The Joys of Bureaucracy

This is a still relevant re-post.

The Ontario government has started a pilot project of installing new smart meters that tell you how much electricity you use for activities such as laundering clothes, showering, and lighting so that you can reduce your electricity usage and therefore save yourself money. Their established targets are to have 800, 000 smart meters installed by December 31, 2007, and to have all residents using them by December 31, 2010. This plan also serves the purpose of bailing the Ontario government out because they have not planned out our increasing electricity needs enough. To their credit, they have stuck to certain goals of shutting down coal-burning generators, but they have not sufficiently planned to replace the lost megawatts. Investing more heavily in nuclear is an idea that has been bandied about, but really, who wants radioactive waste that takes tens of thousands of years to become harmless in their backyards?

To count myself among the fans of wind-generators (pun intended) is an honour, but there are naysayers who say they are eyesores. How can such a clean energy source delivered by such elegant structures be so maligned? The lines of a contemporary windmill are understated, and they are rounded rather than squared; as such, they contrast beautifully with the sharp corners of the modern citiscape. In large urban areas, skyscrapers form natural wind tunnels that might be areas ripe for smaller windmills, attached to the sides of buildings. Engineers should grab their Cray supercomputers and do some feasibility studies and cost-benefit analysis. The aesthetic eyesore argument is more of a parody of the NIMBY perspective, rather than a legitimate expression of it. The nuclear waste NIMBY argument is far more persuasive.

There are those bleeding hearts who worry about the birds who fly into the blades of windmills and die. Thousands of birds a year already die by flying into skyscrapers. To deny the value of birds in and of themselves as life forms, their value to people to brighten the visual and sonic atmosphere, and their value as key links in the food chains or threads in food webs that compose ecosystems is foolish. But what is worse: a few hundred birds dying per year, or billions of birds, people, and other animals suffering from air pollution caused by coal or gas-burning generators?

The concept of smart meters - another ingredient in the recipe of living sustainably - is sound, yet they have only made this meters available to the people involved in the pilot project. Therefore, those of us who already understand the benefits, both personal and environmental, of such meters, cannot get them because of this bureaucratic procedure. If this is what they mean by snail's pace, I'm looking for a solar-powered shell.

posted by Trevor_Cunnington @ 9:58 AM 0 comments

Thought for the Day, Coming Soon to a T-Shirt near you

If you think the world is full of assholes, try to be 3-ply toilet paper.

Rules governing the Road to Success: Part 1

1. Always read the last page of a contract first. People who write contracts often put contractees in pressure situations to read the contract quickly. They put the stuff that you will like least at the end in the hopes that you will not finish reading the entire contract and sign it with partial knowledge.

2. Learn to deliver information that you know people won't like with a smile. It is more difficult to take issue with a smiling fool than a hesitant person who makes disclaimers like nurses before they "drop the needle"

3. Find novel ways to promote yourself. A couple strategies I have found novel: putting stickers on $2 coins, putting cardboard flyers in the leaves of hedges in park settings.

Canada: why do you ignore me so?

Well, I received another rejection letter. This time it was Oolichan books rejecting my collection of villanellies, saying that it was "creative and well-executed, but not suitable for our roster." This sounds like most of the rejections that presses hand out. Not one editorial comment. I know that they have many submissions to wade through, but if they cannot martial the voluntary resources of literature-lovers to create time for the editorial board to make substantive responses to writers' submissions, then it's on them that writers like me are not getting published and overhyped writers like Atwood, Ondaatje, Martel are monopolizing the literary market. This is not to say that these writers are not worthy of their success, but it is to say that there is lots of raw talent not being published because of various forms of nepotism.

I get hits from all over the world on my blog: Finland, China, Japan, Korea, Spain, England, Slovenia, Germany. I think I have more readers in China than in Canada.

I am a gold mine waiting to happen. What publisher is going to get the privilege of publishing my first book?

Kyoto: took yo' toy!

The Canadian Government recently released a study of the costs of following through with Canada’s plan to accomodate the Kyoto Protocol. It said that such an act would cause the economy to shrink by 4.2 percent, equal to the recession in the early eighties. Well, this is ridiculous. First of all, the long-term costs of NOT accomodating the Protocol are greater than the inverse because much of Vancouver will be underwater within a few decades if we don’t implement the Protocol. Second, the study did not take the economic growth aspects of rallying around the Kyoto Protocol. My brother-in-law, who works at a fibreglass plant said recently that Fibrelaminations, a company I also used to work for, is starting to quote prices on wind-generator blades.

His company, should the Kyoto Protocol be followed to the letter, stands to gain from a business point of view because the taxes proposed to limit greenhouse emissions will increase the interest in greener forms of energy production such as the wind. Harper, an Albertan, and his government are looking to protect the economic growth promised by the oil sands. Ironically, it was Conservative Brian Mulroney who privatized Petro-Canada, which was previously a Crown corporation. Had Petro-Canada not been privatized, the government of Canada would be able to cut taxes even more than Stephen Harper has done.

Furthermore, the cost of greenhouse emissions on the health care system, largely unknown and unstudied, could undo any economic benefits that failing to live up to the Kyoto Protocol might bring.

Mass Murder and the Modern Age

There's lots of renewed interest in Hitchcock lately, perhaps the best filmmaker to never win an Oscar. You have Disturbia, a scarcely veiled remake of the master's Rear Window; you have Fracture which uses Hitchcock as a touchpoint in its marketing strategy (it is a suspense/thriller "in the tradition of Hitchcock"); and you have Vacancy a new "motel horror," a genre crowned by Psycho. I was thinking of doing work on Hitchcock for my PhD dissertation, but I'm reconsidering; he does have a whole academic industry picking him to pieces. Does this industry really need another gadfly growing up from maggot status in the master's corpse, oops, I mean corpus!

On the other hand, there are those people who were in the Hitchcock discussion group that I exiled myself from. Their analysis seemed so wishy-washy that it instilled me with a will to show them how it's really done. The discussion group was more like a cult; say a word against the moderator or his acolytes, and consider yourself hen-pecked. No thanks. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I want to pursue Hitchcock because he is eminently worthy of a creative and thorough eye and ear, such as mine are. Too many film scholars are epigones of epigones. I could complain, or I could make my own contribution; I think I would prefer to choose the latter.

A Humbling Experience

I submitted a partial manuscript to the legendary Coach House Press yesterday. It is a confusing place. I've passed it a few times, and I seemed to remember there being a door that opened onto bp nichol lane. Well, was I ever wrong. I walked around to the back, and at first found nothing but a tree and a door that didn't look much like a front door to a press. I returned to bp nichol lane, and saw someone working the presses through the window. I motioned to him, and he opened what was kind of like a door, but not really. I asked him about who made the decisions about which manuscripts get published. He didn't know, and he told me to go up front to find out.

