this girl received so much attention over others. I lament not only the loss of Tori, but the lack of attention given to children the world over who are missing or slain. Each day, in our own backyard, so many children go missing, yet are not even worthy of a footnote - I have to traverse the Internet to come across websites such as these to ascertain the whole picture.

Furthermore, where is the grief for children of war? We have an insatiable need to crucify perpetrators here at home, but say nothing when we kill children overseas. How many children in Iraq have been slain in the last six years? How many more starved during the previous decade of sanctions? How many are killed by the landmines with which we've littered foreign lands? Or by the ordinances still stuck in the trees of Cambodia to this day? How many children have been killed in Sri Lanka? How about the plight of Aboriginal children, a fate wrought by us when we came to this land and decimated their ancestry?

My intention is not to detract from the tragedy of this young girl's premature demise, but it seems we pick and choose those for whom we feel sorry. Victoria Stafford is now a martyr; a little White girl in bright lights to prompt us to shake our fists with rage. Of course, little or no attention will be lent to why the defendants did what they did - in Canada, motive is not necessary for a conviction, so why bother? What's worse, while the media fixate on little Victoria Stafford, thousands of children die by our hands the world over without so much as a peep.

I don't want to say it, but I'm afraid I must: when I watch the news in this country, I gain the impression that I'm only supposed to care about White people. I imagine there are examples to the contrary - for instance, the Ottey sisters in Toronto - but these seem few and far between.

Personally, I feel we're all guilty of the deaths of Victoria Stafford and every other child on this planet. We create and perpetuate the wretched conditions in which children must live, then throw up our hands in bewilderment when they are claimed by them; our propaganda only serves to exacerbate the situation.

Is the death of a child supposed to be some sort of divine justice? Perhaps this justice is being served to us for our sins, that these are signs telling us we need to wake the fuck up already. The bogeyman does not claim these children: we do.

Void at Birth

2009-05-18T17:39:00.002-04:00

Controversy stemmed over President Barack Obama's commencement speech to the graduating class of the University of Notre Dame; at the centre is the difference of opinion over abortion. Traditionally, the Democratic position has been to favour a woman's right to choose, an opinion in which many students of this independent Catholic university do not agree; some went so far as to boycott commencement and protest the coming of Mr. Obama.

This event had me pondering the issue of abortion. The more I think on it, the more I wonder if we should be treating this in isolation. Personally, I would rather not see the abortion of a foetus, but that is not a decision for me to make, seeing as how I have no right over a woman's body. Having said that, I do not believe a wholesale ban on abortion is the answer, nor do I truly understand the position of those who profess to be "pro-life".

For starters, it seems the right to life of a foetus ends once s/he starts breathing on her/his own. Children are routinely shortchanged, either by having to live in poverty or receive a substandard education, yet this is rarely, if ever, addressed. The same lobby groups who extol the rights of the unborn do very little for them after they are born (except, of course, tell them to pray).

And why is there such a need for abortion in the first place? How many young women run to the abortion clinic out of fear of persecution of their peers and authority figures? How many pointed fingers and whispers of "whore" can a girl endure? How many of these "pro-lifers" realize their actions are exacerbating the very problem they profess to combat?

And what is so wrong with homosexual couples adopting children? If heterosexual couples are unable to raise these children for whatever reason, would it not be wise to allow another set of parents, regardless of sexual orientation, the opportunity to raise them? Would we rather the child be denied this right to life than be raised by two parents of the same sex? Is it wrong for a child to think it is perfectly fine for someone to be homosexual?

And where do these "pro-lifers" stand on all these wars we are fighting? How do most of these young women and men end up as soldiers? Do they not have the right to life? Do Iraqis and Afghanis not have the right to life? Where is the anti-war cry from the pro-life crowd? Why, for the most part, do I see the "pro-life" representatives in Government so eager to send these children off to war? Are they protecting the unborn so as to keep the war machine going? More fodder for the cannons?

If Barack Obama is right on one matter, it's the assertion that there needs to be dialogue on this issue, and this dialogue cannot be of the token one-side-versus-the-other variety. We need to realize the consequences of simply taking a stance for or against. We need an environment far more nurturing to young women than the one we have now so that they know what options are available to them. There are many infertile and same-sex couples who would make outstanding parents; why are expecting women not in contact with them? Why are these women forced to decide between raising a child in a hostile environment or annihilating it altogether? Where is the love and support from the community?

If some people wish to call themselves "anti-abortion", fine. My hope is that they realize the consequences of adopting the "pro-life" label, for there is much more to life than simply being born: one's right to life does not become null and void upon birth.

When we seek to win, we end up losing.

2009-05-17T13:40:00.003-04:00

The President of Sri Lanka is claiming victory over the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE), or, as we Western folk know them, the "Tamil Tigers". Many are hailing this as a victory for humanity - after twenty-six bloody years, the forces of good have finally rid the world of these awful terrorists. We can now sleep more easily knowing the righteous forces of the Sri Lankan government have the situation under control, and that those evil Tamil Tigers will no longer bother any of us decent folk.

If you asked most of the Western world for their views on the situation, they might just tell you what I have illustrated in the above paragraph. Sadly, too many people think this way; without putting forth any effort to investigate further, we accept what is fed to us by our authorities, and usually, they conveniently omit the perspective of the other side of the conflict. Of course, I cannot lay blame on anyone for their ignorance - after all, they're only playing their bit parts to perfection - for how many of us have ever been taught to think critically about anything? The lesson is always to accept whatever comes our way at face value, never judge for ourselves. Is it any wonder why so many of us lack confidence in our own reason? That we're constantly seeking validation?

This is why wars are allowed to manifest as they do. Ignorance bestowed upon generations and subsequent generations results in our hating and seeking to destroy one another. The lesson being taught here is that "we" are good and "they" are bad. What do you think the Tamil people are telling their young about the Sinhalese? Do anyone even care to ask why the LTTE even exists? Or is it convenient for us to tell ourselves they're simply "bad" people? Do we not bother to think that, just maybe, the LTTE feel the same way about their Sinhalese counterparts: that they're inherently "bad"?

Time and again, we've been seeing the same bullshit production on display in our "theatre of terror" (I forgot who coined this phrase, but thank you). Right now, one of our hot topics is the ongoing strain between Israeli and Palestinian people, and the constant denouncement of Hamas as "terrorist". Imagine me gathering my friends together to lay a stomping on you, and the moment you strike back at us, we tell the world what a "terrorist" you are for daring to fight back. Imagine we continue to beat you on a daily basis. How long will you take this lying down? Do you feel good about it? Do you reckon you'll gather your allies and lay a good old-fashion ass-kicking on my comrades and me? Will I have to kill you and your allies for this to end? Will your allies not have allies? Will their children not grow up looking for the people who killed their parents?

Are we serious about ending this horrible practice of war? If we think we need to fight wars to end war, I'm afraid we're deluding ourselves and paying a monumental price for our error. If I haven't said it enough, violence begets more violence. We cannot kill a people and expect violence to end because the violence is not just within them but ourselves as well. Through might, we do not prove we are right; rather, we prove we will smite you to tell ourselves we are right. Do we wonder why the Sinhalese-controlled government of Sri Lanka does not allow the press into the war zone? Is it because it is "too dangerous", as they tell us, or because there is something they do not want the world to see?

In that geographical region where no journalist is allowed to venture, there is indeed something they do not want us to see, something they are afraid - nay, something we are afraid to see, though we need not travel to that part of the planet to see it. To see what is really happening in Tamil Eelam will frighten us to no end, for we will be seeing ourselves, and that is something we seem to fear more than anything. How many times have we been offered glimpses into ourselves and have quickly pulled down the blinds? We saw ourselves in the photographs from Abu Ghraib. We saw ourselves in the images from Viet Nam. We saw ourselves in Stanley Milgram's obedience experiment. We saw ourselves on board the Enola Gay as it dropped that first atomic bomb on Hiroshima. We saw ourselves in World War I, supposedly the war to end all wars. Somehow, we continue to do what we do, we continue to blind ourselves to ourselves. Still, we do not wish to believe we are capable of killing, of behaviing with no regard for our fellow human being, for the community around us.

We can end all of this very quickly and easily once we stop being afraid and look into ourselves. Perhaps we are beginning to do so; in part, we have our sisters and brothers from the Tamil and Palestinian communities to thank, for their actions have shown, to the rest of us, that these people are not the bogeymen we perceive them to be. I don't know if any of these people would stand up and speak out on behalf of evil; if we listen, we learn that they think and feel just like us - I can't believe I'm actually using this line in 2009, a time when we have supposedly overcome our own racial prejudices - that they believe a wrong is being done to them and are determined to do something about it.

I can delve into the wrongs being done to the rest of us - the most obvious being this robbery we call an "economic downturn" - but I feel that, over the course of my writing, I've made the message clear. Sooner or later, the rest of us will have to stand up, else drown in the river of shit that will come at us after we can no longer flush away the crap with which we are too afraid to deal. The ones we call "authority" would rather we not see ourselves, and as such, are quick to perpetuate the "Us versus Them" fantasy. All dreams come to an end; do we desire a rude awakening adrift in a current of shit?

The cracks in the foundation are propagating faster than the masons can fill them with mortar. Why fill them with mortar, you ask, when it serves as a mere bandage? Well, that's what a reactionary solution is, my friend: a bandage. Our approach thus far has been to slap one on any and all wounds and hope the bleeding stops. I'm afraid that won't happen this time; the cracks are too many and too great, and the palace is on the verge of collapse. It's time to let it go and face ourselves, for when all is said and done, we are all we will have.

Everything we think about the world, every belief we hold will come tumbling down very soon, and there won't be a thing we can do about it.

When we seek to win, we end up losing.

Let go.

Are we listening?

2009-05-13T11:42:00.003-04:00

The sun shines brightly, the flowers are in bloom, and here I am, sitting inside, hammering away at these keys without any idea as to what direction I want to take this entry. Of all the sitting and observing I do, there must be something for me to share with all of you.

I suppose I can begin about two night ago when I had a chat with my friend about attachment. He was troubled over an event in which someone he knew - a friend or relative, I'm not exactly sure - insisted her children wear a certain brand of garment; he couldn't understand what the big deal was. Perhaps it means so much to this individual because she identifies these brands with acceptance in society; that is to say, by having her offspring seen wearing this brand or that, her peers view her as competent, able to keep up with the Joneses, as the old saying goes. Of course, we couldn't end our discussion here, for it spawned the question of how she came to harbour such a belief. Why are certain brands associated with "success"? I used, as an example, the hooded sweatshirt I was wearing, an ordinary garment without anything exciting printed on it, and compared it to an identical garment in every way save for the one difference: it has a brand printed across its front. Each item can cost the same amount to make and use the same materials, but because one is distributed by a more popular brand, it is worth more. We pay exorbitant sums of money not for items, but for the names on them. This never ceases to amaze me; it certainly amazed my friend.

So society won't accept me if I do not dress a certain way or wear a certain brand or own a certain car, et cetera, et cetera. Doubtless you've heard this all before. Can we expand this to include how we view people? Do we view certain figures in the same manner as we do these brands? Lately, I've done some reading on deference to authority; suffice to say, I've opened my eyes to some fascinatingly frightening stuff. I learned that we can convince nurses to administer lethal injections to patients simply by posing as a doctor. I learned that I can don an expensive three-piece suit and people will take me seriously. In short, people aren't listening to me; rather, they're listening to my brand. Scary, isn't it? Might this remind you of what's happening around us? Do we defer to certain people based on their titles, threads or trappings, as Robert Cialdini called them? Are we more likely to listen to someone because s/he has the Conservative/Liberal/Socialist tag attached? Or because he is a he or she is a she? Or because this individual is affiliated with a particular ethnic or religious group?

How about when we perceive ourselves as the authority? Recently, I observed a debate between two individuals hailing from different campus social enclaves. I could have easily taken a side and joined the fray, but I opted for standing aside and watching what the two were doing. Much like the war they were debating, their discussion waged on and on with no end in sight, each side just as eager at the other to fire shots at her/his counterpart. I doubt if any of them were aware of the connection between theirs and every other conflict, bloody or no, the world over. To me, it seemed each side perceived her/himself as the authority on the matter and that her/his solution must be told, come what may.

It's amazing how something so superficial has enough power to get us to stop listening. There are certain elements who love nothing more than a docile populace and aim to keep it that way. Hey, if our attachments bring us comfort, why bother ridding ourselves of them?

Malcolm X once said, "If you take up arms, you'll end it, but if you sit around and wait for the one who is in power to make up his mind that he should end it, you'll be waiting a long time." What is "it" we need to end? War? Suffering? Exploitation? Ignorance? How does "it" end? Are we going to wait for an authority to tell us how to end it: By buying more stuff? By voting for a certain party? By praying?

How do we become free from all of this? How do we arm ourselves?

Listen.

How to be cast into the Hellfire for all eternity.

2009-04-24T09:20:00.003-04:00

As I was riding my bicycle this morning, I thought of the story of Lucifer, the angel who fell from Heaven and became synonymous with "evil". I don't know how correctly I have interpreted this fable, but from what I understand, he became dissatisfied with God and incited rebellion, thus leading to his eternal damnation. I say, I find this story rather intriguing, for I am left to wonder what sort of lessons its authors had intended to bestow upon their readers.

I came across this account of "The Fall of Lucifer". I don't know how true to the original tale it is, as stories change over time. Nonetheless, a few thoughts came to my mind as I was perusing it. From this account, it seems Lucifer was not happy having to obey the word of the son, Jesus Christ - in fact, he was envious of him - so he tried to rally the angels around him, accusing them of being "slaves". Ultimately, no one was having any of it, and God was quick to quash the rebellion and cast Lucifer into the eternal Hellfire.

But who created this tale? And what was its purpose? When I reiterated the story of Lucifer in my head this morning, I wondered if this was not a tale of obedience and blind devotion, that questioning your authority had dire consequences. Was Lucifer really the malcontent as limned in this fable? Or did this serve as a warning to would-be dissidents? Look at what we do in our time: when someone speaks out of turn, we do not hesitate to put the individual in her/his place, even if it means besmirching her/his good name. When dissident government officials cry foul at their bosses, they are quickly labeled as "disgruntled" or "upset" over something, thus eager to lash out at their superiors.

It's all a matter of perspective. Consider Ernesto "Che" Guevara: on one hand, he was a champion of the people, warrior of the working class, someone who refused to take crap from the authority of his time and stood up for what he felt was right; on the other, he is the Devil incarnate, a purveyor of the evil ideology that is Communism, a "terrorist". Could the same be said of Lucifer? Was he really, as they say, the evil that needed to be purged from Heaven, or punished for standing up for change?

Consider another example, that being Jesus Christ himself. If you have read both Old and New Testaments, you may appreciate Jesus Christ the revolutionary, as accounts of his life and times reveal him to contravene the so-called ironclad rules of the Old Testament of Moses, the first being his "turning-the-other-cheek" principle, rather than demanding "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth". He also deemed circumcision unnecessary and healed the sick on the Sabbath, both big no-nos in the grand rulebook. Many ardent devotees believe the scriptures in the Old Testament foretold the coming of Jesus Christ, and I'm inclined to agree, though I ask why these prophets did so: perhaps, when the extant world order needs a shake-up, someone is bound to come along to do just that.

And what happened to our dear Jesus Christ?

Yeah.

So what is the moral of the story of Lucifer? I reckon it's that the victors write the history lessons that are passed down to us, and if you don't straighten up and fly right, you, too, will be written into eternal damnation.

The Journey

2009-04-14T17:21:00.002-04:00

There is an interesting psychological phenomenon in which people can travel from point A to point B without being cognizant of a single detail from the trip between. It happened to me all the time while driving to and from work each day: sometimes, I would emerge from the car wondering how on Earth I arrived at this location, having not been aware I was driving. The commute became so routine, I could fixate my mind on this and that and somehow coast to my destination. The same can be said for how we live our lives: we pay so little attention to the journey, we have no idea what sort of lives we've been living.

Today, I commemorate twenty-nine full years of life on this planet in this form. Traditionally, this is a time of celebration, a time of reflection, but upon what do I reflect? On so many occasions do we hearken back to days gone by, to time when things were different, when we were different. I suppose it's a matter of what you choose as a frame of reference. I was told on this day in the Year of our Lord Nineteen Hundred Eighty occurred my exodus from the confines of Mother's womb. Much has crossed my sensory inputs since then, prompting all sorts of crazy activity at my synapses.

Geez, when I think on it, it still feels as if only yesterday, I was merrily playing in the schoolyard, lost in my world of make-believe. Funny I should mention that: I learned I don't have to be a child to conjure a fantasy world, though I suppose only the power and influence of an adult can bestow said fantasy on the masses. I remember the multitude of institutional lessons I received from my elders, including such gems as the virtues of behaving myself, doing as I was told and ascertaining favourable marks on my report card so that I may receive a diploma and well-paying job; such were the virtues extolled by my elders, virtues necessary for me to "be somebody".

I learned a few harsh lessons as well - for instance, growing up isn't much fun if you don't rank high on the social hierarchy, though in hindsight, perhaps I was better served not wasting so much energy aspiring to be "with it" - but in the midst of all that crap emerged glimmers of light. For instance, through much of my elementary schooling, my best friend was considered a "delinquent" by all - even my parents, despite knowing how few friends I had, didn't approve because he wasn't cut from the proper cloth. I suppose that's why we were such good friends: neither of us fit into anyone's preconceived notion of "proper". No one around us could understand what it meant to be us; perhaps that's why he's probably one of the best friends I've ever had. Last I heard, he was on his way to prison.

Looking back, I wonder how I could have possibly wasted so much of my life striving to be someone else, someone more "important", while cursing myself for failing to measure up. I figured I would have outgrown such a habit after high school, but alas, I found myself doing the very same in my adult years, only instead of hoping to wheedle popular kids into liking me and girls into dating me, I was cajoling older women and men into giving me a paying job. I felt as if being simultaneously clocked in the skull by two sledgehammers, one telling me to be myself, the other to be someone else.

I've had to put up with my fair share of crap over the years, but through the crap I was able to see the beauty. I see the cracks in the veneer, in what we think "is", and gaze into what is. Sometimes, I still ask myself how things might be if I was "normal", if I looked at a can of cola or drank a beer without thinking how it made its way to my hands or the consequences of consuming. I wonder how things might be if I could remain blind to everything, to embrace the glossy veneer of existence. In essence, I wonder if I should have ingested the blue pill.

Would I be who I am today? Would I have had the experiences I've had, seen the places I've seen, met the people I've met? By remaining blind to what is, would I have cheated myself out of all the beauty that exists in the world? Would I have been love for those around me? Would I be writing this today?

Then again, why ask "what if"? As much as I fantasize about the person I wanted to be in years past, I cannot change what has happened; I can only look forward. Today marks the end of twenty-nine years, but also the beginning of several more, how many I cannot say: perhaps several, perhaps hardly any. It may be important to understand the sins of the past so as not to repeat them, and it may be fun to take a stroll down memory lane now and then, but while hung up on the past, life marches on. I figure the same can be said for our overall rotten state of affairs: try as we might, we cannot undo the harm we have wrought upon each other, nor can we expect to fix the problem by blaming and punishing certain elements of society; we can only drop all the bullshit and begin the healing together, for, regardless of who might be pulling the trigger or giving the order, we are all of us victims.

I thought I had a coda for my latest entry, but alas, I cannot access it, so this will have to suffice for now. Where I will go during the coming days, weeks, months, years, I really don't know. All I can do is just be, and enjoy the ride.

Mahalo.

One Solution

2009-04-08T20:54:00.003-04:00

Answers. Everyone seems to have them, including me. It seems fitting that I have the answers; after all, I am the centre of my existence. Relative to my perspective, everything revolves around me. Such is the case with you and everyone else, hence the vast sea of answers in which we find ourselves afloat. Which one is the solution, I wonder? Is there even such a thing?

Let us travel back in time - wwwwwaaaaaaaaayyyyyy back - to the dawn of, well, us. Here we are, meandering about in this strange place with all sorts of strange things happening. How do we make sense of it all? What is causing the air to feel cold/warm against my skin? What unseen force is responsible for these plants I am eating? Why does water periodically fall from the sky? Why do I feel cheerful one day and horribly depressed the next? Why is my neighbour cross with me? Why am I even here? What am I supposed to be doing? So much information whizzing past us so quickly... how can I possibly comprehend?

Over the years, decades, centuries, millennia, we sought answers to these and other questions. Luckily, some of us seemed to figure everything out, much to our delight (and relief). To this day, people approach us, claiming to hold the key to unlock all the mysteries that leave us obfuscated, frightened and alone. For me, it was a story of a man who dwells in the heavens, who created us in His own image, who sacrificed His only begotten Son because He loved us so much, who unleased hellfire and brimstone on those who did not believe. For me, the only way to salvation was to follow the Son and no one else... but wait, I'm standing in the centre of a crowd of "believers" of several schools of thought. Are they all wrong, save for the one whose solution I was taught as a boy? Wait, is my solution wrong? Have I been misled? Have I been wrong all along? Why do certain people believe in more than one mythical being? Why so much variance in the names and practices?

Let us return to our being drop-kicked into this wonderful, magical world so full of activity. Seeing as how, at the individual level, we perceive ourselves as the centre of existence, surely, we will each interpret what happens by our own respective means; that is to say, we will be exposed to our own respective streams of information that we will process accordingly and seek to share our conclusions with those around us. The result was a divergence in beliefs: some of us had different interpretations than others and bestowed our knowledge upon our respective tribes, who then passed said knowledge down through the generations. Over time, of course, new interpretations manifested among the masses, and the process was repeated.

But what is happening now? So many of us who interpret the world in a given manner are now exchanging knowledge with one another, and what are we discovering? Our "unique" perspectives aren't so unique after all! Convergence! We are discovering that we live under the same set of circumstances, that we are governed by the same set of laws, that there is something beyond us that words can't quite explain, yet we've made painstaking attempts to explain it while gainsaying the attempts of those we feel contradict our respective interpretations. Yes, friends, we have found the solution! After all these millennia of convincing ourselves we have the solution, we finally found it in each other, through our myriad interpretations of the same reality!

Think of a common problem in your daily life: how does it go about being solved? You begin by gathering whatever information is available to you and drawing a preliminary conclusion, but you're still not satisfied, so you consult others whose opinions you feel may be of value, opinions that likely differ from yours. Now, you and your confidants pool your resources, and your opinions on the matter converge to formulate a reasonable approach to solving the problem!

Funny enough, during my studies of plate tectonics, I was told that, about 150 million years from now, Earth's continents will once again become one. Imagine that: we began as one continent, drifted apart in fragments, and will once again converge into a single continent.

So I suppose there is indeed one solution, though who are any of us to say we, and only we, have found it? Despite the semantics, it seems we have all found it together.

Or have we?

Mahalo.

The Ascent

2009-03-21T23:08:00.003-04:00

What if a coach pulled up to your door to deliver you to Heaven? What if there was but one seat remaining and it was offered to you? Here it is, the chance for eternal salvation, free from the chains of society, free from repressive patterns, free from soul-crushing routine, free from fear and chaos, free from sin itself. Here is your chariot to deliver you to joy and love, with one remaining vacancy just for you. Would you accept?

What about the people you are leaving behind? Will they ever gain admission into Heaven? Will they wait for the day when you return with the coach to pick them up? By then, will it be too late for them? Would you accept this gift if it meant that others remained in Hell? Would you surrender your seat to someone whom you felt deserved it more?

Is the coach required to deliver us to Heaven? Is Heaven some place elsewhere to which we must journey? Will we find it by looking skyward?

Or has it always been around us?

Subliminal Tyranny Revisited

2009-03-10T12:45:00.002-04:00

I have to rethink the title of my weblog. I chose the moniker "subliminal tyranny" in July 2006 shortly after discovering the esoteric power schematic that governs our lives. At that time - actually, I feel the same to this day - I became weary of the notion that we live in a society based on democratic principles, that we are indeed "free", so I sought to expose the means by which we are tyrannized. I don't know how successful I have been to this point - often times, I cannot help but feel I am preaching to the converted - so I will use this opportunity to revisit what I have covered over the last thirty-two months.

By now, it's no secret to you that we are governed by a heavy hand, an "unseen" force, since the moment we are conceived within the uterine walls. We are ordered by our parents to conform to their will - or, conversely, we receive nothing at all from them. From childhood through adolescence into post-secondary study, the only lesson we receive is how to do as we are told - how to perform for treats, if you will - so that we may parlay this lesson into the "real" world in which we must ascertain tokens for survival. Our media tell us what to buy, how to look, how to think and whom to hate. Our "elected" officials are always the ones with the most money to spend on advertising, who succumb to the whim of those private interests who finance their respective campaigns. Our peers reject us if seen wearing the wrong kind of clothing, listening to the wrong kind of music, cheering for the wrong team, or having the wrong skin colour. Our police officers, the ones whose sworn duty is to protect us from harm, are quick to pass judgment and eager to keep us in line (just two days ago, two friends of mine were stopped and searched for the crime of driving through a certain neighbourhood on a Sunday morning while appearing tired). Our leaders convince us we must kill overseas to protect ourselves, yet throw us in jail when we apply the same logic in our own backyard. We are shackled by insurmountable debt, dependency, toxicity, stress and sheer apathy. We cannot bear the pain of it all, thus prompting us to dive head-first into vice as a means of escape. We are on a psychological battlefield and we are losing, pinned under the awesome strength of this heavy hand.

Yet, somehow, we are supposed to be "free".

For a while, I felt myself venturing in circles, rehashing the same shit over and over and over, wondering if we would ever see an end to this wretchedness. I grew incredibly weary of political discourse of all flavours, even from my beloved "Left", until something shifted in me: I finally discovered the meaning of "freedom". The first time I let go of my senses and surroundings, I understood what it means to be "free". Until that time, "freedom" was merely a word I read in the dictionary or heard on the news, nothing more. I had heard the phrase before, but at that time, I discovered inside me what cannot be touched by outside forces. I discovered the power structure I had been decrying was an illusion created by its proprietors to trick us into surrendering our power to them.

That's right, friends: our power! You see, try as they might, these people at the top of the Ivory Tower cannot break us, for we are beyond the reaches of their machinations: they may grab at our bodies and our minds, but they can never have us. Today, we are witnessing the collapse of their system of bondage; soon, their Kingdom will lie in ruin. Sure, they may be scrambling to appease us and keep us feeding their machine while blasting the F-word into our ears, but are they themselves "free"? In their attempt to bind us, they have bounded themselves; if they want this to continue, they have to continue, no matter what the cost, and are they happy in the end? Are they "free"?

Freedom is not going to come by bombing foreign nations to Hell or throwing people into prisons or buying property or switching on the television or ascribing to the "sex, drugs and rock & roll" dogma. Freedom is not going to come by sitting and waiting for Barack Obama to "change" things. No, friends, freedom comes from within us, it comes when we start to understand ourselves, when we see the chains we have imposed on ourselves and do away with them. This wretchedness is not going to end by electing certain individuals to office or taking up arms against the government.

In 1964, Minister Malcolm X said we need "extreme" behaviour to sweep away the miserable conditions in which we find ourselves, that "moderate" behaviour isn't going to cut it. I had to think about what is meant by "moderate" and "extreme"; I think I have an understanding, which I will share with you. Taking up arms may be considered "extreme" behaviour, but is it going to change the status quo? Should it be considered "moderate" along with sitting on our hands waiting for someone else to do something? To me, "extreme" means taking action to change our wretched ways, and we can only do that by recognizing the wretchedness of our ways, and we can only do this by understanding ourselves, by clearing our minds of the pollution bestowed upon us by our so-called "authority". We will only be free of this wretchedness when we act, not a moment sooner: we are the curators of "change" in our society.

On this note, I take my leave, but not before telling you how wonderful and beautiful and strong and intelligent you are, all of you. "Be the change you want to see in the world," said Mahatma Gandhi: the power lies within you; collectively, you are unstoppable.

The tyranny is within us; so, too, is the freedom.

Mahalo.

The choice is yours.

2009-03-06T09:31:00.005-05:00

"This is your last chance. After this there is no turning back. You take the blue pill, the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill, you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.... Remember, all I'm offering is the truth, nothing more.... "

Morpheus, The Matrix

The message is everywhere.

2009-02-22T21:08:00.002-05:00

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

2009-02-21T12:10:00.003-05:00

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.

2009-02-08T12:49:00.003-05:00

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.

2009-02-02T15:54:00.003-05:00

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!"

Power Struggle

2009-01-25T23:15:00.002-05:00

For a moment, I thought I might be returning to class within the next two days, as an emergency meeting was called by our Provinical government to legislate the striking graduate students and contract faculty back to work. Alas, one of the opposition parties, the New Democratic Party, could not agree to the notion of forcing these people back to work without ratifying an agreement with their employer. Since back-to-work legislation requires unanimity in Parliament - at least that is how I understand it - this bill must be debated and pass through the required number of readings before implementation. Depending on the side of the fence on which you find yourself, this is a rousing victory or a colossal bummer.

During the last three months, I've witness a considerable amount of disconcerted, even hostile, sentiments towards the Union and its members. I can understand the frustration harboured by students and parents for fear of having their and their children's education compromised by what seems like a squabble over money. Some argue that this is not the time to be making such demands, as we find ourselves in an economic downturn. Others argue they earn more than enough, and that they should simply change jobs if they are unhappy with the current one. Still others argue the Union has no right to hold students hostage. Personally, I do not deny the Union's desire to seek as much as it feels it can get, nor do I disagree with the notion that the modern-day Union is more interested in accumulating more stuff for its members than in altering the way we operate (Hansen, 2001). For all we know, the heads in the CUPE nerve centre have been using this opportunity to play politics, using the members of Local 3903 as bait. Still, that doesn't excuse the enormous disparity between that on which graduate students and contract faculty must live and what the executives at the University take home.

