This Year, Get Her Goats

Looking for some holiday gifts, I came across this year's Oxfam gift store, and thought to share it. I'm not made of money, but I think a bucket of composting worms is pretty reasonable at $18. Or a load of manure, or a hive of bees? Looking for something a bit bigger? How about a tribe of goats at $275? That's a pretty great price for six goats.

If you're not into farming, Oxfam also has a variety of gifts specifically for women and children, such as school, infant and home supplies, which are certain to bring a smile to someone's face.

The Oxfam store is a simple, wonderful way to show someone you love that you care - about them and about hungry people around the globe.

How does it work? You pick out which gift you'd like a struggling farm family to receive, and your loved one gets a card, letting them know what vital agricultural element or home product has been gifted in their name.

If you are trying to figure out what to get for someone who has everything, please consider giving something to someone who has practically nothing.

http://www.oxfamamericaunwrapped.com/minnie.html

Remembrance Day

Today is always an odd day for me. As a pacifist, I sometimes feel a conflict with my patriotism, as there are times when pacifistic ideals are not consistent with what the general public sees as patriotism. To a pacifist, I guess, the love of one's country does not spell out, "My Country, Right or Wrong," but is invested in wanting the best for the country, but also expecting the best of the country. Remembrance Day, then, is a conflicted day for me, especially since it has been adopted by less-clear-cut wars.

The Canadian involvement in WWI and WWII were, in terms of human effort, nothing short of heroic, even for those of us who don't often use that term in connection with soldiering. These were not wars of aggression, as Canada stood to gain no territory, and in many ways they were fought to halt aggression, according to history. Yet, I do not see them as purely altruistic wars. Yes, WWII saved the lives of millions of Jews and other prisoners in Nazi occupied territories, but the myth that WWII was waged to save the Jews is as erroneous as it is harmful.

They were actually wars fought to support the mother country, Britain, and, to a lesser extent, other allies. And, in this, I can see the point of the French and the Irish who resisted conscription on the basis that England was not their mother. Protecting ties is not altruism; it is merely protecting the symbiotic web upon which you rely.

And, while history records these wars as "Good Wars," I also have a deep-seated discomfort with claiming any war "good"... though, I suppose since Canada did not start these wars, we cannot primarily pin the bad on them.

Having said all that, there are in fact three interconnected reasons why I, as a pacifist, wear the poppy and keep Remembrance Day (aside from it being deeply soaked into my Nova Scotian roots).

First, Remembrance Day reminds me that WWI was Canada's birth. Though the nation factually dates to Confederation, Canada did not actually shed its colonial identity until WWI, and the way we see ourselves is deeply embedded in the trenches of Vimy Ridge, Ypres, Passchendaele, Beaumont Hamel... Places of unimaginable muck and gore, but also of strength and incredible will power. For a nation who claims that having no identity is our identity, we seem to get an awful lot of our sense of selves from these places. Like that legendary crucified soldier, we see ourselves as tireless workhorses, dedicated to our causes, and plain but powerful. Canadians, if nothing else, stand our ground, and work without complaint in some of the roughest conditions (or so we like to imagine).

It was WWI were Canada first fought not as a corps of the UK, but as Canadians, and it was WWI during which Canadians learned that people thought of them as "Canadians," a reputation that took on a specific character during WWI that has stuck.

Second, I wear it not out of support for the nations who wage war like bloody games of life-size chess from paper-strewn offices, but for the men and women who died. I don't give into the rhetoric of "they died for my freedom" as much as others do, but I can express grief that they died, nonetheless. The brightest flower of multiple generations was snuffed out during the world wars. And the poppy is worth it, for that reason alone, but it also shows solidarity with the now old men who gave up their carefree youthes to see what most of us, thankfully, do not have to witness.

