Feminism is for Everybody: Navigating Feminism and the Politics of Difference

The evidence is overwhelming. We are more enlightened now, and men – most men, anyway – behave much better. That is bad news for the grievance industry, which must stretch its definitions of assault and abuse to ridiculous extremes to keep its numbers up. It can’t acknowledge the good news, because it has too much at stake. – Margaret Wente

To be clear from the beginning, I believe that a so-called ‘grievance industry’ within the feminist movement does exist. It exists just as it does within any movement, be it feminist, anti-racist, socialist, or otherwise. Analogous to war profiteering, these industries arise as a result of the booming profitability of conflict. Like never before, there are massive monetary returns from social conflict. This trend is, in part, a consequence of the careful inclusion of resistance movements into the dominant system of difference that weaves through all social institutions in a liberal democracy.

The creation of vast employment opportunities for otherwise strong feminist voices ensures the protection of the system. It creates a sort of brain drain, by which women are effectively pulled towards economic positions that are usually limited to a focus on band-aid responses within the system rather than taking up a more fundamental struggle toward the genuine abolition of the politics of difference that generates oppression against women in the first place. It is crucial that these forms of exploitation and corruption by intra-group members are continuously brought to the attention of the general public so that we are able to discern and separate the messages of those working with and for the system from those that aim to displace the system and create true, ongoing social change. 

The extrapolation of the idea of a ‘ grievance industry’ to all feminists is at the very least contemptuous of the feminist movement and, at its worst, a very dangerous form of violence in and of itself.  Violence against women continues to be problematic and extends beyond traditional notions of physical violence. Contrary to Wente's view of social progress, we are not more enlightened now and one of the primary reasons for this is that much of what passes as feminism today exists only in the hollow structural reproduction of the status quo. Because of this, there is still a very basic ignorance of the meaning of feminism. Perhaps the most basic step toward rectifying such ignorance is to acknowledge the diversity in the feminist movement. It is imprudent to discuss feminism as though it were a homogenous body of thought that shares uniform social goals. In order to demonstrate this point I will briefly contrast the divergent approaches of two of these strands of feminism: liberal feminism and radical feminism. 

On the one hand, liberal feminism, the dominant form of feminism in the West, strives for equality of opportunity within a liberal democracy that assumes equality of conditions for all people. Freedom then, is merely the freedom of movement within this system. Wente falls into the umbrella of liberal feminism, as she contends that because there is statistical evidence to support increased freedom of movement for women within the liberal system, there is no more need for further change.  Victory for Wente is ironically the silencing of feminism as women are assimilated into a preexisting value system.

The problem with liberal feminism is that the current system of social relations is at its core a patriarchal system, founded on the value systems of privileged white males. If we look closely at the alleged advancements of liberal feminism, it becomes clear that advancement often means inclusion into a preauthorized patriarchical system. To claim a moral victory once women have access to the same employment opportunities as men in the absence of a glass ceiling is an absurdity and runs counterintuitive to the aim of true liberation.  Liberal feminists have essentially fought their way into a more intricate system of domination that allocates success to women only in so far as they are willing to maintain the basic functions of the system. Emma Goldman was spot-on when she said, “Now, woman is confronted with the necessity of emancipating herself from emancipation, if she really desires to be free.” Over a century later, this assertion holds true.

Radical feminists tend to understand the oppression of women as structured into the very fabric of our society, in our social institutions, our social relations, and into the social agent. Radical feminism is intrinsically tied to the politics of difference. It is not a response to a conflict between men and women but is rather one dimension of a greater movement against a system that structures social relations by unequally distributing power to particular identity markers. The dominant social structures do not just claim a central position for men over women but also for white skin, for the upper-class, for Christians, for heterosexuals, etc. All other social identity markers are pushed to the periphery and forced to assimilate to the values of the dominant social structures in order to ascertain social mobility. The compartmentalization of resistance movements into particular identity markers then, is a superficial one. The struggle for freedom is an inclusive struggle by its very nature.  Although it takes place on many plains, it is a unified struggle toward liberation from the politics of difference.

As bell hooks succinctly states, “feminism is for everybody.” Exclusionary movements are very dangerous and if men are not engaged in the feminist movement, if Euro-Canadians are not engaged in Aboriginal movements, if heterosexuals are not engaged in gay and LGBT movements, these movements will fail us all. At the same time that movements require inclusive spaces, the onus is also on people as agents of change to stand up for one another. There is a lot of truth to the axiom, ‘When one of us is oppressed, we are all oppressed.” I am a feminist because of the inherent interconnections of identity politics.

The task cannot be to change the rules of the boys club to allow entry for women but rather to radically decentre patriachical social structures and replace them with a system centred at the intersection of social differences. Not equal opportunity to succeed in this society but rather equal opportunity to affect this society. The very basis of all social relations is negotiation. Equal footing in the processes of negotiating our individual and collective identities is not just a step toward liberation, it is liberation. There is intrinsic value to the natural and social differences in humans.  We need diversity so that we can learn, challenge, negotiate, change, and grow with one another.

Everyday Everything is Changing and Sometimes Everyday is Amazing

I don't know what this post will become, I always feel I need to explain where I am and "set the mood" for the blog, but the truth is 90% of the blogs I write I am laying on my stomach with two pillows under my chest, my dog Jackson taking up way to much of my bed so I am on a sliver of mattress left nudging his back with each right hand key stroke.  And there is some sort of music or podcast that is inspiring me to write what I am thinking or feeling. Tonight it is the new roots album, which may just be their most powerful yet, but hold on I am only 5 tracks in so I should wait... and write... or just wait?

There are always sooo many things happening, I know i did not need to state this, but I am in this constant internal struggle with how I spend my time, and if I am spending my time investing in the right things?  I know this is a common struggle, so I am doing nothing more then echoing the eternal question.  And I will not to pretend to answer, nor will I present my dilemma's as they are no more important then anyone else.