If I've learned anything during these past three months, it's that when you're the perceived authority, you can play dirty pool and ascertain your most desired outcome; I can't help but cogitate this plausibility on the part of the University. Right now, it seems the Union hasn't a leg on which to stand, now that the Province is trying to usher its members back to work; somehow, someone in that ivory tower knew precisely how to weaken the stance of the striking workers and played this hand accordingly. I don't know about you, but I cannot swallow the argument that the University has no money to spare when, as of May, it raised $150 million in its fiftieth anniversary campaign, and especially when its top executive earns as much as he does while having the University pay for a private car and driver. I certainly cannot swallow the argument that the Union's demands cannot be met when our Members of Provincial Parliament almost unanimously approved a twenty-five percent pay hike for themselves.

Students have every right to be upset about being out of class for the last three months, but we ought not to be so quick to lay blame at those who are on strike, as their employer is just as culpable, if not more. If you ask me, I feel the issue lies well beneath the numbers on the offer sheets that have been passed back and forth across the bargaining table: this is our own greed raising its ugly head to the surface; each one of us is guilty. That being said, I have difficulty not rooting for the underdog. Sure, I would love to see a world in which all players are seen as invaluable, not certain players over others, but until that happens, we of so-called lesser value must band together to demonstrate our worth in society. If it means shutting down the wheels of production in the process, so be it, until the "authority" sees the folly in believing it wields the power.

The President of our school fears this will lead to a Province-wide strike in 2010. When I think about it, I don't know if it is such a bad idea. Perhaps workers from other industries can stand together with them - given what's about to happen this year, I wouldn't be surprised to see the masses take to the streets, though hopefully in a peaceful manner. Perhaps undergraduate students need to get on board as well if they wish to receive a real education rather than some glorified training program on how to be validated by a supposed authority.

Our problems won't be magically whisked away by some piece of legislation: we have to work to eradicate them, but first, we have to know what they are.

The House Negro and the Field Negro

2009-01-20T08:29:00.006-05:00

Yesterday, we commemorated the life and work of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. who envisioned a world in which people were not judged by their skin tone, in which people lived in harmony. Today, the world sees a beacon of hope, as it is about to witness the first man of African descent take the oath of office and officially become President of the United States. While it is monumental for America to elect a person of colour as the face of the nation, we must not cash in our chips just yet, which is why I share the following video with you, a discourse by Malcolm X titled "The House Negro and the Field Negro".

Enjoy.

In the time of Malcolm X and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., "change" did not come from the top and trickle down; rather, it came from the ground up. If we really want "change", we cannot expect a head of state to wave his magic wand: we must facilitate it ourselves.

For your reading pleasure, click here for a response to the comparisons being drawn between America's new President and the late Dr. King.

On Panacea

2009-01-14T21:20:00.003-05:00

I'm feeling conflicted. I want to be a benevolent force, however diminutive my impact may be, on our society at large, yet I don't know if I've been doing anything, nor what I am supposed to do or how to do it. I've ventured along a particular path during which I have gained immense insight not only into the universe, but also myself, and now I'm asked to sell the merits of this path to others - at least this is how I interpret the matter. Can I really do that? I've always figured myself a shitty salesperson, I suppose because I feel what I have to offer is not meant to be sold.

At times, I claim to have all the answers, and each time, without fail, I realize I do not. Perhaps I harbour an insatiable need to satiate my craving for a feeling of superiority, thereby professing to know this and that. Truth be told, how many of us can truly know how our realm operates? Some have come very close, but can they ever get there? More importantly, is any one path more genuine than another? Can any one of us claim to possess all the answers? A while ago, I had a discussion with a young man about spirituality and we each acknowledged we were on different paths to the same reality.

This last line describes the essence of why life is so beautiful: we're each on our own paths that ultimately lead us through the same trials and tribulations on our way to the same goals and rewards, and each of us has a description for it. Isn't it wonderful to live in such a place in which we can share our experiences and bask in the experiences of others? Isn't it wonderful to be able to bring our ideas to unity?

Wait, do we actually do such a thing? Or are we so bent on being heard, we neglect to listen? We kill each other over our respective beliefs and idols, yet if we stopped to listen, we would see they belong to the same story, only the names of the players have changed. We engage in fierce competition to be heard over all others and exhaust whatever resources are at our disposal to do so, we forget that the voices of others are no less valid than ours, voices that fall on deaf ears.

Don't take it from me, though, for who am I to say I have the cure for whatever ails you?

The End of Business

2009-01-09T15:49:00.003-05:00

A wise man once described to me the meaning of the word "business", which is, in his words, the practice of giving for the purpose of receiving some form of personal accolade. The following is a tale of what "business" entails. After reading, ask yourself if doing "business" is such a good idea.

Judging by what I've been seeing on the news, this new calendar year of ours is not exactly off to a promising start. The "hot topic" seems to be the war Israel is waging on Gaza in retaliation for the incessant barrage of rocket attacks by Hamas in retaliation for the throttling of resources to Gaza in retaliation for... we would need many words to chronicle several thousand years of strife, yes? Just as we were becoming one with the idea of being broke, our masters are rekindling our fear of the "bad guys", thereby justifying the slaughter of a people about whom we don't seem to give a damn.

Of course, this isn't the only mess on our collective plate, I'm afraid. Remember Iraq? Yes, there's still a war happening there, in which people like you and me are dying en masse every single day. It matters not what year it is on the calendar; surviving the day is an accomplishment in itself. Have we become so habituated to the chaos in Iraq that it has escaped our consciousness entirely? And what about Afghanistan? Yes, there's still a war happening there. For thirty-some-odd years, the people of the region have had to deal with the same old shit; the only things that have changed are the uniforms and flags of the players. The announcements of our dead - only "our" dead, for "their" dead aren't even worth counting, let alone honouring - and the subsequent parades of their remains through our nation's streets have faded into the backdrop of our existence.

Recently, the government forces of Sri Lanka captured the de facto capital of the LTTE, known to us Western folk as the "Tamil Tigers", branded by our officials as bogeymen. As with the aforementioned conflicts, the coverage of this one is one-sided: no mention, save for the odd glib statement, given to why the LTTE exists or what its motives are; no mention given to the Tamil cries for justice; no mention given to the treatment of the Tamil people by the government of Sri Lanka. Perhaps thirty years of bloodshed could have been avoided if each side listened to one another.

Now, let us move onto a blooless yet equally nefarious conflict: the labour strife at York University, the institution I've been attending as an undergraduate student for the last two years. As we wonder if we will ever see the end to this dispute, I was met with a mass communication from the head of our department on behalf of the administration, announcing it is forcing the members of the Union to cast a secret ballot, to be monitored by our Ministry of Labour, on their latest offer, with the hope that we will return to class as soon as possible. To be honest, though I've paid heaps of money in tuition and graduate school applications, I don't know how eager I am to return to class. Universities have already shown they can dick us around without fear of reprisal by inflating our tuition year after year and treating us like trained animals who perform for treats - why else are grades the hallmark of learning? - now, it seems, they can do the same to their workers.

After writing these paragraphs, the lesson to me seems obvious: when you have the power, you are free to act in as underhanded a manner as you see fit to ascertain whatever you want. If I was feeling pessimistic today, I might resign myself to such sentiment; since this is not the case, I'm going to toss this bullshit aside and share an experience that gives me hope for the future.

My friend and I have taken it upon ourselves to challenge each other by approaching random people in the street and striking up a conversation, something most wouldn't normally do. Swirling through my head - and I'm sure his, too - were thoughts such as "S/he doesn't want to be bothered," "I have nothing to say to this person," "What if s/he is uncomfortable with my presence?" and the like, but once the ice was broken, it became easier and easier; the words simply flowed from me. I wanted to gauge their thoughts on how we could create a lasting peace in our society, and if they felt these wars abroad were connected to the manner in which we deal with one another, and, more importantly, how they feel about the interactions in their lives. I met a young lady from China who is attending university here; from what she said to me, she feels very isolated in these parts - my memory may not serve me correctly, so if I'm wrong, I extend my sincere apologies to her - though hopefully, having a "stranger" lend her an ear may have instilled a glimmer of hope. I also met a young man, also a student, from Turkey. Being of Greek origin, I could not help but comment on the tendency for Greeks and Turks to harbour disdain for one another, to which he responded by telling me of the multitude of Greek friends he has. If only my uncle and other Greek figures I know could have been there that evening.

Despite our differences in language or cultural/religious beliefs or skin tone or title, we all think and feel and breathe the same and have to deal with the same shit, be it labour, political or armed strife. These differences of ours do not penetrate the surface of our being, which is why I have hope for the future. Some day soon, we will all awake to the reality that, however overwhelming the world may be, we all must live in it together. Killing and maiming one another does us no good; when we pick up a gun and shoot someone else out of fear that they may do the same, we become that which we seek to eradicate; in short, we kill ourselves. We are not the titles we affix to our business cards, nor are we the flags that flap in the wind, nor the books from which we acquire our knowledge, nor the company we keep, nor even the very species by which we identify ourselves: whether on two or four or more or no legs, we all belong to the divine, and we are all beautiful.

We've always made great pets, Perry, but that will soon change.

2008-12-31T13:12:00.004-05:00

I know, by the reference to which I have grown accustomed during my short time in this form, that another calendar year has drawn to a close. As per custom, many of us will reflect on another year laid to rest and fancy some resolutions for the one that begins anew. Me, I wonder if we're to navigate through more of the same shit as we did last year and repeat this exercise annually until we die, or if this will be the year that things start to happen. Come to think of it, things happen all the time, so perhaps it is foolish to wish for "things to start to happen". Certain things more than others, I suppose: could they already be happening and we're just unaware of them?

For many of us, today is the day we set ourselves up with lofty expectations for what ought to happen this evening: some will spend the day frantically making plans; others will wallow in pity knowing they have none. Ultimately, all parties will awake tomorrow morning with the realization - however cruel or kind it may be - that the worries and trepidations of last evening don't matter all that much. We should only be so lucky to have the luxury to worry about such trivial matters, as we have warm homes in which to worry and food in our bellies while we worry. We should be so lucky to have only our evening plans and our resolutions for the new year about which to worry: how many of us worry whether we will even live to see the evening or the new year, let alone make plans for them?

I harbour a quiet disdain for these holidays, for they seem to serve as instructions for mass consumption, while lost in the shuffle is the misery felt by many who aren't included in the dance. I know, it's only a day on some arbitrary calendar and I ought not to be lumbered by it, but alas, I cannot help but be consumed by equal parts sorrow and irritation. I think about the people very dear to me, myself included, who did not meet the standards required to be part of the "in" crowd - whatever that may be; even those who were rejected by the "in" crowd managed to forn their own "in" crowd - and while I feel I have come to see this farce for what it is, sometimes I feel left out, not welcome, even invisible. So it goes.

I hope, one day, the very notion of the "in" crowd will surcease, for we are all "in" something together, and that something is a world of shit. The new Year of our Lord 2009 will be a tumultuous one, during which a lot of our core beliefs will be turned on their respective ears. There stands a fantastic chance that by year's end, we will all be in the wilderness, beaten and cold and seemingly alone, stripped of the veneer to which we cling. My friends, we're only alone if we convince ourselves such is the case, for however lonely one might feel at a given time, that loneliness is shared by everyone, so when the time comes and we're standing in the wilderness, we will be standing there together and will have each other.

The doom and gloom on the horizon is only in our heads. In an earlier entry, I forecasted the coming of the end of money, though I feel it to be more of a hope than a prediction. A wise man told me the dawn of the great spiritual awakening is imminent: perhaps a total collapse of our economic model to which we are slaves is necessary for this "golden age" to enter fruition; as much as I hate to say it, perhaps something needs to happen on a global scale to indicate to the masses that no, everything is not fine, and that retreating to our respective coccoons is no longer an option. The time is upon us when we will no longer have to behave as someone's pets, performing each day for treats to take home with us. (To this day, my school is shut down by a strike, and I'm wondering if I even want to return to class, if I should even bother trying to graduate, for I feel the cardinal lesson I've learned is how to ascertain grades. Nevertheless, how many people will be able to afford post-secondary education next year and the years beyond?) Fuck grades. Fuck dollars. Fuck status. Fuck apppearance. They will mean nothing anymore.

It seems I can count on my trusty web log to resurrect my alacrity. Just yesterday, I wondered if I ought to continue living, given our rotten state of affairs and lack of any sign that things will improve. Today, I see that glimmer of hope again way over yonder on the horizon, and with it has returned a desire to live and be of service. Whether or not I will be part of this great awakening in this form, I cannot say, but this isn't about me: it's about us.

There is a line from a song by The Kinks that I feel is apt for this occasion:

I can't go on this way;
There's a new world
just opening for me.

There is a new world opening for all of us.

Mahalo.

Diffidence

2008-12-27T21:41:00.003-05:00

This time of year can be quite a drag, especially when you awake to your home being bombarded from above. I haven't been in the best of moods today, and I have had great difficulty finding the words to express how I feel about the whole thing, but I feel it is my duty - however few my readers are - to somehow convey my thoughts to you in one form or another.

I feel so tense right now, consumed by an incredibly eerie feeling. I hate to believe there is no hope for us to curb our hostilities towards one another and live harmoniously, but examples such as the one cited leave me wondering if it is worth bothering. Today, I watched a film in which people physically beat other people because standing up for one's rights as a human being was proving deleterious to the company's profit margin. Last month, an employee at a large department store who shall remain nameless was trampled to death because anxious shoppers could not wait to get their hands on the best deals. Last year - or was it two years ago? I cannot recall - there was a report of undercover police officers sabotaging an otherwise peaceful protest by hurling rocks and other objects at uniformed officers, thereby fomenting a violent response. Bombs explode hourly the world over, killing and maiming indiscriminately, and the assembly lines churn out more. Our infrastructure at home is crumbling, with hospitals and schools under incredible strain, yet our representatives in the legislature did not hesitate to give themselves a twenty-five-percent raise. This past year, over 42,000 Ontario government employees earned at least $100,000 in salary while so many have nothing.

What the fuck are we doing to each other? How do we sleep at night knowing the harm we cause? Do we really gain that much personally? Do those in the establishment really win when they suppress the people in such a manner? And what about those of us willing to kick and punch and shoot our way towards a "new world order", one we perceive to be created in fairness for all? What do we accomplish by maiming and killing? Nothing, that's what, except more of the same. When we lash out at the police, we're playing the same game they are when they take orders to fire tear gas and rubber bullets: they're just as much slaves as we are. And what of this latest foray of aerial bombardment, supposedly in relatiation of attacks on their nation? The kid pulling the trigger to drop the bomb is just as much a victim as the people he kills, for he has to live with what he has done, live with the dissonance that will plague him until his dying day. And so, too, will the people giving these kids their orders.

I tell you, no matter how much material gain results from turning people against people, to so-called "winners" also lose; they lose their humanity, they lose their souls. Sometimes, though, I wonder if we'll ever wake up to what we're doing. Over time, some have been persecuted - even murdered - for attempting to awaken the masses, while others have gone mad, so is a battle worth fighting anymore? Even with the imminent collapse of the global economy, is this ever going to stop? Or will we be trampling and shooting one another for whatever diminutive portions are left?

I almost felt a tinge of optimism course through me as I was writing just now. I look at others - during my better moments, anyway - and see them as I do myself, as beings who live and breathe, who have doubts and worries, who dream and love and yearn to be loved, who would do anything for those dearest to them, even if it means submitting to the will of some supreme purveyor of sustenance. I just don't know if the benevolence inherent in each of us will do much good, so long as we're afraid to let go of our own comforts. Perhaps we all need to hit bottom before realizing we hit bottom together. Even so, there may still be a few of us at the top desperately clinging to the icy ledge of the summit, flailing our legs at those we see below whom we feel might jeopardize our already tenuous hold on whatever remains to give us a sense of "status".

Here I am, rambling again in such a desultory manner. I hope you were able to make some sense of what I was trying to convey. I wonder if there will indeed come a time when we realize how much we lost while seeking material gain for ourselves. I am assured this time is nigh. Given all that is happening around us, I fear my hope is fading.

Marking the Birth of a Free Spirit

2008-12-25T11:27:00.003-05:00

Behold: some often overlooked holiday treats for all of you. I hope the passing storm of consumerism didn't shatter your spirits. Blessings to each and every one of you, regardless of custom.

Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.
Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.
Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.
Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.
(Matthew 5:3-12)

But love ye your enemies, and do good, and lend, hoping for nothing again; and your reward shall be great, and ye shall be the children of the Highest: for he is kind unto the unthankful and to the evil.
Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful.
Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.
(Luke 6:35-37)

Owe no man any thing, but to love one another: for he that loveth another hath fulfilled the law. (Romans 13:8)

For it is written, I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and will bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent.
Where is the wise? where is the scribe? where is the disputer of the world? hath not God made foolish the wisdom of this world?
For after that in the wisdom of God the world by wisdom knew not God, it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that believe.
For the Jews require a sign, and the Greeks seek after wisdom:
But we preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumbling block, and unto the Greeks foolishness;
But unto them which are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God.
Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men; and the weakness of God is stronger than men.
(I Corinthians 1:19-25)

The Forces of Nature

2008-12-19T16:57:00.003-05:00

Today, I begin by remarking on my not having done much writing during the past six weeks. With classes being suspended this long, I figured I would have ample time to opine on all sorts of happenings in the world, but alas, I found myself demotivated most of the time... well, that's not entirely true, for I have spent more time with family and friends than I normally would have had I been in school, and, hearkening back to an earlier piece, I'm better off living and interfacing with the world than I am sitting and typing quasi-coherent discourses on my computer, not that I do not enjoy the latter.

As I write this, our city is being bludgeoned by a ferocious winter storm that has not relented since morning. I could have heeded the warnings and spent the day alone in my dungeon, but I said to myself "Fuck it! I'm going out!" and bundled up for the cold. I went downtown to the park where I picked litter this summer, thinking of the friend I made there. As much as I miss seeing him, I hoped he wasn't spending the day outside in the storm. I did not see him in the neighbourhood, but I did see many other brave souls bearing the brunt of all Mother Nature threw at us. Today was a great day for a walk, I thought; the kind of day that makes me feel alive. I wanted to bask in the alacrity of the winter storm. I wanted to be punched in the face by its mighty fist. I wanted to rise from this steaming pile of shit I call my comfort zone and experience this. Besides, not all of us are as fortunate as I am to seek shelter from the elements.

As I was walking, I started thinking, which was probably a good thing at the time, as it takes one's mind off being cold and soggy. I thought about this strike that has crippled our university, and whether or not it will ever end. I thought of the war of rhetoric being fought by both sides, wondering which side's argument seems more plausible. You must be wondering, "What's there to wonder?" (I can't believe I used the word "wonder" three times in the span of a line and a half - make that four times in two lines.) "Of course the workers are in the right!" and you would be correct, for I tend to side with the underdog. I agree that not living below the poverty line is not an unreasonable demand, and that the President of the university ought to be careful complaining about a lack of funds when he garners a half-million-dollar salary per annum, his York to the Power of 50 campaign raised roughly 160 million dollars (according to CUPE), and he demands that the university supply him a private car and driver. Still, I wonder if CUPE isn't playing politics, not to take anything away from the striking workers themselves - bless their hearts for making such sacrifices for the betterment of education! - but over the years, CUPE has become a major player in the political arena, complete with a hierarchy of executives. I know others who have and continue to work as members of other unions and have had less than spectacular things to say about them - examples I cite are the tendency for a certain teachers' union to defend a callous, obtuse educator rather than confront the person and seek to rectify the situation, and the tendency for certain unions to order their members as to how they are to cast their vote come election time. I hope someone more knowledgable can correct me on this matter.

I was also thinking about the students who are affected by this work stoppage, particularly those who are incensed they are being short-changed and/or fearful of not graduating on time (I am of the latter category, though I'm not exactly fearful at this point in time). I do not doubt this is a trying time for them, having invested so much into their education, but at the same time, I wonder if people, being so eager to ascertain a degree and move onto "bigger and better things", become willing to acquiesce to the will of the authority who issues said degree. What choice do we have, really? I, along with many others, aspire to attend graduate school starting next year; many of us have become frenetic trying to jump through the series of hoops laid out on the path to this goal, yet how many of us have stopped to question what we are doing? Are we really becoming enlightened, or are we in this for the grades? How will we fare as researchers, having only known how to attain said grades? Do we really need a university to experience "higher learning"? Can't I do the same thing at the library?

Keeping in the spirit of "resistance", I turned my thoughts - only as I began writing this - to the youth uprising in Greece. Last I heard, this isn't simply an isolated incident on a given day in a given locale - no, this has spanned three weeks now in several cities across the country, with little signs of relenting - nor is it simply about the shooting death of fifteen-year-old Alexandros Grigoropoulos at the hands of police, but also high youth unemployment and decaying quality of education (Kaplan, The Atlantic: 2008/12/19) all leading to disenfranchisement. Kaplan concluded his editorial with the following: "Pay close attention to Greece; at a time of world-wide economic upheaval, it might eerily presage disturbances elsewhere in 2009." My feelings on this are mixed: on one hand, I am eagerly awaiting a mass awakening in the face of this mess in which we find ourselves; on the other hand, I fear the consequences of a violent upheval, for no matter how many blows we strike at the establishment, it has the firepower to quash us several times over. Furthermore, what are we really doing when we hurl rocks and flaming bottles of alcohol at cops? What are they doing when they fire tear gas and rubber bullets at us, and beat us down with their truncheons? We're killing each other, that's what, while those pulling the strings sit in their ivory tower constructing machinations to take advantage of the chaos. We're all in this storm together, thus it makes no sense to wail on each other. What happens when the police officer discovers that the people who made off stinking rich after closing the plant/office where her/his spouse once worked are cut from the same cloth as the people who sign her/his pay cheques, that they think nothing of putting this person and her/his colleagues in mortal danger in the name of throwing more people in jail and bolstering the bottom line of the arms manufacturers? I tell you, there won't be a wall of blue anymore.

Walking through this storm made me cogitate the similarities between it and the socio-economic storm we face. Storms of nature can destroy our physical infrastructure, after which we must build anew. Similarly, this grand storm that is ravaging our economy, our society and our very well-being will lay to waste everything in its path. Try as we might to hunker down, ultimately, we will be left to salvage whatever is left and start over. Either we can let it break us and fight each other like mad over whatever crumbs we find, or realize we are all in this together and will get through it much easier by working together. We must cease tearing fissures between each other - administration versus student body, civilians versus authorities, nation versus nation, religion versus religion - because the forces of Nature do not distinguish between any of us: our turmoil only exacerbates their ferocity.

Straight out of Kafka

2008-12-13T18:58:00.002-05:00

I'm going to be here all night figuring out how to start this. I spend so much time thinking up ways to seem eloquent, yet usually throw down crap, so I'll just get on with it.

This evening's sonata is dedicated to the Ministry of Health, the Premier of Ontario, the Prime Minister of Canada, and the pharmaceutical industry.

While standing outside the sliding doors to the emergency room with my friend as he lit a cigarette, I suggested to him we invite Michael Moore for a visit to bear witness to what we were seeing before us. If you are familiar with his line of work, Mr. Moore will laud Canada for its "socialized medicine" that allows us to seek medical care without being handed a bill, and rightfully so, for we ought not have to worry about having to pay to get well. The problem is, the people in charge of this system don't seem to be doing a very good job maintaining it, and while each of us has access to care, the care we receive is not exactly praiseworthy. In fact, it is cold and bureaucratic, much like a prison or government office; its patients are not people, but files passed from one bureaucrat to another, while the policy makers who preside over it pop into these institutions once in a while for a photo opportunity and scurry off to their private clinics where they receive the best care money can buy.

I will harken back to this time two years ago when I decided to walk over to the local walk-in clinic because I was not feeling very well. I don't feel the need to delve into minutiae, but I can say I felt like a file the entire time, having been passed from reception to the waiting chair to the doctor to the waiting chair to the lab to the pharmacy each time. That was it: I went to the doctor, and he sent me to the pharmacy, where I had to pony up for the pills that were to make me well again (luckily for me, at the time, I was employed full-time with a fairly extensive health insurance plan, a luxury not everyone has, and those who have it have a tenuous hold on it for fear of being laid off). At one point, I was diagnosed as being hemoglobin-deficient while being prescribed a medicine for gastrointestinal reflux disease that inhibits absorption of iron into the body, iron being sorely needed by someone low in hemoglobin. What happened here? Suffice to say, I have not seen that physician since, though I made it clear I find no fault with him, he being so overwhelmed with the tattered conditions in which he has to work. I just hope he is not content to count his riches.

How much can a doctor possibly do when s/he only sees us for fifteen minutes at a time? None of my sessions with the physician seemed much longer than this length of time - Hell, I spent more time waiting to see him than I did with him - though I hadn't really thought about that aspect until a good friend of mine, a naturopathic doctor, raised it. I, myself, have never been to see a naturopathic doctor - precisely because it is not covered by our "socialized medicine" - but I take her word for it when my friend tells me she has witnessed miracles from its practice. Golly, who'd have thunk that my body was a system, rather than a collection of isolated parts? How is my friend doing, you ask? Well, she has to work two part-time jobs on the side because she hasn't enough patients to pay the rent, and she lacks patients because the Ontario Health Insurance Plan doesn't consider naturopathic and homeopathic approaches "real medicine". If that isn't enough, the national government has tabeled Bill C-51, that appears benevolent on the surface, as it calls for stricter controls on the food industry, but is quite devastating to those employed in and seeking holistic medicine, as it aims to strip naturopathic doctors of "practicioner" status and make a slew of supplements available by prescription only, prescriptions issued only by medical doctors, prescriptions unlikely to be issued over pharmaceuticals.

Okay. Back to my friend and me standing outside the hospital. We were there to support a dear friend of ours who was trying to check herself into psychiatric care because she had lost control of her bipolarity and was plagued by pervasive thoughts of suicide. She spent a total of sixteen hours in emergency before being admitted, during which time, she slept for about two before being rudely awakened by staff who wished to train the hospital's residents on how to use the electrocardiogram - you would think these people would read patients' charts before trying this sort of thing, especially when they are about to wake a patient who has complained of not being able to sleep - and had a hulking male security guard threaten to restrain her because she was sobbing and wished to use the telephone. Once admitted, she called to tell me how cold she felt the staff to be, with a few notable exceptions. Her doctor seemed very helpful, she said, but people like these seem few and far between in this vast loveless labyrinth. From her description, it seems many of the nurses act more like prison guards than care workers. My friend went to the hopsital on her own accord because she needed help, and today, feels it has made her worse.

This is where I normally do the finger-pointing. Whom can we blame? Can anyone be blamed? Can we fault the staff for being trained in a certain manner and given limited resources? Can we blame the doctors for doing the same? How about the upper crust of these hospitals for concerning themselves more with collecting a fat pay cheque than seeing to it that their institutions are in proper working order? Or the politicians in Ontario for agreeing to give themselves a twenty-five-percent pay hike? Or the pharmaceutical industry for ensuring its products are pushed on these people in need? Or we, the people, for allowing all of this to happen? Or those elements who draw our attention away from all of this by painting a superficial picture of society's ills? Quite a nefarious web in which we find ourselves entangled. Where exactly does the fault lie?

I am reminded of a beautiful line from a rhyme by Dead Prez: "we can blame it on the system, but the problem is ours." In other words, we may not have created this horrible mess in which we find ourselves, but it is up to us to act. Time and again, we have waited for policy makers to act for us, and time and again have been disappointed: one side prides itself on universal medicine, yet fails to provide adequate support; the other seeks a system only those with turgid pockets can access. Perhaps it is time to show our policy makers and corporate heads just whose hands make these wheels turn. Perhaps we ought to inject the sterile halls of these ivory towers with love and compassion. Before this can happen, we have to start loving and respecting one another, and we cannot possibly do that by accepting the stereotypes and glib interpretations our media feed us; no, we need to start listening to one another, to our experiences, our feelings, our situations and how we navigate through them. We'll be on our way to getting ourselves out of this mess by opening our eyes and ears to what is transpiring around us: we can't find the solution when we don't understand the problem, can we?

The cannons will fall silent, and no one shall kneel before them anymore.

2008-12-06T13:30:00.005-05:00

Today is a day of remembrance for the fourteen female students shot to death at the École Polytechnique de Montréal nineteen years ago. Today is a day of reflection on our past sins so that we not repeat them, of the harsh realities faced by women at the hands of the men who seek to dominate them. Today is a day of solemn remonstration against the use of violent means, not only upon women, but anyone.

Today, I was reminded we have a mountain of work to do.

For those who may not be aware, there is a candlelight vigil this evening in downtown Toronto at 18:00 - see www.womenwontforget.org for particulars. In the interest of generating awareness for this event, I posted this information on a local message board only to be met with some of the most appalling remarks in rebuttal. Sure, their comments seemed petty and juvenile - these were various "woman" jokes plucked on female efficacy from the web - but having more of an appreciation for the experiences of womanhood now than I did but a few years ago, I cannot easily let said comments slide, especially on a day such as this. Most arresting, I found, was a comment saying something along the lines of "Domestic abuse: so she doesn't have to be told twice." I cannot find the words to describe how unsettling it was to read this.

