Blindness

Poverty and violence walk hand in hand. Fear and social madness are one wall apart.  I recently watched the movie "Blindness", inspired by Jose Saramago's Ensayo sobre la ceguera... An interesting portrait of human condition under social and physical pressure. 

As our well-praised capitalist economy is crumbling and its evil daughter, the stock market, is plunging not only in the States but worldwide, some old communist must be celebrating... "it is the end of the empire as it's known", they may be saying... and perhaps, they aren't wrong. Things are changing and they ought to. It is time to revisit our view (and the needy-greedy rules) of the financial system, reconsider the vulnerability of the free markets and the wonders of a corporate world, not as safe and sound as once portrayed. Blinded by easy cash flow while exploiting non-renewable resources has led us to a crisis that Western governments are trying to bail-out. Would the expenditure of the hardly earned tax-payer money do the trick? I think our actions, as civil society, should go beyond this desperate measure... we have a chance to review the books and think this over. The market, as well as "the empire", are no longer safe... nor are we and our environment. Before this whole crisis unravels and the heart of recession awakens more violence, we should continue to listen to alternative voices that have been setting off the alarms of  "danger!" for quite some time now.  Sadly but true, the only "triggering passives" that seem to be affecting the political spectrum of this world are the purse string and our empty pockets... the rest is ignored green rhetoric. I'd hope that green means yet to ripen.   

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I saw a snake!

I did my afternoon of stair cleaning at the cottage. This time I did the front entrance (the wood steps). And then went down until I reached the storage room. What I basically do is rake, get rid of autumn leaves, get rid of grass and wild herbs. I was a bit tired, especially of the black flies. I had repellent on but it wasn’t enough.. they found my unprotected spots. It is the buzzing what “bugs” me the most.
I then trimmed my head’s hair a bit with the machine. Just the sides as I looked like a patriot. Swimming comes next but when I got down to the lake I thought I should go for a pedal boat ride. The lake was calmed like a pool. The rock looked inviting. So I pedaled with the sun on my back. The temperature went up to 26 today. I got to the rock. I tied the boat to a ripped orange rope that was hanging from a tree, jumped into the water and swam to the area where it is easier to access the diving part of the rock. I was all excited like a little kid who’s exploring a mystery island. I went up as much as I could barefoot and checked the boat, I was afraid the orange rope would not be strong enough to hold it… but it was there waiting for me. I then heard the grass move. I am used to the sound now because I hear chipmunks all day. It was a snake. Black and yellow, rather long, sticking its red tongue out. I found it amusing but a bit scary. I wasn’t sure if it was poisonous, it may not be, but I didn’t want to try… I jumped in the water right away. It felt great… and I wanted to try it again and again. I went on the rocked and walked up. I saw the snake rolling down again. A bit closer to the bottom of the rock. I would say it was close to a metre long and middle body rather thick. Thicker than the rope that tights the pedal boat. I didn’t feel like seeing it again so I jumped from a higher point this time. Swam a bit, got on the boat and swam back against the sun.
Lovely. Today I’ve seen a wood pecker, a beautiful blue jay and a snake . There was something in the water on the way back but I couldn’t see what it was because I had the sun in my eyes. It was on the surface for a while and the dived in and disappeared... Share

Summer shower

I hear this whispering sound of leaves being blown by the wind. But there is no wind. It is a sunny day, birds are singing, there is no sign of disturbance. And suddenly the rain. Out of nowhere. Full. Thick. Steady. Falling over the trees... refreshing… watering the flowers on the front deck. I sense there is a cloud over the house. Like in the movies… it only rains in that one area where the scene is happening. I am part of this bucolic scene. And I am imbued in it with its magic but protected under a roof. It pours freely. It stops, leaving a transparent mantle on every flat surface. And then the wind. It must’ve blown the grey cloud away. It will do its trick elsewhere. Share

Devon

My Devon is a growing gentleman. He's come a long way... he can reach altitudes now and jump and swim in this world that has challenged his path with tremendous obstacles. But he's managing thanks to his inner determination and his new family environment (where he's taken care of, understood, supported). We went swimming last weekend and crossed the pool a couple of times. He can dive into the deeper side and knows every life guard at the community centre. He proudly introduced me. Also gave me some of his drawings, a math text with excellent results and told me he had drawn his family and home including me. More than I could have ever expected. We met in August 2005 and have been "big brothers" since. I'd love to take him to Ottawa someday and do a few rode trips with him as he gets older. He reads and writes now so it is easier to communicate. When I told him I wanted to go for my doctorate degree, he said, he too wants to become a doctor. I pray for that day!

 

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The Joke...

... a very serious thing! His first novel.

Reading Kundera again is going back to my own origins as a writer. His pedantic knowledge and the singularity of his characters fascinate me. Love stories full of political sense and existentialism.  Happy to see commonalities with my latter story... a man who returns to his native city after years in some kind of exile... and an allegory of history... as a role player. I am lacking "the love element" in my tale... and I should be inspired by my own love story... that inner light that is shinning through my eyes. My book marker is a photo of S on that Thai boat that took us scuba diving around Phuket. When I look into those eyes I see a universe that knows no limits.

It's time to go to bed.

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It's over

"Happiness is finding another world to live in, a world where you can forget all this poverty and tyranny. Happiness is holding someone in your arms and knowing you hold the whole world" Orhan Pamuk 

1:38AM I just finished reading Snow with tears in my eyes.

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Naked Truth

Wreck Beach is a cult. It would be easier to sell Vancouver away to corporations, including the Olympic Games, and to all those international real estate investors than to close down this nudist paradise. It smells of pot, mushrooms and booze. Any kind of prejudice is gone when you put your underwear away. It’s got its own rhythm: the alpha males doing dirty work, the feminist carrying statements on their privates, the vendors with an infinite variety of products, the old, the homeless, the fat, and the kinder. Not everybody goes there to show off, but there’s a bit of chauvinism in those who pass by you jogging. It is impossible to feel intimidated though, when you are also part of the big zoo.

Just going up and down the well-maintained staircase is worth the effort. I loved it! That ocean breeze visiting untouched spots, the image of that Asian elder wearing a bathing suit (or should I say parachute) up to his diaphragm; the shaved ones, the tattooed, the shy ones, the curly woman who cuts hair or gives massages, the blond model holding her stilettos, the guy on a blackberry conference call, the couple flirting, the chubby girl that screams “finally free”. What a morning! Too bad I was burning… otherwise I would’ve stayed for the concert night. A huge pilgrimage of wreckbeachgoers was arriving as I left the borders of that ecosystem. And yes, tourists come to take pictures. As I hit the street, a group of six “un-tanned” Korean girls asked me in broken English where the wlek bitch was! Follow the crowds, I told them as I pointed my finger into the bushes… Share

Metastasis of Thoughts

The moon had given up on me. My tides became arrhythmic. My zodiac sign found me no longer predictable. I was abandoned to my own faith as if no god felt the need for my prayer. My sacrifices were in vane. Nightmares were black flies all over my orifices. Left alone to choose I went blank. It was easier when the future was foretold. I could effortlessly see when my action was a sin. I could beg forgiveness and plead a second chance. But the internal voices have vanished. Destiny is no longer the wind that blows my boat. A universe of possibilities is pouring rain of stars. I ought to decide. Swim to the bottom of my core. Hold my breath. Opt amongst that cosmos of potential actions. There’s no crime, there’s no judge. Everything is feasible. The door is open to this infinite garden where the sweet and the bitter, the poisonous and the sour grow. I am to sow, collect and feed my soul. At times I wish I was told what to do so I wouldn’t have to be the master of my emotions. But I’ve been freed and freedom is the scariest thought. A borderless outline is a blank canvas with no frame as boundary. I am to paint with my own colours. I am to draw the picture and pull it out of its cave. Share

Unwritten Poems

Poems marinate in hope.
The morning has been shining like a lost mirror in the grass. I sneeze intermittently and it feels endless. Dirty plates are sitting on the table from the night before. I blow my nose and wish the day had started earlier. I overslept. I am waiting for an unwritten poem to descend from heaven or ascend from hell into my brain. I haven’t written poems for a while. I was told I wasn’t good. But reading about Ka and how poems visited him, I remembered how they used to visit me when I was unaware:

I burn the edge of a thread of hair
It curls and smells
It sparkles and lights
It sounds like a drop of water
sprinkled in hot oil Share

Vancouver

Days in Vancouver smell of tangerine, herbs and sea breeze. Nights spread azalea and yeast aromas. I like the rainforest, the greenery it provokes and the sempiternity of Spring. The humidity it craves, the ecosystem it forces or sustains. The mountains that not only make the dull prairies abrupt but also retain the clouds that turn into rain and into life. It is the best temperature in the country and this atmosphere enlightens the lives of many who seem happier, fitter and more relaxed. In Vancouver you are greeted, talked to, acknowledged. The growing architecture is mixing with a blend of nationalities. There is a surprise waiting for you in any corner. It's got its flaws, of course... but as it isn't a pretentious place it may recognize them sooner than later. It's become expensive, a bit exclusive of its own but it's got all the potential I haven't seen in any other city in recent years.