This is key to me, and it took me so long to get there, that we all have our fights our priorities, our issues and the people that get more attention for theirs are sometimes the right people, but more and more, and unfortunately the media has a huge control on this, but the people that get a voice and so often not the one's who should be speaking, but the one's that need to listen. but that is the hard part, listening without judgement, listening just to learn new things, listening to hear new perspectives, not just to find a point for you to step in with your rebuttal.  I strive for knowledge and I learn so much everyday and really need to take more time to reflect on the knowledge i gain each day.


for example on monday I read a quote that I have been thinking about and saying, but have never been able to say.  Now I wasn't at this talk, but I read the article and talked to some people who attended and the article reads like this:

Justice Murray Sinclair told a Sunday brunch crowd that Canadian society must heal the damage caused by the Indian residential school system or deal with the violence that will be undoubtedly unleashed against it.

                       

  Sinclair, chair of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, said the children and grandchildren of the aboriginal students who were forced to attend residential schools are the modern-day victims: over-represented in jails and as victims of crime and suicide.But he cautioned that one day soon, instead of the violence being directed at themselves or other aboriginal people, the violence will be directed at general society."There will be great violence if we do not learn how to fix this,"- wpg free press

This is it, how long until the indigenous people of this land begin to turning their pain outward on society as a whole.  Society seems pretty content sitting back and letting them fight and kill each other.  but what happens when this gets externalized????   will it be too late......

dancing in the dark

This week I had the fortunate experience to go out the Windy Hill.  Windy Hill, is a site that Ma Mawi owns out just past grand beach.  It is normally a place for aboriginal families to escape the city, reconnect with each other and their culture.  From my understanding because the elders who have been running the programs out there did not have counseling certificates or degrees they had to stop until they do.  The place has a magic vibe to it, its a pretty modern space, decorated in aboriginal art, but there is a feeling of calm and safety in the air.  I was out there for an executive director's retreat.  So I had the fortunate opportunity to sit with 10 of the leaders of amazing agencies and discuss and learn together.  Now you might say that this would be a good enough thing to write about, but there was something that happened that was more amazing then this!

At about  6pm the power went off, we were warned and hydro was doing working in the area.  We sat around the dinner table and chatted in the candle light, it made an even peaceful place even calmer.  about a hour or so into it some of the smokers stepped out to go have a smoke, which quickly followed with calls to come outside.  The stars!  the northern lights were out!


Now I grew up going camping, spent many a night out staring at the stars, I have seen northern lights from so many different places in this province, it is a impressive list!  but in all my 29 years I have never seen northern lights like these.

They started pretty average, dancing on the tree line, standard northern lights, much clearer with no light pollution, but nothing I haven't seen before.  Then a bright red starting coming off them and the sky light up with reds and purples then it was like a light starting from the tree line in a circle around us moving up in the sky and forming images right about my head as the circle got smaller the higher in the sky it was.  Truly a magnificent sight, bright, moving and awe inspiring.

There is a profound sense of peace when you have witnessed the world's atmosphere in all of its glory.  In this day when all we seem to hear about is storms or natural disasters.  The news only reports terror and tragedy.  This was what the world was capable of.  This Majesty of sun light flying from the sun on the streams of electrons left from the north pole!  Amazing!  inspiring!  i thought i would share!

Ron

When my dad was a little kid he went to work with his dad one day. I never knew his dad. He died before I was born. I knew him only as Hank. Not grandpa, or some other nickname, because my dad always addressed and referred to his parents by their first names. Hank and Velma. At some point during the day, Hank and my dad walked over to the store. Hank bought himself a carton of buttermilk to drink (strange) and my dad a small chocolate milk. He told my dad, however, that his was also buttermilk. My dad happily sucked back his 'buttermilk' and found it to be absolutely delicious. A few days later, while shopping with Velma, whom my siblings and I would end up calling Gram, my dad asked her to buy him some buttermilk. She told him he wouldn't like it, but he insisted that he had drank it just the other day and loved it. So she obliged. My dad excitedly gulped back a large mouthful, and immediately spit it all back out.

I got a kick out of this story. The combination of the innocent young boy wanting to be like his old man with the always hilarious scenario of somebody thinking they're about to taste one thing and ending up with something horrifyingly different in their mouth. My dad told this to me one evening in our living room while the two of us were watching The Barefoot Contessa. It's one of the last stories I can remember him telling me.

There are a few clear memories after that. His initial reports of back pain, which I mostly ignored. His decision to start sleeping in a guest bed in the basement that felt better on his back. The time he picked me up from student teaching, wincing in pain at every small bump. Him staggering into the kitchen and telling me about a new recurring, and highly disturbing symptom. My silence. Him repeating. Me snapping back that I didn't know what to say to that. The tests. The frustration. The crying. The diagnosis.

It was cancer, widespread throughout his body. From there it was an avalanche. Within no time his pain was unbearable. He took large amounts of morphine, which made him incoherent but seemed to do nothing for the agony he was in. There would be no real conversations after that. Just endless moans and cries from his bedroom. Day and night. A sleepless house.

His hands grasped my shoulders, mine under his armpits. He had lost a lot of weight. We shuffled slowly down the front walkway together, looking into each others eyes. Looking like some sad, slow motion version of some football drill he might have shown me years before. Me, walking backward, leading him out to the van so that my mom and I could take him to Concordia hospital, where he would spend his last few days. When it was clear that he had very little time left, my family gathered in the hospital room. My brother flew in from B.C., rushed into the room and was mortified by what he saw. Friends came by to visit him. My sister brought in her dog, whom my dad had loved. We took turns moistening his cracked lips. It was hell. At one point, my sister's and I left to get something to eat, and I decided not to go back. I was in a band at the time and we were supposed to have a show at the Pyramid that night. I sat at home, feeling exhausted and confused, and at some point I decided that I was still going to play the show. So I called our singer and asked if he could come pick me up. As he pulled up in front of my house, so did the rest of my family. I knew what that meant. I hugged and kissed and cried with everyone for a bit and then headed off to go rock out in front of a small handful of bored drunks.

When I was eighteen, I was backpacking in Italy and I got an e-mail from my dad. He was going to start drumming again, playing old standards at the legions around town with some band. It was probably the most proud I'd ever felt of my father. I had never really seen him drum. Maybe when I was too young to remember, but his drums had been in cases on a shelf in the basement for most of my life. That is, until my friend Dave and I decided we were going to start a band. I convinced him to take the drums out and show me a few things. He had played a big part in developing my passion for music. He was a DJ, so I would sit in the basement with him while he set tapes. I'd go through his song books and make lists for him to make me mixtapes from. He'd play me the first few seconds of a song and see how quickly I could guess what it was. He was always relatively supportive of my band as we went from being just an idea, to an actual thing, to recording an album and going on small tours. Through all of the things I geeked out on as a little kid, from cars to football he always had some knowledge and a stack of old magazines to offer me on the subject. After becoming one of my football coaches the first year that I played, he slowly got more and more involved with the football club, to the point that it became more his hobby than mine. Music was different though. Sharing this with him, at this point, seemed to say something to me about who we were as guys.