Even more bewildering was the lack of defense from female users in this particular forum - I received one response from a young woman who admonished my raising serious issues in a forum frequented by so many immature people bent on satisfying an insatiable need to crap all over anything and everything. While she raised a valid point, I cannot condone silence because it means this so-called "immaturity" will prevail. Secondly, I question whether this is due to "immaturity" on the part of these users for two reasons: one, the respondents in question are all of legal voting age, thus they are endowed with the responsibility of selecting our government, though one might argue that said responsibility doesn't necessarily advance an individual across the "maturity" threshold (whatever that may be), which brings me to the second reason, that these remarks are made by men of all ages, so are these grown men "immature"? is there such a thing as "maturity"? is the need for brutal dominion simply a sign of "immaturity"? (This makes me wonder why certain political parties can win elections so easily.)

I don't know what else to say on the matter at hand. I don't want to believe this world to be a fetid shit hole because of the feelings of a select few, but these feelings are alarmingly quotidian. Just the other day, on the same message board, a male user posted photographs of the "Eye Candy of the Year", shortly after Mr. Sean Avery told the world how fellow National Hockey League players had a tendency to fall in love with his "sloppy seconds". In the past, I have read diatribes on how a lack of female accomplishments in the philosophical, entrepreneurial, political and scientific realms over time proves women to be inferior to men. Day after day, I see television shows and advertisements and music videos limn women as fuck puppets.

Worst of all, so few of seem to have a clue as to what we are doing.

Is this how we treat our mothers, the women who held us in their wombs, brought us into this world and nurtured us as we learned to navigate through it? (Actually, I personally know people who do.) Is this how we treat our sisters and our teachers? Is this the way we treat the women with whom we fall in love and wish to share our lives? This young man executed these fourteen women for the sole reason that they were women, and when we crack wise in a pejorative manner towards women, we martyr this individual. It's little wonder why we worry about our wives when they venture out by themselves, and become protective of our sisters when they enter high school and are accosted by boys: we created this world, we perpetuate it, so it is up to us to end it.

This event goes beyond what transpired nineteen years ago today. Wars abound globally, in which women are systematically raped and murdered. This is a day to remember what happened in Montréal not simply for its own sake, but to reinforce within everyone the mess in which we find ourselves on account of ourselves, and beget a world in which violence is not a means by which we solve our problems. This is a day to abandon, once and for all, the absurd notion that "might makes right", for it serves only to foment more ire.

Men, if have no plans on attending any sort of vigil today, there is still something you can do. You can sit and reflect on the women in your lives - past, present, future - and cogitate the numerous ways they have enriched them. You can spend time with your wife or girlfriend or mother or sister or friend and appreciate how much these people matter to you. You can stop yourself from uttering that derogatory comment about women to impress your male friends; better yet, you can stop them from doing the same. If they chide you for being "soft" or a "pussy", never mind them; it takes much greater strength to do what is right than ensconce yourself in wrong for the sake of saving face. After all, "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth." (Matthew 5:5).

Some argue we've come a long way in advancing the rights of women. Perhaps this is true on the surface, but so long as we continue to harbour the feelings highlighted in this entry, these so-called advances are but mere window dressing. It's terribly easy to point fingers at "others" for their treatment of women - male chauvinists declaring war on Islam in the name of women's rights left me bewildered, to say the least - perhaps because we fear venturing within ourselves for the very reason that we will find the same monster. Perhaps this monster within each of us may never truly be vanquished, but if we don't know it's there, how can we curb its awesome power? We owe it to ourselves and each other to do so, especially the women in our lives who have given us so much in such harsh social climes.

Mahalo.

Covenant House and fear-mongering

2008-12-04T14:39:00.001-05:00

Covenant House's work is laudatory, as it does wonders for homeless youth. That being said, I'm a bit perturbed by its recent series of advertisments on the TTC:

I apologize for it being so dark; 'twas the best I could do with the equipment I have.

As I was saying, I am perturbed by Covenant House's depiction of street dwellers as monsters waiting to swallow our children whole. Even more unsettling is the depiction of the Black man, who has been assigned a gaze halfway between Mongoloid and Murderer.

Suffice to say, I expected a bit more compassion from Covenant House when raising awareness of the perils of street life; instead, I find dehumanization fit for mainstream media.

If you can't see the photograph and are wondering to what I am referring, next time you are on the subway, keep your eyes open for Covenant House advertising.

Fear not, friends; everything is fine.

2008-12-02T20:11:00.003-05:00

With all this time on my hands, you'd think I'd be spitting out entry after meandering entry. Alas, I did not expect to be away from this thing for three weeks. I suppose I have some catching up to do, though my weekly horoscope did say diatribing (is there such a verb?) online is a futile exercise, so perhaps my absence wasn't all that bad.

Let's see. What has happened since my last entry? The automotive sector has gone to complete shit and its workers were subsequently blamed for it, 200 people tragically lost their lives in Mumbai and now fingers are being pointed at "terrorists", the Canadian government is on the verge of collapse while the Prime Minister desperately clings to his perceived power, and the strike at York is almost through its fourth week with little sign of ending anytime soon because the University seems more committed to "binding arbitration" than actual negotiation. Give me an opportunity, and I could talk ad infinitum about each, but I have something else on my mind.

I want to talk about a professional hockey player.

Sean Avery, forward for the Dallas Stars of the National Hockey League, a man renowned for his ability to root himself in the collective consciousness of his opponents with his aggressive play and fast tongue, landed himself in some trouble this week by sharing some choice words about one Dion Phaneuf, against whom he is due to play, and his girlfriend Elisha Cuthbert, the latter being the ex-girlfriend of the aforementioned Mr. Avery:

"I just want to comment on how it's become like a common thing in the NHL for guys to fall in love with my sloppy seconds. I don't know what that's about. Enjoy the game tonight."(TSN.ca)

Reactions to his quip were, as you may have guessed, not all that supportive. Executives, players and pundits alike chided his conduct, deemed "detrimental to the league and the game of hockey" and unbecoming of a "team guy".

That's all well and good, but where is the outcry over the chauvinistic nature of his remark? Does Mr. Avery say these sorts of things about his mother, or his sister (provided he has one), or his own betrothed? Are the women in his life nothing more than "sloppy seconds"? Should he even have a betrothed, seeing as how he seems to view women as mere fuck toys?

That being said, will anyone in the National Hockey League or on the sports channels decry this exhibition of machismo? Growing up an avid hockey player and having heard the kind of talk that transpires in the locker room - and, sadly, having been consumed by it myself - I'm unlikely to hedge my bet on this outcome. This is the very reason why I cannot fault Sean Avery for his latest foible; as such, I feel his suspension to be rather hypocritical of an organization who panders to the "macho male". It seems the only crime Mr. Avery committed was revealing to the world what most of us men think regularly. Does he draw the ire of the league because his comment is hurtful and demeaning, or rather because he inadvertently left the door to the old boys' club unlocked? Oddly enough, as a consequence, I wonder how many salutes Sean Avery will receive among male fans who take pleasure in dehumanizing women.

I almost forgot... something else happened on which I wish to comment, also in the realm of sports. I want to talk about a professional football player.

One Plaxico Burress, star wide receiver for the New York Giants of the National Football League, the man who caught the ball for the touchdown that defeated the mighty New England Patriots in the Greatest Distraction on Earth, accidentally shot himself in the leg with a pistol he was brandishing in a nightclub. It turns out the gun was not registered, so Mr. Burress is facing some potential jail time for this little incident. The mayor of New York City, Michael Bloomberg, demands this young man be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, regardless of his celebrity status.

Remember the old ditty we sang as children, the one that went, "One of these things just doesn't belong"? Well, I see at least two things wrong with this story. First is the matter of the lack of registration on the handgun, which, in all honesty, ought to be a moot point; why do we not ask why he has a pistol with him in the first place? Last year, two players in the National Football League were shot to death; you would think their colleagues might have learned the perils of gun violence and took it upon themselves to cast the weapons aside, so why does this young man feel the need to arm himself when heading out on the town, or anywhere, for that matter? Come to think of it, why does anyone feel the need to keep a loaded firearm on hand, period? Does it matter that the gun has papers? Should we have them? The poor guy shot himself in the leg, for fuck's sake! What if you sat at home with your pistol, it fires, and your child is struck dead? Are we meant to wield such power?

Second, I can't help but ask myself what Michael Bloomberg would say had it been Eli Manning, the White quarterback, who was nabbed with a pistol; better yet, how would Mr. Bloomberg feel had his own child accidentally shot her/himself in the leg with an unregistered firearm? "But that's absurd!" you might retort, "what on Earth are you insinuating? That race has something to do with his reaction?" Quite possibly. I did spend last summer in a laboratory that investigates implicit prejudices we all harbour, so why would it be absurd to believe Michael Bloomberg to be exhibiting similar behaviour? Furthermore, what happened to Barry Switzer, former head coach of the Dallas Cowboys (and a White man), when he was apprehended at the airport for carrying a loaded handgun in his travel bag? "I swear, I forgot the gun was in there! I didn't want the kids to find it!" Would that excuse fly if his face wasn't White?

That's all from me this evening. I suppose I might have better served everyone by offering my thoughts on the real issues listed atop this entry, rather than opting for a journey through fantasy land. In my defense, there comes a time when, much like with everything else we see through our multimedia, one must remove the glitzy veneer from this grand fantasy and reveal its festering underbelly.

Fear not, friends; everything is fine. We're still alive and well, yes?

Lest we forget... but what are we to remember?

2008-11-10T21:16:00.003-05:00

"But if the enemy incline toward peace, you (also) incline toward peace, and trust in Allah: for He is the one that hears and knows all things." (Qur'an 8:61)

Phallocentrism notwithstanding, I feel this a very important exerpt, seeing as how we are to commemorate the ninetieth anniversary of the famed Armistice tomorrow with a moment of silence at eleven o'clock in the morning, as is customary each and every 11 November where I live. In advance of this Day of Rememberance, we don our felt poppies soon after removing our Hallowe'en costumes as if scaling a list of tasks in perfect time. I, too, have adopted a custom in advance of this day on our calendar: I sit before my computer and scribe a lamentation on this space for all to see, wondering whether or not we, as a people, understand why we commemorate this particular day.

It was to be the war that ended all wars, so horrid it was. I cannot personally attest, having not been there myself, though perhaps, in a past life, I was an active participant. All I know is, there were several damned good reasons why this was deemed, at the time, "the war to end all wars": entire continents laid to waste, millions upon millions dead and maimed, artillery the likes of which no one could possibly imagine, to name but a few. Young men were sent by the thousands to kill and to die fighting a war they did not start, young men who wanted only to live, wheedled into doing their duty to their Country, their Crown, their Flag... their "freedom".

This day in 1918 was to mark the termination of the war that ended all wars; sadly, it served to lay the groundwork for one even more brutal. Our collective call to end all wars seemed to take a back seat to our reaping the spoils of the victorious party. Thus it was that a certain nefarious leader who shall remain nameless rose like a phoenix, seeking to reclaim a nation's glory not long ago lost, and we found ourselves back where we were, only this time in a much more brutal manner. Again, entire continents were laid to waste; again, millions upon millions dead and maimed; again, artillery the likes of which we could not possibly fathom ever being borne into existence; again, young men drawn from their homes, sent to kill and to die fighting a war they did not start.

Sadly, yet again, the end of this war served as the catalyst for another, as we witnessed the clash of ideologies of the two triumphant parties. Over the next forty-five years, millions more died needlessly, artillery ascended to new and frightening heights, and more land was laid to waste. Today, it's more of the same, only the "enemy" has a new face for us to hate. And so, as before, more of us are sent to die.

One would figure this day be used to reflect on our past sins so as to avoid repeating them, but all I hear is talk of the sacrifices our forefathers made and our armed forces make today for our "freedom". I, for one, would like for them to tell me just what "freedom" means, for everywhere I look, I see chains: people chained to their jobs, people chained to their possessions, people chained to their bills, people chained to their worries, people chained to their labels. I hear talk from our leaders - the only combat ever seen by most of them being what they saw on television - trumpeting the need for us to "support our troops" as they fight the "enemy" over there before they come here and crap all over our "freedom".

From what I hear emanating from the mouths of our politicians, perhaps we picked the wrong day to commemorate; perhaps we should be marking the start of this "Great War", not the end of it. Nowadays, war drives the economy: tribes are kept in a state of perpetual discord so that we may continue to sell ammunition to each side, and tribes are toppled so as to gain unfettered access to the resources lying beneath the land on which they once lived.

They tell us to honour our dead for the sacrifices they made for us, to thank them for their mettle, for their pluck. To this, I say we should sooner owe them an apology for subjecting them to such horror. Today, we have the effrontery to exploit this tragedy for further personal gain. Here, a killer is branded "murderer", "felon", "thug", or some other like term; send him overseas to kill and he returns a "hero".

There is a reason we commemorate the end of such an atrocious epoch, that reason being we ought never to forget the sins of our past in the hope that they not be repeated. I chose to begin with this exerpt because it makes salient what we ought to be doing, yet are not. More importantly, it is extracted from the religious text of the people who constitute today's "enemy", a people we brazenly portray as bloodthirsty, warlike, bent on our destruction, yet behold, an advocation of peace and understanding, of faith in the common good in everyone. How simple it is for this madness to cease: an offering of peace.

Tomorrow, when I bow my head in a moment of silence, I will tune out the shameless propaganda put forth by our politicians and power-brokers; I will mourn those who suffered needlessly, and I will trust in the benevolent force in everyone that will one day bring forth a lasting peace.

To see the world as a classroom...

2008-11-06T19:30:00.003-05:00

This I learned while reading a Buddhist Monk's journey to enlightenment. Here is something else I read recently:

Daily overview for Aries, 6 November 2008: "Look even farther ahead today -- you need to be thinking really long-term, possibly in terms of generations. Your big ideas are worth pursuing, even if you might not see all of their effects."

Yesterday, I faced a trivial yet seemingly difficult decision: should I attend class and keep pace with the discussion material, or attend this "day of action" orchestrated by the Canadian Federation of Students to call on our provincial (and federal, I presume) legislators to drop tuition fees? Having yet to completely purge my diffidence, I asked myself if the latter was really worth doing, if enough of our undergaduate students cared enough to attend the rally, if this collective voice would fall on deaf ears, if I really should bother with such futile nonsense and focus my energy on getting mine. Even as I delayed my arrival to campus to coordinate with the start of the festivities, I questioned whether I was doing the right thing, whether I really belonged here. At this time, I looked upon the volunteers distributing placards and assembling the apparatus and stood arrested by an appreciation for the painstaking efforts they exercised for a cause in which they firmly believed was necessary for all students, and said to myself, "If they are able to make such sacrifices, there's no reason why I shouldn't do the same." So I grabbed a placard and joined the party.

Initially, I was a bit apprehensive, not knowing anyone personally on campus, but soon, I found myself caught in the current of the rally? So what if I didn't know anyone here? We are all students, and as such, face the same tribulations, one of which being feverishly treading water so as to receive some piece of paper and be shuffled off to some job. The energy level continued to rise as the day progressed, as students from our campus convened with those from other campuses to march through the streets of downtown Toronto on our way to the Provincial Legislature. I shouted until I was hoarse, and marched until my legs felt like rubber, but I kept shouting and marching, driven by the energy of the several thousand of us who were there, all with the same hopes and dreams, all with the same setbacks, all with the same purpose. I even made a few friends along the way. All in all, I say I had myself a fine day, all in the while learning the necessary life lessons few classrooms can provide.

The first lesson I learned - and by first, I mean the first that is salient in my mind - regarded the label by which we students were referred at administrative meetings: BIU, or business income unit, if memory serves me correctly. Dare I think this is all we are? It isn't bad enough that we're each assigned a number by which we are identified until graduation, followed by another number at our job; we are further dehumanized by this notion of being nothing more than rudimentary units pumping cash into the university.

The next lesson concerned what we were doing, what we were seeking to accomplish. Sure, this action pertained specifically to post-secondary tuition, but in the grand scheme of things, our action means so much more. It is amazing how one can select a single issue around which to rally, then soon learn how this particular issue connects to everything else. For instance, when delving into government support for post-secondary institutions, one quickly discovers how much is spent each year on war, both domestically and abroad, money better served by bolstering education or health or the well-being of those who struggle for a single meal. A student in college or university can easily sympathize with a worker struggling to pay the bills - the former eventually becomes the latter - or even with someone struggling to exist.

Furthermore - and this might just be the most important one of all - I received a lesson taught to me many times before, yet so easily forgotten; that is, how powerful our attitudes are. Initially, I was skeptical about the whole thing, doubting if this would be worthwhile, wondering if anyone would care, dismissing it before it had a chance to do anything. Then I realized the trap I set for myself: of course it won't work with that attitude! When we doubt the efficacy of our actions, we defeat ourselves before setting foot onto the playing field! We talk and we talk and we talk so much about the so-called enemies we need to conquer - administrations, governments, capitalists, thieves, et cetera - while systematically ignoring the greatest enemy we have ever faced: ourselves. If we continue to shackle ourselves in diffidence, the world around us will remain cold, cruel, uncaring. Any movement, whatever the cause may be, aimed at making our world more loving, more respectful, more compassionate, begins not with a critical mass taking to the streets, nor with the distribution of a newsletter; rather, it starts within each of us, when we decide there are matters more important than jumping through the required number of hoops that require our attention, when we realize the power to facilitate change - real change! - lies not within some outside authority, but within each of us.

Today, I did not go to campus, for there was no academic activity; our teaching assistants, graduate assistants and contract faculty walked off the job this morning. An ugly two-month-long propaganda war, bound to continue for a while yet, has resulted in this job action, leaving not only their future but ours in limbo. During these last two months, I've been exposed to a variety of opinions on the matter: the Administration decried the Union's "unreasonable" demands; the Union remonstrated the sub-poverty living its members are earning; students all over fretted over their future. I'll admit, I don't know the whole story - then again, how many of us do? - but, if what they say is true, I don't see anything wrong with demanding a living wage.

This impasse, though, is not solely about money, but something far greater. It is also about academic freedom being compromised by corporate interests who pump cash into universities. It is also about how our we are educated, a matter I described in greater detail in a recent post: can we really call this an institute of "higher learning" if we are trained not to reason for ourselves and believe in the potential of our own ideas, but rather to jump through hoop after bloody hoop, performing at each step for treats in the form of grades and grants and other goodies, living in constant fear of rejection? What the fuck kind of "higher learning" is this?

Please excuse my potty mouth; I'm whipping myself into a frenzy.

I don't exactly know to which "big ideas" of mine my horoscope eludes, but I concur with the need for thinking long-term, over several generations, for this line explicates why we do this: we don't actively seek change for ourselves, but those who will inherit this world one day and ought not to have our problems bestowed upon them.

That's enough incoherent rambling for me this evening.

Trading Faces

2008-11-03T20:17:00.004-05:00

Here I sit, snug in my living room, the only sound being the tapping of keys on the computer and the tumbling of the clothes dryer just outside the door (I live in a basement apartment; the upstairs neighbour must be finishing her laundry). It is on this day, the second-to-last day of an entire year of arduous campaigning and base name-calling that seemed to span an eternity, that it has finally registered with me: America is having an election. Yes, I knew all along what was to happen and when; perhaps I simply habituated to the pre-electoral hype, not caring much that it was to culminate in a coronation of some sorts.

Though not an active participant in these proceedings, I do live only about fifty kilometres from America's closest shoreline, and am under the auspices of a free-trade agreement that gives America a more than generous helping of our precious natural resources, so you might say I have somewhat of an interest in the goings-on of American politics. Once again, as is customary every leap year in the Gregorian calendar, two cardboard cut-outs of dapper men take centre stage and vie for the keys to the kingdom; however, this year's competition has an added twist, as one of the contenders has brown skin.

Paul Mooney recently provided a telling synopsis: for the first time in the Presidential election, race is an issue among White voters. Of course, he says, it has always been an issue among non-White voters, forced to decide between White male contenders, wondering which one is the most liberal, the least racist. Mind you, Mr. Mooney failed to mention the gender line - women have always been forced (er, um, "asked") to decide between male candidates, if memory serves me correctly - but I cannot fault him for (a) being swept up in the current hoopla, and (b) being a man. Last year, he did predict America would be saying "Madam President" (I trust you can find the interview clip yourselves to see how deep he delved into gender and politics), and, for a while, it appeared as though he was correct, until the dapper young knight stirred the mob into a frenzy with his steely demeanour, letting it be known that the Face of America was far too daunting a responsibility for a hysterical woman, as many men seemed to believe (and the spin doctors led us to perceive).

As Mr. Mooney was saying, race is now an issue with the White voter, forced to decide if s/he is ready for the Face of America to be a few shades darker. A lot of folk, in America and abroad, believe this individual worthy of the mantle, feeling he will foster the change necessary to restore virtue to the Nation. Still even more folk believe this will finally be the day when the non-White will stand on equal footing with her/his pale-faced oppressor. From reading the news today, it seems this Barack Obama has a healthy lead on his chief rival, thereby rendering his coronation a safe prognostication. Or White America will step into that voting booth, and it will finally register, that stinging, burning sensation on the back of its neck, and a once promising forecast will whittle away, and King John will have his day because, at the end of the day, Barack Obama is still Black - not Black enough, say many, but still Black enough not to be President.

What will happen if he does succeed in ascertaining the office of President of the United States? The more I learn about this Barack Obama, the more I wonder if the only thing changing is the Face of America, if the change in which we are to believe will be merely skin deep. Granted, he may be more warm to renewable energy and affordable health care than his counterpart, but he seems to be all about America the Empire and the preservation of its hegemony - here, I insert an aside, and tell you about how I cringe every time I hear it suggested that, because the decisions of America's President affect the entire world, the entire world should decide who is to be President, for it is precisely this repressive hegemony responsible for such an effect - true, he may favour a reduction of operations in Iraq, but America's interest in the region still comes first, and America has no intention of ever relinquishing its foothold in the region, with this newly-found muscle no doubt being put to work elsewhere. Last I heard, he favours aggrandizing the already gargantuan military budget, and, rather than act as mediator for a peaceful resolution, has drawn his line in the sand in the Arab-Israeli conflict.

Barack Obama can, and has, whisper sweet nothings about "change" into our ears for as long as it makes us swoon: ultimately, he answers not to his voters, but his handlers, and his handlers, with maybe a few tweaks here and there, want nothing more than for him to maintain the status quo while their burgeoning profit margins bring them to orgasm. So why do we continue to choose A or B, knowing their promises to be as vacuous as... well, I'm sure you can conjure a most apt analogy. Why not consider an alternative candidate, like Cynthia McKinney or Ralph Nader? Sadly, as much as I would like to see one of these two emerge victorious, given where the "power" lies, would either of them be permitted to govern?

This extravaganza seems to me like a clever ruse: voters, sensing nothing has been done, grow weary of the incumbent and lend their support to a most convincing challenger, who does nothing over the course of the next term, and so continues the cycle. The Red Team and Blue Team take turns reaping the benefits of the highest office in the land (it happens here, too, and the colours are the same!), while you and me still have our jobs to work, and our bills to pay, and our mouths to feed, and our myriad worries to address. Perhaps I'm too pessimistic for my own good, but I can't say hearing the word "change" emanating from the mouth of a politician makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Decrying the system might be well and good for placating my own ego, but it doesn't offer much hope for anyone, so it is my hope (there's that passive voice again!) that I can end this on a more sanguine note. We cannot expect to sit and wait for change to come from A or B (or even C or D, given the conditions in which they have to work); no, we must realize it ourselves. The power lies not within the dollars that rest in the hands of the few who stage this cavalcade and gleefully watch as we swallow every last morsel, but within the hands of the women and men who turn the cranks and pull the levers that make the wheels of this economy spin, who work themselves to death hoping their children will have a more comfortable life. This power is not exercised through tihs farce we call "election", in which it is systematically surrendered to the highest bidder, but rather through their contributions to their society, the joy they bring into the lives of the people they meet, the help they offer those in need. We won't need anyone to keep this dying economic model on life support, for a new one will emerge, one not requiring arbitrary numerical values for everything or silly slips of paper to denote one's so-called worth.

All being said, I'm still a sucker for entertainment, thus I imagine I will be watching tomorrow to see who wins. Some revolutionary I am.

A little something on Material Love

2008-11-03T14:50:00.002-05:00

Love's Gonna Get'cha (Material Love) by KRS-ONE

Ya know that's why man I be telling you all the time man, you know LOVE,
that word love is a very serious thing, and if you don't watch out I tell ya
that (Love's gonna get you) because a lot of people out here say "I love my
car" or "I love my chain" or or "I'm I'm just in love with that girl over
there" so far all the people out there that fall in love with material items
we gonna bump the beat a lil' something like this

I'm in junior high with a B plus grade,
At the end of the day I don't hit the arcade,
I walk from school to my mom's apartment,
I got to tell the suckas everyday "don't start it",
Cause where I'm at if you're soft you're lost,
To stay on course means to roll with force,
A boy named Rob is chillin' in a Benz,
In front of my building with the rest of his friends,
I give him a pound, oh I mean I shake his hand,
He's the neighborhood drug dealer, my man,
I go upstairs and hug my mother,
Kiss my sister, and punch my brother,
I sit down on my bed to watch some TV,
(machine gun fire) do my ears deceive me,
Nope, that's the fourth time this week,
Another fast brother shot dead in the street,
The very next day while I'm off to class,
My moms goes to work cold busting her ass,
My sisters cute but she got no gear,
I got three pairs of pants and with my brother I share,
See there in school see I'm made a fool,
With one and a half pair of pant you ain't cool,
But there's no dollars for nothing else,
I got beans, rice, and bread on my shelf,
Every day I see my mother struggling,
Now it's time I've got to do something,
I look for work, I get dissed like a jerk,
I do odd jobs and come home like a slob,
So here comes Rob he's cold and shivery,
He gives me two hundred for a quick delivery,
I do it once, I do it twice,
Now there's steak with the beans and rice,
My mother's nervous but she knows the deal,
My sister's gear now has sex appeal,
My brothers my partner and we're getting paper,
Three months later we run our own caper,
My family's happy everything is new,
Now tell me, what the fuck am I supposed to do?

CHORUS

That's why, (loves gonna get you)
(loves gonna get you)(loves gonna get you)(loves gonna get you)
You fall in love with your chain,
You fall in love with your car,
Loves gonna sneak right up and snuff you from behind,
So I want you to check the story out as we go down the line,
(loves gonna get you)(loves gonna get you)(loves gonna get you)

Money's flowing, everything is fine,
Got myself an Uzi and my brother a nine,
Business is boomin' everything is cool,
I pull about a G a week; fuck school,
A year goes by and I begin to grow,
Not in height but juice and cash flow,
I pick up my feet and begin to watch TV,
Cause now I got other people working for me,
I got a 55 inch television you know,
And every once in awhile I hear just say no,
Or the other commercial I love,
Is when they say, "This is your brain on drugs",
I pick up my remote control and just turn,
Cause with that bullshit I'm not concerned,
See me and my brother jump in the BM,
Driving around our territory again,
I stop at the light like a superstar,
And automatic weapons cold sprayed my car,
I hit the accelerator scared as fuck,
And drove one block to find my brother was hit,
He wasn't dead but the blood was pouring,
And all I could think about was war and,
Later I found that it was Rob and his crew,
Now tell me, what the fuck am I supposed to do?

Ya know that's why, (loves gonna get you)
(loves gonna get you)(loves gonna get you)(love loves gonna get you)
(loves gonna get you)(loves gonna get you)(loves gonna get you)
(love loves gonna get you)(loves gonna get you)
That word love is very very serious(loves gonna get you)
Very addictive

My brothers out of it, but I'm still in it,
On top of that I'm in it to win it,
I can't believe that Rob would diss me,
That faggot, that punk, he's soft a sissy,
I'm driving around now with three of my guys,
The war is on and I'm on the rise,
We rolled right up to his favorite hang out,
Said hello and then the bullets rang out,
Some fired back so we took cover,
And all I could think about was my brother,
Rob jumped up and began to run,
Busting shots hoping to hit someone,
So I just stopped, and let off three shots,
Two hit him and one hit a cop,
I threw the gun down and began to shout,
Come on I got him it's time to break out,
But as we ran there were the boys in blue,
Pointing their guns at my four man crew,
They shot down one, they shot down two,
Now tell me, what the fuck am i supposed to do?

(loves gonna get you)(loves gonna get you)(loves gonna get you)
(love loves gonna get you)
(loves gonna get you)(loves gonna get you)(loves gonna get you)
(love loves gonna get you)
(loves gonna get you)(loves gonna get you)(loves gonna get you),
(loves gonna get you)
(loves gonna get you)(loves gonna get you)(loves gonna get you)
(love loves gonna get you)
Ya know a lot of people believe that that word Love is real soft, but when
you use it in your vocabulary like you're addicted to it, it sneaks right up
And takes you right out. out. out. out. out.
So, for future reference remember it's alright to like or want a material
item, but when you fall in love with it and you start scheming and carrying
on for it, just remember, it's gonna get'cha.

A lesson on Appreciation, and why I only seem to "get it" at certain times.

2008-10-28T19:20:00.003-04:00

I cannot help but ponder my own mortality as of late. It's nothing new; I've been doing it intermittently since my entry into adolescence. These past few days, though, mortality has become salient in my mind. Perhaps it has something to do with the young girl in Toronto killed by a bullet - in my old neighbourhood, no less - for the mere crime of smoking a cigarette outside a bar at the wrong time. Or perhaps it has something to do with my ailing neighbour who spends each day of the work week in a hospital being bombarded by radiation to send his cancer into remission. Perhaps a combination of both, or, just maybe, ever pervasive thoughts on why I am here and what I am doing.

Lately, it occurred to me that, in an instant, I could be no more: this fleshy exterior will no longer touch; these ears will no longer hear; this tongue and nose will no longer taste and smell; these eyes will no longer see; this brain will no longer think; this body will no longer feel. The reel of this epic film played before me can so easily grind to a halt, and the light on the projector snuffed out. One day, I can wake as usual, proceed through my morning ritual, leave my home to venture to school and be struck dead by a passing motorist; or I can wake to learn that I am stricken with a terminal illness; or I can simply not wake at all.