Therefore, my days in Vancouver have been bright. I've gone through the hassles that brought me here. My first week has gone by. I feel relaxed, connected, fulfilled. I should end this night with an acrobatic orgy at Cirque du Soleil. Greta and David will join me. At a sunset on Kits' beach the other night, I thought that dusk looks even better when you return. We take for granted the seagull flight or the friendly smile until is gone. I will continue to worship this city until it proves me wrong. Share

I am a rat

I am a rat. A water rat. Deserted in the West and praised in the East. A rodent of sewers, a wise animal. When An Min gets on the car he tells me: You are 36, you must’ve been born in 72… you’re a rat. Yes, I confirm. Don’t know much about it… but I do know I am rat.. Sleazy and tactful… I can smell raw flesh miles far. You’re wise but stubborn, he says… and you’ll have money some day… focus… stay focus! Hard for me. My mind always goes in every direction. What else? I ask. Wear green, and blue… or beige… it’s safe. He goes on to talk about other elements of my sign. His accent needs concentration and I loose it at times. I go off to the wealth I would gain some day. A lot of fortune tellers have predicted it; I don’t quite see it yet. I see myself full of resources… I’ve done more than I ever thought possible, I’ve been to places far, far away… but… I often struggle to reach that state of balance… but, I’ve found love… and it is my source of inspiration.

My neck is sore. I stretch it throughout the drive while Min goes on. He’s a PHD student at Ottawa U: economy. He’s got a Masters in Physics and a bachelor in Math. He must be smart, he should be rich… he’s humble. An Min’s wife and three kids live in Toronto. An Min lives in Ottawa… he has for the past ten years. I don’t ask about his arrangements… it’s not my business. He tells me that his son, 16, is great in math. Vietnam is still a patriarchal society. The father owns the wife, his kids and his kids’ kids. When his father died, his mother became the head of the family so she owned Min until he got married. Then he freed himself and owns his family. He’s a great mathematician and must know a lot about economy, but is his wife who handles the money at home. It is tradition he says, we men don’t know how to deal with it. I give her money, she gives it back to me when I need it. He must’ve married when he was in his early forties. He’s 58 now… born in 1950… a rooster. He was imprisoned and learned how to work with wood. He escaped communism. First to Indonesia, soon after Malaysia and Singapore, then Canada. Here for 20 years. A Canadian citizen. Wow, I understood all that! His voice became familiar as the highway 416 brought me to the 401.

He’s brought two kinds of bread for me to choose: Red bean or coconut? I go for the latter… I must have palm tree sap running in my blood. He’s had a hot dog stand... he's seen it all. Veteran of the war, dislikes the Americans, does not hate them… but hopes they pay. They are paying for their sins in a way, I say. He’s a catholic, he knows about sins. Vietnam, a colony of France in times of Indochina. Threatened by China but never feared them. Destroyed by the Americans but holding the pride of having defeated them. Vietnam, a growing nation with fantastic Pho. An array of beliefs and religious syncretism. I believe in God but not in religion, he says… Nevertheless, he knows the Catholic church across from my building in Ottawa. It used to be Vietnamese, but they overgrew the temple… they sold it to the Koreans. I don’t like this Pope, he sighs… he’s too human… and he visited the enemy in Washington. How could he? After all the killings in Iraq… Benedict didn’t condemn it… he’s after power, not with the poor.

I posted an ad on Craig’s list looking for a travel partner. Min emailed me. I charged $40. He bargained; wanted to pay $25. I settled for $35… the price of gas is high. I used to fill iup my tank with $40, then $50, now almost $60. $50 takes me to Toronto. $35 was a good deal… though, when I dropped him off at the Eaton Centre in downtown TO I felt guilty. I should not charge you, I said. He smiled and left. He will email me again and invite me for a vegetarian dinner. I would bring the wine. Share

The Revolt

One fine day the people of Larsa got tired of enjoying the fruits of freedom and democracy. Not that they clearly knew what these two words meant but they did feel that there were discrepancies somewhere along the way between the written representation of the terms and the implications attached to them. In a figurative way, and since almost all their government speeches had become a sole metaphor, once the harvest had arrived and it was time to collect the produce, the crop was found bitter and rotten.

The day had come when nothing was as presented but made believed as such. “It is as obvious as when they tell us that the world is flat even though we know it is round”, said Eliades, “and we see it flat though it is clearly round”. The truth, which significance had changed over and over for the past decades, was purely a fabrication, like any other product of the financial ruling system that the State of Larsa had embraced for as far as anyone could remember. But wasn’t it okay to create and produce as there was not other way of surviving? Surviving wasn’t enough, they wanted to live… but fear inundated their glands and it was released through sweat and tears. No one had ever hesitated to question the operations of their society because, all of the answers had been provided and as they had well learned in school, “when wondering arrives then close your eyes and count to ten as you pray”.

“We need to start all over”, said one of the elders while meeting in a barn. No one replied. The elder himself did not know where to start as his life was almost reaching an end. And the rest, if they happened to contemplate any idea that would help them exit the crisis, they were afraid to express it as they were induced to control their thought. “It is clear”, said Eliades, “if a fake reality has become our daily routine, let’s make them believe we are not aware of it while we come up with a plan”. But the walls had ears and the news boiled the venom that ran through the tentacles of the medusa. The early stages of a nascent philosophy were one-day flowers.

“We are very concerned”, said the Leader of the Church to masses of parishioners, “a seed of division has fallen into the cracks of our hardly-built community and wild mold is growing amongst us, let’s pray, so our minds, receptacle of God’s grace, do not succumb to the contaminating threats of evil”. But no one prayed including the priest. Praying was no longer an act of meditation but a scenic representation of an imposed tradition. “We are aware”, said the Chancellour of State, live on television, “that subversive agitators have infiltrated the peace of our households. In a free society like ours, innocent families should not be disturbed by such nonsense. Dear citizens, exercise your rights, denounce those upsetting minorities and we will implacably enforce the law on them, peace and order will always reign amongst us as it was written in our ancient Constitution and exercised by our beloved patriarchs”.

The viewers stared at their TV sets as the official credits faded away on the screen. A sensation of emptiness invaded their bodies as if mites had eaten their organs from inside-out and they were suddenly hollow. Silence was the early stage of their unconscious revolution. Their consent had been inoculated in order to respond to certain stimuli, but a stronger virus had started to spread within their heads and no one, absolutely no one, was prepared to vaccinate it.

Nevertheless, it was not the hollow feeling what disturbed them, not even the recurrent lies presented as truths, or the uncovered wolf-like repression dressed in sheep-clothed laws what invaded their organisms as a pandemic illness. It was death itself what hit them in irrecoverable spots.

“Our pure society is not a perishable democracy”, had said the Foreign Affairs Minister to the Congress, “we have survived multiple attacks on our international settlements for centuries. It is not new. Year after year we have had to strengthen our military strategies to contra-rest the attacks of those enemies of freedom and individual liberties. We have eradicated terrorists and planted democracies were corrupted tyrannies attempted to erupt. We would do the impossible this time to protect our own people and we will set the record straight to enlighten a world which leans to obscurity and violence.

After a standing ovation all the parties voted unanimously to empower the Head of the State. The new inland security law, Operation Eagle’s Nest, brought troops out to the streets before dawn and military armory raised up on every corner as the dark sun of the day. “But this time executions began on our own territory”, said Eliades, “contrary to what must residents were accustomed to. In the past, thousands of heroic citizens had immolated themselves for unknown causes in foreign fields where unspeakable languages were muttered”. Official history recorded the great courage of young privates, the audacity of war veterans who had collected medals on their chests and roses on their graves and the altruism of sacrificial mothers who gave their children away to a just cause, cause that gave them in return a vase filled with ashes to be placed above the fire place. But it was no time for outer glories and history had to be rewritten. The battle moved freely along barren roads. The blood of the curious, the unsatisfied, the fearful, the poor, the disoriented, the insane, the bohemian, the utopian, the drunk, the brave, the night workers, the radical, the early risers, the old, the disadvantaged, the discrepant, the indifferent, the different and the undermined, Eliades included, painted the walls with the scarlet colour that was to coat a new waving flag. The massacre of the innocent inaugurated the first Remembrance Day of a future era.