He was far from a perfect father. I choose mainly to focus on the good things about him now, but to remain aware of his failings and to recognize them in myself and improve on them. I regret that we were only starting to get to the point that we could sit and talk as men. With every new year of my life I feel like I understand more about who he was, and some of it makes me angry at him, some makes me sympathetic, and some makes me proud, but above anything else it all makes me wish that he was still here. Almost every night he would gather with a group of other guys at the Salisbury House down the street and they would sit and chat for hours over coffee. I always knew I could find him there if I needed to reach him. Having to walk in there was always annoying and awkward at the time, but now I would give anything to be able to join them for just one night.

a tribute to two amazing men!

the leaves although so very delayed have turned.  I was out in the yard at noon putting all the yard furniture away for the season and still in awe that I can be outside in shorts at this time of year.  I flip flop on this all the time be I really think fall has become my favourite season, the cool clean crisp air, the fact you can wear jackets and sweaters in the morning and only need a t-shirt in the afternoon.  I find there is more optimism in the air,  there is no countdown to summer.  Its the fall, people are back in school, projects are in full swing, or getting there, it's a truly great time.
But this is not a blog about the weather, this is a blog in tribute of my two blog mates, however in frequently they post, this blog still remains another strong connection between the three of us.  I know when I post they will both read it and when we get together next we will probably discuss it.  Perhaps it is just me, but this blog is maybe more of a way to keep connect to two of the most important men in my life, or a way to keep our minds crossing similar thoughts.

In a couple of days both Chad and Greg will celebrate their 29th birthday so here are some fond memories I would like to share

Remember  being 16 and heading out to Chad's cabin, alcohol and trouble the only things we had planed, days in the canoe, running around Kenora trying to find some kind of trouble out there, but just being too utterly ridiculous and silly to do more then take weird pictures in front of places that only have hidden meaning or jokes to us!

Then Returning only some ten years later with many more friends to coordinate a huge bonfire and a 20 person skinny dip!












Remember going to our first concerts together, and our however lame attempts at starting bands.  Greg our first road trip to the states to see warped tour. Chad to see weezer in Fargo, Sometimes not exploring more then our hotels and show venues but the conversations, the sharing of stories, the music, new cities and of course border searches.

Chad your days working at staples and planning the whirlwind trip to Italy, I know I wasn't going with you but I felt so much a part of the prep for that trip.

Greg our time traveling, however brief sometimes or tumultuous our friendship has handled some pretty tough blows but traveling in Guatemala was amazing.

OR more then these individual memories, the countless bottles we have shared and nights walking streets late at night, or at parks or sneaking into swimming holes under the light of the moon.

It is hard to believe we have all been friends for the better part of  17 years!


To the both of you and anyone who knows the From the two of you, I have learned more from my time and interactions with the two of you then any other people in my life.  You are both wise beyond your years, and have some of the mos intelligent minds i have had the opportunity to challenge and agree with!

I love you both!

Happy early birthday Chad and Greg!

Raconte-Moi Histoire

I was just laying in the bathtub, I know sexy mental shot!  I was laying there because that is what one does in the bath.  And I was having this thought, it has been a reoccurring thought of mine for many years, but in the last few months it has been resounding over and over again.
The thought goes like this:
Am I the best person I can be?
Am I doing all I should be doing to ensure I am a person with a good heart and clear mind?
What does being a good person mean?
Am I the person I want myself to be?

It just flows through my mind, I now it is a very subjective thing, but what are the qualities that make someone a good person?  if you have to ask does it mean you are not one?

Then I hear songs like the one below and it just makes sense, I need to strive for stories like this, all live need to be based around some little whimsy.  Chasing the frog is what it should be, and perhaps, if i believe it and strive for it, that is what will make me the person I hope I am!

 "Raconte-moi une Histoire" by M83  (click there to listen)
i heard about this frog
it's a very tiny frog
but it's also very special
you can only find it in the jungle
so far away from me
but if you find it and if you touch it
your world can change forever

if you touch its skin
you can feel your body changing
and your vision also
and blue becomes red and red becomes blue
and your mommy suddenly becomes your daddy
and everything looks like a giant cupcake

and you keep laughing and laughing and laughing
nothing is ever quite the same really
and after you finish laughing
it's time to turn into a frog yourself
it's very funny to be a frog
you can dive into the water
and cross the rivers and the oceans
and you can jump all the time and everywhere
do you want to play with me?

we can be a whole group of friends
a whole group of frogs
jumping into the streets
jumping into the planet
climbing up the buildings
swimming in the lakes and in the bathtubs
we would be hundreds, thousands, millions
the biggest group of friends the world has ever seen
jumping and laughing forever
it would be great, right?

My unhurried legacy

Let the wheel spin, faster and faster

The other day I was laying in bed and listening to a podcast, thinking about what it is that make people tick.  It was a moth podcast, and it was a story by Kyp Malone.  Now I have talked about this podcast with a few people and have received the same similar to luke warm response.  "Its not the best story", "he doesn't delivery it well"  are some of the comments.  I do agree that for there have been many better podcasts and stories told i have listened to.  Great storytellers who could be telling the shitiest stories and still make them interesting to hear.  I truly believe that storytelling is an art!  But this podcast it wasn't about the delivery it was about what he was saying.  How honest his story was, how he was himself.  We live in a world were we have studied people for ever and now we try to categorize people by the way they deal with conflict, or the way they brush their teeth, whatever it may be.  It all seems like we are trying to create molds for people.  If you don't fit into this mold, then you are in trouble, or outcast, or worse picked on.  In the effort to bring more understanding to how people tick we are limiting people.

Every once in awhile someone sticks out of that mold and it is refreshing to see!  This is what I loved so much about this podcast.

you can hear it here Kyp Malone- My unhurried legacy

Buckle down, Buckaroo.