No one was in "the front." There was a typeset office, and a crowded little compartment housing books and a computer that could have been an office had anyone occupied it. There was a narrow stairway leading upstairs, but I wasn't sure whether there was anything up there besides a bathroom. I looked around a bit, picked up a business card, and frantically tried to remember what the building looked like from the outside. Was there an extensive second floor? Finally I bit the bullet and ascended the stairs. I was stopped near the top by a fresh, earnest-faced woman named Alannah. I asked her about the protocols for submitting manuscripts, and suddenly I felt like a teenager again, approaching someone I'm crushing on. It wasn't her so much as Coach House Press itself. Their legacy is a little intimidating, I have to admit. I mean, bp nichol, Christian Bok, Darren Werschler-Henry, and Steve McCaffrey. Yikes!

Thankfully, Allanah cut to the chase and asked for the manuscript. I felt a little sheepish because I had only put my snail mail address on my cover letter, and they prefer to reply via email. But that's one of the advantages of going in person: you can compensate for such deficiencies by simply writing your email address on the cover letter.

When I think about it, I have manuscripts more appropriate for CHP than the one I handed over, but it's the project that has the most momentum for me right now. Yes, it's the collaboration with terminus' own Cecile Carriere.

You should check out Coach House's Websites, because they publish great books.
http://www.chbooks.com/

Portable Brains

One thing I've noticed since I've returned from Korea, is the difference between the favorite doo-dads and gadgets here and there. You walk onto a subway in Korea, and 9 and a half out of 10 people are playing with their cellphones. You are basically a freak if you don't have a cellphone in Korea. They start early too! My seven year old students already had cellphones and were savvy with them. In public, they aren't necessarily talking to anyone or pretending to (like people here do); they play games, listen to music, watch tv, or send text messages on or with their phones. The rate of their text input is astonishing!


Here, cellphones are popular, but not ubiquitous like they are in Korea. Here, MP3 players are the gizmo of choice. I've been noticing that almost everyone who rides the rocket in Toronto has an MP3 player. I wonder how many are listening to music, and how many are listening to E-books. I gave an E-book a try once, but I didn't get into it. I like the book-object; I like turning pages. I wonder what this says about our respective cultures...?

GIMME, GIMME, GIMME!

Please click on the google ads at the top of this page. Thanks!

Paris meets Toronto

I am currently working on a book project with an artist in Paris named Cecile Carriere (sorry Cecile, I know how to do accents in Word, but not in the blog editor). I am writing poems that interpret or narrate her drawings. Her drawings are amazing; they call to mind the etchings of Goya or the drawings of Edvard Munch and/or Otto Dix. Although the grotesque appears frequently as thematic in her work, I don't think she is as bogged down by the despair or the madness communicated through some of these artists' work. Here is the poem I wrote for the drawing displayed to the left. To see more of her drawings, you can view her online gallery at

http://www.terminus1525.ca/studio/view/3967

Lecture

Some listen; some write; some wear the stripes of a vacant braille, an unrecognized memory; some pucker their lips to taste the words they spoke only moments before the spokes of the mind wheel found their simian wrench. When the book opens, the forearm becomes a birdperch, and words fly off the fingers like harpy eagles, looking for heavy prey. We wear language like a veil, a cloven braille that gallops through our manacled eyes. The hand can hold but matter while the ears can catch the wisdom that flies from the distance and lands on our wrinkled consciousness, parietal.

My Science Project

I did this a few months ago, but I forgot to tell you all about it. I grew a bunch of Urea crystals in a cup. I actually tried to grow them on a piece of paper with a Christmas Tree on it to make them look like snowflakes, but they just grew like wildfire on the cup. Urea, if you don't know, is an ingredient of pee.

You might say EWWWWWWWWWWWW, but wait and consider. What makes pee gross? I would argue that it is the smell that makes pee gross. What is it in pee that makes it smell? It is the ammonia. Urea is just a salt. It doesn't smell. Therefore, urea itself is not yucky.

LOVE LIFE, THIS PAIRING LIFE

I hold this promissary note
next to my heart, and the moment
I stopped expressing my love for you
a string of cursed pearls rolled
around my neck and
throttled.

I forgot your name.
I try to forgive myself, but to give
you have to have.

I have nothing but this empty shell
that used to sound
like the sea.

The cursed moment lies on
it's belly and stretches muscles
beyond their limits.

Please come back and let my love
live, bring into fruition
the mad shattering bliss
that leaves no me left.

Names fall like leaves,
blow into the tunnel of my mind,
echo there for a time, then leave.

Why did your name depart,
so dearly I clung to it, and found
rose blooms rather than brambles?

I look at the promissary note.
It is not in my language.
How do I know it promises
my love?

I will love you with the seeds
of my love for the unspeakable,
and if the cherry tree dies,

I apologize.

Come what brambles may,
hold on.

Hold on.

You are the only thing
worth considering right now.

The South Korean Travel Agent Consortium.

Publish
Travel Agent: To reserve a flight for March 7th, you need to pay three days beforehand.
Me: I can't I get paid on the 5th, and the earliest I can come to your office in Seoul is on the 6th.
Travel Agent: Fax me a statement that you will pay us, and send us a photocopy or photograph your credit card.
Me: OK. (I faxed them the statement and credit card photos, and heard nothing back, so I thought everything was full steam ahead)

I emailed them on March 3 or 4 and asked for directions to their office so I could come pay them. They emailed me back saying they had cancelled my reservation.
I called them on March 5 to protest. They offered to make another reservation for a much more expensive price. I complained vigorously that they were being totally unprofessional. No where in their written communication with me did they reiterate the 3-day rule. I'm human; I don't remember every thing every one tells me. They never contacted me after I said when I could pay them via fax, saying that it wouldn't work out because of the "3-day rule." Then, when they offer me a new reservation, they say I can pay 2 days before! I was getting the feeling Iwas being screwed, so I just refused to deal with them anymore after asking to speak to their supervisor, and she responded that she was the supervisor.

I call another travel agency and make a reservation for a better price. They give me directions to their agency. They told me it was in the Korean Exchange Bank Building in Itaewon, where I wrote this blog from. There are four travel agencies in the building, none of which I have ever contacted before! Unfortunately, I had written their phone number down wrong, and I couldn't call them in time to pay for this reservation. Yet another one cancelled. The next day I called them, and they said they were in a different area. They said I must have been confused. I asked them if they recorded their phone conversations, because if they did, then they would know that an agent I spoke to from their agency gave me directions to the wrong place!!!!! She promised to help me if I called back in half an hour. When I did, she said I must have spoken to the other travel agency (I don't think I did). Why would the other travel agency give me directions to a third travel agency I'd never contacted?!!! She said I must have been confused. I WAS. I'm sick of being lied to by travel agents!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, I ended up getting a reservation for 3 days later than I originally wanted to leave, and I had to pay $250 more than originally planned. At least I got some good pics from the plane!