“We were not blind”, said the elder in clandestine antagonism “we just didn’t want to see”. Share

Latest Readings

The Fifth Business by Robertson Davies (Canada). I liked the narration style and the development of characters (their transformation). The use of time, going into the past and moving into the present in a broad life span. I thought it would make a good movie due to the elements involved (an old rural town, religion, a circus and its magician, the study of saints, World War I, Toronto’s society of the 50’s and 60’s). I am planning to read What’s bread in the bone from the same author.
The Life of Pi by Yann Martel (Canada): The interesting epic of a young Indian castaway (Pi Patel). The narration is great and full of metaphors. The end lacked the enthusiasm of the whole story.
Divisadero by Michael Ondaatje (Canada): A beautiful narration set in California and France. Ondaatje creates this lively characters filled with life and emotions. The story is fantastic yet real and close to one’s heart. The only element I disliked was the description of card games like poker.
I am now reading Snow by Orhan Pamuk (Turkey). I like his slow pace in narration and the description of an environment that is not familiar to me but seems as so. Share

Love Tenses

- When I woke up in the middle of the night and felt the warm life of your body, I loved you.
- In the past tense?
- In the past perfect
- I love you in the present continuos.
- And I in the present perfect.
- I love you, my perfect present!
- I will always love you... Share

The brand next demonic

It is pouring rice grains. Transparent umbrellas intertwine. My days in Tokyo are fading away like yesterday’s anti-perspirant. He’s gone. A part of me departs when my life-partner goes. I’ll meet him at home where our mutual memories lie. I am wearing my Harley Davidson t-shirt. In Japan everything goes. I read foreign slogans that say nothing. Who cares? Why would they have to say something… anyway? : “The brand next demonic”, “The void ultimate suddenly”, “peace counter-insurgence sweet”…

No one enters this island if not approved. The only territory for imperial ordeals is Media. I see many Angelinas Shimizu and Hirokis Pitt; a flow of exotic hair dues and brand-name walkers. They add their twist, ne? La vie a la Japanese! The filter is the culture of the bullet train, of the bowing waiter, of the talking robots and those omnipresent vending machines. Order is emperor. Balance is shogun. Subtle changes, unstoppable trends. I’ve passed by those timid eyes that see beyond. I’ve prayed in shrines.

At 7:59, as printed on the voucher, the Hikari arrived. Not before, nor after. Past one minute we fly at 400 KPH on the Shinkansen. It is an attempt to visit Mount Fuji; an excuse to re-encounter Tsuchiya, Hiromi san. But Mount Fuji is wearing a coat of mist. No point in diving to its shores. We will have to come back. Hiromi and us settle for green tea, instead. The best leaf in Japan: Shizuoka’s.

We talk about slang, idioms and dialects. And as the afternoon irrupts I wish I would write forever. Shall my muses arrive before I head off? If this summer is propitious, and the triggering whispers of creativity find me at work, I should produce some arousing thoughts. Neon would light me as I stroll through the water fields of sanitized Tokyo. One can get lost in random alleys even when stationary. Moving one’s eyes to the rhythm of varied stilettos is enough. I learn that sake is any source of alcohol. Let’s toast. The scent of okonomiyaki, and that of cigarette smoke, has already attached to my soul. Share

The Spirit of the Needles

We discussed Margaret Atwood's Lady Oracle in a noodle restaurant across from the Shigenji Temple. I told her I was interested in writing her love story. The one from 22 years ago and the most recent one. Their first meeting and their re-encounter. Do you think I should write my own version? she asked. The salad arrived: fresh devil canes and fiddle heads from Sapporo. We should write it together, I said, I'll say what happened and you'll tell what would've happened if the ending wasn't sad. She paused for a second. I am not sure I want to expose myself.

I prayed to the spirit of the needles, I told her, so they help me weave stories from old seamstresses and tailors. A few minutes before walking into the restaurant we had visited the temple. She told me how there is a piece of tofu inside that people stick an old needle into. It's so the monks can pray for its spirit afterwards. I threw a five yen coin, the copper one with the perforation, into a ceremonial container to buy a prayer. I was glad to hear that needles had spirits. I saw my mom's thumb and index finger sewing an old sock. Every artist has to come to terms with their tools. Tools are animated in Japan, as is any object considered inanimate elsewhere. 

Grey noodles followed the salad. I got acquainted with the art of eating them as we toasted with cold sake. She was smiling. Her sore heart was being visited by an interim joy. Five ladies in their spring kimonos stood from their tables and lined up at the door. Their see-through vests were new for me. We followed their Geisha walk with admiration as we undid our own steps along Shimokitazawa. Wild flowers grew through the cracks of the asphalt like tiny miracles. I thought of my needles and how I needed to find some thread. Back at the station we embraced each other before we parted ways... in silence.

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Fear of chaos 2

In an egalitarian society where there is freedom of speech and thought, individuals would be able to make free choices (aside from justice, from government policies, from formal education, from religious indoctrination). In a democratic society, 50%+ of the population (called the majority) has "a say" to decide over the rest of the population (with limited fractions of participation: on staged elections, limited number of political parties, arranged referendums, etc). Freedom of speech and thought that go against the mainstream order and that become civil disobedience or take more violent forms have very little account in democratic societies. A free society of individuals, where each person could make decisions (above the law and established order) is closer to anarchism than to democracy. Anarchism is linked with chaos and that fear of "chaos" invites political elites, economic powers, educational institutions... to establish control measures over their populations.  The enforcement of the order can happen "peacefully" through institutional indoctrination, law enforcement and fear of punishment (by earthy or divine justice)... but can also be violent through the use of force, correction, imprisonment, torture, intimidation, harassment, etc. A perfect society seems to be the one that moves within the permitted boundaries of a system and where people believe that there is freedom of choice. "Chaotic" societies are less indoctrinated and have a social potential to rediscover new ways of socializing and governing. Even though capitalism, in principle, seems to be opposed to democracy, it uses the "free market trade" and the "equal opportunities for all" speech in order to spread its values. It is true that capitalism as well as democracy empower very small elites... but there are deep internal difference between a true democracy and true capitalism. Political and corporation elites seem to work hand to hand to support an economic system that does not seem to be challenged enough (despite the poverty rates on the planet).  But there is no true democracy nor true capitalism. We are closer to monarchic societies, tyrannies and dictatorships... more than ever... our limited participation in the say of our governments is almost nonexistent . Why is Canada still invading Afghanistan and the US killing/and being killed in Iraq? The elites made that choice "and they know better" (we, the people who elect them and who oppose these wars,"know very little" that's why we elect elites to represent us).  Share

the unspoken

He was the man of my dreams  even before I was dreaming of men. It was around the time we could still communicate with our eyes and understand each other without words. Sometimes our eyes understood more of what they were seeing than what our brains could really be conscious of. 

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La Ardilla

Alguien anonimo acaba de morir. El ciclo de una vida que se acaba... o que cambia de forma... y nosotros aqui, esperando nuestro turno.

Ayer camine al cine desde casa... a lo largo de la calle Bank hasta la calle Rideau donde esta el parlamento canadiense. Mi proposito: ver una pelicula colombiana llamada Bluff que presentaban en La Biblioteque et Archives du Canada. Una tarde soleada y un poco menos fria... ya casi se ponia el sol y al pasar por la Corte Suprema de Justicia se me ocurrio darle un vistazo al rio Ottawa (justo detras). Camine hasta alli en contra del viento. Un ocaso solitario y tranquilo. Me encontre con un pajaro y una ardilla. El pajaro emigro enseguiday y la ardilla ni se inmuto. Cortaba ramitas de un arbol para su nido (supongo). Cuando no le cabia una mas en la boca, salto de copa en copa y termino en un hoyuelo del arbol mas cercano a mi. Pense en la vida... para que estamos aqui? no encontre respuesta... simplemente estamos, pense... y tratamos de encontrarle sentido todo el tiempo... hasta que un dia nos sorprenda la muerte.

Alguien anonimo acaba de morir. El ciclo de una vida que se acaba... o que cambia de forma... y nosotros aqui, esperando nuestro turno.

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Meeting J

It had to happen...

I took the Queen's way up to Island Park and drove down to Wellington. I was 20 minutes early so I drove around the block as the butterflies augmented in my stomach. At 9:26 I parked the car on a plate of ice that has survived global warming, right across from the house.  Sushi spotted me first, I wasn't the post man at whom she barks loudly everyday but I did pick up the newspaper and delivered it in J's hands as I also gave them a box of cookies from the Wild Oat. We were both nervous we confessed to each other later on. It was expected, it was necessary, it was what it was. 

The house was spotless and natural white blooming lilies air-freshened the quiet environment. We sat at the kitchen while she made tea. What to say? We talked about the city, the weather, the snow, the rain, our families, the past.. an slowly moved into the present, our present, our shared part in the intersection of two different sets with common elements. Everything was deep but handled with sobriety, heart-felt in opposition to staged or preconceived. There are fears and unknowns and that's the magic of it. 

It had to happen, we had to meet, and it didn't hurt.

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Where is Dona?

