Contents
- God is Not an American
- Goodbye my friend.
- The Pain of Paradox
- Friday Morning Song Circle
- Vancouver city council members.
- A drop in the bucket…
- Strippers' money not good enough
- Backpedaling like crazy!
- From Northwest BC to Carnegie Hall
- I’m Crying Dry Tears
- News from the Library
- In Memoriam, Gayle Robinson,
- The Wind and the Stars
- Homeless Families in Shelters Hit Record
- Remembering Harriett Nahanee
- Classicide
- solo art and poetry exhibition
God is Not an American God is not an American, but he could very well be. Neither is Christ a Canadian But it do have a nicer sound. Nowadays popular opinion is very Popular Always it was this Always will be ------- maybe. That pesky god question Who knows anything atall atall Pascal and his Principle appeals somewhat Though it may be just an elaborate ntellectual Cop out. (Is that one word?) A Cop out perhaps like Freud’s – the recanting of his infamous Seduction Hypothesis He knew the truth but chose to keep it Wherein did the good lie? So, to this day, Jung (his spiritual ________, for want of a better word) Is popular among the undergrads Especially in Education Who defile Freud and, with the same breath, adore the man who stood on his shoulders… I was an avid acolyte of truth until I realized Not by any enlightenment But just plain old experience and age Some may deem is wisdom a scary word dontcha think? Yeah man, duality is very tidy Nature never is. Disasters, apocalypses, holocausts are juxtaposed with beauty and order, Incredible. Don’t think about that too much. Thinking in general is overrated – like Truth Then again, thinking specifically is fine, Especially in Astronomy & Biology – The Big and the infinitesimal The whole story is not finished ,,or it has been, over and over.. A Whale of a Tale! So enough already – Theories abound – rocks & trees & skies & seas Lots of work to be done yet Keepin’ us Busy Keepin’ us Interested Keepin’ us Sane –or what passes for it--- Keepin’ us from givin’ in to the simple Black and what – Orange and Green – Pink and blue – just coloured, n’est-ce pas? You say potato – I say potatoe And Mathus be darned. Mosquitoes would solve only one problem. Nature will take care of population control It has been doing that all along Time is the key Space the final or semi-final frontier Considering the nanotech field Matter can be manipulated. Democritus Democritus had an idea Maybe the first theory of atoms but maybe not. No one reads the old scholars in the original Sanskrit – or do they? Go figure. Wilhelmina Goodbye my friend.
Goodbye my friend. I didn’t know you had gone. I had enquired about you before and was told you were fine.. or that I had just missed you. This time when I enquired about you, I truly did and do miss you. I am told now that you passed away last year, only a few months ago. I hadn’t seen you strolling along Hastings Street or sitting in Pigeon Park Square. I ponder whether I should’ve kept in closer touch with you and inquired more frequently… goodbye. Submitted anonymously. The Pain of Paradox
The Pain of Paradox Can you still recall when you appeared to have it all With the wind at your back, the sun in your eyes Would you have ever imagined, could you have ever realized that one day you’d lose it all… I’ve been there; I sympathize. …all swept away by a massive global locomotive. Don’t bite your tongue and refuse to take the toll. We’ll rise up in numbers and become creative to harshly criticize unspeakable crimes of starvation and beings on the run – where to go, where to be, when in the sights of a humongous war machine: Industrial Complex Military created automatons, Kiler squads, desert dogs of war, quickly sinking in the shifting sands of foreign sovereign lands commanded by decree. Who cares that millions vehemently and correctly disagreed.. saw through fabricated vicious deceptions spewed from the foul mouths of bunker busting boneheads appointed by some fixer of elections, a dumbbell who himself is wound quite tightly with a myriad of taut puppet strings pulled often and, most vigorously by the money-belted changers of plundered, illicit loot that’s been ripped off, stolen and repossessed on the breaking backs of union busted, slaving, scraping minions who, in their multiplying millions, are seeking out a meager living of little substance and sustenance yet much character and spiritual soil – only ‘I have debt to pay, day by day’ is not heard during budget time with millions, billions, “can I have some? Anything for me? ..you selfish sons of guns with your silver spoons. You know nothing of rags and ruin and rage. You are all good at song and dance, all singing from the same stale pages while shriekingly out of tune; hidden cash, Swiss vaults, IMF, World Bank; steamrolling