Kim Jong-Il: Lovable Troll?

Kim Jong-Il recently endeavored to make his successor a collective leadership rather than the hereditary passing on of the reins of North Korea.

Japan has recently launched a 4th spy satellite to keep an eye on North Korea.

North Korea has agreed to suspend its operations to develop nuclear arms, and South Korea has undertook to offer them aid.

South Korea is due to take over wartime operations control of its armed forces by March 15, 2012. Since the 1950's this control was under the United States Armed Forces' jurisdiction.

Documentaries have reported the stringent restrictions on interactions with foreigners in North Korea: that it is actually illegal to speak with foreigners. Such documentaries show hordes of people in the subway of Pyongyang passing the camera without looking up. How is this different from any other city in the world though? They then show people scrounging around in a field and comment on the widespread starvation in the country to spread the image of communism as impoverished. Yet these shots might just be of people gardening. Apparently, North Korea has a specially trained "elect few" who communicate with the outside world. If outsiders are only allowed to speak to the "elect few" who only speak in propaganda (of course), how does the rest of the world know about the quality of life for the average North Korean? It is also illegal in certain states in America to have oral sex, and in South Korea it is illegal to have an affair. Laws and their enforcement do not occupy a map with a scale of 1:1. How genuine is this portrayal of the country as a hermetically sealed dictatorship?

Is Korean unification on the horizon? Despite the suspicion with which the North is regarded, reports and surveys have revealed the general level of happiness in that country as higher than that in America. And while the cult of personality might mandate the idolization of Kim Jong Il, I have no doubt that many, many Koreans genuinely love and admire him. Can the Americans say the same of George Bush? I've never met an American who loved George Bush. This certainly does not mean they are not out there. But what does the difference between how these two leaders are regarded by their people say about the world? Perhaps hatred is cool. Perhaps loving your leaders is unfashionable. Perhaps the hegemony the United States wields derives its power more from hatred than Christian love. Many critics of Kim Jong Il say little of his actual actions and dwell more on his "troll"-like appearance. Who cares about what people do anymore, as long as they look cool, powerful, and strong doing it, right? HMMMMMMMMM!

Testing, Testing 1,2

Time sits still
Waits




For rhythm

to set in, cut off, tables
shrinking in measurements minuscule
motes flurry like seconds in
sitting composure on plates, ready
to be eaten.
The wait staff jostle each other and laugh.
This room where
while meets forever, or until wines and dines
during, this
restaurant where
the busboy’s name is then.
No rush orders here, where
the hunter parts reeds
to shoot ducks,
but hits deer instead. Venison in vein,
gristle, and marrow.
Tomorrow need not fear that it
never knows; sorrow; it has yesterday’s
20/20 foresight.
Time sits still
Waits




For rhythm

to set in, cut off, tables shrinking in measurements minuscule motes flurry like seconds in sitting composure on plates, ready to be eaten. The wait staff jostle each other and laugh. This room where while meets forever, or until wines and dines during, this restaurant where the busboy’s name is then. No rush orders here, where the hunter parts reeds to shoot ducks, but hits deer instead. Venison in vein, gristle, and marrow. Tomorrow need not fear that it never knows; it has yesterday’s 20/20 foresight.

There are four main erections.

My kindergarten students are memorizing a short speech for their graduation ceremony. I'm having them all be numbers and explain what things characteristically come in that number. For example, the kid who is "being" number four says "My name is four. There are four wheels on a car. There are four walls in a room. There are four main directions." Well, I'll be damned if today he didn't say "There are four main erections." I had to stop myself from laughing.

I've got my I's on you.

This photograph was inspired by one of my students. I gave them a recent assignment to draw their favourite room of the house, and he drew the "eyebathroom." This drawing, while poorly executed, was conceptually bold. He drew a bathtub full of eyeballs, eyeballs coming out of the faucet in the sink, and eyes around the toilet seat. While I could draw lots of Freudian innuendoes out of this, I think it's just surreally funny. Sure, he might have reverse primal scene anxieties, and he could be stuck in the anal stage of development. Or he could be the reincarnation of Victor Brauner. Or he could be a kid with a overactive imagination and a sense of the dramatic and shocking.

I love kids...

Revenge of the flatulence.

I have a student in one of my classes who always makes fun of the other students or me when any of us fart. She seems to have radar-reinforced olfactory nerves or something, because she knows who farts when. I myself can never tell who it is when it's not me. Well, today she let loose a couple stinkers of the silent, but violent variety in the classroom. The poor girl was mortified. She buried her head in her arms on top of her desk, and she actually started crying. GEEZ. No one made fun of her though... except one other student who commented on the ordeal to me in a whisper and a giggle.

On another issue entirely, I heard Bush ordered another 21 000 some odd troops for the war in Iraq. That's old news already, but the video games that simulate war in the middle east the military designed and then deployed into the public to recruit people who might have got an inkling that real war might be like a video game, seem to be working. There's still enough people that either think that the war is justified or that war would just be cool to participate in to keep the war going. I'm reminded of newsreels of Iraq War #1 with Bush Sr where the public witnessed the reverse effect of a real war becoming like a video game, pixellated in our living rooms as smart bombs that err as much as the humans that make them blew up military targets (and some civilian ones they neglected to show).

When are they going to make smart fart bombs? I know. That's course and callous of me to make a joke like that, but in a world where torture is justified by invoking paranoia about national security, sometimes laughter is therapeutic.

A Conservative Jewish Organization accepts homosexuality.

I was chatting to a friend online today, and he told me that the Conservative Jews accepted gay relationships as an alternate life choice. The reform Jewish movement accepted gay relationships years ago. He also told me that Canada voted down the recent proposal to revoke the legalization of gay marriages. I think that this move was good both from a human rights perspective and from an economic perspective.

There are only a handful of countries where gay marriage is legal. Such countries I would expect to attract gay immigrants. I would also expect that many of these gay immigrants would have a higher average standard of living than their heterosexual counterparts. Rich people often wield the privilege of deviating from behavioral norms (such as not marrying) because they can do so while being considered "eccentric." Poor people who deviate from behavioural norms are usually just considered "crazy." None of this is based on fact; they are merely my perceptions.

Attracting a group of people who might be variously excluded from legitimate institutions (such as marriage) in their home countries who enjoy a higher than average income (again, this is a vague suspicion unsupported by evidence) level increases their buying power and stimulates the economy in general.