It isn't what everybody is thinking about. It cannot be. It is too much expeculation... But that's what people like, they say, we don't know what to think. Ask Pedro, said the red-haired lady, and I walked towards this slim guy with the shades on... What do you think, Pedro? Don't know, he says, ask the masses, people know better... They are governed by fear, says the red-haired lady, they make up stories and forget about the origin of their lies... they end up believing their own creations and living by their myths... that's why we don't know what to believe anymore. Pedro walks away, he's wearing a blue tank top and bleeched green shorts, flip flops, he smokes. Pedro, I call him, don't leave yet... but he ignores me while he greets a group of elders playing poker in front of their home. The red-haired lady takes her reading glasses off and scrubs her eyes with index and thumb. I think she's crying over the news but I don't comment. It could be the dust. I feel abandoned in the midst of this burning place. Abandoned in the outskirts of hell. Dona, my translator has gone for coffee while I have ventured to speak to the locals in my broken dialect. Dona takes forever; I dehidrate. The steam of the unpaved road freezes the scene. The elders play in slow motion; the dogs don't bark. I am sure things aren't as bad as they say they are. They cannot be. It is too much expeculation. Share

COOLIE VERNER AWARD

With surprise and joy I have been communicated that UBC has granted me the CV award for my thesis proposal. This is an encouraging injection of energy that ads challenge and a bit of pressure to my project. I am excited! This is the note from UBC professor Shauna Butterwick:

Dear Antonio,
It gives me great pleasure to inform you that the Adult and Higher Education faculty in the Department of Educational Studies has determined that you are the recipient of the 2007-2008 Coolie Verner Research Prize which is accompanied with a $500 stipend. You should be receiving an announcement from the Financial Services and Awards office soon. This Prize honours the first Professor in the Department of Adult Education, Professor Coolie Verner, who was on faculty at UBC from 1961 to 1977. It is awarded annually to the student who best combines high academic standing and research potential. In the nomination materials, the timeliness and significance, as well as your creative methodological approach to your MA research were noted. We are excited about the topic--the ways in which the inukshuk and other Aboriginal symbols have been 'adopted' by the Vancouver 2010 Olympics, how visual and textual Aboriginal representations have been incorporated into the public education mandate of the Vancouver Games, and how this relates to the Aboriginal Participation Goals of the Vancouver Organizing Committee. We are also impressed with the use of visual research methods, such as content and semiotic analysis, as a way to examine material presented on the official Vancouver 2010 Olympic website and two related websites. It was also noted that you have presented a talk titled, "The Vancouver Olympics Emblem (Inukshuk): Opportunity or Opportunism?" at the Northern Communications Conference in Whitehorse, YT (March 4-5, 2008). This research will make a significant contribution to critical public pedagogy and community education. Your solid A and A+ academic standing was also considered. Your name will be added to the Coolie Verner Prize plaque situated in the entrance to Ponderosa G. Congratulations.

Dr. Shauna Butterwick, Associate Professor & Graduate Advisor
Department of Educational Studies, Room # 10, Ponderosa G building. University of British Columbia Share

On the arbitrariness of the relation between thoughts and the words to describe them

What I am about to write is not necessarily something I need to say… I just have it somewhere in my brain… and I want to let it go as it is stuck somewhere within. I would hope it flows as I start to write. I am not sure it would but why shouldn’t I try. Perhaps, as much as we don’t know the universe and many other “solar systems”, we also don’t know this microcosm inside of us… our brains have been picked-on and dissected but we do not understand the nature of thought and all those interconnections we make every fraction of second (many people have studied this but it isn't common knowledge). I want to understand something as arbitrary as language. I am writing right now in a foreign language. My mother tongue is arbitrary too. I know it better than I know English as a second language. I am writing in it.. but does it matter? I would never be able to decode thoughts purely and put them into paper. That is the drama of a writer… language and how we decode thoughts as if they floated in our minds and we were trying to fish them and then package them and send them into our nervous system for them to be processed in the area where the western alphabet has been engraved… right there the thought starts being carved, shaped, as we try to find the word that would define it according to the cultural paradigm that associated a meaning to that signifier… the signifier is the floating thought and the meaning is given by me according to the conventional word I find more appropriate to it… the one that seems to fit the mold of the thought, according to my limited knowledge of this foreign language. It is bizarre… how much of what I think cannot be translated into words? That’s the tragedy of the writer and the beauty of literature. Despite these limitations we insist on trying to grab those thoughts and express them on a written form. We also add style and literature imagery… that makes the thoughts flamboyant or practical… yet, we censor or transform those thoughts once again because we cast them as we want them to be represented. They exist, they say, in their natural form, and when we manage to apprehend them in our brains… and when we package them and transport them to the alphabet centre… then we apply norms of conduct, stereotypes of time, cultural elements, learned knowledge… we chose the form we are going to translate them into… they get transformed… shaped to fulfill a style, a public, an idea… the cannot come raw… like… straight from the garden to the table. They need to be processed, washed, cut, cleaned… their roughness is sharpened and their smell refined… like we do with most products. That’s a second tragedy… not only we are unable to grab thoughts in their natural form but we also dress them according to a determined idea (and please not that I don't want to get into the unconscious mind and Lacanian psychoanalysis). I, right now, am trying to avoid thinking too much and just letting go to see what happens. I still have to go back and erase, re-think... correct misspelled words… think about the option I am using and whether it expresses all I am meaning to convey… convey to whom? A possible reader… S? E? P? Someone who visits my blog… a philosopher who may think that my ideas are revolutionary… or not… boring… the “same shit someone else has thought about” before… perhaps thoughts can only exist because of language? Saussure would disagree with me… language is the subjective shape of objects… yes, like my theory of objective/subjective… the object exists out there and as we name it, it gets transformed. Words are not even as accurate as printers (and printers aren’t accurate at all)… printers decode an image from a source, let’s say a computer or a digital camera… and try to convey that image in a “realistic way”. Words try but would never do so… to start with… the image of an object is nameless but we have given it a name (Foucault would disagree with me… things had names and what Adam did was just ‘read them’)… … according to a language or a dialect… let’s say… an apple… hmmm… I am thinking of another object that I can express in a different language… all I can think of is this sticky rice cake filled with tuna and wrapped in seaweed… in Japanese it is named “onigiri” I don’t know how to spell it or what it means but when I think of “onigiri” I think of this rice cake… does the word “onigiri” describe it? Define it? I don’t know, perhaps it does… but as I do not speak Japanese I just refer to the codes I understand… rice cake… thus I limit the object to my limited knowledge… however, I am able to convey and idea and perhaps order “onigiri” in Japan… If I order it in Mexico… not many people would know what I am talking about… if they do at all.

I am sitting in a café, downtown Toronto… people pass by before my eyes, walking north or south… they seem to be in a hurry like most Torontonians… I wonder what their thoughts are… and how they decode them… they may be silent… but their thoughts take the shape of a sound that can also reverberate in their minds… even if they don’t speak their minds… they think they think what they think they are thinking… as they name their thoughts, they manage to agree with the idea of the sound or visual image of those thoughts… we are not talking “deep meaning”… they are not necessarily decoding those thoughts to understand additional loaded signification to them… they are just thinking and naming their thoughts… let’s say: “I am late, I better hurry up”.
This person has just looked at her watch and thinks… “shit, it is 3:55 and my meeting is at 3:45” She looked at a conventional way of telling time… a watch… and she knows how to read either digital numbers or analogical watches… she remembers that she had an appointment at a specific time and by the look of it… she’s late because ten minutes have gone by past that time… somebody (or a group of people) must be waiting for her. She assumes that… therefore… she tries to find a way to decode that thought… and she then translates it into the expression “I am late”. She’s not really taking the words apart to analyze each of them individually… or trying to identify the origin of the expression “being late”… from the Greek or the Latin adopted by the Anglo or the Saxon… “I” refers to “me” (in this case “her”, the first person singular”, “Am” is the conjugation of the verb “To be”, also in the first person… and “late” is the word that is used to express the opposite of being on time… “late” may have other meanings (“at night”, “at an older age”) or look/sound like other words (latte, lait, plate)… but in her context the word seems to translate what is happening to her. She doesn’t need to try to understand the grammatical quality of her choice, its ideological meaning of it (is she being subjugated by a system which exploits her, slaves her to the point that she’s being stressed and nervous?)… “she’s simply late”… and her degree of “lateness” could depend on many factors (how realistically she set up the appointment, how reliable public transit or traffic is, if she’s often late, if she was not paying attention to time, if she had a problem at home, etc)… it could also be that her watch is ahead of time… which may mean that she’s not actually late but she feels that way… it could also be that the person or group of people she’s supposed to meet are also “running late” consequently “it’s ok to be late”… Attached to the idea of being late, there is a code of conduct… “it is not polite to be late”, that may be motivating her thought… or her appointment is important hence it is not ok to be late… she’s not seeing a friend, it is someone who will offer her a job… etc… that could be the reason for her second translation of the thought “ I better hurry up”. She’s giving herself an order, and also connecting her first thought to an action that, despite the fact she won’t make it “on time”, she doesn’t want to be “too late” or try to ameliorate her “fault” by running a bit faster… it may show people at the other end some respect, or make her feel less guilty… or less nervous about the appointment… But… when she translates thoughts into words thus into actions, is she fully conscious of what she’s saying? Of how she got to speak that language that made her translate thoughts the way she does? Perhaps her language is also associated to the culture that tells her that “people should arrive on time, especially to appointments with third parties”… Did she use the right words? Could she have used alternative options “I am a bit late” ( the expression “a bit” would change the meaning of her statement a bit… as she gives it less importance)… she could’ve said “it’s late” (in that case it is not putting the pressure on herself… but on time itself. Time is running “too fast”)… she could’ve blamed the others… “I told them to set up the appointment for four”… or say… “Good, I don’t want to be the first one to arrive!” It is possible that she’s “ironically saying that she’s “on time” by saying the opposite. She could also have her own “code” where the word “late” has a meaning she herself has given to the word… so it doesn’t have a negative “connotation” but a “good meaning” for instance… “things are going well, I am late”. All this translations belong to different feelings and she could’ve grabbed any of them. The abovementioned expressions are not strictly related to the statement “I am late” but are “personal approaches” (feelings). Those would be different reactions to that specific “time” than to the linguistics of thoughts and words… If she wanted to translate her thoughts by using “synonyms”, she should’ve said “Voy tarde” (“going late” in Spanish), “I am behind schedule”, “I am delayed”, “I am not on time”… the use of these expressions could depend on “knowledge of vocabulary, of other language, on habits, laziness to employ “difficult” terms, etc”. Is there anything wrong with a “person approach” to language? Not at all… we all do it… but it becomes less conventional. Some couples may use their own codes of understanding and they add “coded or symbolic meaning” to certain expressions, sayings, objects… “it’s sunny” may mean “ I love you”… so if they use this expression between them, nobody else would understand it but them.