Pondering one's own mortality is an amazing thing, for it prompts the individual to see the surrounding world very differently, with a heightened sense of awareness. For instance, as I sat on the bus, I gazed out the window and observed all the beauty unfolding before my eyes: the trees swaying in the wind, children playing in a park, women and men in deep thought at the bus stop, and so on. It's rather unfortunate that the prospect of never perceiving these sorts of things again through this set of sensory inputs serves as the impetus for my living in the present moment; then again, perhaps it isn't such a bad thing to perceive oneself as a fragile, mortal being who will one day leave this form, for it is this fragility that gives meaning to our lives (thus spoke Ray Kurzweil, I believe).

Furthermore, it also prompts me to wonder what I'm doing with my life, and what I've accomplished. True, I haven't been here that long - twenty-eight and one-half years, to be precise; how "long" it seems depends on whom you ask, I suppose - but nonetheless, it is a long enough period of time to have done something constructive; so what exactly have I done? Become "educated"? What does that mean? Spend so many years in such-and-such institution, paying a hefty sum of money for the privilege of reading books and performing for tokens of accomplishment? Work? What sort of "work" did I do, aside from collecting a pay cheque while sitting at a desk? Service? Sure, I dropped a few dollars into a few cups over the years, and I signed a few cheques to a few charitable organizations as well, but was that really meaningful? Did I really engage the society that needs my help? During my twenty-eight-plus years of taking, did I give anything back?

Moreover, furthermore, also... argh, I'm no good with syntax. I suppose that's why my communication skills are so poor. Alas, I'll get on with it.

As I write this, I also think of the mortality of my loved ones, as well as how my own mortality affects them. What would I do should I receive a telephone call or letter informing me that so-and-so is now deceased? Would I weep knowing I would never see, hear, be in the presence of said person again, for as long as I shall live? More importantly, did I cherish the time with this person while s/he was still alive? Did I make every effort possible to span time with her/him? Did I demonstrate my appreciation for having her/him in my life? Or did I merely take her/him for granted, as I so readily do with so many people I know? Worse, did I deliberately avoid her/him for fear of letting this person into my life? And how would my loved ones react to my passing? Did I care enough about them to have an uplifting impact on their lives? Did I care enough about them to do all that was within my power to stay alive, stay healthy for them? Or did it simply have to happen?

Coming to terms with the inevitable end ought to motivate me to get myself in gear and do something meaningful, for every moment I spend here, every breath I take, is precious, even if it spent on something as seemingly diminutive as calling a friend or relative to see how things are going, or assisting a stranger in need while walking to the bus stop. For so long, I have sought to make excuses for not doing something to better serve my fellow being and the home we share; how many more excuses will I be afforded before my time runs out?

Conversely, maybe there is only so much I can do in this form; maybe the demands of this world are overwhelming for my current physical body, for I have allowed my life to be riddled with anxiety and depression and diffidence and insalubrious habits to a point where I am debilitated beyond repair; maybe I will better serve this world in another form. I don't know if this should be cause for alarm; I hope I can continue for many more years in the form in which I currently exist, but what if that simply cannot be? I have come to believe that I am not the machine of flesh and bone I use to navigate through this medium we call "existence", so perhaps my contribution to the betterment of society is not measured in this, but across several lifetimes, and that I should not be so concerned if this rickety old shit box one day craps out on me.

Regardless of what might happen to me, there is still and will always be beauty in this realm worth preserving; regardless of how long I am permitted to experience it - ten years ago, while mired in melancholy, I would never have envisioned myself saying this - I am grateful for having experienced it.

I hope I wasn't a complete screw-up.

Wait, did I just write my own obituary?

What are we really learning?

2008-10-19T19:25:00.002-04:00

"Schools are a continuation of toilet training.
"Taking an exam is like taking a shit. You hold it in for weeks, memorizing, just waiting for the right time. Then the time comes, and you sit on the toilet.
"Ah!
"Um!
"It feels so good.
"You shit it right back on schedule--for the grade. When exams are over, you got a load off your mind. You got rid of all that shit you clogged your poor brain with. You can finally relax.
"The paper you write your exam on is toilet paper."
- Jerry Rubin

Yesterday, I successfully leaped through the latest in the series of hoops required for admission into graduate school: I wrote the psychology version of the Graduate Record Examination. This week, another application for funding is due, well before my applications to graduate school. Six weeks ago, I wrote the general version of the GRE. This week, I have two midterms. Soon, a term paper will be due, followed shortly by the first draft of my honours thesis. Then more exams. Then a two week break during which, upon instruction, I will dash to the stores and consume for my loved ones.

I find it apropos that I delivered a seminar on obedience this past week. The class was given a discussion question on the necessity of obedience in child-rearing, particularly when and how much was appropriate. The same can be asked about our education system: how much obedience is necessary? at what age should we expect students to think reasonably for themselves?

Come to think of it, do we really want our students thinking for themselves? Would our education system be what it is if they did? Are students rewarded for thought, for awareness? After spending a grand total of twenty years as a student, I can say there have been a few bright spots in which I was afforded opportunities to express some semblance of creativity, but by and large, year after year, I've been trained to cram load after load of shit into my brain and regurgitate it onto the test paper; my reward, a token letter grade next to my name, an indelible brand I can show to prospective advisors and employers. In essence, I have learned to do as I am told, and am rewarded handsomely for it.

Seeing as how I am not alone on this path I trod, I have made many acquaintances leading up to this benchmark we call the GRE. We talked at great length of the countless hours we each sacrficed in preparation for these three-hour-long exams, and whether or not we would ascertain scores high enough to seduce would-be academic supervisors. I met these wonderfully bright people who became so frenetic hoping to measure up to someone arbitrary standard set by an entity interested in sucking dollars out of the pockets of seemingly credulous students.

I can relate this to what I saw at my past job: students, fresh out of university, spending enough time in the company to see the gaping flaws in its operation, yet not having the confidence to approach anyone about it, simply waiting for the next task to be assigned to them. I, myself, was of the same ilk, forever waiting to be told what to do next, never having the confidence to let my voice be heard. I proposed to a colleague that our company let recent graduates gain insight into how the outfit is run and be encouraged to share any ideas they may have about how things can be improved. Oh, if only our superiors had the time to act as suitable mentors...

It pained me to see our blossoming youth frantically marching to the beat of some administrator's drum. It pained me to see myself doing the same.

The very morning I was to write this latest exam, I read the above excerpt on the train ride downtown. Since summer, I had been preparing for this day, wondering whether or not I would manage to remember the breadth of information accumulated over a full year of psychology courses; then my eyes meet the words at the top of this page and I sit agog in my seat. Why have I chosen this path? Why am I jumping through these hoops? To do the same once I'm a certified "graduate student"? Or when I'm a professor, kowtowing to governments and corporate entities for research grants?

What are we really learning? Are we really gaining acumen into how our world works, and how we can contribute to its well-being? Are we really learning to be the "leaders of tomorrow", to be the benevolent force for our neighbours, for our own children? Or are we merely learning to be instruments of some external authority, committing bits of information to our memories and barking them on command? Is my ability to score in the ninetieth percentile on some standardized test indicative of my ability to conduct academic research? Does my score on a multiple-choice exam limn my acumen in psychological principles and theories? Or am I simply performing for treats in a Skinnerian token economy?

Fifteen years ago, Perry Farrell said we'll make great pets. Perhaps he should have rephrased: we always have.

This isn't to say we're forever doomed to stand on our hind legs when the prospects for accolades arise. We're better than that, and one day soon, very soon, it will manifest on the surface. The time will come when we will wonder how we ended up beneath the auspices of such an absurd system. No more will our youth be driven to neuroticism jumping through hoop after flaming hoop; the confidence they will harbour in themselves will supersede anything a standardized test could possibly elicit.

It's high time we actually nurtured the gifts in our young. Just think of the beautiful contributions to society they can make if allowed to flourish. Our obedience training has done none of us any good; the rotten state of our planet corroborates such an assertion. Not only are their lives ruined by it, but so are ours, as we will have no one to plumb our machinations with a critical eye.

I suppose, though, I'm one to talk, for here I am, sifting through page after page, hoping to etch as much of these factoids as I can into my brain, thereby improving my odds of gaining the establishment's stamp of approval.

I feel like crying now.

Quietly, I remain optimistic. It's what keeps me alive.

Leadership

2008-10-14T21:19:00.002-04:00

Tonight, the citizens of Canada decide which political party - in particular, which clean-cut White individual - will act as "leader". As I write this, the polls in my time zone are eight minutes from closing, and thus will commence the counting of votes. I need not rehash how I feel about this exercise in futility for which our grandfathers maimed and killed each other; rather I wish to address a burning question in my mind: What makes a leader?

Are these five individuals fit to lead? For me, it's hard to say. I mean, they've paid their dues and taken their lumps during their ascent to the head of their respective parties, and they each have a vision for how our nation ought to conduct itself. They exhibit incredible poise while under the gaze of the media's inquisitive eye, and have the uncanny ability to attract a slew of disciples. But still, I must ask, are they fit to lead? Are their respective visions appropriate for us? In which direction do they wish to lead us?

It is widely accepted that a leader must harbour certain qualities, those exhibited by our five hopefuls. A leader must be the stoic face of the nation, one that exudes an image of resolve, of knowledge, of poise, particularly in pressing times as these. A leader must be the stentorian voice of the nation, ringing through every pair of ears within these borders and beyond, a voice that is unwavering. A leader must have a grand vision for the nation, and a plan to bring said vision into fruition. Most of all, a leader does this while atop his perch, looking down upon the masses. After all, because our leader knows what is best for us, he should be rewarded in kind.

Is that so? Does a leader need to "lead" in the conventional sense? Does a leader need her/his face or voice projected across all the land? I've always espoused the old axiom: Actions speak louder than words. Do we need our faces seen or our voices heard when we act? Need we sit snugly on a throne and preside over a kingdom to act as a benevolent force in our society? Need we recruit more and more devotees to flock to our feet, worshipping the ground upon which we tread, in order to influence the world in which we live? What stops us from facilitating change ourselves? Why wait for a rising phoenix and grab hold of her/his cloak, hoping to be led out of the wilderness, when we are capable of this ourselves?

The time is fast approaching when we finally grow weary of waiting for these so-called "leaders" to whom we traditionally turn, when we realize we do not need a handful of people to decide what's best for us, particularly what we can and cannot do and how our wealth ought to be distributed. Rather than expend our energy complaining about what our "leaders" have or have not been doing for us, we will retain control over these matters. The heads in the assembly over yonder will hem and haw all they want, but they will do nothing for us; fortunately, we will not need their instruction.

This nation of ours can only rely on a single leader for so long; soon, we will be a nation of leaders.

For the journalist, on Yom Kippur

2008-10-09T09:03:00.001-04:00

For the journalist, on Yom Kippur 2008
by Bradley Burston

For the sin we journalists have sinned before thee,
Under duress and willingly

For the truth we have warped before thee
Through hardness of the heart
Through venality of the spirit

For the sin we have sinned before thee in passing judgment
And for the sin we have sinned before thee in the exercise of power

For the prejudices we have nurtured
For the hatreds we have milked
For the reputations we have sullied
For the names we have desecrated
For the guilt we have presumed
For the sides we have taken,
For the sides we have shunned

For the truth we have warped before thee
Hyped before thee, tailored before thee
Pimped before thee
Doctored before thee
For the sake of nothing more than a deadline or a headline
Or simply for our name's sake

For all these
Forgive us, pardon us, atone for us

For the sin we have sinned before thee
In throwing off the yoke of ethics
For the sin we have sinned before thee
Knowingly and through carelessness
For the sin we have sinned before thee
through cunning speech
through scorning with cleverness
through the bias of the narrowed eye, the haughty eye,
through entrapment, through gossip mongering

For the sin of currying favor, by keeping secrets that protect the powerful,
And for the sin of causing death, by revealing secrets that can identify targets

For the sin we have sinned before thee
In choosing the single picture over the 1,000 words
And for the sin we have sinned before thee
In feasting on the failings of those we choose to vilify
And in denial of the evils of those with whom we identify

For the sin we have sinned before thee
In the mining and selling of grief

For the sin we have sinned before this
In bearing false witness for ratings sake
And for the sin we have sinned before thee
In the manufacture and sale of fear
For the sin we have sinned before thee
In trading on the threats of our enemies
And, in doing do, creating new dangers

For the sin we have sinned against thee
In turning people against one another in baseless hatred
And for the sin we have sinned against thee
In using the Holocaust for bait.

For the sin we have sinned against thee
In losing the ability to feel
And for the sin we have sinned against thee
In celebrating this as professionalism.

For the privacy we trample
For the mourners we exploit
For the good names we ruin
And the good works we ignore

For all these,
Forgive us, pardon us, atone for us

Why I will not be voting this year.

2008-10-04T19:18:00.000-04:00

An open letter to the candidates for Member of Parliament, Scarborough Centre:

The last time around, I composed a list of questions for the candidates to answer and made my decision based on your responses. Some of you were able to take time out of your busy schedules to offer your thoughts, and for that, I am grateful. I was considering doing the same this year, but after much contemplation, decided against doing so, opting instead to draft this letter explaining why I will not be voting this year.

Since entering legal voting age, I've participated in three Municipal, three Provincial and three Federal elections. I never really knew why I was voting, or for whom; I just knew it was my civic duty to head over to the nearest polling station and cast my ballot. I always felt pressure to vote one way or the other, but didn't really know much about any of the candidates, except for their being politicians wanting my vote. The last Federal election, a colleague of mine at the time told me how he and his family were compiling a list of questions to ask their respective candidates and basing their decision on the responses they received - and then I saw the sign on his lawn, but that's beside the point - so I thought I would do the same, as it would afford me a great opportunity to be actively involved in our democratic process.

Sadly, I have decided this year to refrain from such practice, as I no longer see the point. Frankly, I've grown weary of all the petty jabs being thrown to and fro: it seems as though everyone would much rather kick dirt in her/his opponents' faces and seek to cast Canada in her/his own image than work together to build a beneficent society. I've grown weary of the seemingly endless stream of empty rhetoric, particularly from the two parties always in power; one who extols universal health care yet doesn't see fit to make it work, while sending us into war; the other calling for accountability yet acting as the most secretive government the likes of which I've ever known, culminating with an premature election call against which they so decried upon entry into office. What am I to do? Cast my vote for one of the other parties who have no chance of winning? And even if they did, would our Supreme Council of Billionaires allow them to govern?

I've noticed an alarming trend at all levels of government. It seems we elect a particular party, having become fed up with the incumbent party, only to do the same several years later, all the while not seeing much difference in our society, for we still have bills to pay and jobs at which to slave away, we still have dirty air and dirty water and bad food and bullets flying. I wonder if our governments have the power to do anything - I have a fairly good idea they take their marching orders from the wizard behind the curtain - or if this "democracy" is simply some fantastic ruse, we the people being the subject of some cruel joke. Suffice to say, I can no longer take seriously anything a politician says.

This letter isn't entirely doom and gloom, for I do have hope for a better future, though you might not like to hear it, for it will not involve our being duped into sending one of you to that posh office in Ottawa and the fat salary that comes with it. Not to worry, for you won't think anything of the personal perks you might be missing when you see a society functioning together. I have hope because I believe we can look out for one another; soon, we will see our government for the self-serving sideshow it really is and realize we have only each other on whom to rely. I wish to use this opportunity to extend the invitation to each of you to abandon your pursuit of this superficial mantle you call "Member of Parliament" and become an active member of the region you seek to represent in that ivory tower in Ottawa. As Oscar Wilde said, "We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."

I may seem rather crazy to you - perhaps I am, though we're all pathological, but that's a matter for another discussion - but I am a proponent of "democracy" in the truest sense, meaning participation by the citizens, as opposed to this wanton surrender of power to those who end up serving themselves. The voter turnout statistics say it best: too many feel their vote will not change a thing, thus abstain from casting one. I feel this will change very soon, as there will come a time when the politicking of today will fall on deaf ears, when the spirit of the masses awakens and the people see the force behind change within themselves.

I wish each of you all the best in your pursuit, though I firmly believe you are capable of much more outside the arena you call "Politics".

With fond regards,

G.

What the invisible hand cannot touch.

2008-09-29T20:59:00.003-04:00

The United States House of Representatives refused to grant seven hundred billion dollars of taxpayer money to slap mortar on the burgeoning cracks in the foundation of the grand altar that is "the Economy", and as a result, stock markets the world over went for a bit of a tumble. Among the dwellers of the great beehives of Wall Street and the Docklands, panic has ensued. A nebulous cloud of uncertainty now hangs over the proletariat.

I can't say I'm all that worried.

"Good Heavens, why not?" one might ask, and rightfully so. After all, I have a home that needs heating, a mouth that needs feeding, lights that need to be kept on, and a mortgage to keep that roof over my head, all of which now lie in peril. How can one bear witness to this imminent calamity with such nonchalance?

Well, at the risk of corroborating Stephen Harper's accusations of rooting for the demise of our economy, I was waiting for this to happen, though I can't say I'm "rooting for" the despair left in its wake. I wish to advise Mr. Harper at this time that, contrary to what he may believe, it is this lifestyle, our way of doing things he espouses- nay, lauds, that has led us to the edge of this cliff, and it is our way of doing things that will send us tumbling down its jagged façade.

But... despair? Sure, our world will be turned on its ear, and times will be tough, but must we necessarily despair? I hate to say it, but at this stage in the game, perhaps we need something like this to happen to wake us from our collective coma and realize the comfort in which we immersed ourselves is but a warm, soft, steaming pile of shit (I have a friend to thank for this one; if he's reading, he knows who he is). The time has come to cease relying on politicians and bankers for sustenance, to cease pinning our hopes on those too rich to care about us, to look out for one another; in short, to empower ourselves.

We are witnessing the end of money, and with it, the germination of consciousness and a reacquaintance with our Earth Mother. Granted, we will have to learn to stand on our own two feet, which will take some time, but it will happen. There is enough land in the city - land we designate as "lawns" by transforming grass into carpet - to feed us, not to mention the rooftops that can house plant life, as well as the copious amounts of food we lay to waste. "They" might try to take your home, but what good will it do when the land loses its monetary value? Besides, despite it being some commodity in their eyes, you have made it your home, and no one has the right to take that from you.

In these times of economic peril, I'm not worried, for we are witnessing the end of our wanton destructive ways, and the dawn of something new, something that cannot be captured and sold at some market: the awakening of our collective love.

Photoblogging - Part VI

2008-09-25T15:54:00.004-04:00

Some things never change.

*

**

* LavaLife

** J.G. Stedman, Narrative of a five years expedition against the revolted Negroes of Surinam...from the year 1772-1777, Volume I

Seven years later...

2008-09-11T13:25:00.003-04:00

How many millions of theirs are worth three thousand of ours?
Why commemorate this day when it is every day over there?
And every day in our backyard, in the dark corners we choose not to see?

And where is this Emmanuel Goldstein?
Haven't we cornered him in a cave?
How did we ever let him escape?

The flames may have abated,
but the smoke screen remains.
No amount of bullets or bombs
or ballots
will make this dark cloud disappear;
only that which resides
in our hearts.

If you are looking for something long-winded,
read my post from last year,
and the year before,
and the year before.
We can only revisit this day so many times.
Let's ensure it never happens again
anywhere
by anyone's hand.

"His judgment cometh, and that right soon..."

More powerful than fists or firearms...

2008-09-09T19:16:00.003-04:00

I wish to relay a story to you, my faithful readers, for I feel it ought to soften - to a small degree, at least - even the most petrous hearts. It is a story of the efficacy of love, and what could happen if we let it guide us.

I spent the last week of July in an ashram in the Mauricie region of Québec (for those who may not know, an ashram is a place to retreat from the frenetic pace of society), spending my days in meditation, service and silence. Towards the end of my stay, our group of eighteen-to-thirty-four-year-olds was informed that a group of youths were visiting from Panama and were not enjoying their stay. On the morning of the day I was to leave, as we sat in the meditation hall for a final discourse, we were introduced to these people, whom we greeted with the most stentorian ovation we could generate; the ensuing smiles on their faces warmed our hearts immensely. We took turns greeting them individually with smiles and hugs, and they responded in kind. Though we could not communicate through words - well, we could through their interpreter - our feelings spoke volumes. Perhaps this was the moment when they finally felt at home.

I did not know much about these fine people from Panama, nor how they ended up in the Canadian wilderness. I would have welcomed the opportunity to become better acquainted with them, but alas, 'twas my mother's birthday and I was eager to return home to spend the evening with her. I did not think much of them since until last Friday, when I had a chat with an instructor who was also at the ashram; she mentioned that these individuals were actually members of street gangs in their homeland, one of whom professed to have killed over a hundred people. I sat aghast after hearing this revelation: it did not occur to me in the least that they might have been gang members, for all I saw were people happy to feel included in a group of complete strangers.

This revelation has been swirling in my mind for several days, and now, I'm finally translating it into words for you, for it is imperative that it be shared. Even today, I am still amazed by what I saw: we systematically stigmatize "gangsters" as incorrigible ruffians fit only for a jail cell or casket, yet somehow, a group of us were able not only to sit in the same room with some of the roughest, but approach and embrace them as our own. This goes to show just how powerful love is.

We Canadians find ourselves in the throes of an election campaign, during which time, I imagine we will hear certain candidates speak ad nauseam of the importance of "getting tough on crime", which really means throw the book at criminals and do nothing about crime. I hope, somehow, our policy scribes catch wind of this experience - I haven't had much success connecting with Members of Parliament through mass media - and, rather than skew it into ballast for a personal agenda, see it for what it is. We seem to think we can function as a society in which we are apprehensive of one another; you can see how well this is working, so it's high time we dispel our fear and loathing.

I wonder how much love these so-called "gangsters" experience in their lives. In this world of ours - and I do mean ours, for we are all hustlers trying to survive - hatred and selfishness are rewarded, from schoolyard brawls to back-alley bullets to bombs over Basra and Baghdad: so long as we set our crosshairs on self-gratification and disregard love, this sort of behaviour will never abate. Our society needs not more war, more jails, more cops and tougher laws; rather, we need love and respect for one another. Just think, if we abandoned this pursuit of capital, how much better our health care system would be; how much better our education would be; how much better off our police officers and armed forces personnel, routinely thrust into harm's way so that their superiors may gain, would be; how much better off all of us would be.

If you are one who subscribes to the notion that, without proper fortification, we will be at the mercy of evil-doers, I ask this: What message are we sending when we buttress our home with truncheons and assault weapons? Why is it these "evil-doers" wish to attack us? Perhaps people see guns pointed at them as an affront? We are all connected to one another in this universe, whether we wish to espouse this idea or not; the hostility we harbour is felt by those around us, who respond in kind. Imagine if, instead, we macerated our fears and let love be our guide: how would our counterparts behave then?

To quote the Qur'an: "But if the enemy incline toward peace, you (also) incline toward peace, and trust in Allah: for He is the one that hears and knows all things." (Qur'an 8:61) I avoid lending credence to whatever names and pronouns we use to identify God, for they cannot possibly capture what God is. Here, God is not in the name "Allah", nor in the pronoun "He", but rather in the message "if the enemy incline toward peace, you (also) incline toward peace", for that, my friends, is God: beneficent, merciful, loving.

Shalom Aleichem.
As-salamu Alaykum.
Peace be unto all of you.

Aside: You may have noticed the rash of "thousand dollar words" appearing in my latest entries. I recently wrote the Graduate Record Examination (GRE), thus in the weeks leading up to it, I had to expand my vocabulary. Rather than let these new additions to my verbal repertoire go to waste, I figure I'll continue using them when appropriate. Please advise of any malapropisms I may have committed along the way; it would be much appreciated.

The Maelstrom

2008-09-06T19:11:00.002-04:00

These are turbulent times for all of us.

Hurricane Gustav battered the Caribbean and Gulf Coast of the United States, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. As we speak, tropical storm Hanna is unleashing its fury on the eastern seaboard, and hurricane Ike, now at "Category 4" status, is blazing a trail across the Atlantic, with Florida in its sights - rather than featuring the islands it is crossing, the twenty-four-hour news stations are showing us images of frenetic Floridians scrambling to gather provisions and plywood, but I guess we look after "our own" first.

When Burma was struck by a cyclone earlier this year, I remarked that the puissance of the storm was a consequence of our living in the fast lane; the same can be said of the frequency and ferocity of the storms we experience, wherever we may live. In the grand scheme of infinity, perhaps Mother Nature is responding to the awesome, unchecked force unleased on her and her constituents, one I wish to dub "Hurricane Whitey", though it is by no means a phenomenon exclusive to Him.

You see, friends, our media magnates report this "Gustav" slamming Haïti and killing a dozen or so people, yet will say nothing about the chaos wrought by Hurricane Whitey, the juggernaut that deposed its democratically elected President and swept a pro-business plutocrat into power, that brought an occupying force with it, that killed (and continues to kill) scores of people. The same Hurricane Whitey - in the form of negligence, apathy and opportunity - perpetuates a state of despair in the Ninth Ward of New Orleans while erecting casinos and condominiums where the locals' homes once stood. That's not all, as it continues to wreak havoc on such places as Iraq, Afghanistan and Palestine, and takes aim for Iran and Pakistan. We need not delve into great detail as to what happened when it first arrived in Africa, Australia, Asia and the Americas.

The hurricane winds are a-blowin' here as well. All year long, the storm that is the campaign to elect the President of the United States has been gathering momentum, stirring citizens into a frenzy. From now until early November, the maelstrom will be at its most potent, as we become imbued by the downpour of rhetoric and are tossed in every direction by the fanatical fracas of feces-slinging. To add to the chaos, we Canadian folk are on our merry way to the polls ourselves, as it is all but certain that our Prime Minister - yes, the one who extolled the implementation of fixed election dates to prevent incumbents like himself from calling an election at a most favourable time for his party - is about to call an election at a most favourable time for his party. It has already begun: the winds of the maelstrom are starting to churn on the north side of the forty-ninth, beckoning us humble folk to do our duty and feed it votes, pulling us this way and that in the process.

How does this storm gain so much momentum?

The answer, I'm afraid, is us. We feed it the money and ballots necessary to aggrandize its colossal power, and do so without the slightest idea of what exactly we're doing. We sweep its debris out of our domiciles and neighbourhoods, and cry foul when the winds blow it all back to us. We expend exorbitant amounts of resources buttressing our homes, hoping to render them impervious to the turbulence while leaving others to fend for themselves. We excite the atmosphere with the heaps and heaps of energy we reject into it to expedite our lifestyle. We succumb to the sweet nothings of those who promise "change", unaware that we are merely in th eye of the great storm that only gets worse again because we fail to get better.

It is us, then, who must reduce this hurricane, this austere force, to a spittle cloud. Perhaps by the time this is done, we will be standing with the shards of former glory at our feet, wondering what to do now. Personally, I like to think something can be done sooner, rather than later. Why not start now, by not casting our votes for one or the other (or even the other, depending on where you may reside)? Why not put a halt to surrendering our power to this maelstrom and instead retain it for ourselves to decide what's best for us? Furthermore, why not all of us take a day off work together and take care of each other? Why not make it a few days? a fortnight? a month?

We're all caught in the maelstrom together, but together, we can mitigate its severity until it is but a gentle breeze blowing softly through the leaves; and we are no longer grappling for dear life as we navigate the ocean's turbulent waves, but rather floating blissfully on its halcyon surface.

Mahalo.

Identity

2008-08-31T20:19:00.002-04:00

I keep seeing an admonitory advert on the Internet of the dangers of not protecting my "identity" from would-be thieves. There exists a phenomenon known as "identity theft", in which your "identity" - the sixteen-digit number assigned to you by your bank that allows you to spend money you don't actually have - is used by some third party to make a series of lavish purchases while you get stuck with the bill. As I am the proud (?) owner of one of these slips of plastic bearing one of these numbers, I suppose I should be vigilant against potential "identity thieves", but I have to ask: what is it I am protecting, and what exactly is my "identity"?

During my twenty-eight years, four months and seventeen days in this human form, the concept of "identity" has probably been one of the most, if not the most, obfuscating. I've spent the last few years trying to find just who I am... on second thought, I've been doing this my whole life, and I don't suppose it should yield before I'm dead and gone.

The best place to start would be with the name I was assigned at birth and the sky blue linens in which I was clad to denote the set of reproductive organs that came with the package. As far as memory serves me, my first encounter with "identity" must have been the six-letter, single-syllable word hollered at me to garner my attention. Upon entry into the schoolyard herd, I was branded with a new label based on my attributes. I became the "brain", the "nerd", the "geek", given my ability to spell and solve math problems. I soon learned that such standing, while affording heaps of financial potential later in life, ranked at the bottom of the schoolyard food chain, thus I was eager to exchange my moniker for one of the ones the popular kids had, one boys would revere and to which girls would be attracted. Along the way (particularly as we approached our pubescent years), skin colour, socioeconomic status and taste in music/clothing/etc. became more salient: the preppy White kids congregated, as did the poor Black kids; and if any White girl happened to fancy a Black boy, she was assigned a brand of her own, much like the red "A" in The Scarlet Letter, but more resembling a Black penis, thus signifying to the White boys that she was somehow tainted.