Third, I wear the poppy to remind myself of all these, and the million other, ambiguities of war. The bright, cheerful head of the poppy waves over the bones of people killed in ways I cannot fully imagine. Today, we feel pride and sadness, horror and also a kind of happiness. War made Canada, but we are something of a peaceful nation. A crucified soldier might be forever in glory, but he remains just as dead, and just as mutilated. Blood and mud and excrement, the reality, gives way to this bright, shiny thing in history, which is also a type of reality for those of us who live in the fruits of their labour. And every time I put on my coat, I am reminded of that ambiguity of war, which keeps me neither too patriotic, nor too pacifist.

So, yes... I am a conflicted pacifist wearing a poppy today. And a Canadian, whatever that means. Most of the time, I am simply in the trenches of life trying to keep my matches dry. But, today, it's good to remember.

Prairie Giant: The Tommy Douglas Story (2006)

Seemingly continuing some sort of unintentional social credit movie marathon, I have followed up Our Daily Bread with the well made CBC miniseries on the life of the "Greatest Canadian," Prairie Giant: The Tommy Douglas Story.

Aside from a strange, seldom-acknowledged penchant for eugenics in his youth, Douglas is just about as complete a hero as you can get in this country, and Prairie Giant clearly plays to that legendary aspect of the small, bespectacled preacher from Saskatchewan. Painting an impressionistic landscape of Douglas' rise from Depression-era radical social-democratic minister to demonized "Red Menace" in the '50s to the 1970s leader of the nubile NDP, this miniseries is fairly informative (keeping in mind that it is TV, after all), hits Douglas' greatest hits (especially in terms of speeches and his iconic role in the founding of socialized medicine in Canada), and is actually quite slick for a Canadian TV production. It's enough to make the Captain Canuck in all of us bust a button or two.

At about 3 or 4 hours long, it's quite an extended lesson, but I find that it doesn't drag and manages to hold the attention and the imagination throughout. Some details are a bit dodgie (they show Douglas as actually present at the Estevan "riot," for instance, when he wasn't), but you do come away feeling bigger than when you started watching.

It's a fable of social ethics and of what people can do when they put their fellow humans first - for that, it's well worth a look.

(Also strongly recommended is the NFBC's Tommy Douglas: Keeper of the Flame, 1986.)

Our Daily Bread (1934)

When times are tough, I turn to this movie. The tot and I watched it again this evening, and it still has a positive impact on me.

Perhaps the acting leaves a lot to be desired (aside from my favourite 1930s character actor John Qualen, who is always wonderful), and the print is pretty awful, but this film, once you get past all the corny (pun only half intended), can be deep-down inspirational.

After going bust in the city, "big ideas" man John Sims and his wife relocate to a dirt farm donated by a relative. Not knowing anything about farming, John happily accepts a hand from marooned Swedish farmer Larsen (Qualen) who went bankrupt in Minnesota and ran out of gas on their road.

When the Larsen family shares with John and the Mrs their rabbit stew, John gets an idea - a collective farming village, peopled with all manners of tradesmen and their families to share the work, the resources and the profits. At first only interested in the practical trades, such as carpentry and plumbing, John soon realizes their commune has a place for all manners of folks. There is a bit of dramatic de-railing with passion and pessimism come slinking in, but the social fabric retains its strength, and the community re-knits together even stronger than before.

The film takes us through several ups and downs of Depression-era life, including food shortages and droughts, but also gives us highs, such as the moment they first see the shoots of their new life spring through the ground, and the climatic final moments of humanity's triumph over adversity.

Corny, yes. But really a statement about the human spirit, and what can be achieved through hard work, unflagging optimism, self-control and common decency. It is a remarkable testimony to the strength and perseverance of the 1930s "back to the land" farmers, who refused to be licked by hard times, which is all the more touching for being produced as the suffering continued across North America and beyond. It's a type of Christian Socialism that was killed off by the Cold War, and one we likely won't ever see again. And it does us good to witness it.

In terms of its zeitgeist and sense of purpose, Our Daily Bread is one of the top 10 pictures of the 1930s, in my books, and is not to be missed. Enjoy!