As Saussure said, the relation between thought thoughts (objects) and the names we give them is arbitrary… not only by the language used but by the person who chooses the words. My questions are… are thoughts richer out in the space where they float… or we make them richer as we acknowledge them and name them? Is the perfection of the language a way to enrich thoughts? Are there thoughts that cannot be translated into words… like certain feelings or dreams? Do words limit thoughts thus our main priority should be to perfection a language before we attempt to produce knowledge?
Thoughts and words to ponder on… I should talk about non-verbal communication some other time. Share

Inmigracion Desenfocada

Ayer me encontre este articulo en el periodico El Pais de Cali. Me parece que esta persona habla desde una realidad social muy diferente y su discurso me reulta facilista, elitista y racista. 

Vale la pena leerlo primero y despues hacer el comentario. 

Candilejas. Por: Alberto José Holguín 
Inmigración descontrolada 
Marzo 19 de 2008

La inmigración es buena cuando obedece a una política seria y los ejemplos son muchos. Uno es el de Estados Unidos, país que, gracias a los millones de inmigrantes que llegaron a hacer patria, se convirtió en el más importante del mundo. Otros son Australia y Canadá que, por su enorme tamaño, tienen una densidad muy baja, por lo que ofrecen grandes oportunidades a quienes van a residir en ellos. 

Pero la inmigración es mala cuando no se planifica, porque atenta contra el bienestar y la estabilidad de los residentes originales. Por eso, Europa, el continente más civilizado del mundo y con una alta densidad de habitantes, la está regulando cada día más, especialmente cuando se trata de inmigrantes que, se supone, van a aportar muy poco. 

En cuanto a Cali, un alto porcentaje de la inmigración fue funesta para la ciudad desde hace cerca de 50 años y el caso de los desplazados por la guerrilla agravó el problema últimamente. 

El cuento de la ‘Sucursal del Cielo’ en que corrían ríos de leche y miel y sobraban las oportunidades le hizo mucho mal, porque una enorme cantidad de gente de buena fe se vino para acá buscando el paraíso que les habían pintado. Y, a medida que la población creció a índices mayores que la generación de empleo, se oficializó la informalidad laboral, la inseguridad aumentó, surgieron los niños de los semáforos, que desafortunadamente tienen un futuro tan incierto, y las cosas se fueron complicando. 

Así nació Aguablanca, inicialmente un barrio de invasión que, ante la indiferencia de las autoridades municipales y debido a las falsas promesas de algunos políticos que para conseguir votos ofrecieron el oro y el moro, fue creciendo como un monstruo insaciable que lleva más de medio siglo acaparando un porcentaje desproporcionado y altísimo del presupuesto, tanto de Emcali como del Municipio. 

A través del tiempo se gestó otra ciudad dentro de Cali y hoy tenemos dos ciudades en una. La Cali original, con un millón de habitantes y muchos problemas, pero que en una u otra forma es manejable, y el Distrito de Aguablanca, con otro millón, que es el prototipo de la informalidad, el desorden, el desmanejo, el desempleo, la inseguridad y el aportar poco y exigirlo todo. 

¿Cómo sería Cali sin Aguablanca? Una ciudad sin ínfulas de ser la segunda de Colombia en habitantes, índice que ya nada significa, más amable y segura que la actual, con pocos huecos en las calles, bonitos parques, zonas verdes, fuentes funcionando, buenos servicios públicos, ciclovías, campos deportivos sin mugre ni maleza y respirando optimismo y prosperidad. ¿Por qué? Porque su índice de desempleo sería muy bajo y podría dedicar todo su presupuesto a fomentar su propio desarrollo y dar una buena calidad de vida a su gente. 

La verdad es que Aguablanca se volvió un problema de Cali cuando debería ser un problema de Colombia. Ojalá se buscara la manera de que, teniendo en cuenta su enorme población, se convirtiera en municipio independiente, que nombrara sus propios gobernantes y manejara su propio presupuesto, en vez de seguir siendo una especie de hijo pródigo de Cali. 

Comentario:

Con todo el respeto del sr columnista... su mensaje me resulta facilitista, elitista y racista. Facilista en cuanto reduce una probematica tan compleja como la del desplazamiento forzado a una accion "simple" como la de la inmigracion "organizada". Esta comparando peras con manzanas... es muy distinta la realidad de nortemerica y australia a la de europa y a la de Cali. Elitista... porque esta hablando desde su posicion social, desde la derecha, desde la riqueza... desconociendo el conflicto social generado por la aristocracia calenia. Racista porque genera el rechazo a una comunidad que "deberia ser exterminada". En su columna le sugiero ironicamente la posibilidad de proponer un "muro" como el que divide a Israel y a Palestina.. O un campo de concentracion "para acabar con todos los indiseables" que le recuerdan a diario su propia miseria... En otras palabras "alla los pobres con los pobres" y que nadie se venga a meter en "mi club, mi ciudad linda y con parques, el colegio bilingue de mis hijos, etc". Muy mal por este articulo... creo que mis palabras son demasiado blandas para el analisis que merece este pedazo de informacion que habla mucho de la "elite calenia". 

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Mother Punk

If I were running for Governor of NY this picture would get me into trouble. It may be a good thing that the photo does not show the skirt I was wearing or what I "wasn't" wearing underneath the skirt. Is everything as relative as the verge between Utopia and Continuity? Are our moral values as thin as the borderline between Fascism and Anarchy?

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Desde Cuba

Ayer conoci a Yoani Sanchez a quien entrevistamos con S. Yo en calidad de interprete. Muy interesante ver la situacion de Cuba desde otra perspectiva. En los ultimos anios he abordado la isla desde una posicion mas idealista y romantica. He pensado que las dificultades que atraviesan los cubanos tienen una justificacion utopica que esta por encima de su realidad individual ... Yoani me hizo ver otra cara de la moneda... cuando haga la traduccion completa del documento, asentare algunas de sus ideas en mi blog. Por ahora, el que quiera leerla puede encontrar sus escritos en http://www.desdecuba.com/generaciony
su capacidad de expresion es impecable. Share

RECORD ME

They just simply woke up; the sun was burning their feet.
- I want you to paint me, I had this dream, I was taking my shirt off in front of the mirror and my face was deformed
- Was it?
- Not really, but because the T-shirt’s neck was small it stretched my eyes and nose, it was kind of cute actually.
- I like the idea
- Paint me
- How?
- The way I am, here, naked, sleepy, with my swollen eyes, with my messy hair
- Kiss me first
- Of course, good morning sweetheart
- My feet are on fire
- The sun is ferocious out there, I can tell.
- Coffee?
- Paint me first, just a sketch, grab a pencil
- Why the rush?
- Don’t ask, just go for it, pretend I don’t know, pretend I am still sleeping, and you wake up first, you see me here, abandoned, and you just let your inspiration flow
- If you tell me how to do things they won’t flow at all
- Come on!
- I just don’t get you, the more you beg the least I get inspired, I don’t like to be told, it just doesn’t work with me
- Ok, forget it, I’ll make the coffee, I just wanted to feel immortal for a few seconds Share

THE UNJUSTIFIABLE – Another paradox of our times

My land has no name on their map. “There is no such land”, they say. They don’t want to name us as if that would stop our existence. No acknowledgement, no existence. They believe our land is a geographical term. That it used to designate a region in those days when there was no nation or state in the area. But that’s a lie. We’ve been here all this time. They have forced the facts for their own convenience. I was born here. I know what I am talking about. I have seen my people suffer. We have watered their trees with our tears.

My land has been occupied and we expropriated. Most of the world pays blind eye to our condition and has agreed to call my land a different name. Everybody knows it but they do nothing. They are loud because they own stronger weapons. We are confined to inhabit corners, basements, bordering towns. We still remain stateless, homeless, refuges in neighbouring lands. They have the right, we don’t. Why? I don’t know.