with control, power cum hostile takeovers.. cutthroat high stakes poker but with vast stacks of house chips – pawns on the board of trade while beancounters assist in determining whoever makes a gross, Olympic-size profit and keeps using the webbed shell game that’s all about dehumanizing decent people’s lives and eventual breaking of the close knit family. Any who dare to oppose their epic spectacle, the 14-day circus are decried while they gleefully, deceitfully, desperately care about the overflowing treasure-to-be. It’s all claimed illicitly by way of blindsided robbery – from the Original People, the honest amateur gamers, the volunteers, the working poor with less not more – are shadily led and sucked down their unlit and obstacle-strewn, shaky, unstable yellow brick road of uneconomical excess. Robyn Livingstone Friday Morning Song Circle
Friday Morning Song Circle You know, if you want to sing, or play guitar, learn some new songs, share your own or just listen, the Friday morning song circle in the [Carnegie] theatre is a great place to go. There are song books and guitars provided: we bring out the bass, I bring my banjo, and the two pianos and a small conga are right there for you. The way it works is we go around the circle, and each person gets a chance to pick the song we all do. Even the listeners get to choose what comes next! There's never any pressure to join in, or drop out, for any individual tune. If you are looking for a particular song, I can usually help you find a copy of it for the next session if I don't already have it. People of all abilities are very welcome, and there's generally a lot of laughter - which is always a great way to start the day! Please come and join us every Friday morning from 10:30 to 12:30 Rachel Rosetta Vancouver city council members.
Vancouver city council members. It is very easy for me to sit at home in my warm townhouse and not worry about eviction notices that are going out to the people that live in the Downtown Eastside, and in particular, those currently facing immediate eviction from the Picadilly buliding. It is easy to sit here and believe that someone else will take care of it, or that these people will find another way, because in this blessed land and city, everything is always okay. But reality gnaws at the back of my brain..... compassion pulls at my heart strings ... and I have to listen to them. If writing this letter helps anything for these people that are already living in conditions that are not even legally fit to live in, then it is worth the very small effort it takes. I ask council to think of their own homes and their own salaries (btw... city councillors make more money per year then i live on with my two children, and i pay a rent of $810 / mo and utilities are extra... and I have ran for office before, and will run for city council in the next election probably. As a radio-journalist with Co-op radio, being in the downtown eastside on a frequent basis, and having just completed our homelessness radio marathon... and having done a couple of snippets of video regarding what life on the streets are like... I must say, that in this day and age, it is beyond my comprehension that there are people facing these situations. We have enough money to throw millions, if not billions on a big sporting event and party... Perhaps then, we can buy a hotel complex and turn it into housing... and on the interim, just fix up the place that currently houses these people so that they do not have to have their lives turned about face, just because they are in the way of development. Which is what really seems to be occuring. Well, that is about all I have to say. I trust in the good conscience of our council and hope you are all always warm and fed and safe. Peace, Kelli Gallagher A drop in the bucket…
A drop in the bucket… The first idea was to have a cover about Spring; a few drawings of flowers, a broom sweeping off the dust and decay of old stuff to symbolize a new start, fresh ideas, hope being kindled. But it seemed a little bit too much like a cheerleading chant for the golden “good old days” which, truth be told, never were all that good. It mirrors working people not even questioning their right to set hours, 5 days a week, coffee breaks, a living wage or good pay with vacations, maternity leave, paid sick days and so on. But just ask any old worker about having to fight and, after fighting and even having buddies killed for forming a union, to have enough solidarity to strike for these now taken-for-granted rights. The example refers to the stifling inertia people are up against in getting society in general to revolutionize our economic system and make social housing an up-to-date reality. The Federal government just stopped paying for