I have intended to write an article on the value of discipline for weeks now, and, unsurprisingly, I have shown none by avoiding the task and continuing to neglect this blog. Admirably, Jamil has managed to keep this burned-out school bus moving with a few of his best articles to date. In truth, the inspiration for that idea, whatever it was that got the gears going, it's long gone. I recall certain points that I had intended to focus on. I remember thinking about my eleventh grade English teacher addressing a student who was asking if he could break the rules and be experimental with a certain writing assignment. She told him he should demonstrate his understanding of the fundamentals before he starts challenging them. There was a connection I planned to draw between this and the value that our society puts on uniqueness and individualism. Shortcuts and posturing taking precedent over skill development and craftsmanship. I recognize this in my own character. Rarely seeing the allure of utility and practicality. Unfortunately, recognition alone doesn't break a habit. Here I am, however. There have been many opportunities for me to sit down and write. Over and over I have made a decision to not work at this. To recognize a problem and not address it. I drove for ten hours today. It's very hot. I'm tired. I had no intention of doing this tonight, but then I saw that Jamil had posted again and it was in my head. So I'm here alone and this decision was on me. So fuck it. Just start writing, right? I don't have to be full of shit. There was something there and I'll find it.

Having played organized football for eight years as a kid I see how often I was confronted with the fine line between discipline and obedience. The relationships developed between players and coaches and the action of the game form connections to authority that can easily be misread. While a coach can provide the guidance and knowledge to help develop the skills needed to excel at the game and instill a valuable sense of discipline, they can also use their position as an ego-driven power play, demanding militaristic obedience. The results of this ranging from blind rebellion to blind acceptance of all authority. This dynamic plays out with teachers and parents and the nature of our society dictates that there will usually be some balance of both approaches within ever educator. I don't want to start going too far down some child development rabbit-hole because I would be talking out of my ass, but I think our society has a connection to authority similar to that of a confused child. Not simply the authority of individuals, but the authority of history and myths and medicine and media. The impulse being to conform or to fight but rarely to understand and to question. The true value of discipline comes in the recognition of the connection between theory and practice. It's from that spark that true growth and progress can develop.

I don't know if this is what I intended when I first went over this idea in my mind. I know I didn't cover everything I had wanted to get to. I don't know if I got where I wanted to go, but I think I got somewhere. Somewhere small, but somewhere. I'm really tired now, but I did it, okay?

Sleeping is giving in, no matter what the time is. Sleeping is giving in, so lift those heavy eyelids.

Sleep, shhhhh just sleep!

Close your eyes and just sleep!

Its okay you are safe to close your eyes and let yourself sleep!

I remember being 17 or 18 and laying in my water bed in my parents basement, scribbling furiously on a pad of paper, or was it a journal?  It must have been 3 in the morning, and i had been listening to music and scibbling words, and ideas, thinking  about girls and then scribbling some more.  I was writing about how I had soooo many ideas in my head and that sleeping was become obsolete, because the only time I can just lay there and let my mind race away were the times that I am supposed to be sleeping.  So why sleep to miss all those marvelous thoughts.  At 17 there is so much to sort out, to explore to try to put sense to.  You think you know so much but at the same time know there is this huge scary world you will be navigating soon and it is these moments of free thought that will grow into the tools you will use to go through that journey.

So never in my wildest dreams did i think there would be a time where the only thing i would want is sleep.  You see I have just been diagnosed with severe sleep apnea.  It is not that surprising to anyone close to me, or who has traveled or slept in a radius of me.  You have heard me snore and choke, and wake up and do it again!  So I know it has been getting worse, i could feel it getting worse, but when the doctor told me that I probably hadn't had a real nights sleep in 2-3 years even I was taken a back.  I feel like I have made some great accomplishments over those years, and the idea that I did it on no real sleep is a little alarming.  I am missing out on a world of energy, could I be doing more?  should i be doing more? so many questions??????????

So tonight will be my first night with the sleep apnea machine, I am not expecting any change for a couple of months, but the idea that change is a comin it is pretty exciting!

sweet dreams

Soundtrack to writing this blog
Atlas Sound- Terra Incognita
The Weekend- Lonely Star
Danny Brown- Monopoly

Why do we let the Banks and Media run out countries?

I am continually perplexed how we allow banks and financial institutions to run our countries.  I don't want to dwell on the USA, but the whole Standards and Poor down grading the states is a prime example.  Standards and Poors can be directly blamed for inflating mortgage companies which caused the huge economic collapse by falsely rating those companies at a AAA rating.

I will stop there about the US economy, because i have no interest in doing a blog about something that is so aggravating.  The second issue is the media, Canada is perhaps not as bad as the states, but i think it is fairly simple to liken sun news to fox news without anyone objecting to that statement.  My concern is more how we do not have any credible nation news sources.  I am talking mainstream here, but the more CBC moves towards this constant repetition of headlines and no in depth reporting on issues the more I am concerned.  Fortunately enough there is Democracy Now! only a podcast away and online access to papers like the Guardian.

I know this blog is going nowhere fast, but I really wanted to share is this article i just read about Iceland, I think it is vital we take lessons from countries who allowed banks to run them and collapsed and see how they are rebuilding.  If Canada had any sense we would jump on this band wagon, take control of our resources and take care of our people first rather then catering to banks and foreign interests.  In the sad passing of Jack Layton, a man who was the closest thing to a real leader this country has seen, and although his greatness seems to have come to light more in his passing then it did while he was alive, I think we need to ride his wave and take heed of what is happening in Iceland if we want a fate other then where the USA is headed.

Why Iceland Should Be in the News, But Is Not

By Deena Stryker

An Italian radio program's story about Iceland’s on-going revolution is a stunning example of how little our media tells us about the rest of the world. Americans may remember that at the start of the 2008 financial crisis, Iceland literally went bankrupt.  The reasons were mentioned only in passing, and since then, this little-known member of the European Union fell back into oblivion.

As one European country after another fails or risks failing, imperiling the Euro, with repercussions for the entire world, the last thing the powers that be want is for Iceland to become an example. Here's why:
Five years of a pure neo-liberal regime had made Iceland, (population 320 thousand, no army), one of the richest countries in the world. In 2003 all the country’s banks were privatized, and in an effort to attract foreign investors, they offered on-line banking whose minimal costs allowed them to offer relatively high rates of return. The accounts, called IceSave, attracted many English and Dutch small investors.  But as investments grew, so did the banks’ foreign debt.  In 2003 Iceland’s debt was equal to 200 times its GNP, but in 2007, it was 900 percent.  The 2008 world financial crisis was the coup de grace. The three main Icelandic banks, Landbanki, Kapthing and Glitnir, went belly up and were nationalized, while the Kroner lost 85% of its value with respect to the Euro.  At the end of the year Iceland declared bankruptcy.