Just some idle speculation...
Is idleness the mother of invention (oh yeah, it's necessity), or is it really the father of evil?

Happy New Year.

I figured I would do my Happy Holidays here in a New Years post. To start the new year right, I thought I would give some free promotion to a very worth website, dedicated to addressing the problem of hunger. Really, the worthwhile things in life would never come about if we spent all our time worrying about where our next meal was coming from. For all those Da Vinci's, Einsteins, Jordans, Gilroys, Duchamps, Rushdies who will never see the light of day because they struggle to meet the bare necessities of life: food, clothing, and shelter, this post goes out to you.

Please click on this link to make money for the hungry. If you don't know how it works, there's more information on the site. For every click they get, they make an amount of money which goes towards feeding the hungry. If you think this is a scam, feel free to look it up on Snopes.

www.thehungersite.com

This is my friend Jae-Yung. I went to visit him in Jinju on the weekend, and he took me to see Jinju Castle. Apparently during one of the many Japanese incursions into the Korean Peninsula, a woman martyred herself by dancing for one of the Japanese generals, and then embracing him with interlocking rings on all her fingers. Once she had trapped him, she jumped off the cliff into the Nam river and killed both of them. Jinju castle was a resort for Korean generals and the aristocracy. There they enjoyed feasts and entertainment. The second picture is a picture of Jinju castle after the sun went down. After going to the castle and shopping, he took me out for baked eel, the specialty food in Jinju. I even tried eel bile, mixed with soju, the sweet potato liquor that is so popular here. It's supposed to be very good for your health. The eel was delicious, but I was a little indifferent to the bile.

If you're reading this, Jae-yung: thank you for a wonderful time. You are always welcome at my house.

The Ran-domicile

Well, this photo is a little off-season. It was taken in September. I decided it would be a good idea to go to the DMZ, the border between North and South Korea on my upcoming vacation. Should be eye-opening like Le Chien Andalou.

The Kyoto Protocol

I had to walklimb a mountain
to right this poem. here in beautiful
hangook, smog settles in valleys
where the suicidal species congregates
and lives in high-rises and billboards;
so here I am, trying to find some clean
air, a piece of mind
above
the love/hate relationship I harbour
for my own caucasian male ego. The people
here speak to me and I can understand
little of what they say. Their faces
say more -- kind and generous, have what I have.
Busan stretches its limbs below, encircling
its own heights that reach
for the sky
like a woman's breasts when she's on
her back, and there's nothing
sexual about that right now; I'm gay
for chrissake! For Christ's (and other's)
sakes I crossed the burden
of my being in a ferry named atomic.
For strictly exercising her lungs,
a woman cries out and magpies call back,
looking
for leftovers flung over the shoulder
of a kind and generous "have what I have"
face that quenched my thirst
with a persimmon.

What is it about heights that makes
people delight
in shouting, overlooking the harbour
where thousands board high-speed trains
with hand-bills and church congregations
sing suicidal hymns next
door to buddhist monks sneaking
into a tavern to quaff a drink, dripping
with the memory of incense.

Speak to me,
people hear!
of what they say I can understand
little.
And redundant,
recursive
limbs
stretch back behind the sky,
reaching for the atomic ferry.
Tinker bell,
a mountain named desire
maintained as a molehill,

echoing.

News, sewn with barbed wire...

Apparently, that sleep thing that I mentioned a few posts back was related more to a sickness (tonsilitis) than anything else. I had a bad fever, went to the hospital the next day, and my boss called me and urged me to go back to work because there are two illegals at the hagwan, who are missing that week due to the visit of some or other inspector. He told me to come back to work when I had an IV stuck in my arm. Between that and the "Stop playing games" and "make it more fun, the kids are getting bored" I don't know what's what.

I felt like crap again today: nausea all day, although it got better towards the end of the day. Plus the students of one class were lying through their teeth about an assignment that was due today and none of them did it. "Teacher, you didn't tell us it was due today." I told every single one of them at least three times: more likely five. Ok, if you're going to lie, at least make it plausible. Scratch that! At least make it interesting. Then, to try to make me feel like a "filthy foreigner" They touched my hair with a kleenex and spent two minutes making grossed out faces and doing their best not to touch it. Do I ever feel appreciated!

Thank goodness even crappy days come to an end.

WTF?!

I found this sign semiotically confusing, considering potheads have a reputation for poor hygiene and Metrosexuals have hyperactively good hygiene. Also, what does pot have to do with Ireland besides the colour green?

Hello Whoever-you-are!

God bless your heart! I see you've been following my handiwork very well, and it feels good to know that someone is interested enough in the hard work I put into my blog and my music site (www.zebox.com/treevortex) to log onto both many times and loiter around for so long. I feel appreciated. Feel free to leave a comment, I don't bite! I will even respond in kind. Yes, I'm talking to you, inktomisearch person! You there, in Sunnyvale, California. This blog's for you!

And to my other loyal readers in the Toronto area: don't feel left out! I will dedicate one to you soon...

Here's a poem

The newspapers are all adrip with transparent ink
ghost words, remedy for the bored mind to rail against
bottled up, the pressure of a jobless space in the day planner
looks like a neck when you draw it on paper, cross-hatched
eggs rolling down the nape of breakfast, ruminating,
like a car idling, time waiting in line, what happens when we blink?

Everywhere people say with their eyes watch out or don't blink
you might miss something, a get-rich quick ticket with fresh ink
security guards, on the graveyard shift, in front of screens ruminating
stone still with drooping eyelids, a vagrant outside pitched against
the marbled edifice, steel enveloped glass, people hatched
direct into the hurry, a restless current, the vision of a city planner.

In a park, tuxedoed men rock on heels, relief sighs escape a wedding planner
rings pop out of boxes, held aloft for a crowd to see, minerals blink
and flash in sunlight, hands shake, arms clasp across backs, hatched
from stone-age burials, plant pigments, the smell of octopus ink.
Jet through the streams, downloadable desires set against
burgundy blades, trundled over flesh, eyes in the mirror ruminating.

Instinct still polished and stainless steel smooth, feet ruminating
the get up and go that got up and went, rending the event planner,
tragedies personal but outed, in the end sung, but to swim against
the tide, you need a diet of basso profundo, no ovation, just a blink
stage fright, flights from predators, camouflage covers the ink
on a newspapers' fine print that never made it to print, hatched

like a virus from its entanglement with the strands that hatched
its fight against the life that gave it life, walls are ruminating,
wailing with sewn together lips, criss-crossed with tattoo ink
hands tied with umbilical cords, no one is a birth planner
down to final details, with details so final, no cries are heard, no blink
is seen, face pressed against glass, against the bed, just against.