Imma Barf Now

Memorial Day - to me, one of the most significant weekends in my life, since my son was conceived on or about Memorial Day weekend in 2007 (sorry for TMI, but I feel it's a powerful anniversary to keep in mind).

BUT - the little gems around the net about how Americans should feel this day keenly this year for the sake of all those HEROES OVER THERE FIGHTING AND DYING FOR *OUR FREEDOM* makes me throw up a little in my mouth.

Sorry to be political, but really? Freedom in North America depends on this war, does it? Honestly?

Since when did illegal actions fought over misinformation, grudges and the free access to pipelines constitute *OUR FREEDOM*?

Oh, right - our freedom to drive SUVs.

OK, carry on - enjoy the fact that another Iraqi baby was likely just melted to death by spent uranium in the time it took me to type this post, and have a great Memorial Day weekend.

sigh.

Martin Luther King Day

Disgusting

I was googling for advice and pointers on producing an ideal dissertation conclusion chapter - what points I should make, the ideal length, policies on introducing new matter in the conclusion, what writing style is best, etc.

What I found in the first few hits were, in fact, sites that SELL PEOPLE DISSERTATIONS. I am not talking about frosh buying 5 page papers on the meaning of Paradise Lost here, though that is bad enough - but sites that sell complete dissertations! WTF? And the point of getting a PhD would then be what?

Humans are a foul species. We are given brains and opposable thumbs, only to do this with them.

Ugh. Now I will be looking at every new PhD holder I meet with a jaundiced eye.

Disgusting.

To the Pink

*


There's an interesting "cultural history" of the colour pink in today's Globe and Mail, which, in part, investigates why we slather girls in pink from their first breath.

I personally abhor the practice, both as a female who had to endure pink gifts from relatives (not from my own blessed parents, who very early on understood my dislike for the colour), but also as a parent who cannot understand the heavy hand people use in gendering small children.

Pink, while actually a fairly pretty colour, represents so much more than a rosy hue - it is the crass market's way of categorizing future consumers.

However, it should not be assumed that boys are void of such things; while I have nothing against blue, personally, some aggressively-"masculine" clothing items for boys go far too far. For example, camouflage on an infant, being that it represents the governmental use of violence, inspires revulsion in me.

(Children should not be raised as mini-soldierbots in the making; I live in constant hope that the days of "dolce et decorum est" will end.)

When will people come around to the idea that a baby knows what/who it is as it grows, no matter what colours are on its back? Why continue this socially acceptable mimicry of Crips Vs Bloods through the gender gang warfare between blue and pink?

And, as a side note, when on earth did the Valtrex Queen Paris Hilton become a "role model" for little girls? The mind (and the stomach) reels.

B is for Brat

Ashley Todd does seemingly have some serious issues. I admit being pretty wrapped up in the election drama, myself, but this is absolutely stunning. For those few folks who never heard, Todd is the McCain-Palin volunteer who mutilated herself and claimed a male 6'4" black Obama supporter did it - later to also add she was sexually assaulted, to add more fuel to the fire and to play on the very worst of America's racial fears. (OMG - elect a black president, and the white women gonna get raped!!!) This is one of the most disgusting events of this campaign, even over-shadowing the repugnant lynched Obama ghost in Ohio.

The thing that really gets me - more, even, then how quick some people were to believe something that stunk of lies even from the beginning - is that as many people will likely not hear the retraction as clearly as they heard the accusation. (Let's not forget the flip side, either, as every false rape/abuse story muddies the water for the next real victim.) Since this tale keys into the very nastiest of stereotypes, I fear that the attack story will stick more readily than the confession of one sick, white college girl who clearly wanted to live up to her hero McCain's torture legacy.

Well, Ms Todd, what if some trigger happy NRA supporter, some angry white male who decides he must save white women from the black bogeyman, were to assassinate Obama? How exactly would that serve the democratic process? What would that do to the country? Would it then become less of a summer camp game than it is to you now? 