I was born landless. My people believe otherwise. I believe my people. But if in their eyes we owe nothing, what does my brother have to loose when he immolates himself and kills their people? They believe he is a terrorist, I believe he is a saint. I am sure he wakes up in heaven where world borders are unknown. If they kill hundreds of us no one knows it but if we kill a handful of them, the whole world grieves them. It is not fair.

“Be careful with justifying the unjustifiable”, they’ve told me “do not mix olives with dates”. Hypocrites! I think that principle applies to both sides. God knows it well. Share

Before my memory fails

"Just because I don't remember what I did, it doesn't mean that my actions were meaningless". Paraphrased from Memento/Christopher Nolan/2000 (watched once again yesterday... just to realize that, as Leonard the main character, I had completely forgotten the plot of the movie). 

I also watched The Battle of Algiers/1966 (Gillo Pontecorvo). Excellent account of the Independence struggles of Algerians. Filmed just 3 years after the independence battle in documentary style b/w. I loved the soundtrack. 

A third movie: The Anatomy of Hell (Anatomie de l'enfer/2004) directed by Catherine Breillat(based on her own book by the same name). Very French... meaning: psychological, pseudo-intellectual, and with strong characters (especially the female ones - The Piano teacher-type of thing). Interesting to see nude Rocco Sifredi playing a non-porno role. 

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Castalia and the Only One.

Castalia was named after a Greek nymph. Carlo says he wants to drink her waters and listen to her quiet sound. Castalia just moved to town but has not been to church yet. Carlo's mom thinks she's not a devout follower of the town's God; Carlo is sure she was sent by the deity herself. The God of this town is a she. 

It has not rained in Delphi since Carlo was born. The people of Delphi quit ancient Gods and embraced a female one. The only one. Carlo wants to campaign to name Delphi's God Castalia after the miraculous visit of his nymph.  "God has no name", says Carlo's mom. Carlo shuts up. He does not want to be kicked out of Delphi now that there is a reason to stay. 

Castalia is  having a lemon drink on the corner's store while talking to Hermann. Carlo sees them through his window and burns in hell. He does not want to be in Hermann's shoes but kill him and burn his shoes. Shoes are sacred in Delphi because they take you to the presence of God. Yes, she's God indeed. And Hermann got to her before him. Castalia is not aware of the lust in Hermann's eyes. Carlo is. He's got to save her and save himself. 

Hermann is out of words but Castalia is enjoying her carbonated drink while looking at a poster of Juliana Day. "She's the town's pop star", says Carlo as he runs into her. "She's a gem", says she, "the only one". Hermann steps out disgusted as the bells of church call him away.

Carlo and Castalia look at each other in silence. They both know why they're there. 

The storm begins. 

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Latin Melodramas

And the latest episode of "Bordering with the Enemies" ended with a hug! the trilogy of Chavez, Uribe and Correa succumbed to the euphoric applause of a hungry audience and decided to kiss each other on the cheek during the closing ceremony of the Rio Group Summit in the Dominican Republic. Meanwhile in Colombian territory FARC themselves were killing their own brethren (Ivan Rios) and shipping his limbs to the House of Nariño. We'll see what the next season of this breathtaking soap opera has to offer.

My own melodrama started this morning when my father called me to let me know that my stepfather had been informed of my own sexual orientation. I could almost picture my dad knocking on my mom's door and saying to Fernando: "Prepare yourself for the news... my son is gay!" (ouch) that must've hurt. My mom has been the victim of her own worse nightmare... Another "dead secret" surfaced the soil of the graveyard where it was buried... now it is just a public eulogy. Good for my dad who spared me the hustle of going through a closet-come-out once again. He has certainly spread the good news of my most recent gospel!

Food for thought.

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Pride through Culture

Unexpected shot from the NCC; welcome dance performed by "Grandma Susie and Grandpa Charlie" (Sharon Shorty - whom I had the priviledge to meet and have lunch with - and Duane Gastant' Aucoin).

www.sharonshorty.com

Great memory.

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The Decline of the American Empire

Not many people want to believe it but as Hugo Chavez says it, “the empire is about to fall and we will see it in this century”. I don’t necessarily agree with all of Mr. Chavez’s approaches, especially with his loud volume, but I do believe that the United States is falling on its own principles. They have made believe their population that the resources of the world are endless and that their credit cards will pay for everything they want… when reality hits (and it is starting to do so) … each family will have to get rid of not only 3 of their SUV's per household, but also sell their mega TV and move out of the suburbs to a smaller house in town because their bank will be taking their million-dollar home away along with their 40-year mortgage.

An interesting documentary to watch on the topic: The End of Suburbia: Oil Depletion and the Collapse of the American Dream. Not the first time I see something on the topic… another good documentary on a similar issue is  A Crude Awakening/The Oil Crash

 http://www.endofsuburbia.com/

http://www.oilcrashmovie.com

 Some interesting statements to ponder on:

 "What’s good for business is the fantasy" (good reason for Media and Governments not to talk about the peak of oil reserves...)

 "We are addicted to oil and we don’t want to hear that it is going to run out"

 This is a funny one: "The name of the suburban neighbourhoods is based on  the nature they have destroyed around them. i.e. “Fresh Water Creek”, “Cedar Sunset Forest”, etc"

 "The future of the globe is the reverse of globalization"

 My own homework... I should look into: New Urbanism Movements 

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The Inukshuk Emblem: Opportunity or Opportunism?

I was invited to participate at the Northern Communications Conference in Whitehorse (March 3-5, 2008). My presentation was based on the research project I am currently conducting as part of my Masters’ thesis. I am a graduate student with the department of adult education at UBC in Vancouver (http://www.ncconference2008.ca/Speakers/tabid/54/Default.aspx)

In 2005 the Vancouver Organizing Committee for the 2010 Olympic and Paralympic Winter Games (VANOC) launched its emblem Illanaaq, a stylized inukshuk, with the aim to “illustrate” the Games. Perhaps for the first time in the history of the Olympics, particular attention has been placed on Aboriginal participation in the pre-Games. Indigenous participation in past Games, such as Calgary and Salt Lake City, has focused primarily on ceremonies and cultural programs. VANOC has said that they plan to go beyond that “to set the bar higher, with the hope that future Organizing Committees can be inspired and learn from our experience”. I am attracted to images and their meaning. One of the source texts I am reading is Gillian Roses’ Visual Methodologies in order to refine the approach I will be taking in my image-based research project. The visual is central to the cultural construction of social life in contemporary Western societies. We are constantly bombarded by images that offer views of the world. Research in the area of visual culture suggests that the rendering of the world in visual terms is never innocent. Images interpret the world and display it in very particular ways. The purpose of my critical qualitative study is to identify, describe and analyse the information made available by VANOC.

By using a document case study I intend to observe, understand and critique the images made available for learning by this organization. My aim is to contribute to creating awareness of commonly overlooked symbolic elements that could be taken for granted in this context. I chose the title Opportunity or Opportunism, because I believe there is great potential for sharing and learning before, during and after this event. I would like to take a close look at these opportunities. An opportunity is a favourable time for progress and advancement but opportunism takes advantage of an opportunity to achieve an end but often with no regard for principles or consequences. Where does the creation of the VANOC emblem fall? I thought this conference would be a very important space to discuss this topic. For that reason I came here to share some of the sample materials I will be studying, discuss them and raise some questions. My main hope was to have enough time to get participants’ feedback. I knew in advance that the objective of the conference was to continue to figure out ways of communicating the realities of the North to the South on issues that would go beyond the stereotypical northern topics “polar bears and igloos”… or those issues that specifically affect the south, “global warming and sovereignty”

The following is a VANOC’s press release from April 23, 2005 http://www.vancouver2010.com/en/OrganizingCommittee/MediaCentre/NewsReleases/2006/01/13/92_0601131509-781

“The Vancouver 2010 emblem is a contemporary interpretation of the traditional inukshuk, a stone sculpture used by Canada's Inuit people as directional landmarks across the northern Canadian lands of snow and ice. Over time, the inukshuk has become a representation of hope, friendship and an external expression of the hospitality of a nation that warmly welcomes the people of the world with open arms. The distinctive formations are found across the country - from coastlines to mountaintops, from small towns to large cities - in a variety of styles. Unveiled during a live nation-wide television broadcast, the Vancouver 2010 emblem shows the deep connection between Canadians and their breathtaking environment. The emblem features five stone-like formations depicted in vibrant colours found in both the natural features of the Vancouver-Whistler Games host region and across Canada. Green and blues represent coastal forests, mountain ranges and spectacular islands. The red is for Canada's signature maple leaf and the gold evokes images of the brilliant sunrises that paint the Vancouver skyline and snow-capped mountain peaks. The Vancouver 2010 emblem is named ILANAAQ - the Inuit word for friend”. Questions such us the following were raised soon after reading this article: what purpose does Ilanaaq serve? What is the connection between the North and the South in this context? Is this emblem’s aim to represent Canada? The artic? The Inuit people? Vancouver and Whistler? How is that portrayed? I also shared a page from the VANOC’s website which I incorporated into my thesis’ proposal.

http://www.vancouver2010.com/en/LookVancouver2010/Vancouver2010OlympicGamesEmblem

In brief statements I discussed the photographs and the content of this excerpt. I clarified that the photos were taken in Vancouver and Whistler respectively and that the three images from this webpage are not from the north. According to Norman Hallendy (2000), “inuksuit have become icons used to sell telephones and financial services, beer and sugared drinks. The figure adorns ball caps, sweatshirts and coffee mugs, and is much sought after as an object d’art” (p. 97). The sad irony, he says, is that in the growing interest in Inuksuit the wisdom of their creators is dying with the passing of each of the elders who once had lived on the land. I mentioned that in my view, the organizers of the Games have made a de facto promise to give Aboriginal communities a level of prominence never before seen at the Olympics. Some of the questions I raised were: Is this just clever marketing or a real attempt to show Aboriginal people respect and to show the rest of Canada (and the world) something more about First peoples and the North? In other words, there is a clear opportunity here to share aboriginal knowledge but is this opportunity being used to get across all these ideas and realities of life in the North and issues that the North faces (the ones that go beyond stereotypes), or is it nothing more than a cynical use of a northern symbol that the organizers of the Games have no intention to use to communicate important ideas about the North but simply use it as a marketing tool to promote other set of corporate ideals?