housing in 1993 and the decline in affordable housing gained momentum. Provinces stopped paying, making it more and more difficult for low-income and poor people to keep a decent, safe home. It’s become a public relations exercise while the corporate and wealthy sector keep pressing to make any endeavour focused on profit above all else. The actual conditions in current low-income housing are often so dismal that only horror stories arise from disgruntled tenants. The illegality of landlord greed leaves each using various methods to get their properties vacant for upgrades – ostensibly for the Olympics, but to maximize the value of the land & property for condo development, leaving people by the hundreds either under-housed or homeless. [I’ve never seen or heard of a condo for less than $200K] The latest drop in the bucket is in a report by Ken Dobell (for which he was hired unilaterally and paid $300,000) in which the corporate and wealthy sector get to “donate” money to an endowment fund – for which they’ll get huge tax exemptions – and the interest on this fund will be used to build housing. Doing the math shows that the result will be about $11 million a year. Translated, this becomes maybe 150 units a year. wow. The current need, in the lower mainland/Vancouver alone, is for at least 5000 units of all sizes a year. Another PR thing about Dobell’s report is that the call is for ‘supportive’ housing, meaning that you’d have to be disabled, mentally challenged, a senior and maybe even an immigrant to even be considered or put on a waiting list. The shit wages paid to such people, and the dismal welfare/pension incomes still keep from 40-70% of monthly cheques going to just keeping a shaky roof over their heads. None of this is news and neither is anything in this report. It’s another one in a long line that benefits the corporate and wealthy sector of society with profits, tax write-offs, and saddling the middle-class with the ongoing public costs. Look for a lot of corporate names on any units being built in this massive scam, while the Public Relations and media photo-op stories keep a lid on the hemorrhaging of homeless survivors and others left out in the cold. Hurray for the globalization of greed. rah rah rah By PAULR TAYLOR PS: The above might read like a generic rant, but in the same room are the realities of people talking and planning to turn our ongoing defeats into victories. PPS: The opposite of fear and despair is hope. PPPS: Hope is the mother of honesty and belief. PPPPS: May the Force be with us. Strippers' money not good enough
Strippers' money not good enough By Sandra Thomas-Staff writer Almost anyone can donate to the Breast Cancer Society of Canada -unless they take their clothes off for a living. Local strippers who hold an annual event to raise money for cancer research were shocked this year to discover their offer to donate part of the proceeds to the society was turned down. Last year, the same group of dancers donated $3,000 to the society without incident. Former stripper Trina Ricketts, an organizer with the Exotic Dancers for Cancer fundraising event, said they planned again this year to donate half of the money raised to the Breast Cancer Society, but when she contacted the society recently, she was rejected. In a letter to Ricketts, the society's executive director Rany Xanthopoulo, wrote: "Unfortunately we will have to decline your kind offer as we have certain major donors that are not in favour of this connection. This decision came as a result of donor disgruntlement and together with the board of directors we have decided not to accept any donations from what donors consider controversial sources." [some daily] Regarding the debate over the Breast Cancer Society of Canada refusing to accept donations from the Vancouver "exotic dancers" group on "moral" grounds - the glaring fact is that other large medical associations and institutions quickly accept charitable donations from groups and individuals whose "morals" are much blacker and more sinister than an innocuous bunch of strippers! For example let’s look at the recent announcement by the BC Children’s Hospital who happily accepted a large donation from Jimmy Pattison. Mr.Pattison, a billionaire (whom Premier Gordon Campbell calls his "idol") made some of his vast wealth from the sale of Triple-X rated porn magazines which shamelessly exploited and degraded women for quick profits. Of course lots of other folks and associations (like one East Van church in particular) have readily accepted Jimmy Pattison's blood/conscience money, with no qualms what-so-ever! But then again maybe these churches and hospitals wouldn't accept any money from so sordid a group of people as exotic dancers?! A.Hawley Backpedaling like crazy!