Racial hatred in some people reaches the level of psychosis. Lies like this have permanent and horrific consequences. The lie will out live the truth, largely because the Obama campaign would never, ever use this for publicity the same way that the GOP would. (Not necessarily McCain himself, but his underlings who revel in the dirty work.) In the end, if Obama wins, there will be many a Good Ol' Boy talking about the rapist they got in the White House, thanks to this tawdry tale.

Don't play with matches. They burn.

Finally, a Reason to Like Canada's Border Gaurds

For those of who haven't heard, the Westboro (so-called) Baptist Church from Kansas is planning to disrupt the funeral of that young fellow killed on a Greyhound in Manitoba. They say the killing was an act of G-d that he deserved for being a "rebellious carny", and that Canada earned for our "rebellion" against G-d by being a "gay friendly" nation.

The government has alerted the border not to let these people in. Normally, I would say this just adds fuel to the fire of Americans who like to see Canada as a socialist tyranny. However, in balance to the idea of this kid's parents having to attend their son's funeral with screaming idiots outside explaining how he deserved it, I am all for the strong arm of the border lending their protection here.

This guy was a carny, yes, and perhaps he wasn't a saint. In fact, I am pretty perturbed by people tossing the label "hero" out on him - this is a term that has been practically destroyed by the Oprah crowd's desecration of it. He was neither a saint, nor a hero. He was a person. One who didn't deserve to be butchered in his sleep. Let's not forget that last part.

Whatever or whoever you worship, you can stick it up your ass when it's someone else's son being buried.

This is a horrible thing all around, and while I can't say I am uninterested in the story (especially when it comes to more news about the killer and what he was thinking/going through to make this situation arise), I do think it is time for people to move on. It was all the media coverage and rubber-necking that caused the victim to become a lightening rod for these freaks.

Let's let them mourn in peace, shall we?

Please, leave them alone.

An Exerpt from a Transcript

From an interview with a South African white man:

I remember hearing a conversation between two men, two white men – one of them told the other, he said, “Do you know what? I was driving down the road today, and the car in front of me drove over a black woman, knocked her down. And I wanted to know what it was like to kill a kaffren, his words, so I looked behind me and I kept going, and I drove over her, as well.” This drew raucous laughter from his friend.

Jesus.

The Politics of Baby Blogging

And I am now back from holiday, yet again. And now the Jewish holy season is done. It was ok this year, but so strange since I opted not to fast for the baby's sake. That's the first time I passed a Yom Kippur without fasting in years.

I have been keeping a blog as a daily record of our baby's development - my meals and exercise and appointments, and such. It's a good tool for me to keep track of things and to keep myself mindful of the baby's needs and stages.

I have also taken to putting a little picture of a fetus at roughly the same level of development as our own on the sidebar, as a way to "watch" the baby grow.

But I have been bugged by something - I can't find any pictures of non-white babies in the womb. What the hell? Are they trying to say that all babies start out white and go on from there? Or do people not think to post fetal pictures of black children? Or, maybe, anti-abortion sites (from whence I get most of my fetal pictures) don't think black children tug at the heart strings as much as "innocent little white babies".

Jeeze. The majority rules, even in reproduction, I guess. It's really annoying and really quite scary.

I Want to Be a Housewife

Getting ready to slog to campus for official business type crap, I suddenly felt depressed, as if I had been chasing after something my whole life that really didn't matter in the greater scheme of things. Perhaps this is just a passing hormone cloud, but I don't really think so. I have suddenly realized there is more to life than degrees and a tenure track position. Sometimes I think we trade our souls for the ephemeral illusion of success, when, really, I don't know that we have to go so bloody far.

You know, I think girls today are being ripped off. In school, we are all basically indoctrinated with this idea that you must go to school and get some sort of career, or else you are setting back the Women's Movement or something - as if staying at home and having kids is somehow equivalent to repealing the universal suffrage laws. This is unfair. Women's rights should be about increasing women's choices, not limiting them. I do feel a bit screwed over. These days, I am starting to think I could have survived quite happily as a housewife - given enough books around, a good husband, and some time for volunteer work, of course. I don't see how the rat race is that much of a better way to live.