My crowd was full of government officials, most of them from the south but living in the north. They raised their own questions about whether my findings were going to be available and if I was planning to involve some elders in my research process. I clarified that for now I was planning to concentrate on the promotional materials made available by VANOC but I would hope that this research project would open other doors and invite some people to look beyond the surface of images. Somebody asked me if I was suggesting to change the emblem to what I answered that the emblem was already in place… and I was trying to understand the motivations behind it.

An Inuit elder told me that they were very happy when they found out that the “Inukshuk” had been chosen amongst 1,600 entries to the emblem contest. They saw it as a great Northern victory in the South… many people applauded his comment. I was happy to raise some questions. I had a very short time to convey further ideas. There was a quote from Bellfy (2005) whoch I couldn’t share with the participants but that I firmly agree with. It says that “popular culture norms are designed to remind everyone, Native and non-Native alike, that there is a dominant culture that has determined how Indigenous identity is to be constructed, and, who owns and controls their images”. Some Inuit people approached me after the presentation to offer help. They gave me their email address and welcomed my questions… any time. A young Caucasian fellow from Yellowknife, who’s graphic company is designing some packaging for souvenir inuksuit to be sold in Vancouver soon, told me that he would be interested in my research as well… as they are trying to decide how they are going to present this “can or package” containing an inukshuk.

It was overall very interesting to be there. First of all because it is my first “official” presentation of my project (it certainly helps to be presentation the idea in front of an audience) and second because it gave me some feedback about the different possible reactions this project could generate in people. Somebody asked me if I was planning to share my findings with VANOC, I said I would invite them to attend my thesis’ defense! Share

The Unknown

As the afternoon flows and the sky gets grayer I wonder around Whitehorse before departure. I seem to be in constant search. The butterflies in my stomach won't fly away until I find what I look for. I first have to find out what it is I am in search of. Share

The impossibility of the objective and the fear of chaos

Objects exist in nature, their presence is blatant, unavoidable. They present shapes and mass or form before our eyes. The natural sciences have tried to understand them, analyze them… yes, understand them. Language has given them a name and our imagination has given them a place in our brains, either because we’ve been taught how to go about them or because we have experienced them ourselves. We were never part of the battle of Waterloo but we have heard about it. Napoleon and his era exist in our heads.
In the case of “heat”, for instance, we have experienced it on our skins or seen it… when we feel the sun’s rays, a water-boiling pot or a fireplace. It is impossible to say that those elements are not objective, that they don’t exist out there. That rain, those cars and computers are tangible items that exist and can be approached without emotions. Yes, they do exist on their own. They can even be a product of nature: a stone; or human made: a plane. Their existence does not imply their objectivity. We make them objects in our brains, and we translate them from their original form into a virtual thought in our minds just like a video camera does on tape or disc. The image we see on the screen is not the stone or the plane, it is a representation of it. The image we have in our brains of every single object is a representation of the object, the result of a chemical processes that brought that object from its natural form to our heads through our eyes, our nerve cells… to a spot in our brains where objects of that kind can be processed. But that’s not all. If we all processed objects the same way and translated them into thoughts exactly the way they are, we could say that objects are represented inside of us the same way… we have to take into consideration that there are other created factors that affect our perception of those objects; this factors could be physical limitations: we wear glasses, we have a hearing problem, we are colour-blind. And not only that, but our particular culture, the worldview we have, the way we’ve been taught, whether we are left or right-handed, our own language would call those objects in a different way… and the images we see, yes there could be a table but is not the same table that a different person sees… the value of the table is different, there are emotions attached to them… it is a table that belonged to my ancestors, it was the only furniture left after a family crisis, I was punished by my father at that table when I was a kid, I used to make love on it with my ex partner, it is too big for my place… the measures of this table, the size we perceive in our head and even the way we remember it, if we never see it again, will change fromperson to person… and even within me as I change myself.
If we go into the core of tables, they are also not the same; tables differ in shape, size, measurements. Some people represent them as square, others are round, others rectangular but they could be amorphous. They can be used to eat, to operate patients, to play table games or to pray. Their value and their representation varies, therefore when we say the word “mesa” the Spanish word for table, people would think of million different tables; provided that they understand the Spanish word. A table is not just a table. A table is a universe of tables represented in our brains that clearly differ from the object “table” itself even if we have it in front of our eyes. An indigenous colleague told me the other day, that in his native language, names represent the actions you perform with those objects, tables for instance, are linked to the food you eat on them, therefore they have a very important value… different than the persons who eats on their desks because they don’t “have time” to take a lunch break.
Objective is defined in many different ways: not biased, or existing in the real world outside the human brain. Subjective should be the opposite. After this introduction, if we consider that every object goes through our brains to be apprehended, the object looses its unbiased value and takes a subjective form, a representational one, the interpretation of the idea of the object.
If tangible items take this form, the description of values and emotions, rules and laws, is even more difficult. How do we understand truth, responsibility or terrorism? In order to have a “common understanding” of ideas, the different sciences and humanities have approached these terms to try to define them; we have created dictionaries that enunciate definitions that we assume as valid; if we didn’t have a “common language” (by this I mean a relatively close approach to the definition of objects an ideas in the different existing languages) we could barely understand each other; not that we really do but we have created “conventions” that make us believe we do. In order to create conventions we need to have a plan, and this plan is closely linked to the ideology of cultures, religions, political and social instructions. We have created systems that allow us to form patterns of behaviour that people can follow in order to avoid chaos. If we were all abandoned at birth and we managed to grow up without anybody’s instruction we would probably create our own sense of values. Yes, we do have the ability to create all these systems, to communicate through different means, to use our brains to try to understand the environment. We have created machines to “measure” this world’s phenomena and we call those measurements objective, but are they really?
One metre is one metre, that’s objective… but metres were created, so yes, they are conventions created to measure, and we accept them; so when we say that we are one metre and 80 cms, people understand us… There is a need for order, for uniformity, mutual assimilation of behaviour in order to prevent chaos. We have created religions and these religions have created books of reference (or vice versa), we have constitutions, codes of ethics, etiquette, etc… we create definitions, like contracts do when you are to purchase property… terms that are defined by “someone” in order to agree in terms. Even if we believe that “TRUTH” is out there as an “OBJECT”, the definitions of truth we get to write down, will never be objective, therefore there is not TRUTH in its objective form, because, again, even if there is one out in the space, how do we know that we chose the right definition when we interpreted the idea?
With constitutions and “human made” laws, it is easier to figure it out; a whole bunch of people got together to produce a document, they commit to make it as accurate as possible and out of consensus… so yes, if we agree to it, we know it is the product of a committed exercise. When it comes to religions, the arena is not as solid; we need to trust the existence of an external source that has defined all these terms for us and has dictated them to a human being, who “objectively” wrote them down centuries ago. We also need to believe that this information, that could’ve been an oral narration at some point, has been transmitted exactly the way it was “originally” inspired… it means that no translation, no interpretation, no distortion to its core has been changed throughout the years. Is that possible? Perhaps it is, that’s why we have created a term called “FAITH” defined by some as “complete confidence or trust”.
Unfortunately, all of these terms don’t mean the same for everybody. If “objects” don’t represent the same idea in every culture, neither do these more ethereal definitions. We have tried to generate international conventions to determine what a crime is, or what plurality is, etc… but all of these ideas are mediated by beliefs, faiths, doubts, fears, geographical conditions, traditions, languages, experiences… even what I am writing, makes only sense in my own mind, and there may be some people who identifies with what it is written and some others that could think I am CRAZY (Stupidly irresponsible).
In my opinion, even if processes and natural physical actions are happening objectively out there, they are interpreted through our minds and our senses, and all of them our biased. Seeing is a physical objective process, but how we see and what we see is completely individual… even if we “all agree” it is a table. We cannot generalize, we cannot assure that what it is is what it is… yes, we’ve made an effort to get there, perhaps because it is necessary for us to do so, but systems like “democracy, or deciding by consensus, or mutual agreement” are biased. We want to believe we agree, we want to believe we see the same… but we don’t.
States and institutions have managed to educate people to think one way or the other, it is not new, and it is considered for the own convenience of that system, state or institution. We create culture (very loaded term) in order to feel identified with a set of values and make it easier for “all of us” (especially the ruler in power). Those who dissent, or simply don’t cope with that set of values are considered “outsiders” and we reject them because they are not “like us”. The need of homogeneity serves the purpose of societies because it prevents chaos. Chaos is feared by most because there seems to be a need of cohesion. The problem here, is that there is no room for individuality. We often use this other created expression “Freedom” (right or privilege of unlimited access); we cannot claim FREEDOM because it is impossible. If we have limits, if we haven’t decided what was before us and we won’t be able to decide what is after us, we are not free. That’s an illusion reinforced by some systems… and like freedom, there are many others. But, why do we need to make others believe that? Why is it important that we uniform the world? It is important because some people BELIEVE that’s the way to make it work… that’s a mechanism of control… a political system like democracy, a monetary system like capitalism, a religious system like Christianity, a new order like Globalization, serve certain purposes. A set of values, have been attached to these ideas, and only a few people get to participate in the decisions made by these systems. They control behaviours because they have understood our vulnerability, our fear of chaos, the subjective form of thought and how it can be so random that it may be “dangerous”. It is necessary to punish those who oppose the mainstream thought, that’s why “terrorists” are being prosecuted… because they dissent and they express themselves by generating “chaos”… (Complete disorder or confusion). “Terrorists” may not be able to change systems, but they alter them, they destabilize them, by breaking the “organized order”.
But ORDER is also subjective; we have encouraged it as the way to function in order to “succeed”. But there is tendency to chaos within the order... and we continue to punish it because we are unable to revise these systems of values. We are spreading philosophies that benefit the systems we have created, and this is all subjective. Unless we understand the subjectivity ruling these systems, we won’t be able to “understand” each other. But these systems don’t favour free thought, free thought is dangerous, it again, may generate chaos, we have to shape peoples’ minds in order to achieve order. How do we do it? By creating or reinforcing certain values, by creating or re-shaping the definitions to those values, by making people believe certain goals are attainable like freedom, wealth, happiness. How do we do it? Through the school system, through media, through politics, through literature, through church, through institutions like police or organized institutions like courts, parliaments, boards. Our subjectivity has been repressed, and as it is malleable and subject to influence, it has been “objectivised”. We have been instructed to believe that something can be objective. Objectivity exists as a ideal in nature but it doesn’t exist as a practical term in humanity. Everything is mediated by thought and emotions, therefore a chemical, physiological process that gets distorted once it reaches our senses. The table we film exists as an object but we will never be able to say that the photograph we take of it or the film we make of it will capture the integrity of that object… it is the same with us. Not even science can claim objectivity because it is mediated by us, and we are all, ALL, biased.
Take an example: copper… it is objective in its original form in nature… but our approach to it, its name, its chemical formula, its melting point, etc, are conventions created by us… the abstraction of copper is a human process not present in nature… and its make copper subjective. We would never be completely sure about the nature of copper, and that vulnerable approach makes it subjective because we cannot approach copper as a whole. Share