On the Life Cycle: Backpedaling like crazy! The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough. It takes up a lot of your time - and what do you get at the end of it? A death. What’s that, a bonus? I think the life cycle is all backwards. You should start out dead; get it out of the way. You wake up in an old age home, feeling better every day. You eventually get kicked out for being too healthy and go collect your pension. When you're too young to be retired any more, you get a job -and on your first day you get a gold watch. You’ll work 40 years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement You're promiscuous, you drink alcohol, you party - so that you'll know all the pitfalls and can be more responsible when you get to high school. You end high school as a freshman and get to make fun of all the seniors who are just starting. You go to primary school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities. You become; a baby, and then get to spend your last nine months floating peacefully with all the luxuries of a fivestar hotel...- central heating, spa, room service on tap, and larger quarters everyday. And finally you finish off as an orgasm. Doesn't this make more sense? - on the web, from comedian Sean Morey [Submitted by Ms Kelly] From Northwest BC to Carnegie Hall
From Northwest BC to Carnegie Hall I would like to extend appreciation and thanks to Carnegie centre on Main at Hastings (DTES); the atmosphere is relaxed, as opposed to the outer areas of the downtown eastside. There, in Carnegie, I find a reciprocal exchange of respect, and a community of people that cares. The programs and services, arts & education & recreational activities and functions make this a very unique establishment in ‘The Hub’ of Vancouver. Anywhere outside of the hub is segregated and has an atmosphere of mistrust with an ingredient of intellectual bias, and extreme negative reactions from the so-called upper-middle class standards & values of the morally civilized people, people who veer around a problem or situation with people in need, rather than giving a helping hand. In a meeting that suggests much of what your columnist points out regarding Mike McCardell’s Global TV report, we see the problem of segregation because of the negative perspective of these ‘so-called’ upper-class citizens defining the DTES as “slums, the ghetto, the skids, Skid Row.” This three-prong perspective of the downtown eastside is supposed to depict the so-called upper-class citizens as people with moral standards vs. the stigma of corruptible people? A big question that arises out of this is: “How do you define moral standards?” and an equal question on “the definition of community?” I have a very strong sense that government agencies are going through an intellectual maze of analysts, ones that supposedly define the psychological aspects of the people, generally, the populations that have introspective concepts of others they (the learned community) believe are urban DP’s. This concept projects a community within a community displaced because of lower standards within the urban communities, with questions as to why? and how did this come to pass? Some of the interpretations become conclusive determinations from the academic community to the government, supposedly assisting the government in making positive decisions that will affect the community as a whole… but the result is displacement, homelessness, lack of support, economic deprivation, poverty, lack of community standards. It is unbelievable that scholars and intellectuals will conclude in many cases that there is ‘ethnic contamination’ which, to us, projects outright Racism! In this case I would challenge or suggest that the people on the downtown eastside begin to collectively and actively clean up the streets, repatriate historic buildings, and expose the ‘Hearts’ of the Downtown Eastside community. This will result in a greater understanding of a real community. There is heritage funding available that does not have to be transferred to other so-called upper-class communities. This could prove to be a brand new beginning, enhancing community involvement, building confidence and unity. It’s about time for a facelift of the deteriorating heritage structures and “Who you gonna call… hey?” for the replenishment of a vibrant and ‘people with a heart’ community upgrade? Of course the people within this part of town can and will make it a good place of and for community and have enhanced commercial activities prior to the 2010 Olympics games. Be encouraged to collectively make a stand to save the original ‘core of Vancouver’ and include workshops with the community of the downtown eastside with no discrimination as to the make-up of the community. This will prove that without ethnic bigotry of upper-class citizens, the community of the downtown Eastside will flourish, so don’t worry about giving someone a true welcome as the com munity does here at the Carnegie Centre. Lloyd Austin Gitxsan Wetsuwet’en I’m Crying Dry Tears
I’m Crying Dry Tears My child within weeps rain but I’m crying dry tears I’m crying dry tears, child within screams and fears He fears I’ll never hold his hand and I’ll become lost again When I’m lost in intoxication he cries and weeps in pain, My childhood stood still. I stopped growing ‘cause I’m crying dry tears. I’m crying dry tears even though I was kicked, punched and became deaf in both ears. My deafness was no accident: It came as a result of Indian Residential School abuse. Phyical, mental, emotional abuse. They didn’t care about the nature of violence they used. The hurt, the pain, the shame stabs my heart, yet, still, I’m crying dry tears. I’m crying dry tears. Oh! Why can’t it spill like rain after 47 years? Perhaps it’s because something/someone evil held my baby teardrops back… It was them of the Indian Residential School. Oh! Imp, you were dressed in black. You! You! You were the one who took me away and never brought me back. I’m crying dry tears. I cannot forget what happened after all these years. What happened is unspeakable! I bite my tongue. That’s why I’m crying dry tears. Lawyers, Prosecutors, Judges, etc. are cashing in on me for the last five years, They make big bucks through my litigation for my childhood of suffering; that’s why I’m crying dry tears.. All my relations, William Arnold Coombes News from the Library