Contrary to what could be expected, the crisis resulted in Icelanders recovering their sovereign rights, through a process of direct participatory democracy that eventually led to a new Constitution.  But only after much pain.

Geir Haarde, the Prime Minister of a Social Democratic coalition government, negotiated a two million one hundred thousand dollar loan, to which the Nordic countries added another two and a half million. But the foreign financial community pressured Iceland to impose drastic measures.  The FMI and the European Union wanted to take over its debt, claiming this was the only way for the country to pay back Holland and Great Britain, who had promised to reimburse their citizens.
Protests and riots continued, eventually forcing the government to resign. Elections were brought forward to April 2009, resulting in a left-wing coalition which condemned the neoliberal economic system, but immediately gave in to its demands that Iceland pay off a total of three and a half million Euros.  This required each Icelandic citizen to pay 100 Euros a month (or about $130) for fifteen years, at 5.5% interest, to pay off a debt incurred by private parties vis a vis other private parties. It was the straw that broke the reindeer’s back.

What happened next was extraordinary. The belief that citizens had to pay for the mistakes of a financial monopoly, that an entire nation must be taxed to pay off private debts was shattered, transforming the relationship between citizens and their political institutions and eventually driving Iceland’s leaders to the side of their constituents. The Head of State, Olafur Ragnar Grimsson, refused to ratify the law that would have made Iceland’s citizens responsible for its bankers’ debts, and accepted calls for a referendum.
Of course the international community only increased the pressure on Iceland. Great Britain and Holland threatened dire reprisals that would isolate the country.  As Icelanders went to vote, foreign bankers threatened to block any aid from the IMF.  The British government threatened to freeze Icelander savings and checking accounts. As Grimsson said: “We were told that if we refused the international community’s conditions, we would become the Cuba of the North.  But if we had accepted, we would have become the Haiti of the North.” (How many times have I written that when Cubans see the dire state of their neighbor, Haiti, they count themselves lucky.)

In the March 2010 referendum, 93% voted against repayment of the debt.  The IMF immediately froze its loan.  But the revolution (though not televised in the United States), would not be intimidated. With the support of a furious citizenry, the government launched civil and penal investigations into those responsible for the financial crisis.  Interpol put out an international arrest warrant for the ex-president of Kaupthing, Sigurdur Einarsson, as the other bankers implicated in the crash fled the country.

But Icelanders didn't stop there: they decided to draft a new constitution that would free the country from the exaggerated power of international finance and virtual money.  (The one in use had been written when Iceland gained its independence from Denmark, in 1918, the only difference with the Danish constitution being that the word ‘president’ replaced the word ‘king’.)

To write the new constitution, the people of Iceland elected twenty-five citizens from among 522 adults not belonging to any political party but recommended by at least thirty citizens. This document was not the work of a handful of politicians, but was written on the internet. The constituent’s meetings are streamed on-line, and citizens can send their comments and suggestions, witnessing the document as it takes shape. The constitution that eventually emerges from this participatory democratic process will be submitted to parliament for approval after the next elections.

Some readers will remember that Iceland’s ninth century agrarian collapse was featured in Jared Diamond’s book by the same name. Today, that country is recovering from its financial collapse in ways just the opposite of those generally considered unavoidable, as confirmed yesterday by the new head of the IMF, Christine Lagarde to Fareed Zakaria. The people of Greece have been told that the privatization of their public sector is the only solution.  And those of Italy, Spain and Portugal are facing the same threat.
They should look to Iceland. Refusing to bow to foreign interests, that small country stated loud and clear that the people are sovereign.    

That’s why it is not in the news anymore.

Dancing like actors for all the world to see!

There is a staircase in the Recreation Centre i have worked out of for the better part of 6 years. It is kind of a weird place, it is accessed at the top and bottom by two fire doors so it is always a little humid and not like any other place in the building.  I have climbed those stairs at least a million times, the same stairs at least a million times.  I remember i used to skip up those stairs so excited to go to my little cubical in the back office i first shared with 7 other people.  I was so young and full of energy that was so powerful.  I have dragged my tired legs up those stairs after 14 hour days to go and do a log book or grab my stuff only to stumble down them on my way out.   Our offices have grown and our staff too, it is amazing i still walk those same stairs to my office.  It is just a staircase, built by some city contracted company some 15 years ago, yet i have probably climed those stairs more then any other set of stairs, save for the house i grew up in.  These stairs don't change, the smell, the musk, the weird bugs that only live on the walls and there are only ever two of them.  They are not changing, the whole atmosphere of the building has changed, going from 20 kids a day to over 100 and yet the staircase, and stairwell remain the same. I understand really for the first time why building, physically erecting a structure is such a powerful thing!  Without venue's, without this stairwell, would I have been able to achieve what i have had a hand in doing?  Without flying down and trudging would i be in the same place I am?

Those stairs acted as a fuel to probably the most substantial part of my life thus far.  I have learned on those stairs, I think my first disclosure was in that stairwell, i know i have shed tears there!  I have ran into people.  Those stairs I have raced up or down so many times while children took the elevator just so i could get to the top and be standing there asking them what took them so long!  I learned about the reality of poverty while climbing those stairs.  I learned what true love is, and how heavy life can weigh on your heart.

all i know is i do not feel the same way about the elevator!

We all talk, I just like TED talks better!