It all pushes back, doesn't it? If it was as simple as for or against.
An ostrich sticks its neck out, no sand in sight, even though it just hatched.
If I could learn from these words, it might make quiet sense when I blink.
Head perched on an end of the world railing, thoughts themselves ruminating,
my mind has a mind of its own, its ownership is a planner.
Can we make the needed leap, no faith involved, from pixel to ink?

So when you ask what I'm doing next Tuesday, I'll say ruminating.
If payday comes my way, I'll become a vacation planner.
Eyes closed while walking, I forgot to look in your face and blink.
Storm tossed branches, settled
tabletop splintered and angled,
the home seems less a home than an
eviscerated body.

The Terrorism of Circumstance

My other favourite work at the Busan Bienniale was this weather balloon kept afloat by a fan blowing air upwards. It had a radio signal that broadcast through about twenty speakers arranged in a circle around the room. The radio signal was picked up on an amplifier through some feedback mechanism that varied the sound it made as the balloon moved around in the room and changed its distance from the amplifier. The sounds produced were very trancy: reminiscent of a cross between tibetan chanting and cicada song.

Unfortunately, as I was watching and listening, the balloon and its attached radio collided with the fan cage. The sound became very tinny, high-pitched, and loud, and then faded away totally. One of the bienniale staff soon appeared and looked at me, and I just shrugged my shoulders like I didn't know what caused the mishap (which was true). I guess I was lucky. They could have construed that I somehow screwed with the installation. Whew!

Busan Bienniale

I finally made it to the Busan Bienniale a couple weekends ago. It leaned fairly heavily towards video and installation art. I have this minor grudge against video art, as so much of it totally disregards the way people receive art in a gallery. Let's face it, even if you're a top-notch artist, it will be difficult to make someone stay in the same place in a gallery for very long. I think video artists should keep this in mind, and compose accordingly so people can get the "gist" of your video from any 2 or so minute fragment. Mind you, this only applies to video art displayed at large exhibitions like bienniales.

Regardless, there was a couple good video installations. This was one of them. On the one side, an outside corner that made the projection surface look like a glowing cube, various deserted architecturally inflected images dissolved in and out. As you walked around the cube, however, the inside corner on the other side revealed that it was not a cube at all, but merely two fairly flat surfaces intersecting on a perpindicular plane.

The inside plane depicted an avalanche in slow motion, engulfing everything in its path, including a road, miniturized by the scale of the mountains and the avalanche, and eventually engulfing the whole screen. The way this piece conveyed the awesome natural power (that can be both beautiful and destructive) as the architecturality of the box was absolutely brilliant. The domestic sublime, you might call it.

My other favourite work was a sound installation which I will explain more in a subsequent blog.

Things are getting tense here...

Or not... One morning, when I woke up, I heard an air raid siren. Then, as I was walking to school, I heard fighter jets. But the Koreans will blast fireworks and party for the scantest reason, including the current Chrysanthemum Festival. Even though the South has quickly followed the North into 1000 km missile range capability, they still have time to celebrate flowers. Thank goodness for smelling the roses, er, I mean, Chrysanthemums!

Is your Sex Sexy Enough?

If not, maybe you need one of these! I went to this motel in Busan, and there was this thing that looked like an exercise machine, but it turned out to be a Sex Machine. Where's a James Brown CD when you need it?

ISP tracking RULES...

I found out that someone from Tokyo, who works for Japan's largest internet service provider read my blog for fifteen hours! I guess they read the whole damn thing!

American Spies.

Maybe I've been watching too many Hitchcock movies, but I get the uneasy feeling that there are American Spies aplenty here in South Korea. I think I ran into one of them last weekend. The evil is palpable.

Marnie.

So I watched Marnie last week. It launched into my "best five" ever movies rather quickly, although when I revisit it in my memory it might be hampered by its weak link: Sean Connery's accent slipping in and out of his Scottish brogue. No one can match Hitchcock for the psychological depth of his characters (except for Bergman in his film Persona). He also has the distinction of making a propaganda film that depicts the villain as still human (Lifeboat). Not a common characteristic of propaganda films, it is yet ultimately more convincing to show the humanity of the enemy. It's also preventative medicine against the very worst atrocities, or do our animal instincts drive out the reasoning beast within, regardless?

Mail Art

My sister is an artist, and we are collaborating on a mail art project. Here's a photo of my fragments-in-process. I'm excited.

Surf's Up!

There are surfers in Korea! Here is one of them cutting a nice line at Haeundae Beach in Pusan. Coming from Canada, I'm pleasantly surprised by the warmth here. Back home it is 6 degrees Celsius, but here it is still above 20 degrees Celsius every day.

North Korea blew up a nuke!

So if bombs are ever dropped, I hope I'm at ground zero and instantly vapourized rather than being caught in a fallout zone. That said, kids rule and above is a concrete example of why they rule.

The Down-low lowdown on Ginseng

I finally decided to do something proactive about my health, so I invested in some Ginseng products. My choice of product perhaps is questionable, but we shall see. I bought some Korean Red Ginseng Wine (pictured above), and I have been indulging every day (not to the point of drunkenness, mind you). Despite the rash of Ginseng products available everywhere these days, overuse of ginseng can be hard on your heart. Medicine can be poison and vice versa like a certain french philosopher and others have noticed. Ginseng is supposed to be a good tonic when you are ill. I think my sinuses warranted a shot, and so far I have noticed a slight improvement. When I bought the wine, they threw a huge bag of ginseng candies my way as well. That happens a lot here: buy something get something free.

Thank goodness for the man-shaped root.

Are there cameras in money?

I get paid in cash! WTF???? This still blows me away. The Koreans love their cash money.

The Art of Rolling.

People roll many things: pizza dough, joints, meditation balls, dice, California, but I just learned how to roll one of my favourite Korean foods. All hail Kimbop! I am on my way to a volcanic island in the sea of Japan, and on the bus to the city that runs the ferry service which I will use to get to the island, I met this really nice Korean fellow Jae-yung. He put me up for the night and taught me how to make Kimbop!

I'm stoked.

When I first tried to make Kimbop, I tried sealing it with rice syrup, but he told me all you need is water! I guess the K.I.S.S. axiom (keep it simple stupid) was applicable. Of course, I failed miserably with the rice syrup, but now I know!

Subterranean Homesick Blues

I'm having the first bout of homesickness I've ever had despite all my travels. It seems as soon as I'm feeling physically better, the next day I feel crappy again. I think the pollution here is really bothering me and the air was especially bad (or so it seemed) yesterday and today. I want to feel healthy again.

I didn't even really have a longstanding home in Canada, but I miss my partner a lot. This run-down stuff is making me more irritable too.