You've come a long way, baby - only to find the secret to life isn't in a salary, afterall.

SiCKO

I saw Michael Moore's new documentary, SiCKO (2007), yesterday, and I had the distinct advantage of watching it with an American. In case you haven't heard, SiCKO tells the tale of Americans who worked hard to pay for their health insurance, only to be screwed over and rendered bankrupt by HMOs who are far more concerned with profit then with health. It is a simple documentary, but provoking. For me, it led to feelings of pity and astonishment at such a system; for my American companion, it inspired anger and frustration. In the end, it triggered a lot of discussion, and I can think of no better recommendation for a documentary. It might not be the most rewarding two hours you've ever spent in your entire life, but if it gives you some conversation, it's done its job.

For those of you familiar with Moore's past work, such as the excellent Roger and Me (1989), the amusing Bowling for Columbine (2002), and the more flashy Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004), you should be warned that this film is a lot less entertaining in the Moore style than his past films. There are no amusing graphics, and very little humour breaks the gloom. However, therein lies a special power for this simple, more classical documentary. SiCKO is a serious, often sad, story, and Moore does not try to distract from the people (real humans) he covers, including survivors as well as employees of the HMOs themselves.

In addition, he makes the very welcome move of making himself a lot less visible in this story. Unlike Roger and Me (which was about his hometown of Flint, Michigan), this is not his story, aside from the fact that he is American, and he acknowledges that. This film is about the people who have lost loved ones (or their own lives) to the greed of their so-called care providers.

This is not the story of Michael Moore riling execs. This is filmed evidence of a corrupt and abusive system, and it is, surprisingly (considering America is soon heading to the polls), not nearly as partisan as one would fear. Democrats (even a particularly high-profiled ex-First Lady) and Republicans together get roasted in their turn - while, in Canada, he gets the Conservative opinion on health care, and even that is a shining example of what Canada has right and what America has desperately and heartbreakingly wrong. Health is not a partisan issue. It is an issue all members of a nation should agree on. Keeping children healthy should not be a matter of dollars, because, in the end, we all stand to benefit from the potential of the next generation. This potential is exactly what the American system cripples through its cruel disregard.

Further, this is not a film I would recommend to merely stroke the collective ego of Canadians. Indeed, several other nations show off better (such as the UK, which covers anyone within its borders without question, and France, which completely covers postpartum home care). Rather, this is a film Canadians should watch to understand where we could be should we allow our precious health care system to slide; what we stand to lose. We have something good in Canada.

I liked SiCKO, if you can say "like" about such a painful story, and I highly recommend this film - not for the entertainment value, but for the pity, anger and passion it inspires.

A Very Cool Thing

Something for you to peruse while I am gone:

Sustainable Building Design and Construction 2007 - Home

Citizen of the World

Chaplin believed that borders were the bars that held even the law abiding in their prisons. Certainly, these aren't prisons in which you get a tiny cell. They, are, instead, the prison into which you are delivered as an accident of birth. You get the illusion of freedom, since your cage is so big, but there is no freedom. You will persistently be held into place and monitored by the nationalist paper-pushers who run their petty kingdoms - and in this kingdom, you are a but a serf. Try to leave your land, and you will be thrown into a stronger cage. Your invisible leash will be yanked. Then you start to realize just how illusory freedom actually is. But, by then, it is too late.

I hate the fact that that border controls so much of my fate. I hate that invisible line so much. It frustrates and taunts me over such a meaningless designation. Because of the omnipresence of the paper noose, no one is free - it is all just an illusion. Chaplin, who knew better than any one the tyranny of borders, was right; passports and visas are the greatest forms of government control over people, even those who commit no crime. If they wish you to stay when you wish to go, there is nothing you can do. You are a mere rat in their trap.

You, me, everyone - we are all powerless against the arbitrary and imaginary forces who have declared themselves rulers over us and control our movements. Sure, you are free - as long as you live where they want you to and do what they say. Well, nuts to that.