News from the Library New Books Can you change the world by changing your cereal? The Better World Shopping Guide (640.73) rates everything from chocolate bars to soap to beer based on the social and environmental practices of the companies that make them. U.S. in focus, you’ll still find information on many of the brands on Vancouver shelves. Solve it with Supplements (613.28) looks at herbal and nutritional alternatives to treating disease, and how such supplements may prevent illness in the first place. Arranged by supplement and by condition, you can easily look for alternative treatments or find out uses of a particular herb or supplement. Some of the ingredients are expensive, commercial supplements, but some are herbs and plants that you can find on the roadside. State of War: The Secret History of the CIA and the Bush Administration is Pulitzer Prize-winning author James Risen’s shocking account of abuses of power under George W Bush’s administration. The L.A. Times called the book “damning and dismaying”, the New York Times said it was “illuminating and disturbing.” We’ve also got some new ESL titles, including Speaking of Survival (428.34), which is great for new immigrants just learning how to use a bank machine or find a doctor, and English Made Easy: Learning English Through Pictures (428.34). Our third floor bookcase is damaged, so new books are in the display case in the library at the moment. Ask at the front desk of the library if you want to reserve one (or more) of them. Computer Down Time Carnegie’s computers will not be available between 6pm Saturday, March 24 and 12pm Sunday March 25 because of upgrading work. Thanks to Mark for all his work while I was on mat leave. It’s good to be back. Beth, your librarian. In Memoriam, Gayle Robinson,
In Memoriam, Gayle Robinson, May 1953 – February 2007 I still can’t believe you’re gone Your smile recalled the morning dawn I look for you in every place In people, I search for your face I wish I could see you once more I wish it were still like before We were going to exchange rings Now I yearn for the peace Spring brings Now all I have left is just hope It’s difficult for me to cope Once inseparable lovers We who remain turn to others There’s solace in life immortal That is the saving of us all Knowing that with God’s love you’re one Something you fought hard for and won I treasure each moment I saw There is no unforgiving flaw Some day we will be together And we’ll stay that way forever Rolf Auer (My first poetry in over 10 years. Gayle was my partner) The Wind and the Stars
The Wind and the Stars The dark and threatening afternoon sky matched the somber mood of the campground near Youbou on Vancouver Island where Jean and I had pitched our tent. “These ancient maple trees and thick evergreens create a world of shadows,” Jean said. “Shadows that move with the wind and the flickering light of Cowichan Lake,” I added. “The ferns are tall here, and moss hangs from every tree,” Jean said. “Rain and sunlight,” I said, “and the sound of waves on a pebble beach.” The sun appeared from behind a bank of clouds, and streams of light entered the dark woods. A small evergreen burst into gold, and shimmered in the warm light. “A golden tree,” Jean said. “Tree of fire,” I said. “Goddess of poetry, goddess of the hearth.” Then the light faded, and the vision was gone. We had seen it, though. “The first Christmas tree,” Jean said. In the night the wind blew stronger. It blew the clouds away, and stars appeared. “The stars are beautiful,” Jean said, “but the sound of trees falling in the wind is not beautiful.” “I agree, but I think we are safe at this campsite” I said. “I hope so,” Jean replied. The wind whistled and roared. It sounded like a freight train coming. We could hear some of the old maple trees crashing down. “Maybe we should move away from this campground,” Jean said. “Where could we go?” I asked. Jean: “We could find a field somewhere.” Sandy: “In the middle of the night?” Jean: “It’s not midnight yet.” Sandy: “Maybe the wind will die down.” Jean: “Maybe it will get stronger.” Sandy: “Some of the other campers are staying.” Jean: “And others are leaving.” Sandy: “A tree could fall across the road.” Jean: “A good reason to leave now.” Then there was a huge crash close to our campsite. The falling tree took smaller trees with it, and a thin sapling hit the front of our truck. It didn’t do any damage, but its message was clear: “Get out of here while you still can.” We grabbed our sleeping bags and a tarpaulin to put on the ground, and jumped into the truck. I drove slowly on the narrow campground road, and prayed that all would be well. We reached the main road, and turned in the direction of Youbou. “Now what?” I asked. “We’ll find a place,” Jean said. And we did find a place. We found the Youbou baseball park, and we put our tarpaulin and sleeping bags between first base and second base. The wind, which had died down a little, had blown all the clouds away, and we could see more stars than we could ever see from the city. “We’ll be safe here,” Jean said. “I hope so,” I replied. “I see the seven stars of the Big Dipper,” Jean said. “The seven grandfathers,” I said. “Say thank you to the grandfathers,” Jean said. “There’s a shooting star,” Jean said, “and there’s another.” “Yes,” I said, and then I added, “We are made of stardust, you know.” “Yes, I know,” Jean said. “That makes us children of the universe.” “First Nations people use the expression ‘All my relations’ at the end of some of their ceremonies.” We watched the stars and listened to the silence of the night. Then the automatic sprinkler system clicked on, and the ball park became a fountain of water glistening in starlight. Sandy Cameron Homeless Families in Shelters Hit Record