I've heard that months 3-6 are the most difficult when teaching abroad. I have been here a little more than 4 months and much of the novelty has worn off I guess.
The picture above encapsulates my heightened awareness of time these days.

Traffic

Traffic here is crazy. I've almost been hit three times, and one time, I was shaken up so bad I had to lean up against a phone booth and catch my breath. No one stays on their side of the streets, almost everyone cuts corners, and traffic lights are not very visible and seem more like a guideline than the law.

As a country that has almost entirely reconstructed itself since the Korean War, Korea is a development success story. It does however have its share of growing pains. One such pain is the traffic! A culture that has only had the car as a commonly accessible commodity for three or four decades sure has been among the things that has taught me the value of human life, and its frailty beside these speeding behemoths.

My ex-professor and friend (or so I'd like to think lol) Dionne Brand recently won the Toronto Book Award for her novel What We All Long For. I must confess I haven't read it yet; I am more familiar with her poetry. I read her book of poems "Inventory" before I came to Korea and it was incredibly inspiring. It was one of the only pieces of art that motivated me to create myself in recent memory. Congratulations to Dionne and go buy her books! She's really, really good!

Miscelleria of Modernity (on your knees biotch)

Well, what do you know? After I write a blog about a magazine that doesn't pay me after I published in their rag, I get the freakin cheque and free copy sent within two freakin' days. I'm stunned. Obviously the new staff is PR savvy!

My neighbour keeps bringing me delicious Thai food cooked by his wife. I think he's trying to butter me up for something: a grand plan to blackmail our boss or something like that. I don't want anything to do with it really, but I secretly hope the gods wreak vengeance on behalf of my beleagured coworker (long story that involves some compromising info).

My lover wants to take a Tantric workshop and a dominate/surrender workshop. I think he wants to spice up our sex life or something. It's really a sweet gesture because I think he's thinking of me. I like to dominate people. Don't tell, please.

In case you're wondering, the photo below is of hundreds of baby jellyfish.

Hanging out at the coy pond, feeling coy.

One of the biggest corporations in South Korea is Dae woo: you've probably heard of them. They've got their thumbs in many pies: cars, stereos, even department stores. I found out recently General Motors owns a stake in the company. It's mind-boggling how a few people basically own the whole world, and let little peons like me make a liveable wage, while many others make a hardly liveable wage and endure incredibly shitty working conditions.

Forget about a big fish in a small pond: I'm a microscopic plankton. Love me.

George Bush IS intelligent.

Look. He's got the whole world talking about him, thinking about him. Maybe most of it is negative, but you know what they say: there's no such thing as bad press. The occasional ridiculous verbalism does not automatically make someone stupid. Think about it. I say stupid shit all the time and I was the most sought after student in my Master's degree cohort. The only difference is that I don't have zillions of cameras on me at all times to catch my "Bush-isms."

No. I simply don't believe it's possible to ascend to the top of the most economically and militarily powerful country on the planet (though I don't think they are any more) without at least having the intelligence to recognize intelligence and surround yourself with it.

That said... intelligence is a neutral quality; it does not automatically translate into moral "rightness." George Bush is a bad, bad man.

The Mighty Cicada

This is a picture of the loudest insect on earth: the cicada. Cicadas live as larvae under the ground for over a decade, then they come out, they sing their song, lay eggs or fertilize eggs, and then die. I think of them as magic creatures, prehistoric, wise, and powerful. How else can such a small thing make such a big noise but magic. Yes it's physics, but the best magic is always based on the material nature of the world.

I bring cicadas up because one of my students brought in two of the largest cicadas I've ever seen to class today. Everyone except him and me freaked out. The cicadas stayed speechless, stunned by their erstwhile captivity. If aliens tried to contact intelligent life on earth during august, all they would hear was a relentless metallic buzz, drowning out the traffic and the conversations below.

Small Face, Lovely Breast

This ad was one I saw on the Busan subway. It advertizes a small face, but lovely breast. I think it is for plastic surgery, which is fairly popular here. The most popular form of plastic surgery is the replacement of the hymen!!!! (or so I'm told). I wonder what's wrong with big faces? Maybe the Korean sense of beauty strays more towards finer features. I personally like big round faces...

I'm not exactly skinny, but I'm not nearly fat by North American standards, and I had one of the young students write me a letter, asking me why I was so fat. I laughed. Finally, the gender divide seemed erased as far as the expectation of female thinness goes. It made my day! I gave another group of students an assignment to draw and describe their best friend, and one of the girls described her best friend as fat!

This was not her being mean or anything (I don't think so at least). The Koreans just have a different sense of honesty about these things...

Lost in Translation

For a native English speaker, there are many signs in Korea that cause one to pause and maybe have a private giggle. I took a photo of this sign on the ferry to Ulleung-do, an island in the strait between Korea and Japan. My friends and I thought it was a very funny translation. You often see T-shirts that have laugh-inducing English slogans on them. One memorable one I saw today was "Fuckin Design T-Shirt Store."

Since I spent too much money in Seoul (it is quite a bit more expensive than Masan, as you would expect) the weekend before, I decided to take it easy last weekend. On Sunday I hiked halfway up Mt. Mahakasan to find the café I discovered the last time I hiked. I intended to get a beer to sip while I finished “The Plot Against America” by Philip Roth (excellent book, incidentally). I sat down and started to read, but no one came over to take my order. I noticed that there was people only at the one table, and they were laughing and carrying on. Looked like they were having a good time. After about half an hour of reading and taking photos, the aforementioned people waved me over.

The only woman of the group vacated, and from what I understood, she was the patroness of the café. Next thing I know, I’m being offered moccoli (rice wine), plum wine, and kimchi (pickled cabbage) with tofu. One of the group was due to travel to Canada himself, to Vancouver. He was also a chiropractor. As I had begun seeing a chiropractor in Canada before I left, I tried to let him know that I would be interested in seeing him as a patient.

This was the first time that I got frustrated by the language barrier. No matter how hard each party tried to understand the other, I could not get his business card or phone card. He kept asking for mine, and weird as it might seem, I still don’t know my number because the school takes care of all my bills and subtracts it from my salary. About an hour later, I ambled down the lower portion of the mountain, slightly tipsy.

World Cup Fever

A few nights ago I went to see the Korea vs. Togo World Cup game; It was being broadcast in most public locations: sports bars, billboard screens, the local stadium, and on a huge screen in a large construction site. My friends Tim and Amy accompanied me, and by this enormous department store downtown we met a few Korean friends. One of them, Yung-tek, is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met in my life. He greeted us with gift bags, having bought us each a red “Fighting Korea” T-shirt. I went to put it on over the T-shirt I was already wearing, but Yung-tek insisted that I take off my current T-shirt to put it on. I obliged, and he and his friends proceeded to laugh at my prodigious chest hair. I blushed!