In this crazy mess of a world, where we are constantly faced with information being thrust at us on our tv's, computers, phones, on our food, on our streets everywhere you turn and open your eyes in the city is some type of advertisement or someone's opinion you need to take in and digest.  So i find people tend to block things out, they either don't believe anything or they have to work hard to find out what is the truth versus what is some type of propaganda or spin or bias.  When i was in school it was almost a part of my studies to keep up with current events, searching out reliable media outlets etc.  This is not a sustainable practice, so as your life fills with the day to day burdens and commitments of living, we need to find our outlets we trust.  I trust people i know who are up to date on issues to share with me their opinions or findings on things, this is not always the most accurate, but i have some great friends who are really good at sharing information and discussion of currents events are important parts of our relationships.

where am i going with this?

information, what we need to get by, to feed our minds etc.  where do we get it from????  I have a number of sources like listening to the democracy now podcast every day, or checking different news outlet tickers, but this is to keep up on current events or world happenings.  Where to go to have my mind challenged, to simply learn about new things, or ideas, or people and their work?  This is what i wanted to share.  I am sure many of you know this, and check them out regularly, but TED talks are by far the purest form of passionate information sharing i have come across.  I love the format, although i admit that as it is only internet based it is not accessible to all, but 18 minutes to share your thoughts, or ideas or projects, categories, or jaw dropping or innovative, or inspiring, it is the best way i have found to keep up with new ideas other then being in school! (not that you have access to this in school, this was just the time i used to access these type of ideas)

so without further ado, here are my favourite ted talks ( no particular order, but take time to watch them all and more)

Sir Ken Robinson, there are two of his i really like both focused around education
Bring on the learning revolution!
schools kill creativity

Sticking with education, this one i especially like!  its great, inspiring, intelligent, and something i hope to work on happening here in Winnipeg one day!  also i seem to love everything Dave Eggers does! I would love to see more projects like these using professionals giving back with their skills, skill shares and exchanges are so powerful!
Once upon a school

This next one i think i have watched three or four times, he is really funny and the insights on poverty are pretty amazing!
Hans Roling's New insights on poverty


This one hits home because this history is so close to home literally!  some powerful pictures and words!
Aaron Huey American Native Prisoner's of War


There are so many more, i could actually go on for quite some time so i will stop there, but check out TED talks if you haven't!  I would love to hear your favourites!  Also anyone with other great sources of new information i love to learn!

and one more to inspire sweet dreams!
This is less of a talk but i find this just so amazing, inspiring and beautiful!
Miwa Matereyek's Glorious Visions

What is a man to do?

What is a man to do?
What is a man to do, when he has pushed his body through pain all day, when he has wore out every last breath of independent thought.  

What is a man to do when his body has slowly filled with bacteria and infection, he no longer has control of his temperature.

What is a man to do when every muscle aches because of said bacteria or over exertion or because he is always physically and mentally carrying too much weight!

What is a man to do when he finishes a 13 hour day that ends in a three and a half hour board meeting, stops to fill a tire with air and barely carries his aching frame through the door!

What is a man to do when after all this pain and exertion and attempts and holding his head high, after all this, he receives a care package in the mail box with the most eloquent words of love his tired eyes have ever encountered.  Words he could never have thought of to describe the feeling in his heart!

What is a man to do when he has strict orders to gargle and make tea and her the voice of the only person he wants to here.

what is a man to do?

what is a man to do?

But one thing, he must summon any and all energy left inside to love more then he has loved before.  To mold that mush his heart has turned into to try to make some semblance of that fist it is supposed to resemble.  Carry his head higher knowing that whatever fucked up ideals he has labeled or thought in his 29 years on this world of love, all have potential of coming true.

This is what a man is to do!

This is what a man is to write!

This is how a man loves and loves well!

Its not a competition or a game of one upping any one, it is about respect, its about support, its imagining you have nothing and the one thing that would keep you heart lit!  and know it and loving it!

And now his body gives in to the pain of today with the passion and love and optimism of what tomorrow brings knowing its full of any of the cheesy lines i should input now but won't!

sweet dreams

a week away from work

This week i have been off work, for two reasons.  One because i have not had a holiday in almost a year and a half.  Second so i could go to Jazz fest shows every night!  It has been really nice to not have to think about work, being able to leave the stress of the last 6 months of craziness behind for a week of quiet slow sleepy mornings most of which spent outside taking in the sun while reading the globe and free press enjoy large breakfasts and spending time with my special lady.

It is really fortunate I could take this time, i realized i don't relax enough, even in my leisure time it seems to be all go at times. I know it is so over said that taking the time to relax to stop and smell the flowers is important, its just so hard to prioritize that as the number one thing.

Besides the great shows i have seen this week I have had the time to read and take in what is happening in the world, which is nice, and depressing all on one breath.

some shots from this week

Pete Rock

breakfast thee kinds of vegan breakfast "meats"

Blurry Babes

Jackson in blankets!

How I Spent The Rapture

It was the evening of May 21, 2011. I was parked up for the night at the Squaw Creek Travel Plaza in the small town of Mound City in northwestern Missouri. As I was choking down one of the worst plates of french fries I've ever had in my life, the weather outside was growing more and more violent. The sky was filled with grimy, evil clouds vomiting furious torrents of water. Cartoon lightning shot about wildly. The wind tossed garbage and branches through the parking lot. Trees swayed drunkenly at wild angles. A small crowd had gathered inside and they were irritating me with expert precision. It had been a long day and I was ready to give up on the fries and go read a book in my truck when I heard one of the waitresses say that there was a tornado warning for the county we were in. They had turned on the weather report on the radio, so I figured it might not hurt to pick at my food a little longer and see what they had to say. Sure enough, they announced that a tornado had indeed touched down by a trailer park that was only about fifteen miles away. At that moment, I looked at the ridiculous cast of characters that surrounded me and realized that I was smack dab in the middle of the first scene of some shitty Michael Bay disaster movie. These weren't people. They were broad caricatures. It was absurd. I took comfort in the fact that I was clearly the heroic but flawed everyman, who was, no doubt, going to learn some valuable lesson before this whole fiasco was through. I decided to take stock of this band of misfits and see who was going to be of any value when the shit went down.

Pre-teen brother and sister in soccer uniforms – I won't dismiss these two. The kids will probably create a few unnecessary risks throughout the ordeal due to carelessness/panic/curiosity but might end up having some surprising value in the end. The boy doesn't seem super comfortable in the soccer getup. I suspect he may be some sort of computer wizard. I will make an effort to protect them.

Hispanic father with young daughter – I have overheard that they are making their way back to Chino, California after visiting his father and new step-mom. I know from watching The O.C. that Chino is a rough hood. He seems to be a good dad, trying to make a difficult situation work. A heart of gold. He has third act tragedy written all over him. We will probably bond at some point.