You may have heard talk about the success of dealing with homelessness in New York City, but this article from the NY Times suggests otherwise - Homeless Families in City Shelters Hit Record, Despite the Mayor’s Efforts By TRYMAINE LEE The number of homeless families living in New York City shelters reached a record high last month, halfway into the Bloomberg administration’s five-year plan to reduce homelessness by two-thirds, according to a report released yesterday by an advocacy group using city figures. Last month’s total, 9,287 families, was the highest since the city started keeping and publicly releasing such figures in 1979, according to the group, the Coalition for the Homeless. When Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg announced his plan on homelessness in August 2004, the number of homeless families was 8,850 and his goal was to lower that to 7,400 by this point. The data also showed that while more homeless families were seeking refuge in city shelters, the number being moved into permanent housing fell last year by 11 percent compared with 2005. The report comes at a time when the amount of housing affordable to low-income residents continues to shrink and the gap between average income and rent continues to grow, advocates for the homeless said. In preparing its report, the coalition used figures from the city’s Department of Homeless Services. The agency did not dispute the data or the findings, but an agency spokeswoman said that the mayor’s plan was a work in progress and that it might need to be adjusted. The spokeswoman, Tanya Valle-Batista, also accused the coalition of being more interested in seeking publicity than helping address the problem. “While the rest of the nonprofit community is working with the city to address these issues, the coalition continues its opportunistic efforts to generate headlines,” Ms. Valle-Batista said in a statement. The figures show that the city should rethink its strategy to move people into permanent housing, the coalition said. Much of that strategy focuses on a city program started in 2004 that replaced many of the federally subsidized housing programs that had been used to shift homeless welfare recipients into permanent housing. But a little more than two years into the plan, the number of homeless in shelters is up nearly across the board, exceeding 35,000. In February 2006, according to the report, the total number of homeless New Yorkers in shelters was 31,472 and rose 11.1 percent to 35,252 by last month, according to the report. The number of homeless families in February 2006 was 7,805, rising 17.6 percent to 9,287 by last month, the report said. The number of homeless children in February 2006 was 11,925, and went up 18.1 percent by last month, to 14,287. The one piece of good news cited by the report was a decline last year, for the second year in a row, in single adults living in shelters. Patrick Markee, senior policy analyst for the Coalition for the Homeless, said flaws in the mayor’s program, called Housing Stability Plus, kept it from meeting its goals. “The flaws in the mayor’s program have clearly made it hard for families in shelters to get safe and affordable housing,” he said. One major problem, he said, is the 20 percent annual reduction in housing subsidies, which is intended to encourage participants to find better-paying jobs. “This is a subsidy program that cuts the value of the housing subsidy by 20 percent each year, regardless of a family’s circumstance,” Mr. Markee said. “It serves as a work disincentive, and effectively prohibits families from gaining employment income because that would cut them from welfare.” As a result, Mr. Markee said, some participants’ jobs exclude them from being eligible for welfare. In the meantime, their housing subsidies are cut, leaving them unable to pay rent and, often, sending them back into shelters.. The Department of Homeless Services is planning to make adjustments in its housing subsidy program, Ms. Valle-Batista said. She said the coalition’s findings on homeless families were accurate, but noted that, unlike other large cities, New York defines families as including single parents and couples with no children. She also said that the rise of homeless people in shelters meant, in one sense, that the city was doing its job by not turning people away.[!!] Arnold S. Cohen, president and chief executive of Partnership for the Homeless, said that rather than simply being critical of the mayor, the coalition’s findings highlight the growing inequality in NYC. “This is the story about the other New York,” he said, “another city of unimaginable poverty. I don’t think we should ever look at this as a failure. This is an opportunity to learn from our past.” Forwarded by Susan Henry Remembering Harriett Nahanee