We bought snacks and beer in the department store, a sprawling multi-floor deal that is like Walmart in its “you can buy anything here” approach to retail. Next, we headed over to the construction site, part of a swath of swarming humans, all decked out in red shirts, armbands, headbands, face paint, and glowing devil’s horns. I couldn’t believe my eyes. They had erected a temporary pavilion complete with spotlights, huge balloons, a stage for entertainers, and television cameras. There was maybe a thousand people there, all cheering, chanting, and waving inflatable rods, that, when struck together, make a shallow snare drum sound. When combined, the resulting percussion is considerable.

In between entertainment acts, I somehow became separated from my friends. I looked for them briefly, and then felt that this was a futile activity, so I sat down to enjoy the proceedings. I watched most of the first half from this location, occasionally looking for my friends. Just before the game started, I heard a string of Korean announcements, and I could have sworn that I heard my name and something about Canada. I did not believe my ears though, and so I missed the obvious: my friends had secured a public announcement to try to reconnect with me. At the break, Togo was up 1-0, and I headed to the rear because many people were making their way out of the construction site. There was a bottleneck, so I thought I would have a good chance of finding them there.

I had forgotten my money on my bed, and I didn‘t know the way home, so I would have had to find a bank before I caught a cab. All of a sudden, through the loudspeaker I can hear my friend Tim’s voice say in English “Trevor, if you can hear me, meet Tim at the camera between the two towers.” I was thrilled; as I was hungry and thirsty and they had all the snacks I could alleviate my bodily discomfort and enjoy the rest of the game with good company. Korea scored two goals in the second half, and every time they scored, they fired off fireworks and people got up out of their seats, hollered, hugged each other, and slapped each other high fives. We went out for drinks after Korea won 2-0 to the jubilation of the people.

I was thinking the other night, as I was falling asleep, about how living in another country forces you to think about the country you were raised in more carefully. In a way, you learn more about your national identity when you’re abroad than when you’re in your home country. Of course some people in these days of the globalization of culture have grown up without a mother/father country, moving frequently. As an urban Canadian, I have realized here that our multiculturalism is both unique and thorough.

While there are certainly bigots in Canada, the mainstream ethos, especially in cities like Vancouver and Toronto, is that the idea of a “foreigner” is itself foreign. There are very few people of European descent in Korea, especially in Masan where I am living. There is a section of Seoul that is primarily American, a leftover military village from the Korean War, but other than that, it is a little unusual to see a Caucasian. Whenever it happens, and your eyes meet, there is a curious, inquisitive moment where you are both wondering the reason for the other being there. Usually, among people of my generation, it is teaching English that brings them to Korea.

Don’t get me wrong: I don’t see the people here as intentionally trying to make me feel like a foreigner or an outsider. But they do treat you different. Overwhelmingly, it is usually different in a positive light. They come up to you and say hello, hoping to practise the little English they know; they put extra stuff in your shopping bag or give you a discount to try to give you a good impression of Korean culture, or perhaps because they try to imagine the difficulties of being a foreigner. Alternatively, they can guess why I am here, and because Korean culture places such a huge emphasis on education (it is not unusual for high school students to be up until midnight studying), I get treated with respect because I am a teacher, a sung-saeng-nimh, a term they also use for elders.

All this pampering has made me reflect on the lack of mutual respect I often felt back home. One effect of Canada’s intense multiculturalism might perhaps be an erosion of hospitality. Not that Canadians are inhospitable, but perhaps because the idea of a foreigner is foreign to many of us, we don’t feel the need to go to such great lengths to assuage the difficulties of being a foreigner. Just a thought to be considered more…

A Seoul-ful Trip (Part II)

The neighbourhood in Seoul that we went clubbing in was raucus. Cars and people packed the streets like sardines in a can. None of us had the can opener either… Jenna, Adrian’s friend, seemed to have a dead-set itinerary in mind; anytime I whimsically suggested something else (I think I only did that once anyway), it was if I hadn’t said anything. I didn’t mind at the time, overwhelmed as I was with the sights, smells, and sounds emanating from the restaurants and bars that lined the streets. I guess this crowd was sick of the place they usually went to and stayed at.

We went to a sheesha bar: a place where you buy a flavoured block of tobacco and smoke it through a hookah or water pipe. The place we went to was full, but the atmosphere I could tell was fantastic. The plan-B spot also had an amazing atmosphere: it had cushions with which you could lounge on the floor; a pond in the middle of the room with a burnished metal-fish scale effect on the bottom, rose petals, and candles floating on the surface of the water, and private booths on different levels separated off from the other rooms with a gauzy curtain.

While most things in Korea are cheaper than in Canada, the prices in this place were on par with a trendy spot in Toronto. I had an $8 margarita that tasted like straight tequila, and they brought us snacks. The aroma of incense was a little sedating, and I soon got restless, eagerly anticipating the bustle and excitement of another place. The next spot was a sports bar type thing where people were watching world cup action. We ordered more drinks and played euchre. I got my butt kicked!

Next we went to a bar called tinpan alley, where the beers were cheap, and the company consisted of more ex-pats than your typical Korean bar. I met Adrian’s boss here, and he shook my hand firmly said “I like you.” He’s probably one of those guys who evaluates other guys on the strength and co-ordination of their handshakes lol. Nevertheless, he was roguishly charming, and he ambled on in what I thought was a Scottish brogue, but he turned out to be Irish. Here, we played a drinking game called “Circle of Death.” It was incredibly fun: if you draw red, you have to take that number of gulps yourself, but if you draw black, you distribute the gulps to others. If you draw a king, you have to make up a category that everyone has to think of things that fit, and the first one who screws up or can’t think of one has to drink. Draw a Jack, and you have to think of something that you’ve never done before, and anyone who has done it has to drink. Our minds were humorously in the gutter for this one, and a couple times ventured into the realms of “too much information.”

We left this bar for a dance club where they were playing popular North American hip hop songs. Although it was very crowded, the dancing was animated, and much fun was had by all. Jenna could have qualified for “Girls gone wild” at some points of the evening. Adrian and I caught a cab home and unwound, rehashing some of the nights already fond memories. The verdict: Seoul is full of Soul.

A Seoul-ful Trip

I went to Seoul on the weekend, whimsical, sprawling Seoul. The scale of this city is mind-boggling. The only thing that compares to it in my experience is London (mind you, I’ve never been to New York City). The area around the bus terminal is kind of boring, so my first impression was a little dreary. The cloudy weather didn’t help. I arrived in the city at four in the morning, having slept what little I could on the bus from Masan. I romped around a little, taking a few night shots with the trusty digi-camera, then I found a bathhouse to clean up and take a little nap in.