My introduction to numerical "identity" came soon after graduation from the eighth grade, at which time, I was assigned a "social insurance number": nine digits indicative of my readiness to toil for White Man's capital. Shortly thereafter, I successfully opened my first bank account - on my own, that is, for my mother opened an account for me upon my egress from her womb - another ten digits to remember, plus my four-digit PIN, or "personal identification number". Oh, so many numbers swirling in my head; will I be able to remember them all? Wait: there are more! I was in high school now, and as such, I was identified by a six-digit number. When I turned eighteen, my first credit card arrived... and my second: thirty-two more digits. What's more, I gained admission into university, and with that, another nine-digit number by which I was to be identified (and, subsequently, another nine-digit number upon my return to university). Then came the jobs, and more numbers with them, but at least I also had snazzy titles by which to call myself, such as "research assistant" or "intern" or "engineer" or "project manager". Lest I forget, with adulthood comes bills to keep the lights and gadgets on, and bills to keep the house warm during the winter months, and bills for just about everything else, each containing a distinct string of digits to which my person is assigned.

I trust you can empathize with my identity crisis... that is, if you find yourself overwhelmed by it all. I suppose it's better (or merely easier) to not cogitate this subject, but alas, I cannot help myself, for I am confused. Who am I? How on Earth do I identify myself?

Better still, how do you identify yourself? Are you a doctor, a lawyer, a sanitation worker? Are you a metal head, a punk, a hipster, a hip-hopper? Are you the tattoos on your arms, the colour of your skin, the garments you wear, the roadster in your driveway? Are you your country of origin, your parents country of origin? Are you your government, your head of state, your flag?

Twenty-eight-plus years I've spent traversing the road to "identity", and all I've discovered is that it can be a meandering road to nowhere, especially since the answer to this quandary has been within me the whole time I was seeking it elsewhere. All this you see - the clothes, the house, the numbers on my banking statement, the very words on this page - are not me; perhaps they're a reflection of some part of me, which is why your perception of "me" will differ immensely from that of the next person, as you have so little information from which to draw your inferences. Only now, after months of spiritual guidance on the journey to myself, do I appreciate what "identity" is; hopefully, there will come a time, if not already, that you, too, will embark on a similar endeavour.

Let them have my credit card number, and my bank account number, and my student number, and my social insurance number, and my telephone number, and my driver's license number, and my passport number, and my house number, for I am not them, and they are not me. If you wish to see me, or anyone else for that matter, you won't find them on a résumé or a computer database, nor will you find them when select what qualities in a person you desire most while disregarding the rest.

Here, I shall pause to apologize for how didactic I seem. I don't mean to point my finger at you, for I am guilty of the same error. What I hope to convey is, your veneer is not who you are, so fear not the possibility of "identity theft"; no one can steal your identity.

(And once again, I shall pat myself on the back for yet another edition of my sparsely-read but well-loved log.)

My Olympic Experience

2008-08-22T10:40:00.002-04:00

On Sunday, the games of Olympiad XXIX come to a close; how fitting it is that, exactly forty years removed from the Black Power salute by Tommie Smith and John Carlos on the medal podium in Mexico City, the ominous clouds of controversy hang over Beijing. As we all know, the preceding months were rife with protests calling for a free Tibet, a free Turkestan, freedom of the press, and so on; as well, China's human rights record and ecological sustainability floated to the surface.

Of course, all of it seemed to disappear from consciousness once the lavish display that was the opening ceremony signified the commencement of the Games. Suddenly, the "spirit of the Games" would not be sullied by talk of politics.

So I put my feet up and absorbed the fanfare. I'll admit, I am a fan of sporting events, and I did enjoy watching as much of the festivities as I did. What was most salient for me was the advertising, especially the fast-food giant serving as "official restaurant" of the games featuring future Olympic hopefuls dining happily on hamburgers and french fries, and the pharmaceutical company lauding its team of athletes despite the fact that these competitions are supposed to remain drug-free. I wonder how much time before national flags are abandoned outright in favour of corporate logos. I can see it now: "And here's Team Visa entering the stadium. They're sure to increase their medal haul from the last Games."

This year, we were beholden to two of the greatest athletic feats ever witnessed: first, the eight-gold-medal performance by one Michael Phelps of the United States, seven of those victories coming in world-record time; the other, the three gold medals of one Usain Bolt of Jamaica, also smashing world records in the process. Unfortunately, the latter was not without his controversy, as two former sprinters, Frankie Fredericks of Namibia and Ato Boldon of Trinidad & Tobago, decried young Bolt's seemingly presumptuous display of running; this was followed by Jacques Rogge, President of the International Olympic Committee, criticizing Mr. Bolt for his lack of sportsmanship after the race.

As a psychology major, these criticisms had me pondering biases in thinking. This morning, my thoughts were on whether or not Dr. Rogge, in his remarks, exhibited implicit racial bias. I wondered, had it been a White man accomplishing these feats and behaving in a similar manner, whether he would have focused so much of his energy on the athlete's lack of decorum. I mean, when Michael Phelps won his gold medals, he clenched his fists and released a mighty roar in celebration; could that not exemplify lack of propriety? Given what I've learned about the White Man's hegemony, I want to say Dr. Rogge, beyond his own awareness, insinuated that the young man ought to behave more like a White man; as a budding Deacon in the Church of Science, though, I'm hesitant to do so, as Mr. Fredericks and Mr. Boldon, two Black athletes, also had derogatory remarks for this sprinter, leading me to ask: Were the three exhibiting a similar bias, perhaps an age bias? Or did Dr. Rogge, in fact, exhibit racial bias, while the latter two, as former competitors, commented from such a perspective, as their words were directed at the race itself and not the aftermath? Having said all that, none of Mr. Bolt's competitors had any problem with his celebratory gestures, and we must bear in mind he's still a child, having just turned twenty-two, so how can we expect him to be prim and proper after winning three gold medals in the Olympics?

After two weeks, this tawdry display of "one world, one dream" will conclude. I wonder how many Chinese remained hungry so that these multi-million-dollar venues could be built, how many armed personnel were deployed to cloister the athletes and their fans from the ugly truths pervading the country, how many more dams and coal-fired plants were needed to power the stadia and media equipment, how many dissidents disappeared in the name of goodwill and camaraderie, and how much of this took a back seat to jingoism; in short, I wonder how much deeper we dug ourselves to fabricate such a display of pretense.

In closing, I would like to send my gratitude to the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation for airing its piece on Tommie Smith and John Carlos and reminding me of a time when revolution was in the air; despite your glossing over the last four decades and accepting the fallacy that racism is a thing of the past, your piece helped serve as the impetus for my discourse today. Also, though I was not alive to see it, I wish to send my sincerest gratitude to Tommie Smith and John Carlos for sacrificing personal glory to strip the veneer off this show and reveal to us how things really are.

In hopes of rekindling the flame of peace, I present this tribute to days gone by:

Photo taken from Martina Manescalchi; actual photographer unknown

Prosperity

2008-08-15T17:27:00.004-04:00

Genesis 41:15-31

And Pharaoh said unto Joseph, I have dreamed a dream, and there is none that can interpret it: and I have heard say of thee, that thou canst understand a dream to interpret it.

And Joseph answered Pharaoh, saying, It is not in me: God shall give Pharaoh an answer of peace.

And Pharaoh said unto Joseph, In my dream, behold, I stood upon the bank of the river:

And, behold, there came up out of the river seven kine, fatfleshed and well favoured; and they fed in a meadow:

And, behold, seven other kine came up after them, poor and very ill favoured and leanfleshed, such as I never saw in all the land of Egypt for badness:

And the lean and the ill favoured kine did eat up the first seven fat kine:

And when they had eaten them up, it could not be known that they had eaten them; but they were still ill favoured, as at the beginning, so I awoke.

And I saw in my dream, and, behold, seven ears came up in one stalk, full and good:

And, behold, seven ears, withered thin, and blasted with the east wind, sprung up after them:

And the thin ears devoured the seven good ears: and I told this unto the magicians; but there was none that could declare it to me.

And Joseph said unto Pharaoh, The dream of Pharaoh is one: God hath shewed Pharaoh what he is about to do.

The seven good kine are seven years; and the seven good ears are seven years: the dream is one.

And the seven thin and ill favoured kine that came up after them are seven years; and the seven empty ears blasted with the east wind shall be seven years of famine.

This is the thing which I have spoken unto Pharaoh: What God is about to do he sheweth unto Pharaoh.

Behold, there come seven years of great plenty throughout all the land of Egypt:

And there shall arise after them seven years of famine; and all the plenty shall be forgotten in the land of Egypt; and the famine shall consume the land;

And the plenty shall not be known in the land by reason of that famine following; for it shall be very grievous.

Overwhelmed

2008-08-11T09:11:00.003-04:00

We are in the throes of a pernicious pandemic, one that facilitates our collective doom, and I do not refer here to the AIDS virus or H5N1 influenza strain: I talk of ignorance, and I am worried if harbouring hope for its detumescence is futile. Should I just call it a day, switch on my television set and not give a fuck anymore?

Three stories that crossed my foveal vision serve as impetus for my writing this piece, particularly readers' responses to them. First was the Alberta Human Rights Commission's decision to dismiss a complain against Ezra Levant, publisher of the out-of-print Western Standard, who published the now infamous "Muhammad cartoon" in which the Muslim prophet sports a bomb for a turban. I have already remarked on the red herring Mr. Levant and his ilk threw our way in the guise of "freedom of speech", hoping our gorging on this delicious morsel distracts us from their fear of Muslims, thus another long-winded diatribe decrying such an act is superfluous. What perturbed me were some of the remarks left by readers. I can understand those who were raised in Islam and have since renounced their oppressive religious practices - I, myself, was not raised a Muslim, so I can only take their word for it as to how uncomfortable their experiences were - but to stand aside these purveyors of fear and loathing and cast stones eastward is worrisome, to say the least. Misogyny is not exclusive to Islam, nor even Christianity or Judaism: chauvinism exists under all racial, ethnic and religious umbrellas, as there are misogynistic Atheists, Agnostics, Africans, Chinese, you name it.

Next was the story of pro-Tibet protesters being removed from Tiananmen Square in Beijing, one of whom a Canadian. Again, I found myself obfuscated after reading some of the readers' remarks: they included such phrases as "this man has brought shame to Canada" and "the Olympic games are about enjoying the festivities and savouring the good will, not a platform for flapping your leftist clap-trap". Once upon a time, the Olympic Games served as an alternative to bloody warfare; soldiers dropped their weapons and competed in sporting events, whereas today, it is a showcase of who has the most money, while we, the people, exercise our patriotic duty to turn on, tune in and cop out.

Third, this morning, I learned of the riot erupting in a predominantly Hatian neighbourhood in Montreal early this morning in the wake of death of an eighteen-year-old boy by police bullets. Granted, there are some who make the effort to grasp the gravity of the situation and the tension within the community, but by and large, comments have either denounced the rioters as "thugs who should be treated as such" or cries of "fuck the police". This is how wars start and never end, when we cut lines through ourselves and choose one side over the other, rather than comprehend the totality of the situation and work our way towards a panacea. There is a reason why it is called a "happy medium": when all parties are willing to make sacrifices to ensure collective amelioration, everyone wins.

Finally, I cannot complete the discussion without relating these three stories, as they do not exist in isolation. I've heard, ad nauseam, the phrase "These have nothing to do with one another", and it's time we put a stop to it - on second thought, I am not here to tell you what you can or cannot say; my hope is that you are aware of what it is you are saying when you say it. The time has come to surrender the notion that people and events are mutually exclusive particles floating in space, and realize they are all connected to one another. These three stories not only highlight how powerful weapons fear and loathing are, but also the ignorance enthralling us.

How much longer can we remain oblivious to what is happening? Do you recall the cartoon parody of the closet door bursting open after the child stuffs his mess inside, hoping to expedite his cleaning duty? This is exactly what happens when we are quick to denounce one another as "others" because it is a convenient means by which to enervate our own cognitive dissonance.

Frankly, I don't know why I continue fighting. I know I vowed to let love conquer ignorance and fear, but I wonder if this disease is terminal, or if Mother Nature has no choice but to purge the virus from her system.

The Birth of the End

2008-08-06T21:28:00.003-04:00

I almost forgot what happened on this day some sixty-three years ago. I suppose it's easy for me to let it slip from memory, as it transpired some thirty-four years before my conception. I read about it in great detail - from historians and those fortunate enough to live through it - and heard its name called many a time in the classroom. I still wonder how we, as a species, came to commit such an act. Most of all, I wonder what happened to that cry of "never again".

Already, sixty-three years have passed since members of the United States military piloted a B-29 dubbed "Enola Gay" over the city of Hiroshima and dropped an atomic bomb onto it; three days hence, and the exercise would be repeated, this time on the city of Nagasaki. Had I borne witness to something like that, I could not begin to describe it in words, for they would not do justice to the horrors experienced. I read about the vapourization and the sky on fire and the everlasting sickness. I also read of the widely-held belief that these acts spared a million more lives, that they were necessary to foment a surrender from the Japanese, beliefs to this day I have trouble ingesting. Perhaps that's cognitive dissonance in action for you: finding some means by which to justify such an egregious act so that one may sleep a little more soundly at night.

What did the last sixty-three years bring us? I would have hoped this sort of event would have humbled us a little, made us privy to the dangers of trying to harness such an awesome amount of power for personal gain; alas, things have become much worse. Soon enough, America wasn't the only kid on the block with this toy, so it needed more; and so, its counterpart had to do the same. I can't imagine the number of times we came within a hair's breadth of my generation never existing - the same sword of Damacles remains dangling above our heads to this day, for there are more kids on the block with the same set of toys, enough to kill us all several times over. Funny enough, these kids feel the need to tell the rest of the kids on the block they are not allowed to have toys of their own, and threaten to raise their fists and hurl stones at them should they dare try.

I can't believe I walked into this. Will it get any better soon?

As I write this, I am reminded of a discussion I had with someone I met at a peace rally in Toronto some three years back. She belonged to an organization working towards a better world for all, founded on more cooperative principles than the materialism in which we immerse ourselves today. She mentioned her party recognizes the right of North Korea to develop nuclear weapons as a means to defend itself from foreign imperialism. I suppose it was the party's response to the hypocrisy inherent in America's deciding who can and cannot have these toys; nonetheless, hearing those words emanate from such a sweet voice sent a chill up my spine.

Have we come to such a point when we're condoning the development of nuclear weapons because one side has to defend itself from the other? Were any of the surviving residents of Hiroshima or Nagasaki consulted before this decision was made? Or are we willing to brush aside the reality that is total annihilation as we stockpile more and more toys for ourselves? If this party is hoping to build a better world for all of us, why are nuclear weapons - nay, why are weapons on the agenda, period?

In sixty-three years, we seem to have learned nothing constructive from this atrocious happening; rather we've succeeded in scaring and shoving each other to the verge of our collective doom. I, for one, have grown weary of the rhetoric I hear and see on the news about the dangers of a nuclear North Korea, or of a nuclear Iran: what about a nuclear Israel? what about nuclear Pakistan and India? or a nuclear United States, the only nation to this date having actually used one of these weapons on civilian lives? It's high time we, as people, as citizens of this planet, denounced these weapons, regardless of whose hands they may lie, for everyone's hands are the "wrong hands".

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to start pontificating. I told myself I would refrain from doing so, though I have a tough time doing so when writing an emotionally-charged piece such as this one. I cannot speak for the residents of Hiroshima or Nagasaki, nor can I do the same for anyone ravaged by war, for I have been fortunate enough not to have one thrust upon me. I'm hoping it stays that way; I'm hoping, as well, that this awful spectre is lifted from the shoulders of those haunted by it.

It may be said that, sixty-three years ago, we witnessed the birth of the end. Sixty-three years hence, I hope we witness the birth of the end of this madness.

Mahalo.

Finding love where none is known to exist

2008-08-03T11:22:00.003-04:00

This Friday afternoon past, I was stopped by a fellow in Allan Gardens (the east end of downtown Toronto, for those who may not be aware) when he noticed me picking up garbage in the park. "Why are you wasting your time doing that?" he asked. "You'll barely make a dent all by yourself. Don't worry about the [cigarette] filters and garbage: go to school and become a doctor." I mentioned I only wanted to contribute to the well-being of the community in whatever small way I could. "If you want to do this as a hobby, that's fine, but don't waste so much time on it," was his reply. We sat down and talked for a while. He told me of his youth in Kenya, and his time in Norway, and how he now makes his living as a custodian in a school. "When I was young, I never paid attention in school, and now I'm back, cleaning the shit in the toilets," he chortled. Despite his earlier sentiments, he did praise me for my kindness, and we continued chatting about this and that. There was one message he wished to convey, which he did time and time again during our encounter:

"More peace, more love, more unity!"

I must say, this is one of the pleasant by-products of getting out of my house and doing a little something for the community in which I live. About four weeks earlier, in the same park, while performing the same task, I was met by a gentleman in a wheelchair who asked if I could help him to the church. I wheeled him along the sidewalk, then around the back of the church to its side elevator, where one of the staff admitted him. Little did I know that, some time later, this man would meet me again in the park. We spent about a good half hour to an hour together as I wheeled him around the park. He spoke of his past job painting the insides of tanks and smokestacks, and of how eager he was to return to work once his legs were pain-free. There was one thing he said that stands out in my mind:

"I was told if someone has done something kind for you and you can't pay that person back, say a prayer for her/him."

Returning to this Friday past, as I entered the subway station to catch the train to meet some friends for dinner, I came across a gentleman seated at the bottom of the stairs, holding a cap in which to collect spare change from commuters. I reached into my pocket to see what coins I had, but decided instead to pull a five-dollar-bill from my wallet and hand it to him. "Thank you very much," he said as he looked reverently into my eyes, to which I returned a smile and nod. As I was making my way to the gate, I heard his voice call toward me, so I turned and saw him waving me over. I wasn't sure what he wanted to say to me, so I sat beside him and listened as he told me it was his fifty-first birthday. My heart sank: this is no way to commemorate a birthday, I thought. He went on to tell me how he could not find work in his hometown, as one of the factories closed and the other two had either fallen on hard times or, for some other reason, were not seeking new hires, thus prompting a trip to the big city to try his chances. Suffice to say, his experience here has not been a very pleasant one - he had been awake for almost a day and a half, and when he drifted off to sleep on a park bench, he was startled by police officers, who proceeded to handcuff him after bearing witness to the grumpy reaction one would normally expect from someone after being so rudely awaken - though that morning, someone was kind enough to buy him breakfast. He then mentioned he was saving some money to gain admission into the steam baths, for he would be afforded a warm bath, a shave and a night's rest. Finally, we parted ways, but before doing so, he left me with this:

"I hope to see you in Heaven one day."

These are the people we normally leave for dead. They are what we call "bums", "losers", "leeches" and the like. Time and again, we hear how they burden our society by asking us decent, hard-working folk for "handouts", rather than pull themselves up by the proverbial bootstraps.

I'll stop myself now before emarking on another of my sanctimonious diatribes. My point is, these so-called "losers" offered me some of the kindest words I have ever received in my time on this planet, and I did barely a thing for them. They left me speechless - paralyzed, even - for I was so grateful for their love, but felt unworthy of it, as I have not done nearly enough to deserve it.

If, indeed, there is such a place as Heaven, I hope there are seats awaiting these people, and all others, in the words of Anaïs Nin, "whose hearts have been hardened by misfortune", for it is they who need Heaven most of all.

Staring into the Abyss

2008-07-17T17:36:00.002-04:00

I don't know much about The New Yorker magazine. I've never thumbed through its pages, nor perused its website, assuming it has one. I know one Seymour Hersh contributes to it from time to time, and I do know his work to be rather comprehensive, so I figured it to uphold a reputable reputation. Two days ago, I was rather surprised, as I imagine may others were, when I learned of its caricature of Mr. and Mrs. Barack Obama adorning its front cover for the world to see. There he was, our beloved Barack Hussein Obama, clad in traditional Muslim garb, greeting his heavily-armed better half with the "terrorist fist pump". Many witnesses stood (or sat) aghast: how could this magazine, friend to civil liberties, denigrate followers of the Islamic faith in such a manner, not to mention the would-be successor to America's throne? The magazine's brain-trust, in its defense, claimed it a satirical depiction of how many citizens view this man, though few were buying it, chiding this action for its lack of sensitivity.

I, myself, upon learning of this, sat stupefied. For a moment, as I gazed upon this image, I thought I had flipped open the Sun to see one of Donato's spoofs; then I blinked and saw it was The New Yorker, this beacon of liberal journalism! Suffice to say, however, I couldn't figure out where I stood. On the one hand, I am a fan of satire, thus I can understand the motivation of the editorial staff; on the other, I sympathize with those who have grown awfully tired of seeing, time and time again, the same tyrannical stereotype being purported through Western media. After allowing this to retreat to the nether recesses of my mind, the following phrase popped into my frontal lobe this morning:

They said what many of us think.

I will admit, it was a crass move on the part of The New Yorker to publish this cartoon, but as the truth surfaces after such a long period of captivity, toes are trampled and hearts are broken. The truth, as demonstrated by our friends at this renowned magazine, is that, contrary to our general belief, racism is alive and well, this time in the form of Islamophobia. Try as we did to put it behind us by declaring it a problem of the past, here it is, staring at us in the face, like the eyes of a hungry mountain lion. As insensitive as this action was to followers of the Muslim faith, as well as to Mr. and Mrs. Obama, it shines the spotlight squarely on our deep-seeded fears. Like the depictions of the Prophet Muhammad in the Danish newspaper - and again by Ezra Levant in his Western Standard - it says to the world that us White folk are still afraid of any being with a face not resembling our own.

I can't say I would have ever made as bold and brash a statement as the one gracing the front cover of The New Yorker, but before I grab my sack of feathers and bucket of tar, I have to stop and reflect. The way I see it, this cartoon serves as a mirror, revealing the inconvenient abyss lying within each and every one of us. Beyond our awareness resides that implicit fear of the outsider - that foreign person, that alien concept - that which we cannot quite understand. Sadly, for us, the Civil Rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s did not wash it away (by and large, Whitey remains apprehensive of the Black population), nor did the Suffrage movement of the early twentieth century. It's a shame, being shrouded in ignorance even after all that toil and sacrifice by so many.

We can cry foul all we want - we can even hurl rocks at the offices of The New Yorker, though I highly recommend against doing so - and it will do nothing about our own ignorant fear and loathing. If there is a silver lining on this dark cloud cast over us, it is the fact that this ignorance of ours rendered itself in a form for all to see, should we choose to see it. Passing judgment only serves to distance ourselves from our own problems, rather than confront and vanquish them (see John 8:7, if you're a fan of Christian folklore).

This racist piece, as some have deemed it, came to light because of our own inherent racism, the racism we are afraid to address because we want so badly to believe it dead and gone. Well, it's here, and it's not about to venture out of our lives anytime soon, so long as we deny its existence within the very fabric that holds together our society, eating away at its foundation like a ravenous virus.

Fear not, for we can rid ourselves of it; the first step is acknowledging its presence.

Monsters on Parade

2008-07-08T09:23:00.003-04:00

I used to wonder why he looked familiar
Then I realized it was a mirror
And now it is plain to see,
The whole time the monster was me
- Gnarls Barkley, "The Boogie Monster"

I know I said only yesterday that I wasn't going to worry about writing all that much, but alas, there are thoughts swirling in my brain that I feel need translating onto this page.

Yesterday marked the third anniversary of the bomb attacks on London's transit system. I did not catch any of the festivities, but I imagine they were laden with the same rhetoric we hear every September 11, that our suited superheroes will not rest until the world is safe from these "monsters". It was yesterday that I also overheard, from the room adjacent to mine, one of Toronto's more popular morning show hosts (featured on a "new rock" station that shall remain unnamed) trumpet his dismay over this rash of sex crimes and his desire to see these "monsters" receive capital punishment - at least that's how I interpreted the message from what little of it I perceived. It was also yesterday that one of the city's most popular daily newspapers (the one with the pretty pictures on the front that reads like a tabloid) announced the coming of a "monster" who is seeking to clear his name in the wake of a sex crime conviction.

As usual, I am puzzled by their concern over these "monsters" with little or no regard as to what lies at the root of the problem. Are they not interested in how these "monsters" came to be? Do they believe people are born "monsters", who serve no purpose other than to bring about our destruction? Is there a secret desire to distance themselves from these "monsters" by assigning them such a label? Do they fear what might be uncovered should they seek to address the problem at hand?

Perhaps, if they did decide to probe a little further, what they would find might scare them, for they would (hopefully) come to realize the eerie similarity between these "monsters" and themselves. Taking the last first, each day this newspaper, on its last page inside the cover, features a full-page spread of a scantilly clad woman in a provocative pose - its London equivalent goes a step further by revealing her nipples for all to see. On the radio show, not ten minutes before the host's diatribe against rapists, there was featured an advertisment for an "energy drink" in which a "very sexy Heidi" asks her stalwart male counterpart if he would like to try her cans, to which he responds by saying "I'll take two", followed by cheers from his posse of wing-men. And the individuals who claim to rid the world of the "monsters" who attack us? Well, they own all of this.

The problem lies not in the individual, but in the society that breeds these "monsters", a society in which one seeks dominion over another, in which Man dominates Woman, in which White dominates Black, in which Man dominates Nature - though don't expect the ringmasters of this three-ring circus to tell you that; after all, they would hate to reveal the magic behind their act. The irony of it all is, the more they rile us with their caustic rhetoric, the more tense, the more violent our society becomes.

Allow yourselves to think back to Sir Isaac Newton's discovery of a very fundamental attribute of our physical realm: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Perhaps you're wondering, "How do the laws of Physics have anything to do with any of this?" Simple: nothing happens in isolation; our mental and emotional states are linked to the physical world. When we hear these vitriolic diatribes on the radio, see them on television, or read them in the newspaper, we react with vitriol ourselves. When we lay a nation to waste in response to an attack on our soil, its citizens respond in kind. When we raid apartment complexes in low-income neighbourhoods searching for "thugs", the locals respond in kind. When we push problems away by locking the perpetrators in jail, they push us back with full force in the form of more perpetrators.

It's high time we stop reacting and start responding in an appropriate manner. It's time we take the pen out of the hand of the master and start writing new acts for this script ourselves. It's time to recognize the "monster" in the mirror before we talk of vanquishing any in our society (see Matthew 7:3), or else we will remain forever bound by this charade.

Progress

2008-07-07T14:01:00.003-04:00

How do I start this? The start is so hard! Oh, Lord, it is so hard!

I want to write about writing, particularly why I don't write so much anymore. Today, I found myself retracing my steps over the past few years on my quest for knowledge. Upon completion of my degree, I felt as if able to breathe for the first time, so I used my newly-found free time reading about the world. 'Twas an eye-opening experience, to say the least, having belief after belief shattered with every turn of a page. I immersed myself in books and essays on the rotting state of the world, the crass behaviour of the government, and the secret power of the have-mores.

There came a time when reading wasn't enough; I had to put this knowledge into action, hence my foray into writing. It seemed simple enough initially: I signed onto the interweb and spat out a couple of paragraphs on how much I hate the government and the corporate elite, then repeated daily as I saw fit. Soon enough, one or two paragraphs became several, and I learned to connect more and more dots, so I wrote and wrote and wrote. (If you have time and feel so inclined, faithful reader, have a look at my earlier stuff and work your way to the present; Blogger conveniently chronicles my entries by month on the right-hand side of the page.) Over time, political banter became perfunctory, so I began relating worldly knowledge to the happenings in my own backyard.

Lately, though, I haven't felt much like sitting down and writing words on my computer, for I feel the time has come for me to start doing. I can hole myself up in my room with a television set and network connection, ingest every morsel of every media outlet, process the shit out of the content, output my interpretation of it all onto your screen, and hope I have, in some way, enlightened you. In the end, what have I done? In times of need, do I sit here and write, then pat myself on the back for a job well done, shut off the light, and retreat into slumber?

Mind you, I have no intention of shunning the practice of writing, for it has proved invaluable - Hell, I find myself feeling a sense of worth after translating my thoughts to something tangible, something with which I struggle mightily - but lately, I've found myself wanting much more to be out in the world, to get into the shit, to get my ass in gear and do something about this mess, so I write this to you, dear reader (if you're still reading), not to worry if you see less and less of me through this medium. As much as I enjoy writing - that is, the few times during which I'm not spewing sanctimonious crap - I'd rather be living, and helping others to do the same.

It's one thing to scribe the experience of walking alongside a ravine on a summer's day such as this one; it's another to actually experience it. Perhaps when I'm old and grey and my legs no longer work quite as well as they do now, I'll sit here and remark on my life's experiences on a more frequent basis. Today, during my daily reading, I paused and said to myself, "My favourite writers could not have been had they not lived." It made me wonder if pressuring myself to write pages and pages of fabulous nonsense is the proper approach, or if I should simply live and worry about documenting my journey some other time.

I had to pause for a few seconds to see how long I managed to stretch this piece. I hadn't planned on continuing as long as I have, probably because I felt stuck at the top of the page (which explains my cry to the heavens on the opening line).

Point being, I would love to transfer my experiences onto these pages to share with all of you, but I would much rather be experiencing, and there are many who need our help - all of us - even if it means spending time with a loved one, or smiling at the cashier and asking how her/his day has been, or picking up litter in a park. I could meander ad nauseam about how these instances connect, but I'll save that for another time.

For now, I'm not going to worry so much about writing.

Photoblogging - Part V

2008-06-22T21:27:00.001-04:00

This is the state of our world.

We're still up to our knees, and the water is rising...

2008-06-16T09:33:00.003-04:00

As nothing occurs in isolation, I must now revisit my earlier remarks on the drug den that has surfaced only four houses from where my parents live. My mother and I lapsed into a heated debate last night over the issue: our dialogue covered law and order, and living in fear, and the world of business, and ended with her telling me she did not want this problem in her neighbourhood, period. As we were ramping up our frustration, we noticed the story on the television of the two boys who were gunned down in their car Friday evening.