Corn-rowed, G-Unit wearing, African-American gentleman – He's hooked to his iPhone, pacing nervously. Definitely panicky and unreliable. I know how these movies work. He will be one of the first to go.

Overweight, irritable truck driver – Loves to complain. Brings nothing to the table. Another early death.

Soccer mom – She has sass. Though definitely frightened, I think she will be a trooper. She'll go to any length to protect her kids. Will probably be seen as comic relief, but, in truth, she's fucking annoying.

Grizzled, stoic cook – Periodically steps out of the kitchen and directs his steely glare out the window. He's probably “badass”. Bound to be a crowd favourite. I suspect a military past of some sort. I will listen to this guy's opinion, but will remain cautious. He may be “fist fight a tornado” crazy.

Table of elderly people – Doomed

Two young waitresses – Not sure how they got through casting. Perhaps they're stand-ins. They will probably be presented as “rad chicks” in the most objectifying way possible. Maybe one of them will end up developing a tragic relationship with the single dad.

Just like one of those terrible movies, this crowd grew unbearable right quick. After about half an hour the rain was looking a little bit lighter and a spot of sunlight seemed to be poking through. I decided I would try my luck with the tornado. I put my hood up and my head down and ran out to the truck. I turned on the radio. The tornado seemed to be moving away from the town. I hopped in the back and did some crossword puzzles. No heroism, no lessons learned and I couldn't be happier.

The Paradox of Charity: Deconstructing the Divide Between "Moral Busybodies" and "Robber Barons"

Of all tyrannies a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive. It may be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies. The robber baron’s cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end, for they do so with the approval of their own conscience.  -C.S. Lewis

All charity is NOT good charity

In large part people give uncritically.  There is a general public belief that any and all charity must be good charity.  Any growth in money injected into development or increment toward more development agencies working toward the ‘end of poverty’ is generally accepted as a necessarily positive step for the future of mankind.  This is a difficult myth to disprove to the mass of people that, in whatever capacity, participate in charitable organizations.  There is a lot at stake for these participants.  People desperately want to believe in the good of Western nations.  Even more so they want to believe in the good in themselves.  And so it goes, people anxiously cling to a model self-image that they have been trained to aspire to, one that best serves their interest.

Charity and self-interest

There is a hegemonic narrative in our society that clearly defines for us the people we ought to be.  Charity is one of the most prominent characteristics of the good human within this narrative.   Because helping others has been structured into our society’s expectations of one another, the act of helping itself becomes an act to satisfy these expectations.  People undertake acts of charity, in other words, to illicit a specific response from their audience.  This audience could be made up of friends, family members, employers, etc.  Each charitable act is an investment.  It is a currency that can be traded in for a more positive image from an audience that grants the charitable an increment of upward mobility in a particular system.  This is most evident in the job market which looks very favourably on those that have committed themselves to charitable acts such as volunteer work. To help others is often the most surreptitious means of helping ourselves.

The mask of charity

Charity perpetuates a narrative where the privileged classes are the saviours of the hopelessly poor.  How many times in our lives have we been exposed to images of Westerners nobly grasping on to the child of some poverty stricken family in the global south?  Each image contains a message.  It reaffirms the superiority of the West.  It conceals the truth that we are the robber barons.  Our privilege is a direct result of the detriment of billions of people we will never see and thousands we see everyday but choose to ignore.  Most are out of sight and out of mind.  But when we do take notice, any guilt, embarrassment, or unease is quickly erased with an arrogant decision to give, to help, to be charitable toward those that we assess are in need.  We pat ourselves on the back so that we never  have to look at the deeper cause and effect relationship between our privilege and others' despair.

Charity will never solve poverty; it will only serve to mask the social structures responsible for its creation.  Charity does not address the root causes of the distribution of access to resources. It can only ever scratch the surface of the structures of inequality contained within global capitalism.  Indian author and activist Arundhati Roy once said of the ngo industry: “it doles out in aid what people ought to have by right”.  It waters down people’s anger at a system that does not work for their interest.  It prevents the mass revolutionary change required to restructure the system upon more equitable terms. Charity, aid, development, call it what you will but the truth is that it functions in order to maintain order in a system of mass inequality. And until we are able to see it for what it truly is, the charity of moral busybodies will keep the robber barons at the master’s post.

What to do with privilege?

To start a day without knowing what it will have in store, is a wonderful feeling.  I am immediately excited and intrigued to be breaking the heavy scheduled life i have found myself living.  There are endless possibilities where the day may go, and it may go no where which is fine as well! at least now it is.

I used to have a really hard time doing nothing.  (I should put a note this is completely not true when i am hungover, then nothing, is actually all i can achieve sometimes.)  But i always was filled with this need to keep myself occupied, I am not sure why, perhaps it is due to working crazy hours and trying to still go out and party on top of that, but to just sit and do nothing was really something only reserved for traveling.  Where doing nothing in a completely new surrounding is more then okay.

But that is not the point i wanted to try to explore in this.  What i was trying to get at, which perhaps what i wrote above illustrates quite well, is that I am so fucking privileged to wake up and have nothing to do, or on the flip side fill my day with things of my choosing.  I have always stood besides the idea that freedom was always is always about choice, if you have some options, then you have some freedom.  Discussing freedom in this piece seems ridiculous, so i will stick to privilege.  I see my privilege everyday, the fact that what i am doing, whatever it may be is a direct result of the family i was born into.  The sacrifices my parents made to give me and my siblings all we needed, were only afforded due to their privilege, and so on and so on!

So what now?   Now I or we find ourselves in a position of privilege, what are we to do?  This i do not have an answer to.  I stand by what i always end up concluding, that it is our duty to give some of our privilege back, to give others with less privilege more options and support.  Why should using my privilege only be about benefiting myself?  But its a tough argument, in our capitalistic society, our privilege is mainstreamed and measured monetarily.  So it then makes our privilege not about who we are as people, but how much money we have, or things we have bought with our money.  So because of this people see that the way to give their privilege is to give their money,  which I will have to say is not the worst thing.  While i will not make an argument for throwing money blindly at societies problems, I think sharing wealth is a important first step to sharing our privilege.  However to me the bigger thing that we in Canada are dragging our feet on for sure is giving our time, our energy, our intelligence. Opening our privilege to those who do not have as much or any of it.  It will not change the face of poverty, or mean that we will be solving all of our problems.  But it will build relationships, build a better understanding of other peoples living situations.  Without relationships its all of nothing!  I know I should be one biting my lip on this, I have fucked up way too many great relationships in my life.  But that will not mean that i will stop trying.  We need to identify our privilege and use it to build relationships with others who have less privilege.  Sometimes barriers can be removed in people's lives just by giving them someone to talk to weekly or daily, someone to share their struggle or issue with.  This is how small giving our privilege can be in order to share it.