hasta mañana

Controversy and contradiction mixed in the vase of my dying daisies. The heavy night has fallen down to smash the artictic's evolving midnight sun. Darkness has dropped with its full weight on the timid temperature and its little warmth has fled. Most of my words have also gone places and I've been left speechless on the corner of this bed. A glass of inpirational poison should be landing on my lamp table... instead I drink saliva at a slower pace. No one can really read my mind, the language of my brain is elusive and the verses of old lyrics are beginning to vanish at this final hour. I should be careful; my ghosts may wonder around the crime scene to laugh at me. I may be found guilty of an undefined crime projected on this wallpapered walls by my paranoia. If I turn the light off I'll sink into a worse nightmare, my solitude. When there is light there's potential for company. I fall asleep with open eyes. Good night Whitehorse. Share

the human value

What is the inner philosophy of a corporation? is it profit making? is it investment? is it talent hunting? Perhaps all of the above but at a very high cost for human lives.
I just left a mini corporation after 4 years of committed dedication. When I first started to work for them, my initial step was to prove that it was worth giving me a chance. Once I reached that level my next goal was to pursue the company’s ideals and dilligently administer the resources I was given . I constantly wondered where people were placed within the value chart of the organization. Most staff seemed to be appreciated when they brought "value" to the place, and "value" meant: money, numbers, action (in this case: students, agents and lots of applications). What else could one expect? That's ok I thought, we all need to make money... we all need to profit in order to survive... but I also noticed that sometimes people would leave the company feeling undervalued and I always hoped it would never be my case. I managed one of their branches for 3 years, and I did what was necessary in my mind. I started by hiring a team of people I felt comfortable working with and who I thought would be committed to their specific role. Some people stayed for a while some people found it hard and left after a short period of time... either because they had different goals to pursue or because they felt they weren't getting enough income in comparison to their working hours.
I was hardly ever given direction. My three bosses never showed up and when they did, they often walked around for a couple of days and found things to be in place.
It wasn't until recently, when I decided to leave the place, that they came to visit and took a closer look at the way we had set things up. I am assuming they weren't fond of my decision to leave but they had no choice. I had my own dreams to pursue and I was also moving to a new city to establish my own enterprise, living together with my partner.
Overnight, many of the things they never "saw" or didn't want to see, started to surface... and I was told that my whole administration had been a disaster... teachers sucked, customer service sucked, programs sucked... everything sucked and it had to be fixed immediately. I tried my best... but my morale had already sank. I looked around and I found a wonderful team of people sinking along with me... I tried to remain positive until my last day despite my often stomach knots and my anxiety attacks. The performance review I submitted to my direct boss was returned to me with negative remarks and my annual bonus was denied on that basis. I had nothing else to say, I was speechless... even though I could've gone back to argue that they were being unfair. They listed all this numbers and measures that didn't correspond to anything I had been informed of... but I had no energy to rebutt it... I didn't want to argue back... I just thought they had a mind set about their expectations and they were not going to move an inch... but... what was I doing there for so long? why didn't I leave before? I guess the fact that I was left alone for so long helped. I was able to create a friendly environment where people really cared about each other and was happy to come to work everyday... that environment obviously didn't correspond to this workaholic idea of fear and control... no one felt threatened, no one felt uncomfortable to be there until they saw the bosses' real aims... our blood, our brains, our energy... with no mercy.
I was let go without a farewell, without a thank you note, without a phone call... but lots of students, and teachers and co-workers did try their best to make me feel fantastic... that was the human value I was missing and which the top blinded management couldn't see... they are not interested... because the minute they let their emotions get involved with the company they won't be able to exercise their inquisitional measures. People are numbers and wages per hour... people should be machines and they are given a favour when being hired... they should be thankful... I see a tyranic aaproach in this corporate mind that no one can question, and this credo is sacred and divine... In a conversation with one of my bosses, whom I call after I left... I said... it is unfortunate that the value of people is below the value of profit... his answer was... yes, it is very unfortunate that it is so! Share

Reflections on Colombia

As expected, the United States has backed the Colombian government as much as most average Colombians. It is a democratic crisis that has revealed a series of dark holes. On one hand there is the question of violating Ecuador's sovereignty and on the other, the dilemma of prosecuting an "insurgent guerrilla leader" (I refuse to use the word "terrorist" which I find sickening and abused). I know very little about the Colombian guerrillas. I should know more. I know they have been discredited by the media and that Andres Pastrana claims that he managed to place them on the list of "the most-wanted rebels of the world"... but who are they and what do they want? S and I discussed the possibility of interviewing Chavez and I am going to try to arrange it. I'd like to hear his loud side of the story. I am not fond of Uribe because I link him to militarism and right wing measures, but I also have to admit that I know very little about him. He's popular... his iron hand and workaholic attitude has placed him high on the public opinion polls. Some claim he wants to avenge his father, who was killed by the FARC; some appoint him the creator of the paramilitary forces (Autodefensan Unidas de Colombia). His closest allies have been splashed with the tint of corruption and have been put on trial for alleged links with paramilitary and drug dealers... who can be saved in Colombia? The Colombian society has been intoxicated with an addiction to easy money and with a conflict between oligarchy and left wing guerrillas. The white money from cocaine has tempted both sides of the "peso" and has encouraged the rich (or new rich) to promote the formation of alternative protection forces that would allow them to stay alive. This conflict is far from reaching an end... but a nice way to divert the thoughts of the general public has been the prosecution of guerrillas... and their protrayal as "terrorists, kidnappers, left-wing-chavez-sympathizers"... no wonder why chavez is misunderstood in Colombia as well as the Polo Democratico party. Meanwhile, Ingrid Betancourt - the former Colombian presidential candidate and a French citizen, kidnapped by the FARC five years ago - remains the symbol of a meritless conflict between Creole mentality and the old ideals of a stubborn communist organization. She dies slowly in the midst of an undetermined jungle camp while these different factions play chess with their demons. Share