By now, you're aware of my description of the sewer of problems backwashing into the living room, which is the case here, but my wagging fingers and saying "I told you so!" doesn't do any of us much good. My mother is afraid, as are her neighbours - particularly those who felt the wrath of these "salespeople" due to mistaken identity - and they have every right to be. My fear is, when a misinformed public is afraid, and when that fear becomes anger, what consequences will ensue? Conversely, what does preaching love and compassion do, especially when someone is about to hurl a brick through your window?

I wish I could believe in the world ingrained in the general public - a world in which the police and the army are the force of good, in which criminals see the errors of their ways and seek to engage the community in a more constructive manner, in which justice is truly served - but, as you and I know painfully well, this is but a dream, played out on television as if genuine, its audience the victims of a scheme so grand as to be beyond anything fathomable. I could easily tell you I haven't the heart to hit my unsuspecting family and friends with the cold, hard reality, but leaving them in the dream world is a far worse fate, especially when said cold, hard reality knocks the wind out of them by surprise, as is the case with this neighbourhood drug den. The alternative, however, means shattering the world as our loved ones know it, which may very well result in either wholesale denial or crippling despair. For instance, try telling your mother that narcotics are a market-driven commodity over which wars at all levels, from gun battles between rival gangs to "search and destroy" exercises by large armies; that Drug Tsars operate legally under the auspices of the "pharmaceutical industry"; that the police crack down on these narcotics hubs to put on a show for the cameras before returning these commodities to the marketplace; that justice is awarded to the highest bidder; that a company like Disney, purveyor of wholesome family imagery, is a multi-billion-dollar baron of propaganda for the Empire of Plenty, feeding pro-war messages into the minds of the unsuspecting proletariat; that we are being programmed to fall in line through our electronic and printed media, and that this happens via peripheral persuasion, far beyond the reaches of our awareness? Does it sound like some extravagant conspiracy theory to you? If you place yourselves in the role of John & Jane Q. Surburbanite Taxpaying Consumer, it sure does, only because the masters of this mayhem have fashioned themselves such clever masks, it is nearly impossible for anyone innundated with bills and personal strife to pay any attention to the machinery at work.

I'll come down from my soapbox now. Frankly, I'm tired of preaching, for what good has it done? Raised awareness? That's only the first step, and without the necessary faith to do something about it, this awareness will only destroy our collective heart. So, what is to be done? What do we do when we see a group of young boys stomping the daylights out of some kid, or when he hear of a young man walk up to a car at a stoplight and blast two boys in the front seat to the land of oblivion? Is it as simple as saying "all we need is love"? Mind you, it's not an incorrect assertion; it just doesn't sound all that practical in its form.

So, how do love and respect rule the day? We can't seem to find it in the penal system, nor in the business world. So, what do we do? How do we reach out to would-be felons? How do we teach the community to be not afraid, that their fear is what keeps the status quo what it is, that evil will previal so long as we remain fearful?

My mother says I always focus on the negative, and that I ought to see the positive side of life. In my defense, I tell her I point out all this negativity because we're all of us immersed in it, and that denial of its existence is not the path to happiness. We can coat this mess in as much sugar as we want to drown out the taste, but we're still ingesting it nonetheless. "Negativity" is not highlighting society's ills; negativity is believing ourselves powerless against them. Salvation will only be achieved when we accept the world for what it is, for only then will we be able to do anything.

The question remains: what do we do?

Double Feature, Single Reel

2008-06-12T16:56:00.003-04:00

Yesterday, the CBC, our national television network, gave us a pair of goodies. First, I learned of our Government's formal apology for the nightmare that was the Residential School Program, calling it "a sad chapter in our history (today, I find this... oops). Later that day, its investigative program, The Fifth Estate, set its crosshairs on gang violence and the trafficking of "illegal" firearms. Perhaps you're wondering why I have juxtaposed these two seemingly unrelated stories. Upon first glance, the only thing they share is the network on which they were broadcast, but if you see them for what they are, you will recognize them as two strands woven into the same fabric.

First, my thoughts on the former. I would like to believe this to be a sincere gesture on behalf of our Government, I really would. I firmly believe, by acknowledging our transgressions, the healing process can commence, and want very much to applaud our elected officials for undertaking the primary step towards this goal; as you may have guessed, I'm not quite ready to do so, for something tells me this is but another in the lengthy string of illusions by our masters of the sleight of hand, another tactic in the political repertoire that can be deployed come election time, another badge the Government can pin to its coat for the country to see. My intention is not to kick sand in the faces of our esteemed Members of Parliament - far from it! My hope, rather, is to test the sincerity of this apology, to see whether or not it means anything, or if it will end up lost in the archives of empty rhetoric. I imagine they're hoping no one remembers their rejection of the United Nations Declaration of Aboriginal Rights, one of only four nations to do so; Australia, New Zealand and the United States being the others. (!) If atonement for its sins is what our Government seeks, it is not off to a pleasant start. Perhaps it should get cracking on that myriad of land claims. Perhaps it should a revision of our Canadian history texts issued to schools across the country, in which our colonizing this land and subjugating its inhabitants is painted with one convenient broad stroke. Perhaps it should actively seek to improve the squalid conditions in which most First Nations folk live.

On to the second half of our double feature: the CBC's portrayal of this supposed pandemic of gang violence that has the nation in its throes. While The Fifth Estate ought to be commended on highlighting how easy it is to acquire firearms in the United States, I'm afraid it misses the mark - my use of this pun was purely coincidental, unless you subscribe to the theory of parapraxis, in which case, watch me pat myself on the pack for such a clever idiom - when trying to capture the big picture. For instance, while so much attention was directed towards "illegal" gun trafficking, not a single mention was made of the world's largest gun runners, who just so happen to hold permanent seats on the United Nations Security Council; not so much as a whisper of the dealings of the likes of Lockheed Martin, Kellogg Brown & Root, General Dynamics, Northrop Grumman or the like, manufacturers of the largest armaments the likes of which we'll ever see (until they develop even larger toys, that is). Can you really blame the underworld for trying to make a buck?

So, how do these two stories connect? Well, for starters, they feature two marginalized elements in our merry society, who, for generations, have been forced to play catch-up to their White counterparts whose hands grasp the string from which the proverbial carrot dangles; who thrived until the coming of the White Man. Furthermore, these stories reflect the violent current shaping our glorious civilization: the wanton slaughter and subjugation of people the world over by our hands has now manifested itself in our own backyard. More importantly, perhaps, these events, particularly the manner in which they are portrayed, reflect our denial of what is: in the case of the former, I suspect it to be a case of "We said we're sorry. Now will you please let it go?"; in the latter, an outright refusal to acknowledge the connection between "gang violence" and the wars we fight abroad, and the torrid flow of capital driving both.

We ordered our children to kill one another when we arrived on this continent, we order our children to kill one another when we send them overseas, yet we act surprised when they do the same in our streets, and try so desperately to contain the problem by throwing even more muscle at it. I'm afraid the septic tank is full; it's time to start accepting the mess we've made.

The hardened heart will once again be pure.

2008-06-08T10:17:00.003-04:00

"I know that the older people get and the more they know, the more they think before doing anything. Above all, they lose that blind trust in the honesty and goodness of their friends in good times or bad. A child's glance is frank, clear, open. An older person's is rather closed, a little cynical, shadowed by hidden thoughts and tears of disillusionment." - Anaïs Nin, 2 June 1919

I've taken to riding my bicycle again - as a means of both recreation and transporting myself around the city - and it has enveloped me with feelings of nostalgia. I used to ride my bicycle all the time as a child, until the driver's license fell into my hands, and with it, the car keys. I took to it occasionally over the years, though not enough to invoke any meaning from it. Now, having shunned a personal motorized chariot - by and large, anyway, for there still exists the odd occasion when I must borrow a vehicle from a friend or relative - I do much of my traveling on the transit system, which is great for those long trips on which I can catch up on my reading or sleeping; however, given its questionable reliability (I'm not pointing my finger at any particular element), I'm growing increasingly fond of my bicycle, and, as a result, have found myself engrossed in days of yore.

As the Earth rotated and the Sun made its way out of view late Friday, I pedaled my human-powered machine along my "street of early sorrows", a stretch of four-lane road in a north-south orientation, located in the west end of Scarborough (which had since been assimilated into the city of Toronto some ten years back), lined by bungalows and schools and parks and the occasional shopping centre. I spent the better part of my seemingly short life in a house just east of this street, nestled in a cul-de-sac about four blocks inward; both the elementary and high schools I attended are on this street, though I don't find myself nearly as nostalgic for the latter as I do the former - I don't wish to elaborate on how it all started to turn sour upon entering high school, at least not in great detail, for it is beside the point I wish to make... come to think of it, it may just end up supporting it, after all.

Now, I'm a full-fledged adult, less than two years from my thirtieth birthday, wondering where the magic went, hoping to retrieve it. Considering the tumultuous years of my adolescence, I count about fifteen years of misfortune during which I felt myself unable to escape so easily to my realm of the imaginary - after all, how could I ever find a job or a mate if I didn't hone my skills as a social animal? - compounding itself year after year. As a child, I yearned for the supposed freedom that came with adulthood, only to discover adult problems more monumental, and "freedom" further and further away. My mind, once abound in wonder, found itself enamoured by thoughts of bills and first impressions and politicians and more self-loathing.

What happened to us? What happened to that magic, that innocence we once knew so well? How did we allow our hearts to become hardened? How did we become so afraid to love? Is it possible to return to the innocence of days gone by, or are we forever confined to this rotten state of affairs, forever victims of this negativity?

I, for one, along with many others, feel it's not too late to retrieve the magic. Through my spiritual teachings, I've learned that "the universe is you", that is, the world around us is a reflection of who we are, and we are a reflection of the world around us (it's a bidirectional relationship; it cannot be unilateral), thus the barriers we erect to lock the pain away only create more, until the walls collapse and our remains are found splayed over the sidewalk.

As old as I am, as many "adult" problems I have faced, I firmly believe the children are still alive within us, and once we've stripped away the layers of fear that shroud us, these children will once again flourish; they will once again be allowed to dream, to live, to blossom.

I bookend this entry with two excerpts from the early diary of Anaïs Nin, renowned for the erotica and journals she authored and the company she kept. She wrote these words at the age of sixteen, and they've struck me, nearly inety years hence, at the age of twenty-eight, thus prompting me to write this piece in the hopes that those of you trapped in the pit of despair can see the shimmer of hope whose rays always penetrate through the darkness.

"[H]e will see us giving each of all those "miserable ones" a chance to be as happy as we are. Then we shall see if kind treatment and happiness don't melt all those hearts hardened by misfortune." - Anaïs Nin, 20 August 1919

We're up to our kneees in it... whom do we blame?

2008-06-04T09:22:00.003-04:00

I was going to draft an open letter to Mark Steyn in the wake of his article - titled The Future belongs to Islam, published in Maclean's magazine - but I have since decided against doing so, for he has far more important matters about which to worry than a few Muslims moving into his neighbourhood. I could continue ad infinitum about his self-professed crusade for "freedom of speech", though he knows full well this argument is but a red herring his audience will devour: he could have issued a diatribe against the Chinese or the squirrels, but chose instead to lock his crosshairs on the Islamic population.

That's enough I'll say about that, for, as I mentioned earlier, his problem - our problem - is far greater, and no amount of fear-mongering on his or anyone else's part (Ezra, Paul, Rupert, Conrad; I'm looking at all of you!) will whisk it away; in fact, it only stands to compound it further.

The quite suburban cul-de-sac on which I was raised - where, in 1987, my parents transplanted our family in an effort to distance us from the crime plaguing the city - is not so quiet in 2008. Just in the past week or two, a party down the street grew out of hand, during which time, a melee insued in the street, followed by a brick being hurled through the window of someone suspected by another party of instigating the fisticuffs. In a separate incident, a young lady with whom I grew up, who now has a family of her own, witnessed a group of kids stomping the piss out of someone across the street from her mother's house; as she strolled by, she was instructed to "keep on walking", and that she "didn't see anything". Lastly, the local residents have noticed a steady flux of automobile traffic to and from a certain house on the street, stopping only for a moment while one of the young men leaned his head and torso into the window and, presumably, completed a "business transaction". Some residents have also noticed an individual in a Hummer making a weekly visit at three or four in the morning, presumably to make a delivery. There is now talk of banding together and requesting that the police investigate this suspected hub of narcotics trafficking.

As I listened to this tale, I could not help but think to myself, "Sure, call the cops. If not them, it'll be someone else." The sleepy suburban street on which my parents sought refuge in 1987 is now plagued by society's ills in 2008. The shit pipe has backwashed into the living room, and the residents are now scrambling to clean the mess. It pains me to see these people, my neighbours of yore, live in fear; what hurts more is that this was inevitable, and that no amount of police presence will do a thing about it. After all, we live in a market economy, and these people are just as eager as the next to make a buck for themselves. Haul their asses off to the jail house, and three other families will take their place. Bailing buckets may rid your domicile of that foul sludge, and disinfectants and other harsh chemicals may remove its noxious odour, but it all has to travel somewhere, and down the pipe it can no longer go. Perhaps into your neighbour's yard? Does that solve the problem?

Time and again, we are told by those we perceive as figures of authority to be vigilant against the "cancer" innundating our humble society, these "weeds" that inconveniently sprout all over our pristine lawn. Much like in our gardening endeavours, our approach, thus far, has been to tear the weed out of the ground, or extract the cancerous tissue from the body, and pat ourselves on the back for a job well done. Homeowners, landscapers, gardeners and the like, I ask you this: what happens? The weeds return. The moral of this story? No mechanistic approach can solve an organic problem. This "cancer" is not some alien element we can simply discard and forget; it is part of us. Eliminating the people plagued by the problem does not solve the problem; rather, it is indicative of our being consumed by the problem.

Oh, yes; I almost neglected to mention a critical detail: these so-called "trouble makers" are not Arabic, nor are they Black, nor are they of the Islamic faith; they are White! Yes, folks! White people are running drugs out of a cozy suburban bungalow! Perhaps on your quiet resdiential street, too! You see that, Mark Steyn? While you're pining over the Muslim family who just moved into the house next to yours, worried about whether or not they will greet you with plastic explosives, Whitey lurks on your block, supplying your children and their friends with weed and other goodies. What's that? Some Imam said the world must be rid of all "non-Muslims"? Well, why don't you ask your Muslim neighbours how their friends and family back home feel about Whitey's presence? Even better: why don't you sit yourself down and read these religious texts? And if the hijab and the niqab scare you, ask these women how they feel about flashing their tits to onlookers - better yet, if you have a daughter of your own, ask her.

In sum, the point I'm trying to convey - the same point I've been trying to convey through this medium all along - is, the effort we expend marginalizing groups of people in the name of "security" while remaining totally oblivious to the core of the problem ends up making us less and less secure. Say we succeed in removing these elements from our merry society; then what? The problem is still there, so what do we do? Continue amputating limbs and extracting organs until nothing remains but a hollow, hemmorhaging torso? The universe is who we are, and nothing is added to or subtracted from infinity (here is where I ought to cite the appropriate spiritual master for this bit of wisdom, but knowledge cannot be downcast into something proprietary); in more applicable terms, our own fear and subsequent subjugation of "others" manifests itself in society's ills, and we can't simply flush them away - out of sight, out of mind - because they end up somewhere, mainly here.

But I do agree with Mr. Steyn on one count: it is not my place, nor anyone else's, to tell him what he can and cannot say to his adoring fans; so please, tell your readers to flush that shit down the pipe, but remember: shit comes from your body, and shit has a way of finding its way to your sanctuary.

N.B.: By "shit", I do not mean the people Mr. Steyn fears, but rather the problems of which he attempts to wash his hands clean by attributing them to said people. I should add, you are intelligent enough to deduce this yourself, but I cannot take any chances in a society that discourages its citizens from probing beneath the surface of anything; nonetheless, had I inadvertently insulted your intellect with this final note, I offer my sincerest apology.

Probing Beneath the Surface

2008-05-31T13:15:00.003-04:00

I came across this piece on the recent revelation by America's former chief propagandist, Scott McLellan. By now, I trust you've learned of the book he is peddling on what really happened inside the White House over the last seven-plus years. The author of this article, one Rob Reynolds, argues there is nothing in McLellan's manifesto we don't already know, and that this is an obvious attempt to exploit the situation for personal gain. What Mr. McLellan should have done, argues Reynolds, was resign in the wake of Mr. Bush's decision to invade Iraq, in the manner of Jerald terHorst after learning of Gerald Ford's decision to pardon Richard Nixon.

I'm not here to comment on Scott McLellan; I reckon plenty of others have already done so. I'm here, rather, to comment on Mr. Rob Reynolds' writing, and how it reflects our society's undercurrents. First off, Mr. Reynolds raises some interesting points, such as the notion of the "permanent campaign" and John McCain's hesitance to appear in public with George W. Bush, so I encourage you to read his take on them. Having said that, two instances in his article caught my eye:

"Scott McClellan could have used a bit of terHorst's testicular fortitude."

So, from what I see, courage is equated with the possession of testicles, though Mr. Reynolds' use of this term does not surprise me in the least. The term "testicular fortitude" is invoked quite frequently when referring to courage, as is the poignant phrase "having the balls to..." My lack of surprise is what perturbs me: phallocentrism is ingrained even in our common language, our idioms. I'm not casting stones at Mr. Reynolds by any means - hell, I couldn't tell you the number of times I resorted to similar rhetoric - for I doubt he's aware of the connotations attached to his choice of idiom; my aim here is to bring these things to light, these signs of patriarchy that are now so automatic as to lie beyond our awareness. No doubt, one could argue against it to no end - much in the manner as one attempts to deny the persistence of racism - and succeed for the very reason that the collective conscious is oblivious to it.

My second item of concern is as follows:

"What Happened, McClellan's tardy tell-all, is already number one on the Amazon bestseller list and is sure to be a hot topic throughout the presidential race between Barack Obama and John McCain."

Barack Obama has secured the nomination? Strange. I switched on the television this morning to discover the race is still neck-and-neck, that Mrs. Clinton's bid for nomination remains very much alive. So, why would Mr. Reynolds declare Barack Obama the candidate for the Democratic Party? Does he figure Mrs. Clinton will concede, or perhaps self-destruct? Or is there something he knows that the rest of us do not? Or, speculating further, is this a reflection of his own desire? I suppose we'll simply never know.

Denzil Minnan-Wong

2008-05-30T18:30:00.000-04:00

Say hello to Toronto's next Mayor!

He's young!
He's smart!
He's sassy!
He receives plenty of face time, and
He hates David Miller!

Rotating back to the world...

2008-05-21T00:02:00.003-04:00

...from the secret realm of the divine to the cold, noxious surface of this planet we call Earth. I know, it's a pretty awful thing to say about the world in which we live, but, after a weekend of venturing deeper into myself, of testing and overcoming boundaries, of being immersed in the unrestrained love of so many others, I find myself again in the shit, as it were, wondering if I should retreat to whatever friendly confines I can find, or stay and fight. Though the temporary relief offered by the former is tempting, it does not do any of us good, for - here it comes - there will come a day when my confines will cease being so friendly on account of my standing waist-deep in the backwash from the pipe down which I had hoped to flush all my cares.

I spent part of yesterday asking random people in downtown Toronto whether or not it is possible to construct a divine society. Normally, I'm too afraid to make eye contact with anyone, let alone engage in dialogue, but I had received a series of important lessons from a series of important people, and they all said for me to stop wallowing in self-doubt, to stop allowing the fear to whip my ass with a belt; in short, to stand on my own two legs and do something. I received mixed reactions to my query: for the most part, I was greeted with a "no", reason being we simply don't care enough to do it; however, I did receive some positive feedback, even seeing a glimmer of hope emerge from one of the nay-sayers.

I thought about this today as I returned to the message boards for the heated political discussions, and was confronted with one's staunch opinion favouring surveillance of the proletariat through closed-circuit cameras in public areas. I tried to persuade him - well, I shouldn't try to persuade anyone to conform to my view, for two people will always see the world from varying perspectives - I tried to highlight the air of mistrust the government creates (and perpetuates) when it legislates surveillance of its citizens, but alas, he would have none of it, telling me I have to "see the positive side of cameras". While I do not condemn him for his stance, I'm afraid I cannot agree, for no good can possibly come from a society whose inhabitants not only live in constant fear of one another, but also seek to capitalize on it. He went on to say it is for our "security"; here, I again cite the same wise persons to whom I alluded earlier when I say seeking "security" by erecting barriers and spying on others because you have no faith in them makes you insecure, and when you lack faith in your fellow human being, you possess none in yourself.

It took many years for me to learn to see myself in others and them in me; the events of the past weekend served to hit me over the head with it like a sack of hammers. We cannot expect to build a divine society when we remain apprehensive of one another, when we fail to see ourselves in one another, when we detach ourselves from one another. The powers-that-be - those men who hide in their motorcades and ivory towers - wish to have their eyes on us at all times because they fear the consequences of our unleashing the good within us, of allowing it to flourish. They seek to suppress this awesome force because they are afraid to surrender the temporal power to which they cling so dearly.

We will never create a divine society if we continue to succumb to our own collective ego and "other" people: by affixing labels such as "criminal" or "terrorist" or "junky" or "politician" or "tyrant" or "Black" or "White". A society is not divine when its inhabitants systematically reject people on the grounds mentioned above. Solzhenitsyn said, and I paraphrase, the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. This is what it means to see oneself in others.

I still harbour the urge to discard all hope and return to my comfortable coma, but as I entertain such a notion, I ask myself what good it will do? I might as well slash my wrists in the bathtub (do everything one hundred percent, as the spiritual masters say - after all, paraphrasing Castaneda, a warrior either lives or dies; there is no in-between).

This will not be easy, but it can - nay, must be done, but it cannot be done alone. Perhaps I'm the wrong person to extol the cry of oneness, of divinity, for I am still struggling with my own demons, aptly named Fear and Doubt. It pains me greatly to see what we do to each other and ourselves - in essence, what we do to each other, we do to ourselves - how we destroy the beauty in this world without batting an eyelash.

Alas, I'm rambling, so here is where I will take my leave, but before I retire, permit me to wish you all a splendid evening/day. And I will say again: you are the light of the world.

Mahalo.

We want to play with the big boys!

2008-05-13T11:50:00.005-04:00

Thus saith the Prime Minister of Canada:

"If a country wants to be taken seriously in the world, it must have the capacity to act. It’s that simple. Otherwise, you forfeit your right to be a player. You’re the one chattering on the sideline that everyone smiles at, but no one listens to."

That's right, kids. Just as in the schoolyard, if you haven't any muscle to flex, you might as well go on home and hide under your bed because you'll never share it with anyone, except maybe your pets. Put down those books and pick up your fists: there are assets to grab and asses to kick.

All mockery aside, let us return to Mr. Harper, who professes himself a pious man. Perhaps he should revisit Paul's first Epistle to the Corinthians:

"Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men; and the weakness of God is stronger than men. For ye see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called: But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; And base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are" (I Corinthians 1:25-28)

The CBC's take on the story can be found here.

You are the light of the world.

2008-05-10T21:46:00.003-04:00

I wish to announce a proclamation - yeah, I know; who am I to announce a proclamation? I'm not standing on a mount with stone tablets in either hand - as I was saying, allow me to proclaim the end to the term "stupid". There is no such thing as "stupid". It is all an illusion. If you feel yourself to be stupid, it is because you were conditioned that way. You are wonderful and brilliant and it's high time you start believing it.

I don't know how I can possibly be a scientist; I'm far too opinianted. They have a clever name for feeling: bias. It's fitting, though, that this term rear its head: we're programmed to believe them. It's time we put a stop to this.

A degree from such-and-such university does not make you brilliant: you already were; you didn't need the validation. If only I had known this ten years ago, but I cannot undo what is done. Neither can we. But that's another story. What's important is, we're capable of doing something.

What has school taught us? How to remember material? How to get good grades? How many credits to obtain? How to dress at graduation? How to perform tasks at work? How to fill out an application for school? for the credit card? for your home? When - when! - are we ever taught to think for ourselves? We're always told, told, told what to do. And it has worked beautifully because we're all buying into it. We believe ourselves incapable of anything beyond protocol, and we convince those in our tutelage of the same. Have we lost the faith, or we ever have it?

It pains me greatly to see so many believe in so little, including myself. I see too many people being branded with this horrible moniker, and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of so much negativity, and I hope one day to see us released from its death grip.

You are all wonderful, beautiful people. I mean that. I hope you believe it, too. The solution doesn't lie within some book or degree or job or church: it is within you, and has always been. That was the message all along.

I know it may not sound coherent or complete, for I have not spent much time thinking about the form of my response. Forgive me; my brain tends to be all over the place. Sometimes, though, in these moments, it's important to throw the thoughts out somewhere. Perhaps a revision is in order. Right now, I don't wish to be bogged in syntax.

I'll stop rambling now.

Oh, egocentrism.

You are the light of the world. Remember that.

The people of Burma pay for our sins.

2008-05-06T11:05:00.003-04:00

By now, I trust you've learned of the devastation wrought upon the people of Burma by a cyclone. The latest estimate I've seen has the death toll exceeding 22,000, with still thousands more missing and feared to have suffered the same fate. I don't know what I hope to accomplish by sharing my thoughts on the matter; nonetheless, I hereby present them in as coherent a manner as my limited vocabulary allows.

There have been cries calling for attention to "climate change", as the frequency and ferocity of these storms is a likely result thereof. To me, this seems a logical assumption, but I wish to take it a bit further. At least as far as my awareness goes, most of the attention has been on the pollutants we release into the atmosphere - the so-called "greenhouse gases" - and whether or not they have any effect on the planet's climate patterns. The nay-sayers still insist the planet is only coursing a natural rhythm, and we happen to be caught in a certain state. I agree with the notion of a rhythm, but not with any assumption that we have had little influence on our surroundings. Permit me, faithful reader, to outline my synopsis of the situation.

We were once a simpler people: we hunted, gathered, washed our garments by hand, cooked our meals over an open flame, shat on the ground, walked and rode horses. Then came the birth of industrialization: soon, our lives would become as rapid as the machinery we were using. Nowadays, we have eight-hour work days book-ended by a viscous flow of sludge we call "rush-hour traffic", microwave radiation to heat a factory-prepared meal in less than two minutes, high-definition television sets with surround sound blasting into our fragile ears, video games and cellular telephones and washing machines and flush toilets, food delivered by fuel-powered truck for our consumption at the nearest supermarket, and so on, with seemingly little cost to us, save for the heaps of energy required to keep the machinery moving.

From my spiritual teachings, I learned a very poignant lesson - well, I learned several, but I wish to share the one bit of knowledge that most applies here: the universe is who you are; in other words, the happenings in the world around you unfold according to your person. In the twenty-first century, we are a hectic people leading a hasty lifestyle, so it is fitting we require an exorbitant amount of energy to maintain all that is. Furthermore, bearing in mind the fundamental law of thermodynamics, the energy we waste - be it through hot exhaust gas, or radiant heat from engines, or excessive worry or anger - is rejected into the atmosphere, which might very well explain the increased frequency and ferocity to which I alluded earlier (I, myself, have noticed this city in which I live become windier over the last two decades).

There you have it, at least according to my understanding of the world. I could stop here, but alas, there is more I must expel from my chest, for as I sit here, writing this in the cozy confines of my living room, several thousand kilometres from the chaos and carnage, I wonder if this is an exercise in futility, if it's worth my while to care; I could simply let it pass with the rest of my conversation pieces.

What kind of question is that? Of course, I should care. These are lives, like my own, ruined in one fell swoop, and I'm worried about my grocery shopping? There are living creatures in this world who are lucky to receive so much as a handful of nourishment, let alone a meal. So, what do I do to help? I suppose I could physically travel there, but, lacking the necessary skills to do anything useful, is this an option to consider? I suppose I could donate a sum of money to my favourite NGO who assures me it will be well spent, but is this so? I don't know the exact figures, but, given the bureaucratic structure of the more popular outfits and the frequent international travel, a lot of that money donated by us layfolk gets sucked up by overhead, leaving a small fraction to the country that ends up in the pockets of the ruling regime, who decides how it is to be dispersed, ensuring (presumably) its needs are addressed first. In the end, how many cents for every dollar I donate actually helps those who need it?

At the risk of tangentially veering off course, I feel the need to comment on the ruling regime, and the business it conducts with certain governments who profess to love freedom and democracy. As I trust you are already aware, Ms. Aung San Suu Kyi, elected by the people of Burma (known now as Myanmar, as per the wishes of the ruling junta), was declared an honourary citizen of Canada by our rulers, presumably for her dedication to the freedom of her people, despite her condemnation to house arrest. Upon first glance, this appear a noble act by our government, affirming its commitment to the sanctity of democracy - how fitting that we see, on our national news network, a tribute to her - however, I wouldn't be here if I drew my conclusions upon my first glance. A while back, I read a piece outlining Canada's business dealings with the military junta of "Myanmar", affirming my commitment to the end of this fleecing of my sisters and brothers by the thieves for whom they vote every few years. It appears there is mining to be done, and our Canadian crusaders of capital are seeing fit to be the ones to supply the junta the means to do it, for a handsome sum, of course.

How does this all relate? I could have written a piece on climate, or corruption, or just plain apathy, but alas, I bored you with all of the above. Why? I'll tell you (I really should curb my use of the pronoun "I", for this isn't about me): we mistreat each other and the home in which we live in an effort to reap what we feel is ours (hence the folly of my use of the pronoun "I"); our Earth Mother is trying desperately to get us to listen, though I fear her efforts may be in vain, for we do not seem to care that the people of Burma, along with the people of every other part of the world who suffer needlessly, are paying for our sins? We are bearing witness to the Tragedy of the Commons: selfish gain means collective doom.