I woke up at seven and proceeded to walk around for hours, as I was due to meet my friend after twelve, when she would finish teaching her students (yes, there’s school on Saturdays here at some schools). I wandered around in a daze, made it to the Han river, which is much wider than I ever expected. Many bridges span it, and in the distance, atop a small mountain was Seoul Tower, a structure roughly similar to Toronto’s own CN Tower, or Seattle’s Space Needle…I made a mental note to visit again in order to see the view from it; I’m sure it would be spectacular being on top of a mountain as it is and all…

Then I wandered back towards the bus depot, where I was meeting my friend Adrian. I passed it, and I found a sports field where people were playing soccer, tennis, basketball, and some weird, wobbly skateboard-type thing. Being a big basketball fan as I am, I sat down and watched the action for a while. When I finally met up with Adrian (I haven’t seen her in 8 months), she asked me whether I wanted to go to one of the magnificent palaces that Seoul houses. I said of course. But soon after we exited the subway (whose system is much more complex than Toronto’s), it started raining raccoons and wolves. We still decided to go through with the hour and a half tour, after which we ended up soaked on one shoulder each, as we were sharing an umbrella. We then went to Adrian’s apartment and relaxed a little before we met up with some of Adrian’s teaching friends for dinner at a Thai restaurant and proceeded to go clubbing. Now, I’m not the sort of person who goes to bars too much anymore, as I usually get bored because I prefer to have conversations where I don’t have to yell, and I appreciate the smoky atmosphere even less than when I was younger. But I figured that because I’m in Korea, now is the time for me to do things I normally wouldn’t, and go out on a limb; I went for the gusto!

But that’s all for now: I will finish the story tomorrow.

Should Palestine get its own state?

The history of Zionism is long and baroquely complex. This Judaic philosophy of nationhood and return to the ancient homeland was made possible partly by the cultural value placed upon celebrating agricultural feasts, calling for rain according to the seasons of ancient Israel even in Russia, and the importation of sacred vegetation from ancient Israel. When muslims took over the area, their tolerant attitudes towards other religions coexisting with them permitted the Jewish community in Palestine to revive. This revival suffered a drastic setback during the Holy Wars of the Crusades around 1000 AD, when all but about 1000 Jewish families survived the slaughter and subsequent exile. After Saladin regained control of the area on behalf of the Ottoman Empire, Turkish rulers occasionally invited members of the Jewish diaspora back to Palestine to settle. Because of ghettoization in many European cities, this prospect became very attractive, and once again the Jewish community experienced a time of revival.

These cultural memories, combined with the occasional emergence of would-be messiahs who called for a return to Israel, kept alive the idea of return. Indeed, if we think of a nation of people, as Zionism treats Jews, as a body, then we can think of the original exile as a trauma. As Freud, himself a Jew in the fraught atmosphere of Vienna during the rise of the Nazis, noted, behaviour is often outside of conscious control, shaped in part by the occurrence of trauma and its memory. In remembering trauma, we often become transfigured, made over as we were at the time the trauma happened. The return of Jews to their original homeland became in the popular imaginary of Jewry a kind of therapy: a guided return to the site of trauma in order to resolve the “issue” and heal the wounds of the collective psyche.

There were several precursors to the formal emergence of Zionism as a coherent ideology. In 1808 a group of Lithuanian Jews settled in Palestine and forged an agricultural community there. A rabbi named Zvi Hirsch Kalischer petitioned the wealthy Rothschild family to buy Palestine or at least the Temple of the Mount for the Jews in 1836. Another rabbi named Rabbi Solomon Hai AlkalaI believed and taught around this time that redemption was only possible through a return to the ancient homeland. Then, in 1896, Theodore Herzl formally founded the doctrine of Zionism: the idea that the Jews were a nation, a people, and that to enfranchise themselves politically and economically, they needed a state. The next year, there was a conference at Basle, and the focus of Zionists was to procure a state through diplomacy.

Britain favoured the idea, and negotiated with Herzl to build the Jewish State in various places such as Cyprus, Uganda and Palestine. All this diplomacy never amounted to much, but his practical program of encouraging Jews in the diaspora to immigrate to Palestine, especially in the face of of pogroms and other anti-semitic activities in Russia and Europe succeeded. Soon Zionist leaders, in the colonialist fashion of the period, started to discuss plantation plans that included Arab labour much like the plantation system in Algeria, a French colony. The oppression of Jews deflected onto another group: the Arabs.


It has been fashionable for the left to condemn Zionism because of the trouble in the Middle East, and because of its historical association with colonialism. But this does no justice to the breadth of Zionism as an ideology. Some Zionists, in fact, were socialists who envisioned a Jewish State as the only road to true political enfranchisement, and who also founded the kibbutz movement, heavily informed by utopian and socialist sentiments. On the other hand, there were (and are) Zionists who openly discussed the purposeful displacement of Arabs who had long been settled in the area. As it is, the Arabs still do not have a formal State in an area they have lived in for over a thousand years. This just repeats the historical wrong of the exile of the Jews… and the viscious cycle continues.

What makes a Genocide a Genocide?

I heard a man from Columbia University questioning the unanimous condemnation of the situation in Darfur as a bonafide genocide by US officials. The African Congress has been hesitant to come to the same conclusion because it recognizes the ideological motivations behind naming some events genocide and not others. Genocide becomes something "over there," perpetrated by "monsters."

He argues, however, that we hesitate to call the colonization of the Western Hemisphere genocide when we teach history, which was exactly what it was. First Nations populations were as high as almost 100 million when settlers first arrived (hardly an uninhabited continent at all), and dropped to as low as 6 million! Sure, many died from smallpox, but many were simply slaughtered. And the middle passage’s name itself is a euphemism.

Many slaves never survived the middle passage; some preferred to throw themselves overboard in the middle of the ocean than live in the filthy conditions imposed upon them. For that reason, they had nets around to ships, because the slave owners did not want their "property" to get damaged. And even some abolitionists were not pro-emancipation. They wanted to abolish the slave trade, but continue to harness the labour power of slaves through the rape of women already in slavery. These were people who founded our countries. It’s one thing to be proud of your heritage; it’s quite another to sweep all the bad things our ancestors did under the rug. That aside, we still need to find forgiveness in our hearts, or else the cycle of vengeance continues.

African-americans and first nations have inherited this legacy of genocide that still weighs on all humanity. In Canada this legacy finds expression in the contamination of water on reservations. Many of them have been on boil water advisories for years. Let's be honest and call it what it was. Although we might not like to admit it, not only are there monsters overseas, there are monsters in our governments, and there are probably monsters in our family trees.