I feel like i have just built up to some kind of an ask, this would be the part of the proposal where i would present what i am asking for, i think i have wrote too many proposals of late that my mind just reverts to this type of writing.  But that is not what this is about!  This is about recognizing our privilege and sharing it.  I think the best way to start doing that is to work on developing relationships with people outside of our privilege levels.  We are really just recreating the cast system here based not on tradition, or birth but by money (not that tradition and birth do not play the main roles in coming out on top)  And then we sit and judge other societies and call them primitive, where we are in fact becoming more primitive then ever they way we allow our lives to get controlled by so few.

But i digress, maybe this whole thing is just a digression!  but there it is!

Rapture advice from my mom!

The rapture was coming, but that kind of fizzled out, I truly enjoy speculation that the world is going to end.  I remember the first time i ever had a serious conversation about the world ending, sitting in a beach bar on the coast of Ecuador being told by this Chilean guy that 2012 was the end of the world.  I found it amusing.


To be honest, if the world is going to end it makes no difference to me, but its funny stuff.  The video below is footage from Mayan ruins in Guatemala with a phone message from my mom i received at 11:30 pm on Friday night  I am not sure if the video will work on here but you can see it on youtube here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cAf0VJKfVFc

enjoy!  and yes my mom was serious although today over breakfast she said because the rapture didn't happen it was a joke!

Beyond Good and Evil: Manufactured Enemy, Manufactured War

Every war in history has required the meticulous construction of an adversary.  As a nation at war, it is necessary to conjure up an enemy so fantastically wicked, that a critical mass of people of that nation are willing to, without question, either take the life of another human or die protecting their nation from the threat presented by this enemy.  It is an intensive process of dehumanization so extreme that it nullifies the conscience of the citizenry and converts them into fuel for the war machine (i.e. soldiers and wartime supporters or at minimum apathetic non-dissenters).

Bin Laden has been the poster child of evil, the visage of terrorism that has fueled America’s war on the Middle East.  With his death we are left with a plethora of imperative questions.  Had Bin Laden outlived his utility as an author of American hatred for Middle Eastern agitators?  Will someone rise to take his place? Or is American intolerance of Muslims so deep that this job has been rendered obsolete?  Will this mark the downsizing of the American-led military campaign for control of the Middle East? Is this merely a transition into a more insidious means of control through policy and puppet governments? 

Whatever the answers may be, in the post-Bin Laden political landscape one thing remains certain.  As long as America attempts to control this region, there will always be strong and violent opposition from the people.  If America wants to make the world safer for Americans, it might be time to think of how America might make the world safer from Americans.

The love you take

Writing has been, for years now, something I tell myself I love doing but never actually do. Loving it is likely part of the reason I don't do it. I'm certainly no stranger to self defeat. It's probably some sort of control issue. It's also a bit of laziness. A bit of disillusionment. Embarrassment. Intimidation. I'm not completely sure why I want to do this now. In a way it's been something new for me to bond with two of my best and oldest friends over. I assume that almost no one will read this blog, and I'm okay with that. It would be nice to have something I write spark a dialogue with others, or to simply hear that someone enjoyed something that I posted, but I'm comfortable with what I feel I can gain simply through the singular act of writing. It isn't passive, and that feels important to me. I've had a tendency to fall into a cycle of passivity, and there's rarely anything to be gained from that. Much can be learned by working through an idea in writing. There are an endless number of ways to articulate a concept and the depth of meaning that can be achieved with the right words can be enlightening. I find writing enjoyable in the same way I enjoy doing crossword puzzles. There are patterns and connections to be unlocked and revealed. I think it's one of the reasons I've found myself writing poetry even though I find a lot of poetry nauseating. I enjoy the act of trying to create dense layers of meaning and sound. It's like a game. Despite all of this, I still find it hard to convince myself to sit down and write most of the time. Sometimes it feels silly and pointless that we even started this blog. Sometimes I'm convinced there's some standard that my writing should be meeting, which I will inevitably fall short of. Sometimes I feel like I have nothing of any value to say. No energy to work through an idea. These are, I believe, the most important reasons for me to keep doing this. I could find a million excuses not to do it, and a million excuses not to try any of things that intimidate me. By forcing myself to sit down and write something I'm forcing myself to take a look at who I am, to recognize the ways in which I could improve my approach to life, to actively try to be a better person. As time moves on the need to participate in this world feels more urgent to me. I see how much the hunger for experience and knowledge that I had in my youth has been diluted by years of disappointment and I'm willing to acknowledge that it was often me disappointing myself and that the weight of disappointment is misleading. In truth my efforts have been frequently rewarded with heartening and gratifying results. I recognize this and feel the need to be engaged in how my time is spent, to tune in to my existence.

I spend most of my time alone these days, locked into a schedule, constantly missing my friends, my family, my cats and my girlfriend who inspires and excites me. My mind pours over memories and dreams. I struggle to connect them to my life. As I write this I'm just outside of Baltimore at an IKEA warehouse. As usual I'm essentially nowhere. There are baby geese flopping around in the grass outside my window. I see a lot of beautiful things. I drift through small towns and flickering landscapes like a ghost. It's all beyond my grasp. I pull into another neon lot, the air thick with the stench of piss, and slink past the corndog cowboys on my way to another trickle-dick shower. I attempt fruitlessly to wash the road from my brain to make space for gainful thoughts. I'm always aware of time. It digs its nails into my soul. Ignoring me, taunting me, it refuses to comply with my desires. I try to stay positive and engaged but my spirit is broken. In the brief hiccups that I get to be home I'm overcome by a dizzying desire to devour everyone and everything I love. I feel every kiss, every laugh, every dance deep in my bones. Then I tremble back into the manic waves of loneliness, where I will find the odd treasure. I will find ways to pass the time. I will learn to live with my brain. Ask me about all of this tomorrow.