The universe is who we are. It's time to start looking within ourselves for the cause of, and solution to, the chaos we see before our eyes.

The dust settles, and the machine moves again.

2008-04-28T22:19:00.003-04:00

I found myself in the company of two of the strongest people in the world this past Friday evening. The three of us were spanning time in their cozy east-end apartment, flipping channels on the television, when we discovered that, in precisely one hour's time, the transit workers were to walk off the job, having rejected the collective bargaining agreement offered by their employers at the Toronto Transit Commission. We thought we were hallucinating, so we flipped through the other "news" telecasts to be sure: lo and behold, they were saying the same thing. We needed a few minutes to properly grasp this information after being blindsided by its left hook; at which time, realizing that the next bus home wasn't due to arrive for nearly a half hour, leaving just over thirty minutes to complete a forty-five-to-an-hour trip, I discovered myself in a bit of a spot (though not nearly as unfortunate as those poor souls who hadn't any idea they would be stranded in whatever part of town they were gainfully employed). Luckily, my friends were kind enough to put me up for the night, for which I am forever grateful.

The following morning, we found ourselves glued to the television set again, watching a live detail of last night's event, including feedback from those who found themselves without a ride home - as he walked across the street to fetch a cup of coffee, my friend noticed a gentleman, briefcase in tow, standing at the bus stop until a lady approached and broke the news to him, demonstrating what happened to you if you happened to go to bed before eleven o'clock the previous evening. There was also a phone-in portion of the program: one woman, despite expressing shock and dismay, tried to sympathize with the striking workers; the next caller, a man, sounded visibly upset, and made no effort to conceal or dilute his contempt for the workers; the last caller we saw, another man, brought to light the various elements at play in the situation, not wishing to purvey the caustic response the hostess seemed interested in eliciting.

A week earlier, the Union boss provided forty-eight hours notice of a strike, should no agreement be reached. Fortunately, or so it seemed at the time, a deal was reached, pending ratification from the Union members, thus (temporarily) averting the deactivation of our city's transit system. This time around, the public wasn't so lucky, as only an hour's notice was given; the reason being, according to said Union boss, was that, during the weekend prior, transit workers were systematically harrassed and threatened (in some cases, spat upon), and he would not again compromise the safety of his workers. Ironically, any hostility he sought to avoid by pulling his workers off the job so suddenly would likely have hit them ten-fold upon their return to work for that very reason, though calm did prevail (the head corporate lackey of our fair Province encouraged commuters to be kind to the returning workers).

Sunday afternoon, after an "emergency" session was called in Parliament, it was agreed that the employees be ordered back to work immediately. Within a few hours, the system had returned to normal, meaning the city could do the same. Personally, I didn't know what to think: sure, I depend on the TTC to get around the city, and was relieved to be able to do so again; but also, I fully believe in the right of workers to stand up for themselves - especially when facing the growing trend of finding their jobs outsourced to money-making machines (I wonder if my former employer is reading) - a right that, in my eyes, was discarded when legislated back to work. That being said, I'm also aware of the dastardly deeds of which Union representatives are capable, as they seem less about acting as a voice for the commoner than they are grabbing as much as they can in a society promoting such behaviour.

I was thinking to myself how effective these isolated job actions can possibly be: a strike by one sector of the work force seems to adversely affect the livelihood of the rest, thus eliciting vitriolic attitudes towards the former, as if the result of some clever divide-and-conquer technique, pitting worker against worker. Perhaps a work stoppage by this union or that is not the answer, but rather a strike by all of them at once, because, let's face it, we're all in this together: whether an employee for the public transit authority, the sanitation department, the local general store, or one of the many multinational corporations, we are slaves all the same. Without that awareness, any small-scale strike will be futile, thus the time has come for something much larger, reaching every single person finding her/himself struggling to keep head above water.

The corporate media will have themselves a ball hailing the defeat of the transit workers. Unfortunately, for them, they won't be hailing the victory of the people, for their workers will not be reporting it in their newspapers or on their television networks, as they will be in the streets with the rest of their sisters and brothers.

Silence.

2008-04-23T22:49:00.001-04:00

Scared of the Spotlight

2008-04-21T11:46:00.003-04:00

Has everyone had enough yet?

Our Fearless Leader and his battalion of anti-corruption crusaders are in it again, this time over allegations that they overspent on their election campaign by one million dollars. Earlier this year, allegations surfaced claiming the current ruling party, in 2005, offered a bribe to the late Chuck Cadman to secure what would be the deciding vote on the fate of the then Liberal government. Last year (I forget exactly when), we learned almost half of all Defense contracts were awarded without bid, which should not have surprised any of us, given our then Minister of National Defense, the "Right Honourable" Gordon O'Connor, earned his living lobbying the government on behalf of the industry.

Lately, I've distanced myself from the "news", as the same old story keeps on playing, over and over and over; this time, I felt the need to make mention of this story because this particular leader, on his campaign platform, vowed to smash corruption. I suppose corruption is bad only when committed by members of political parties other than his own. I can see why he is so loath to the spotlight: I wouldn't want my underhandedness exposed, either.

Fortunately, for our glorious White Knight, his best friends is the short attention span of the collective conscious. He used his millions to hammer the message home - leaving no time for us to think - to secure his rule, yet when his is the hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar, we end up forgetting all about it, for a variety of reasons (one being a seemingly non-existent opposition in Parilament, but what can we expect from a party guilty of the same deeds? It's as if one needs the other to exist, but this is a topic for another discussion.)

We know the government is, has been, and will forever be corrupt; sadly, we keep electing them. Every few years, we are seduced by the same rhetoric, and bound by the perceived lack of options come election day; should we decide against casting a ballot for lack of a better choice, it is as if we do not exist. Those of us who do make that pilgrimage to the local polling station naïvely believe the elected representatives to be in charge of this operation, thereby neglecting the corporate capital flowing into their coffers in exchange for a favourable agenda.

We are led to believe there is nothing we can do about corruption. So long as we harbour such a belief, we are right. This is what is called a self-fulfilling prophecy: so long as we, the people, allow this sort of shit to happen, it will happen, and it will happen.

We elected a government on the premise of accountability, and now it, too, has proven itself unfit to carry such a banner. We are forever let down by the Red and Blue parties (or, if you feel so inclined, the Red-and-Blue party), and cannot hope for a third to set things right, as the powers-that-be will not permit them to govern. So what is left for us to do?

The wealth may lie in the hands of the few, but the machinery causing its flux lies in ours. These hands of ours can be used to feed each other, rather than the machinery. These hands of ours can bring the machinery to a halt. It is time these hands of ours started doing as they were meant to do, rather than as they are told. This is already beginning, albeit on a small scale; I have faith it will grow, much like a properly nurtured plant or animal, but it will only grow if it is nurtured, meaning it is time we nurture each other: physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. It is time we open our eyes to the truth, for we cannot hide from it, nor can we conceal it. It is time to recognize the open sores we have allowed to fester, so that they may heal. It is time for we, the people, to stand together, as people, as living creatures of this beautiful planet of ours.

Most of all, it is time for the elite to liberate themselves from the power that enslaves them: your institution may appear mighty, but its infrastructure is cracking, and soon, it will collapse.

Photoblogging - Part IV

2008-04-18T22:32:00.003-04:00

Blood on My Hands

The "Truth"

2008-04-16T13:39:00.003-04:00

From truthism.com, the self-professed purveyors of what actually is:

Women

Women are ultra-impressionable beings, and therefore are easily controlled by aliens and the elite. The main purpose of women on Earth (that is, what aliens have programmed them to do) is to enslave men via relationships. Women are obsessed with relationships and love (due to alien programming), and don't care about anything else in life. They would have men believe that being in a relationship is one of the most important things in existence, not realizing that men couldn't care less about being in a relationship--and rightfully so. Furthermore, women force men to waste their precious time and resources on them. This demonic charade (i.e., relationships) has gone on for far too long and obviously has no end in sight. Thus, you can blame women for the downfall and utter hopelessness of humanity. [bold mine]

Make no mistake: It is indeed tragic that men cannot satisfy their sexual needs without also getting trapped in a relationship at the same time (otherwise, they will be accused of rape, since non-relationship consensual sex does not exist on Earth, due to the aforementioned programming of women). Demonic enslavement traps such as this are the standard modus operandi of the Reptilians and Darkness. Now, just imagine if you had to buy an entire pizza restaurant just to order a pizza; an evil absurdity indeed.

Another thing that makes women insufferable is the fact that they are, essentially, babies. That is, they possess the emotional maturity of a 4-year-old boy. Women cry, throw fits, and need men to take care of them. Um, an adult shouldn't need someone else to take care of them.

All in all, women promote the enslavement, rather than the liberation, of humanity. It's bad enough that aliens and the elite already control us. Now, throw women into the equation, and you have absolute misery. They are like sheep dogs helping out a shepherd (hence the term "bitch," in case you didn't know).

And to think, women are actually proud of their controlling ways. What a disgrace.

...and just when I was beginning to believe their fantastic tale of Reptilians...

As the sun rises, marking the dawn of a new day, I find myself standing at the end of a long pier, gazing upon the rolling tide, wondering...

2008-04-14T11:18:00.005-04:00

Today, I commemorate my departure from the friendly confines of Mother's womb, and my first solo breath. Though I cannot recall any details, I'm positive it was quite an overwhelming experience. What it must have been like to have your tiny, comfortable realm shattered in a matter of moments, only to face a tumultuous next few hours before being left to do it on your own. Frightening, isn't it? How many times will we repeat this exercise in our lives?

I think back and realize - despite the psychological torment I endured at the hands of my peers and, most of all, myself - how lucky I am to have been afforded the luxury of stable footing. Some days, this leads me to ask "Why me? Why was I dropped on this side of the world, in the pillowy lap of luxury, while so many of us struggle to eat a half-decent meal, let alone land a job?" I suppose there isn't much I can do about the past. I've always been told to appreciate what I have because so many have it so much worse; every time, I scratch my head upon hearing this remark, for I now interpret it as an exercise in defeat: Why try to change what is? Be happy with where you are.

How many of us have suddenly had our world shattered, only to have to gather the pieces afterward and, somehow, continue living? How many of us have lost jobs, or homes, or loved ones, or all of the above and more? How many of us have lived through natural disasters, or economic strife, or war? We are always that newborn babe, happily adrift for so long in our liquid-filled sac, only to find it disappear, leaving us cold and naked and bewildered. Fortunately, in times like these, we can count on those around us to catch us as we fall and hold us as we learn to stand on our own two feet for the first time. Unfortunately, I fear our helping hands are disappearing.

It is utterly astonishing to bear witness to the sort of technological advancements we possess today; what's more astonishing, and simultaneously disheartening, are the barriers they are helping to build between us. Certainly, the advent of the magical realm of the Internet has successfully brought together people who would not, nor could not, associate with one another - it has indeed helped yours truly open the lines of communication with others, given his social ineptitude - but when I see countless others around me tune into their high-definition television sets and mobile telephones and digital music players and out of the world around them, a shadow crosses my heart. One of the sights of which I see less and less is the street hockey game: as a boy, my friends and I would spend hours upon hours in front of our house playing hockey with a tennis ball - at times, one might see several games being played on a single stretch of road! - nowadays, I suppose the video games and online social networks are just too alluring. I fear the same is the case with the remainder of the generation raised on and by technology. I used to be the same way but a few years ago; now, whenever the sun's rays peer through my window into my room, I yearn for the outdoors (perhaps later today, for I must resume studying for my exam).

How does this relate to helping one another? Easy: the more we isolate ourselves, the less we identify with each other, the less we care about their well-being. Sure, we can't possibly know everyone personally, but the least we can do is pay attention to them, acknowledge their existence, when our paths cross. We can hem and haw all we want about the transgressions of the police officer or the boss or the salesperson or the motorist who cut us off during the afternoon drive home, but we often fail to realize these are people, too, and for every transgression unto us, we have wrought unto others as well, and so long as we continue to attack one another, to push everyone away from us, this shit will continue. We can't ignore the thief or the vagabond or the junky forever.

With all the technological wonders I've witnessed during my twenty-eight years in this world, there is one thing they cannot do: they cannot be there for us when we are in the most dire of need, for without the people operating these machines, without the people tending to them, without the people tending to each other, they are no more than inert matter.

Note: This has to be among the least coherent pieces I've posted, though, come to think of it, I find it fitting to have written in such a manner on the day I commemorate my birth, for isn't that what it means to live? Do we coast along on a single, smooth stream, or are we tossed this way and that, forever seeking a branch or an outstretched arm to grasp?

The Line Dividing Good and Evil

2008-04-10T22:44:00.003-04:00

I have posted the following on a public forum, and am hopeful it will generate responses. As they come, I will repost some of them in the comments section - anonymously, of course. It's a bit crude for my liking, but I didn't want to spend all night sitting here, trying to formulate the perfect piece of prose. - G.

"If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being... During the life of any heart this line keeps changing place; sometimes, it is squeezed one way by exuberant evil and sometimes it shifts to allow enough space for good to flourish. One and the same human being is, at various ages, under various circumstances, a totally different human being. At times he is close to being a devil, at times to sainthood. But his name doesn't change, and to that name we ascribe the whole lot, good and evil." - Aleksandr I. Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago

I have seen God and the Devil in just about every person here, myself included. Perhaps there are certain persons here you may perceive as knowledgeable, or ignorant, or saintly, or just plain scum. I am inclined to believe that, deep down, despite the facades we project, we are all saints, each one of us. There are some of us who hope to change the status quo and thus bring an end to the suffering of the many at the hands of the few, and there are some of us who celebrate the status quo because there is nothing wrong with it. Oftentimes, we lash out at one another in an effort to make ourselves appear the wiser.

I believe even the most self-absorbed, jingoistic individual can one day see the light, and not one of us should rest until we see this day. We are more than Christians, Jews or Muslims; Canadians, Americans, Arabs or Chinese; old and young; women and men: we are all in this together, and it's high time we started behaving as such. The barriers we build between one another only seek to serve the interests of those who currently rule over us. They want to see us take sides and attack one another. They want to see us live in fear of one another, sister against sister, brother against brother, and will go to great lengths to perpetuate this. Before directing our anger towards these powers, we must realize they, too, are slaves; slaves to the power they wield, living each day fearing who might snatch it from their hands.

I apologize if I sound grandiose - this isn't meant as a sermon from atop my soapbox. I write this because, every time I peruse this forum, I see the same shit over and over: lines being drawn in the sand, insults hurled to and fro, and so on. I believe we are all better than this. Sure, we will have our differences - after all, we each view the world differently, and, as such, will come into conflict now and then - but our attempts to defeat our opponents do nothing to resolve these differences; they merely demonstrate which one of us is more capable of brutality. What do these fights of ours do, except spawn more fighting? What has war done for us, except beget more war?

I await any and all flaming. Feel free to attack my position, even my person, though any attempt at the latter will only serve to reinforce the former.

Your thoughts?

An Excursion Down the Memory Hole

2008-04-08T22:54:00.003-04:00

For a man with no job and not much to do but study for an exam, today was certainly an eventful day. After my morning ritual of yoga, breathing and meditation, I activated the computer and accessed the state-run news agency to discover something quite startling (which, oddly enough, has since been quashed): it seems there are over 1,700 "boil water" advisories in Canada that, to this day, remain outstanding. I could not believe my eyes! Is this true? In Canada - the true north, strong and free - where the rights of every human being are held in high regard, where water exists in abundance, there exist so many cases of contaminated drinking water not worthy of anyone's attention? In a year in which the human rights record of China has been thrust into the spotlight in advance of the summer Olympiad, what about the violation of the rights of those living in "freedom"? How can one of the wealthiest nations in the world, the supposed beacon of freedom and opportunity for many, allow so many to live with contaminated drinking water? Should I be at all surprised that most, if not all, of these advisories were issued to First Nations communities?

What a way to start a day. Well, there isn't much I can do about it, but shrug my shoulders and click the magic "x" in the corner of my screen and WHOOSH! Down the memory hole it goes! Sucks to be them, I suppose.

I resumed my web surfing, hoping to find something to keep my attention for a little while before diving into my books and notes, and, suffice to say, I did just that: I came across video footage of a couple in the United States describing the horror they experienced - terror, even? - bearing witness, via amateur video, of the savage beating of their teenage daughter at the hands of some of her schoolmates. My heart wrenched as they described the disfigurement they found upon seeing her in the hospital for the first time, and the pleas for her life they heard her cry as her counterparts collectively pummeled her, and the barrage of taunts she endured on the Internet in advance of this incident, and their outrage and utter bewilderment over how something like this was allowed to happen. Being the pinko that I am, I couldn't help but think to myself, "I wonder how they feel about war..."

Wow. I don't know if I can handle much more. Down the memory hole with you, too. Click. Over.

So yes, I have an exam on Thursday. After spending the better part of the morning studying, I gazed out my bedroom window and thought to myself, "What a beautiful, sunny day outside, and here I sit, stuck with these books. Why let this day go to waste? My exam isn't until Thursday. I think I'll take a walk!" And so, I threw on my shades and my shoes, grabbed my wallet and keys, and set forth on foot towards my parents' house. I figured I'd use this opportunity to at least see the family dog, whom I grew to love very much while under my parents' roof. As I approached the turn off the main road leading to my destination, I noticed the flashing lights of police cars ahead, as well as the traffic being diverted. I walked closer to see what was happening, and I noticed several squad cars, along with two ambulances (that I noticed, anyway) and a small car sitting on the lawn in front of an apartment building, its front having been acquainted with a tree, its driver's side door(s) wide open. Perhaps the conclusion of a police chase? I couldn't tell, from what I saw. Upon my arrival, I did bear witness to a heated argument between a fellow of African descent and whom I perceived to be a Middle Eastern shop owner from the nearby plaza. From what I was able to gather, it seemed to me the former was up in arms over the latter's generalization of "his kind", for I could hear him shouting something along the lines of "You think I walk around waving a gun at people?"

The vultures were circling the scene, in their satellite trucks and helicopters, fully cognizant of the fresh kill, ready to pick clean the juiciest morsels from its bones. I'd soon learn their accounts of the afternoon's event, but for now, I figured it's high time I make my way towards my parents' house. Along the way, I encountered my younger brother, who, learning someone had been shot, had decided to migrate towards the scene (I believe he was to visit some friends as well). When I told him I found a car on the front lawn, he wondered if it belonged to anyone he knew at school. Later, through our trusted news outlets, I would learn that two young men who occupied the aforementioned vehicle were shot - one in the chest, the other in the leg - and a third occupant, a young lady, screamed in horror after the car came to rest that someone was going to kill her, thus prompting her to flag down a passer-by, who let her in the car and drove her to safety, so I'm told.

I did get to see the dog, and we had a grand old time. First, he leaped on me, then let me rub his belly for a while.

So, that was my day. What shall I say of these events I encountered? Three random occurrences of which I am soon to forget, that have no bearing on my life? Or that, somehow, these three events are all connected by a single bloody thread? That the people whose ancestry inhabited this land before our arrival are not worthy of potable water because money needs to be spent on war and policing so-called "criminals" who try to survive in a society in which they learn that their problems can easily be rectified by violent means? that one must physically dominate the opposition or else be crushed under its uncaring, unfeeling, monstrous juggernaut? that these wrongs can only be righted by teaching their adversaries some sort of lesson?

Say what you will about U2, but they said it succinctly: "How long must we sing this song?"

It seems, by and large, we've not been singing the appropriate songs. We're bound to hear cries (again) for the outlawing of handguns, and for strict surveillance of social networking websites, or for mandatory minimum sentences for these perpetrators. Will any of these work? Has the outlawing of murder, or rape, or theft, done anything to deter these acts? Will hauling someone off to the slammer alleviate violent crime when three are waiting to take his place?

Earlier this evening, my roommate was describing the fear she feels, especially after learning of a shooting so close to her own home, and why these people feel the need to operate with no regard for the innocent bystanders around them. I responded by asking what it might be like to live in a war zone, where combatants fire round after round at one another, and bystanders like you and me are nothing more than "collateral damage".

Is it possible to draw any positives from these events? Perhaps if we saw our society for what it was - rather than try to sweep its ills under the proverbial rug, where it is allowed to fester beyond our attention - we could seek a means by which to better it. Perhaps if we opened ourselves to the truth, we could identify the problem before trying to conjure a solution. Perhaps if we weren't so quick to pass judgment on these "others", we could reach out to them and guide them on the path to the divine. Despite everything, I still have faith that we can turn things around, but how do we expect to accomplish this if we remain ignorant of how we ended up in this mess?

This analogy must be growing trite by now, but I can't find any better words to describe our situation, so I am afraid I have to use it again:

The time is fast approaching when we will no longer be able to flush the mess away, down the pipe, never to be seen by our eyes again. The time is fast approaching when we will have no choice but to stare at that pile of shit and smell its foul stench for as long as we fail to do something about it.

Saturday Night Solitude

2008-04-05T23:17:00.002-04:00

Realizing I'm too old for the excess of the Saturday evening social ritual, I sit here in silence with mixed feelings: yes, it's pretty lonely in this big, empty bungalow, but also refreshing to be afforded some quiet.

Some thoughts I had scratched into my notebook that I thought I would share:

1. I could tell you that I feel lost, that I do not belong in this world, but that would not be entirely true, for I belong in someone's world, and I can create a world around me in which I am not lost, a world with which I am one.

2. For those who believe God doesn't answer their prayers, let it be said that the answer was always present, but their constant asking for help from some external force prevented them from perceiving it. You see, God is all around us, even within us, so yes, it may be said that God wasn't listening, only because we weren't listening.

Sometimes, we try so hard, all of us, to be heard, we neglect to stop and listen.

Waist-deep in this shit: Quite the April fool indeed

2008-04-01T23:17:00.002-04:00

For my few regular readers, I must forewarn you, I am about to return to familiar territory, so forgive me for seeming trite. I feel the need to write that which I am about to write because, in reference to criminal activity, it is obvious many people - particularly, certain media personalities - still fail to see the whole picture, meaning we continue to have our work cut out for us if we're going to end this madness.

Today, as is customary with each weekday morning, I found myself lying in bed overhearing the sounds emanating from the alarm clock radio in the adjacent bedroom, rife with the banter of three supposedly grown men who earn their keep trading shits and giggles on a prominent Toronto radio station. Today, the alpha male of the group decided to comment on a shooting that took place recently, one captured on security camera and subsequently posted on everyone's favourite video-sharing website that shall remain nameless for the time being (by now, I should not have to utter its name for you to know that to which I am referring). He did not hesitate to label the perpetrator, and other gun-toting assailants, as an "idiot" and a "coward", then proceeded to plead his case for a mandatory minimum sentence for being caught with a pistol in one's possession. At this point, I had to get out of bed and as far away from the noise as I could, for I could feel my blood beginning to boil.

I wonder if this individual is aware of the consequences of his utterances, of the impression he bestows upon his listeners who tune into his program every morning from Monday to Friday. I wonder if he realizes how little an effect invoking a mandatory minimum sentence has on criminal activity, that one is likely to be caught with a handgun only after firing it at someone. I wonder if he notices the connection between his name-calling and one's perceived need to rectify a situation by unloading his clip on someone, that, in our society, we are encouraged to solve conflicts by "othering" our counterparts, thus making it easier to not give a flying fuck about their emotional, mental or physical well-being. I wonder if he's ever pondered the correlation between the actions he condemns and the misogynistic material he finds amusing, such as an advertisement for a product he endorses in which a "sexy" female asks her male counterpart if he would like to try some of her cans, to which he responds by asking to "take two", amid cheers from his male boosters.

Perhaps I'm not being clear, so please allow me to do so: we live in a world, dominated by men who have used violence to secure all they desire, in which we are taught to habrour no regard whatsoever for one another, in which the gun is a source of income for far too many, including the wealthy men in suits who own and operate the facilities in which they are designed and made.

Having gone to such trouble to say all that from my perch on the discarded soapbox, I feel I must say I understand how someone would feel warm to the notion of "getting tough on crime". It is a big, scary world, and we want something done about our "undesirables" post-haste. Who has time to sit and understand the inner workings of the criminal mind? Better yet, who has time to assess the machinery of our habitat? We have jobs to work, bills to pay, kids to feed, people to appease; we can't be bothered to concern ourselves with all that - Heaven forbid we succumb to cognitive overload! - hence our burning desire to find the quickest solution to this problem that plagues us. We are all of us afraid, and thus prone to let reaction trump reason.

As I've said before, that shit pipe can handle only so much before it backs up into our living room, making us appear quite the April fool as we stand waist-high in the mess we thought we could simply flush away.

Imagine a nightmare from which you could not awaken...

2008-03-19T13:55:00.004-04:00

For each of the last three years, I have commemorated the anniversary of the attacks on America's World Trade Center and Pentagon with my thoughts on the day itself and what has happened since. Each year, I ponder the horror experienced by the passengers and crew of those ill-fated commercial aircraft as they counted down the minutes to their end; or that of the workers who awoke one sunny Tuesday morning and migrated to their offices in those towers in their customary manner, only to find themselves either fleeing an inferno by leaping to their deaths, or praying to whatever deity they wished to pray before the floor collapsed beneath their feet, sending them hurtling downward with tonnes upon tonnes of debris. I ponder the horror experienced by those passers-by, running frantically through the streets of lower Manhattan as those two colossal columns - like the arms of a god plunging its fists into the vast blue sky - came crashing to the earth; or that of the loved ones and other citizens listening through their television sets or radios, wondering if their particular friends or family are still alive, wondering what will happen next. I remember, also, the attacks coming to an end, which brings us to another dubious anniversary.

Imagine yourself in New York or Washington, D. C. on that fateful day in 2001, or in Oklahoma City in the spring of 1995, or in Bali in 2002, or Madrid in 2004, or London in 2005, or in any other nightmarish situation you wish to fathom. Now, imagine this nightmare continuing every day for five years, and you will know what it means to live in Iraq in 2008. Every day, for five years, its citizens have awoke to war, have carried out their daily duties in war, have fallen asleep to the sounds and sights and smells of war. Every day, for five years, those lucky enough to see today have seen death, heard death, smelled death, tasted death, felt death, wondering if their time was looming. Every day, we have been told by the invaders - or, as they prefer, "liberators" - that this perpetual state of chaos is for their benefit; that it is necessary to cleanse the world of evil-doers; that anything less will lend credence to these evil-doers who seek to plunge the planet into everlasting peril.

Every day, for five years, the citizens of this nation have experienced a peril the likes of which you and I will likely never see. As we take our loved ones for granted, they wonder whether they will ever see theirs again. As we complain about the cost of our fuel, they wonder how many hours they will spend in line today for just a few drops. As we complain, they struggle to survive. As we watch the sanitized accounts from our correspondents before switching the channel to more comfortable programming, they continue to struggle amidst the chaos.

On this, the anniversary of the day our bombs began destroying their lives, we continue to go about our lives, as laboratory rats in this monstrous maze, while our overlords make off like bandits at the expense of the well-being and dignity of the people we were supposed to be "liberating". It is we who are in need of liberation: from the lies, from the empty promises, from the clutches of our slave masters, who feed us such sound bytes as "the surge is working" and "support our troops". For whom is this "surge" working? How do we throw our support behind these men and women in uniform? By sending them off to kill and die? This was has victimized more than the million-or-so dead Iraqi people; more than the millions who have been displaced, who are grieving: it has victimized the men and women - mostly children, younger than me - who have been lost forever, who are forced to take the lives of their sisters and brothers overseas; it has victimized the families and friends of these individuals, who, if unlucky, will neither see these smiling faces again nor hold their warm bodies near, or, if lucky, will not see the same person they witnessed leaving for duty; it has victimized good, honest, caring people who, like loyal citizens, have rallied to the flag without any thought towards the connotations affixed to such an act. In short, it has victimized us all.

Upon completion of this piece, I will, most likely, fetch myself a snack from the kitchen cupboard, then resume my studies before catching the train downtown and onward to my meditation session, during which time, I will proceed to evict my inner worries through my breath and be eternally grateful for the situation in which I reside. Sounds charming, does it not? It is. As I write this, I wonder how I dare feel gratitude to the divine for the favourable hand I've been dealt while so many of my sisters and brothers suffer. This situation, though I happened to be born into it, is not the result of chance, of some "divine will", for if such were the case, there would be no hope for us at all. I can accept what has been, and what is, but I cannot succumb to the notion that this must be, for doing so would be akin to plunging a dagger through my beating heart. I do not want to have to resort to such an act; I'm not willing to surrender just yet. I am hopeful, faithful reader, you feel the same way.

The question is, what do we do? How do we stop this madness that has us all in its death grip? How do we reach an entire nation of people and break them free of their shackles: of worry, of self-doubt, of apathy, of mass consumption and the heavy hand of misinformation? Slowly, but surely, our words may reach them, but as these wheels turn, more people kill and more people die. Whether or not we are aware, the blood that spills is on our hands. Lady MacBeth could not ignore it forever, nor, try as she might, could she wash it away; neither will we. So long as we turn a blind eye to the raping, pillaging and plundering of the home of our neigbour, we are forever culpable. Our ignorance will not save us; shall we stand around, shrugging our shoulders, waiting for our prison warden to tell us why, when that great shit pipe through which all our worries are transported from our collective consciousness finally gives way, spewing our long-forgotten mess into our own backyard?