I will obey their laws, because I have to, but I do wish they would stop playing this false "freedom" game and just admit that we are all cattle who move according to their fences.

As an idealistic child, I was something of a nationalist - well, as much of a one as a Canadian can be. I still support emotional and cultural loyalty, and affection, towards one's homeland, if it deserves it. However, that kind of personal-level patriotism will occur naturally, no matter where one is. But the artificial construction of these bully-states with their phallocentric obsession with entrance and exits, penetration and being penetrated, cannot hold my loyalty as long as it interferes with my ability to lead my life in a just and considerate way.

Einstein write that patriotism was a primitive and infantile sickness that must someday bleed away, and I wish that were so. But, as the world gets more and more paranoid, the more primitive and infantile it gets, so change is unlikely to occur any time soon. Until then,I declare myself a citizen of the world, though it will not be recognized because it issues no passport and doesn't come complete with a nice, shiny ID card.

And I will continue to look out of the tiny window of my cell and wonder what life would have been like if my birth had just taken place a bit to the south... Or in a time in the future when Einstein's vision had come to fruition.

The OTHER Earth Day

Remember (the Second) Earth Day! (Because I didn't until just now...)

Guess they meant it so much, they decided on a second one!

Hard Times in Russia

Today, though I hate to commemorate such a thing here, is Adolf Hitler's birthday. Once a major festival for the Nazis, the Fuehrerstag was basically Good Friday, Easter, Christmas and Fourth of July all wrapped up into one. A day (a week, really) to worship the leader and re-dedicate themselves to the National Socialist madness. Volksdeutsch came from all over the Reich to Berlin to celebrate the birth of their savior.

Thankfully, those days are gone, and Berlin no longer is streamed with the red and black of the hacked and butchered cross of the Nazis. Yet, even decades after the fall of the Party and Hitler's ultimate betrayal of his people, his birthday is rising again -- this time in a disillusioned and impoverished Russia.

Russia, once a powerful force in stopping Hitler, has now fallen into the clutches of a surge in neo-fascist violence. Apparently forgetting what their nation suffered at the hands of the Nazis, young Russians have been flocking to National Socialism, and this week is now marked by hate crimes and vandalism, almost as a matter of course, as gangs of so-called "hooligans" take their anger to the streets, seemingly without official limitations.

And what have Russian authorities done to keep citizens safe during this week of angst? They have officially requested that all foreigners and minorities (including Russia's beleaguered and dwindling Jewish population, as well as exchange students and Russian-born Roma) just stay indoors for the weekend. Just stock-pile groceries, don't leave your homes, and wait it out. Some campuses have even gone so far as to lock students in their rooms to prevent them from being harmed should they dare leave the safety of their designated doors and windows.

What the hell is wrong with that picture?

So, go out today. All of us who are lucky enough not to be in Russia, go outside. Glory in being whatever and whoever you are, and get some air. But do think about those poor souls who won't be so lucky for the next few days.

And know that such a thing ultimately imprisons us all.

Do You Give a Click for the World's Problems?

Help Feed The Hungry @ The Hunger Site

There are multiple sites here. Don't care about the hungry? There are also literacy clicks, endangered animal clicks, and other charitable clicks. Why not do the raft while you're there?

Does anyone know anything about this? It seems kind of distasteful in an odd way -- corporations seem to HAVE the money to help, but they demand you click for it before they'll give it out. Man, just cut out the middle men, eh?

In any case, there's no sign up, so go ahead and give a click.

Here Today, Gone Tomorrow?

Having my breakfast, I was scanning the new headlines. A new cat species as been found in Borneo. Isn't this amazing? Just when we think the world has been denuded of its mystery, we are reminded that not only do we not own nature, we don't even know all its secrets.

However, now we find that, due to massive deforestation in Borneo, before we even recognized this lovely creature it was already endangered.

Will we even get a chance to know this fellow better?

For video of the new big cat, go to Reuters, here.