I had hoped to conclude on a more positive note before becoming side-tracked with talk of bursting shit pipes. I had hoped to instill, small as it might seem, a glimmer of hope. I believe are masters to be correct when they declare this war in the name of "freedom", though I doubt they had any idea their rhetoric would one day be turned against them. We are all at "war", not against those who send us off to kill one another and reap the material rewards, but against the evil feasting on their souls; we seek "freedom" from said evil. This war of ours cannot, must not, and will not be fought with bayonets and bullets, but rather with wisdom, compassion, sincerity, truth and love. The slave masters are but slaves themselves, forever bound by their desire for a larger kingdom, but, I ask, what good is a castle that is empty?

These people speak of "freedom", yet they, themselves, are not free, nor will they ever be, so long as they continue to chase that which is finite. They speak of "God", yet will forever trod the path to nowhere, so long as they trod the path to the finite, for "God" is infinite, "God" is life, "God" is love. They speak of "redemption", yet their souls will forever be lost, so long as they contine this pursuit. How happy are you to be King while in constant worry over your Kingdom? How happy are you to be King while in constant worry over who may wish to usurp your throne? Is your throne worth all the misery, all the bloodshed wrought by your hands? Will your throne be awaiting you tomorrow?

A most dubious anniversary this is indeed. Here's to the hope that we need not commemorate a sixth.

The Patron Saint of PAR-TAY!

2008-03-17T10:49:00.004-04:00

Today is St. Patrick's Day, and I awake feeling uneasy. For the past week, I've seen advertisements laden with leprechauns, shamrocks and pots of gold coins; and heard the rumble of my peers as they laid out their plans for imbibing. I can't say I'm up on the story of St. Patrick, so I cannot begin with a history lesson; all I can do is deliver my history lesson, one leading me to wonder what many of us are led to believe about the Irish.

I awoke to the sound of my brother's alarm clock, set to blast the sound of "shock jocks" and "new rock" at seven o'clock each morning. Today, this particular morning show broadcasted live from the St. Patrick's Day Parade in Dublin, Ireland. They had on their show, as their guest, one of the heads of the Jamieson distillery, purveyors of whiskey, and inquired as to how the company manages to create such exceptional spirits. 'Twas all well and good, this lesson on concocting a renowned beverage. Perhaps I wasn't paying attention to the entire broadcast as it found its way from my brother's radio through the air vent into my primary auditory cortex, but all I recall hearing were tales of drunkenness, with not so much as lip service to why we commemorate St. Patrick on this day.

I don't recall receiving any sort of history lesson in school beyond the legend of St. Patrick ridding the island of snakes. (Personally, I think snakes get a bum rap; they're no different from any other animal aiming to defend itself from a perceived threat.) All I remember is being instructed to wear green clothing, swallow pints of green lager, and affix a button to my shirt that reads "Fuck me, I'm Irish!" I must now ask: am I looking too much into this, or is there something dwelling beneath the surface of St. Patrick's Day? Why are many of my peers making plans to get trashed on a Monday evening? Because it's the "Irish" thing to do?

Why not spend some time reading a bit of the story of St. Patrick instead? Perhaps it'll act as fodder for the inebriated banter we will exchange with our comrades this evening. (I'm one to talk: I'll probably end up glossing over the entry put forth by our friends at Wikipedia.) To me, it seems we've been conditioned to respond to the coming of the seventeenth of March by salivating over alcohol or donning green-coloured threads. (The Protestants of Ireland prefer orange - does this mean they make no claims to St. Patrick? If the Catholic Pope decides who is canonized, it makes sense.) I suppose, so long as we consume and consume and leave no time for thought, everything will be fine, and that I should simply keep my fool mouth shut over this. All I know is, I don't suppose this Patrick became a saint by drinking his friends under the table, nor did anyone else receiving canonization, so what's up with the drinking?

What do we think of the Irish, anyway? Why does the addition of spirits make a cup of coffee "Irish"? Why do we celebrate this day by drinking ourselves into a stupor? Has this day become yet another excuse to intoxicate ourselves with excess? Do we want to know what it means to be Irish, or are we content to run our green, booze-soaked paint rollers over this group of people? I hope my assertions are off the mark, for it means this day means more, to us non-Irish folk, than going to the pub. I know I can't generalize this to everyone, but, given the advertising and attitudes to which I've come in contact in advance of today, and our tendency to lump all "others" into convenient categories, there seems to exist a collective view of Irish folk as silly-looking, funny-talking drunkards, an image fostered by alcohol merchants in a ploy to persuade us into buying more of their product.

I don't know how much truth there is to what I've just said, so I will open the floor to any and all comers who wish to correct me.

Here's to being alive.

2008-03-10T16:13:00.004-04:00

Earlier today, I thought to say "Fuck you!" to my studies, for I was in the mood to write. I'm glad I did. Sorry, Textbook; I'll have time to read you before the final exam, but you just don't invigorate me like a piece of literature or a session at the keyboard does. I must thank you, Textbook, for assigning nomenclature to the various psychological phenomena piquing my interest these past few months and years, but there is much I'd rather be doing than absorbing your contents in an effort to validate my existence. I realize now I'll never measure up to any career choice I make, nor will I ever excel at amassing capital, so why should I expect a life in empirical research to be any different? Besides, why waste away studying how society breaks us down psychologically, when I would much rather combat it?

Here's to being alive.

For our mothers, daughters, sisters, friends...

2008-03-08T18:16:00.003-05:00

One hundred years ago, on this very day, 15,000 women took to the streets of New York City to demand better working conditions, the anniversary of which then came to be known as "International Women's Day". I must say, this day is bittersweet, as it is a shame women still need to march to be treated as human beings, though at the same time encouraging to see the sheer will and determination of people, women and men alike, to see an end to oppression of all forms.

I wish I could provide a more insightful piece, but alas, I do not know what it means to live life as a female of the species, so I hope you will forgive my inadvertently ignorant statements, should you happen to notice any - I am hopeful you will also bring them to my attention. All I can do is share my experience - as a boy, then a man - in relation to women.

I suppose the best place to begin is at my point of entry into this world twenty-eight years ago, almost to the day: after carrying me in her womb for nine months and providing me nourishment and comfort, she endured countless hours of grueling labour to grant me life on my own. Since that time, she supplied me the nourishment, shelter and compassion I required. She stood by as I stood on my feet for the first time. She worked herself to the bone to ensure my siblings and I were properly fed and had everything we needed. She washed our clothes, kept our home and acted as our chauffeur, all the while holding job after job after job. Only in my adult years did I begin to appreciate the sacrifices she made for her family, nearly being driven mad in the process (here, I nearly wrote "nearly driving herself mad" before quickly recanting, for it was not she who facilitated this "near-madness", but those of us around her). I am eternally grateful for all my mother has done; I marched today, in part, for her.

As a boy, I primarily hung around other boys, and quickly learned how our female counterparts were viewed. Talk of "Boy, what I would give to fuck so-and-so" and "That stupid bitch/hoe" and "Stop being such a pussy!" hung in the air like mustard gas: one could not help being intoxicated by them, and intoxicated I was, frequently spending Saturday nights watching pornography and denigrating women with my male chums. In an effort to try to "be one of the boys", I succumbed to this chicanery. Perhaps that's why I was so afraid to approach girls in my youth: my male comrades had instilled in me the notion that women were things to fuck, and should be approached accordingly. Only in my adult years do I see the error in my ways. If only I didn't allow myself to fall into that trap... but then how do these boys construe women in this manner? Hormones? Media portrayal? "Wisdom" from the elder males? Competition amongst one another over who gets "the prize"? All of the above, and more? I marched today, in part, for the men I know who consume pornography, who frequent the strip clubs, who are bombarded by advertisements featuring scantily-clad women of "ideal" proportion, each of whom capable of violence - physical, psychological, sexual - towards women, myself included.

As for the day's events, I was thoroughly moved by the speeches and performances at the rally, and by the dedication of the attendees, who marched through the snowy, blustery, bitterly cold streets of downtown Toronto this Saturday afternoon. Of course, the Trotskyist Leagues (all sixty of them) were out in full force; I asked representatives of two of them why there are so many, and why they allow political and philosophical differences to drive wedges between them, and how they expect a revolution to happen if each believes it is right and the rest wrong. During the course of the day, I couldn't help but ponder, after so many years immersed in "masculinity", how much easier I feel I can relate to women: my dearest friend is a woman, and I am more comfortable relating to my mother than my father.

The march concluded with a fair, which included an information session, workshop, and live music: the time for rubbing of elbows was now at hand, meaning time for me to take my leave. I wanted to stay and chat with people, but I have a hard time doing so. I couldn't help feeling alone and let down; did I really belong here? Perhaps because I felt such a high at the rally and during the march, I allowed myself to feel this way. No matter, though; I'm glad I made the effort to show my support for the women in the world: for my mother; for my sister; for my aunts and cousins; for my friends; for the workers and caregivers, mothers and daughters, sisters and friends, who continue to live under patriarchal rule, who yearn for the day when they can finally stand on equal footing with their male counterparts, when we men finally view them as they ought to be viewed: as human beings.

The strength of Man has been lauded since time immemorial, though it pales in comparison to the strength of Woman, for all She has endured.

2008/03/09: As promised, I have included some photographs I snapped yesterday, for your viewing pleasure. I apologize to those whose names have escaped my fragile, marijuana-plagued memory.

These ladies referred to themselves as the Singing Grannies. They were a treat to watch.

These ladies chronicled the timeline of historic events, beginning with the march of 8 March 1908.

These ladies performed a beautiful rendition of Bread and Roses.

What's a march without a rhythm?

The citizens take to the streets.

Some live music to cap off the festivities.

"...serenely, joyously, drunkenly aware."

2008-02-29T23:48:00.003-05:00

"It began to dawn on me that the healing art was not at all what people imagined it to be, that it was something very simple, too simple, in fact, for the ordinary mind to grasp.

"To put it in the simple way it came to my mind, I would say that it was like this: everybody becomes a healer the moment he forgets about himself. The sickness which we see everywhere, the bitterness and disgust which life inspires in so many of us, is only the reflection of the sickness which we carry within us. Prophylactics will never secure us against the world disease, because we bear the world within. No matter how marvelous human beings become, the sum total will yield an external world which is painful and imperfect. As long as we live self-consciously we must always fail to cope with the world. It is not necessary to die in order to come at last face to face with reality. Reality is here and now, everywhere, gleaming through every reflection that meets the eye. Prisons and even lunatic asylums are emptied of their inmates when a more vital danger menaces the community. When the enemy approaches, the political exile is recalled to share in the defense of his country. At the last ditch it gets dinned into our thick skulls that we are all part and parcel of the same flesh. When our very lives are threatened we begin to live. Even the psychic invalid throws away his crutches, in such moments. For him the greatest joy is to realize that there is something more important than himself. All his life he has turned on the spit of his own roasted ego. He made the fire with his own hands. He drips in his own juices. He makes himself a tender morsel for the demons he liberated with his own hands. That is the picture of human life on this planet called the Earth. Everybody is a neurotic, down to the last man and woman. The healer, or the analyst, if you like, is only a superneurotic. He has put the Indian sign on us. To be cured we must rise from our graves and throw off the cerements of the dead. Nobody can do it for another - it is a private affair which is best done collectively. We must die as egos and be born again in the swarm, not separate and self-hypnotized, but individual and related.

"As to salvation and all that... The greatest teachers, the true healers, I would say, have always insisted that they can only point the way. The Buddha went so far as to say: "Believe nothing, no matter where you read it or who has said it, not even if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense."

"The great ones do not set up offices, charge fees, give lectures, or write books. Wisdom is silent, and the most effective propaganda for truth is the force of personal example. The great ones attract disciples, lesser figures whose mission it is to preach and to teach. These are the gospelers who, unequal to the highest task, spend their lives in converting others. The great ones are indifferent, in the profoundest sense. They don't ask you to believe: they electrify you by their behavior. They are the awakeners. What you do with your life is only of concern to you, they seem to say. In short, their only purpose here on earth is to inspire. And what more can one ask of a human being than that?

"To be sick, to be neurotic, if you like, is to ask for guarantees. The neurotic is the flounder that lies on the bed of the river, securely settled in the mud, waiting to be spared. For him death is the only certainty, and the dread of that grim certainty immobilizes him in a living death far more horrible than the one he imagines but knows nothing about.

"The way of life is towards fulfillment, however, wherever it may lead. To restore a human being to the current of life means not only to impart self-confidence but also an abiding faith in the processes of life. A man who has confidence in himself must have confidence in others, confidence in the fitness and rightness of the universe. When a man is thus anchored he ceases to worry about the fitness of things, about the behavior of his fellow men, about right and wrong and justice and injustice. If his roots are in the current of life he will float on the surface like a lotus and he will blossom and give forth fruit. He will draw his nourishment from above and below; he will send his roots down deeper and deeper, fearing neither the depths nor the heights. The life that is in him will manifest itself in growth, and growth is an endless, eternal process. He will not be afraid of withering, because decay and death are part of growth. As a seed he began and as a seed he will return. Beginnings and endings are only partial steps in the eternal process. The process is everything... the way... the Tao.

"The way of life! A grand expression. Like saying Truth. There is nothing beyond it... it is all.

"And so the analyst says "Adapt yourself!" He does not mean, as some wish to think - adapt yourself to this rotten state of affairs! He means: adapt yourself to life! Become an adept! That is the highest adjustment - to make oneself an adept.

"The delicate flowers are the first to perish in a storm; the giant is laid low by a slingshot. For every height that is gained new and more baffling dangers menace us. The coward is often buried beneath the very wall against which he huddled in fear and anguish. The finest coat of mail can be penetrated by a skillful thrust. The greatest armadas are eventually sunk; Maginot lines are always circumvented. The Trojan horse is always waiting to be trotted out. Where then does security lie? What protection can you invent that has not already been thought of? It is hopeless to think of security: there is none. The man who looks for security, even in the mind, is like a man who would chop off his limbs in order to have artificial one which will give him no pain or trouble.

"In the insect world is where we see the defense system par excellence. In the gregarious life of the animal world we see another kind of defense system. By comparison the human being seems a helpless creature. In the sense that he lives a more exposed life he is. But this ability to expose himself to every risk is precisely his strength. A god would have no recognizable defense whatever. He would be one with life, moving in all dimensions freely.

"Fear, hydra-headed fear, which is rampant in all of us, is a hang-over from lower forms of life. We are straddling two worlds, the one from which we have emerged and the one towards which we are heading. That is the deepest meaning of the word "human", that we are a link, a bridge, a promise. It is in us that the life process is being carried to fulfillment. We have a tremendous responsibility, and it is the gravity of that which awakens our fears. We know that if we do not move forward, if we do not realize our potential being, we shall relapse, sputter out, and drag the world down with us. We carry Heaven and Hell within us; we are the cosmogonic builders. We have choice - and all creation is our range.

"For some it is a terrifying prospect. It would be better, think they, if Heaven were above and Hell below - anywhere outside, but not within. But that comfort has been knocked from under us. There are no places to go to, either for reward or punishment. The place is always here and now, in your own person and according to your own fancy. The word is exactly what you picture it to be, always, every instant. It is impossible to shift the scenery and pretend that you will enjoy another, a different act. The setting is permanent, changing with the mind and heart, not according to the dictates of an invisible stage director. You are the author, director and actor all in one: the drama is always going to be your own life, not someone else's. A beautiful, terrible, ineluctable drama, like a suit made of your own skin. Would you want it otherwise? Could you invent a better drama?

"Lie down then, on the soft couch which the analyst provides, and try to think up something different. The analyst has endless time and patience; every minute you detain him means money in his pocket. He is like God, in a sense - the God of your own creation. Whether you whine, howl, beg, weep, implore, cajole, pray or curse - he listens. He is just a big ear minus a sympathetic nervous system. He is impervious to everything but truth. If you think it pays to fool him then fool him. Who will be the loser? If you think he can help you, and not yourself, then stick to him until you rot. He has nothing to lose. But if you realize that he is not a god but a human being like yourself, with worries, defects, ambitions, frailties, that he is not the repository of an all-encompassing wisdom but a wanderer, like yourself, along the path, perhaps you will cease pouring it out like a sewer, however melodious it may sound to your ears, and rise up on your own two legs and sing with your own God-given voice. To confess, to whine, to complain, to commiserate, always demands a toll. To sing it doesn't cost you a penny. Not only does it cost you nothing - you actually enrich others. Sing the praises of the Lord, it is enjoined. Aye, sing out! Sing out, O Master-builder! Sing out, glad warrior! But, you quibble, how can I sing when the world is crumbling, when all about me is bathed in blood and tears? Do you realize that the martyrs sang when they were being burned at the stake? They saw nothing crumbling, they heard no shrieks of pain. They sang because they were full of faith. Who can demolish faith? Who can wipe out joy? Men have tried, in every age. But they have not succeeded. Joy and faith are inherent in the universe. In growth there is pain and struggle; in accomplishment there is joy and exuberance; in fulfillment there is peace and serenity. Between the planes and spheres of existence, terrestrial and superterrestrial, there are ladders and lattices. The one who mounts sings. He is made drunk and exalted by unfolding vistas. He ascends sure-footedly, thinking not of what lies below, should he slip and lose his grasp, but of what lies ahead. Everything lies ahead. The way is endless, and the farther one reaches the more the road opens up. The bogs and quagmires, the marshes and sinkholes, the pits and snares, are all in the mind. They lurk in waiting, ready to swallow one up the moment one ceases to advance. The phantasmal world is the world which has not been fully conquered over. It is the world of the past, never of the future. To move forward clinging to the past is like dragging a ball and chain. The prisoner is not the one who has committed a crime, but the one who clings to his crime and lives it over and over. We are all guilty of crime, the great crime of not living life to the full. But we are all potentially free. We can stop thinking of what we have failed to do and do whatever lies within our power. What these powers that are in us may be no one has truly dared to imagine. That they are infinite we will realize the day we admit to ourselves that imagination is everything. Imagination is the voice of daring. If there is anything God-like about God it is that. He dared to imagine everything."

Miller, Henry. The Rosy Crucifixion I: Sexus. pp. 336-341.

Smiling Through Crosshairs

2008-02-18T22:07:00.005-05:00

I've been told the greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist. If I was to ever meet the Devil, I bet he'd smile, shake my hand, and tell me everything I wanted to hear.

I read a story about a chap afflicted with a terminal illness who desired the hand of a fair maiden and had to compete with a strapping young lad for it, so he fetched some belladonna for his eyes and skin cream for his face, and fixed himself to project the appearance of virility. When it came time to ponder the outcome, it was said that, though the fair maiden may be disappointed by the premature death of her mate, she may take some solace in knowing those clever genes of his will be passed down to her offspring.

Suffice to say, this tale shed new light on my interpretation of Charles Darwin's Natural Selection. At the risk of trampling some toes, I wish to now revisit the mating ritual - the human mating ritual, that is - particularly its evolutionary explanation. You see, faithful reader, it is said the female of the species seeks stability from her mate, given the enormous parental investment required from her; one who is able to provide for the children is more likely to ensure their survival. The successful suitor, more often than not, puts on a convincing performance in order to win the lady's hand, but the story does not necessarily have a happy ending: too frequently, the road takes a tumultuous turn, leading me to believe this extravagant showing by the male is but a lie; however, upon reading the story above, it dawned on me: in this cold, cruel world of ours, deception is necessary for survival.

Before I continue, I will use this opportunity to apologize to those I may have inadvertently offended with my depiction of mating from an evolutionary perspective. Should you have any issue with the words I have chosen, my comment box is always open and never censored (not by me, that is). Feel free to make use of it, if you so desire to enflict a verbal thrashing upon me for my callousness.

Now, returning to the matter at hand...

I spent the better part of the last three and a half years as a bit-part player within a vast corporate framework, and have thus borne witness to deception as a means of survival. Let us begin at the act of seeking employment, at the sliding of the proverbial foot in the door: how does the successful candidate distance her/himself from her/his competition? Is honesty the best policy here? What if the candidate's skills do not place her/him a cut above the rest? Worse, what if said skills are perceived as inferior to the rest? Will the candidate, having made it this far, wave the white flag and concede defeat, thus losing out on that lucrative salary and all those glorious benefits, or will treachery be employed?

How about that promotion? For that extra five thousand dollars a year, how likely is the employee to concede to a colleague superior in knowledge and skill set? Better yet, how about making the sale? Or delivering that progress report to the client or superordinate? Or those days when you feign illness because you just can't bring yourself to drag that worn-down body of yours into the office for another day of the boss breathing over your shoulder and barking in your year? Or the lamp you broke as a child, then blamed it on the cat so as to avoid the wrath of your parents?

We common folk are not the only ones who employ deception, oh no! Are your favourite television personalities as perky off-camera as they appear on your screen? How about that CEO you see posing for photographs with your favourite charity? Or the politicians you help elect: did honesty get them where they are? do they really have your well-being at heart? Does your favourite newspaper give you the straight goods on the world's happenings? Does your food supplier tell you what went into what you're about to eat?

I remember a story I saw on television a few years back about a woman with six children, if I recall correctly, desperately seeking employment, though opting against welfare as a matter of preserving her baby bonus. She was offered a larger home by her landlord; if she put forth the effort to clean the place, she would be rewarded with one month's rent free. After holding up her end of the bargain, the landlord quickly demanded the rent he had initially promised to cover. When she declined, citing their agreement, she ended up before the judge, who ruled in favour of the landlord on account of her inability to provide concrete evidence of his agreeing to foot the bill for the first month. Sadly, she and her six children ended up evicted, forced to live in tents in the backyard of a relative. The story did have a pleasant ending, as she was successful in landing a job, and they at securing a new home.

I'll never forget her closing remarks, which I shall now paraphrase: As a mother, all she wanted was to teach her children the value of honesty, but she was deceived by her landlord, who subsequently got away with it, then had to deceive her employer in order to be hired, then had to deceive her prospective landlord to secure the lease (I believe she said she only had two or three children, as opposed to six). She concluded by asking what she was supposed to tell her children now.

What do we say to our children? Is honesty really the best policy? How can I tell my child to always be truthful, then lie when the time comes to find a place to live or make her/himself some money? that nearly everyone s/he meets will lie to her/him if said person has something to gain by doing so? If this is what is required for survival, is this a world in which I want to live, in which I want to bring children? Is this the way it has to be, forever plagued by egocentrism?

Here we are, trying to survive the hustle, finding ourselves hustling to survive.

Numbers

2008-02-05T10:31:00.000-05:00

British Petroleum announced it is on track to scrap five thousand jobs this year, in addition to the nine thousand five hundred that will "move off the payroll". Sooner or later, in the quest to appease the shareholder, there will come a time when overhead will need to be reduced to inflate the profit margin, hence the desire to put scores of individuals on the unemployment line. This latest announcement has me pondering how an entire life can be branded with a single number and treated as such.

Management sits in its boardroom with pages and pages of figures, figuring out how it can do more with less, seemingly unaware that each figure on each page represents a human being, a life much like her/his own, with family and friends and heaps of expenses, of no consequence to the shareholders who care solely about their money. Numbers; they are only numbers: every few weeks, they send a cheque to each number, paying no attention to the life behind that number. One day, it may be decided these numbers earn too much; another, these numbers ought to disappear.

With the government - the gathering of persons hired to serve us - it's the same old story: driver's license number, health card number, passport number, social insurance number, et cetera, et cetera. "Please enter your number into the telephone keypad, so that we may assist you better." Easier said than done when you're talking not to a person but merely a number. Is there any incentive for serving this particular number better when there are a mountain of numbers to be addressed?

Institutions of "higher learning" are no different, save for the direction of monetary flow. To the administration, the students are but numbers: numbers that pay tuition, numbers that receive grades, numbers awarded pieces of paper brazened with our prestigious name and logo, numbers to replaced with new ones. As far as they are concerned, there are no lives behind these numbers: no emotional trouble, no hopes or dreams; just numbers.

Switch on the news, and behold: more numbers. "Sixty-five killed by suicide bomb." "Forty-three percent support the government." "Eighty-five homicides this past year." "One hundred six million people watched the finale of M*A*S*H!" I don't suppose there is sufficient to pay mind to millions upon millions of individual lives; does it mean, though, that we do not bother acknowledging that there are, in fact, lives behind those numbers?

I know what it is to be a number - you do, too - and it brings me nothing but despair. During my previous tour of duty as an undergraduate, a friend of mine suggested I accept the fact that I am and will forever be a number, and there wasn't much I could do about it. Ever since, I've asked myself if, somehow, she could be proven wrong. What does it say of us when we treat one another as such? How did we become so far removed from each other? from ourselves? Is this all for which we have to strive: a string of digits by which we are identified?

We are more than mere numbers: we are us, and we are alive.

Magicians

2008-02-04T10:11:00.000-05:00

It is the morning after the greatest distraction on Earth. Yes, I did allow myself to be absorbed by the television, and thus further reminded of how great America is. I wonder how many lives this juggernaut erased while its citizens stared in awe at those magic screens as they glowed red, white and blue.

This morning, I sit in my bedroom, alone with a thousand and one simultaneous thoughts, only shortly after spending an hour clearing my mind through breathing and meditation. As I prepare to head to campus to print out a paper and machete my way through more reading, I wonder if returning to school was the right decision, if, having been too eager to break free of the shackles of cubicle life under a multinational banner, I was deluding myself into believing a light to exist at the end of this tunnel. I wonder if I'll ever find work again. I wonder if I'll be of any use to society, or if I'm simply not meant for it.

I think about the ongoing discussions I've had with the self-professed Trotskyists, and suddenly I'm filled with doubt and worry. Do these people have the solution to what ails us, as they claim? Are they interested in listening to what I have to say, or are they simply recruiting me for their respective flocks? Do they think I'm an idiot in need of their divine guidance? Am I an idiot?

I think about Charles Darwin and his Natural Selection theory, and wonder if I'm fit for survival in this society. I've always been terrible at finding a job or a mate; now, I wonder if this is such a bad thing. If I can't hold my head above water in this world, should I really be procreating? Should I even strive for anything in life? Did something misfire in the process of my creation, rendering me fit for the back-room rejection pile?

I think about the economy, and wonder how many people are listening. I don't suppose they can when their overlords are scrambling to appease them: "Everything will be fine", I hear them say; "No reason to worry, folks. Return to your dead-end jobs and your endless consumption. We'll handle the rest." During one of my marijuana-induced mental roller-coaster rides way back in November 2006 - I have since renounced such practice in favour of restoring my lung capacity and mitigating my tension headaches, among other reasons - I wrote a piece outlining, from a system analysis perspective, the collapse of free-market capitalism. Perhaps my interpretation was correct; perhaps not. I wonder, though, if, in a few months' or years' time, we'll still have our home, or if our parents will still have theirs.

I wonder if the magicians in charge ponder the consequences of their actions, or if they even care: they seem to be keen on making fantasy appear on our glowing screens, in our printed word, in our heads; while simultaneously making money and power appear in their pockets. I wonder if we'll ever weave magic of our own to rid ourselves of this sorcery, or be forever resigned to it, counting the days until mortality's magic hand resuces us.

I wonder if the magicians botched the potion they used to create me.

Higher Learning, the Hard Way

2008-01-27T22:18:00.000-05:00

Perhaps I should attune myself to the happenings on campus and not act so dead to it, for York University seems to be a hotbed of hatred. Behold:

12/3: Three students beaten and robbed in separate but related incidents

1/11: Female attacked in Founders College, marking the fifth sexual assault on campus this school year

1/13: Student Centre employee assaulted with a weapon

1/22: Racist graffiti found on door of Black Students Association office

Talk of the merits of closed-circuit televison and increased presence of law enforcement seems to be the customary response - I'd go so far as to say perfunctory. Have these proven to be deterrents of criminal behaviour? I don't know if a controlled study is possible to arrive at a desired scientific answer: the powers-that-be will say "yes", but, at least from what I've noticed, history will say "no".

The story of the sexual assault in Founders College provided yet another tragic reminder of Man's need to dominate Woman. If you're of the male sex, you might be thinking, "I'm a man, and I wouldn't dare rape any woman!" That may be so, my friend, but ask yourself how many times you've denigrated a woman - any woman, whether on television or in plain view - either out of personal belief or to reinforce your "manliness" before your macho male friends. What does this have to do with a series of sexual assaults at York University, or rape in general? Everything. No security camera or armed officer of the law is going to change our collective attitude about our female counterparts. In the wake of the Vanier assaults in September, I wanted to ask the armed guard who sat outside the residence if s/he would be effective in apprehending the rapists who dwell within (my cowardice prevented me from doing so).

Again, it can be said that no security camera or armed officer of the law will succeed in altering one's bigoted perspective, or need to beat another into a pulp and rob her/him. I'm reminded of a chat I had with a self-professed Socialist who desired to create a world in which one feared committing racist acts, and if he had to take a baseball bat to a few skulls, so be it. I proceeded to ask if this form of action would rid our society of racism, or simply punish racists, thus leading me to the point I'm reiterating for the umpteenth time: it seems we're more interested in apprehending criminals than in ending crime. Forgive me for the repetition, but I cannot stress this enough.

Having said all this, do I have the solution to the problem connecting these incidents? Hardly: I'm still trying to make sense of it all. Am I wasting my time in doing this? Do we need swift action to protect ourselves? From whom are we protecting ourselves? Some bogeymen with an insatiable desire to disrupt our peaceful, law-abiding society? The way I see it, these laws and cameras and cops intended to serve as some sort of security blanket, these layers of "protection" we install to protect us from ourselves. We don't want to believe we can just as easily be thieves or rapists or racists or murderers. We demand swift action to protect us from these "miscreants", yet beg for mercy when we find ourselves under said moniker.

God made us all, even the purveyors of "evil". Sheltering ourselves from the truth may succeed in punishing evil-doers, but will do nothing to rid the world of said evil: for every one person we incarcerate, several are lining up to take his/her place.