Remembering Harriett Nahanee - Reclaiming our Sacred Space, and Holding the Criminals Accountable One of my proudest moments with Harriett Nahanee happened on a Sunday morning in Vancouver's downtown eastside, on November 16, 2003. On that day, Harriett led a score of aboriginal youth into an Anglican mass and took over that worship service, raising general hell among the shocked stuffed shirts who run St. James Anglican Church. At the time, it seemed that the issue that led us to occupy that church for awhile was the dead and disappeared children of the Indian Residential Schools: the 100,000 souls whose fate and remains have never been accounted for by either the Anglicans or the Catholics or United Church. But later, it became clearer to me that Harriett was really reclaiming a place stolen by my culture, and reasserting the sacredness of her peoples' way in the face of the very state religion that had tried to stamp it out. It all started innocuously enough. A few of us thought it was time to confront the churches that had run the residential schools on their own turf, and Harriett happened to be within earshot. And so, in her usual manner, she dispensed with debate and took direct action: she began walking up and down east Hastings street on that Sunday morning, collecting our people in the ones and twos. Soon, we were a small army: uncertain, wary of what might happen, but led by Harriett's firm steps. It's great when you catch the Beast napping, and occasionally you can surprise It by doing the unexpected. Unlike nowadays, there were no security guards at the door of St. James Anglican Church that morning, and the twenty six of us poured into the sanctuary in the midst of the morning mass. Fanning out into the throng of hymn singers, our group instinctively headed to the front of the church, where two robed priests were so engrossed in leading their multitude that they didn't seem to notice the bunch of scruffy Indians and assorted poor folks who took up position around the pulpit and communion table. They were completely shocked. One of the priests actually stood with his mouth open, gaping at Harriett as she approached the pulpit. His colleague quickly motioned to the organist to continue playing, and the confused congregation kept singing the same final verse over and over. The clerical machine started to hiss and sputter. I stood at the back of the church, recording all that happened, and from there I saw the older priest whispering something to Harriett, who kept shaking her head. Later, she told me that he had said that we could all go to jail for two years for disrupting their service. (That's no lie, either: check out Section 176 of the Criminal Code of Canada). Harriett ignored the threat and literally seized the pulpit. "This is the place from where your people conquered mine, and destroyed our religion. So now I'm going to use this place to take back our religion and our land. "You're always telling us how we're the ones who need healing. But you're the people who are sick and who need healing, not us. You are the ones who murdered innocent children and who still refuse to say where you buried them. You need real healing, and we're the only people who can give it to you, because you tried to destroy us. But we're still here, and so I've come to offer you that healing." That kind of turning-of-the-tables was too much for the head priest, who quickly interrupted Harriett by declaring, "The Anglican Church has acknowledged the wrongs it did towards First Nations people and has begun a comprehensive healing program. We have apologized for the residential schools and..." A sudden cry arose from the back of the church, close to me: "How do you apologize to a corpse?" yelled one of the non-native protestors. "How do you say sorry to a murdered child?" And then all hell broke loose. A general outcry arose from the white folks in the pews, who began to call us all sorts of nasty names. A guy at the door started screaming into a cell phone, "Red! Code Red! Call the police!" None of that fazed Harriett. With great dignity, she stayed put in the pulpit and kept trying to speak. But the older priest, tired of civility, started shoving her away, and a few of the younger native men moved to her defense. Some of the others in our group kept leaning non-chalantly against the front altar, smiling at all the chaos. Suddenly, Harriett emerged from the maelstrom, gathering all of us in her wake, and leading our army out of the church as the insults and screams rained down on us. We left the building before the cop cars arrived - all four of them - and our triumphant throng marched down east hastings street together. We were elated. We had made our statement, reclaimed what had been stolen, and turned the tables on the criminals. And it was mostly due to Harriett. A triumph like that can never be re-created. It's true that since then, we've basked in the knowledge that after our protest, the Anglicans hired a regular batch of security guards to monitor everyone coming into their churches in Vancouver. The sense of finally being noticed, of having an impact on the normally dead order of things, has always stayed with us since that beautiful day when people with so little made a powerful church become very afraid. And that seed will continue to grow and bear even stronger fruit. But what I mostly carry with me from that day is the memory of a completely unafraid woman, tortured as a child by the very people she offered healing to, and thereby showing the official Christians what Jesus really meant, and lived. Harriett was Christ for me that day, and Buddha, and the Great Spirit: the voice of truth ringing in ears clogged by corruption and babble. It's a voice that still speaks to me today, and to anyone who will listen. They haven't killed Harriett Nahanee at all. Don't believe that judicial murder, or pneumonia, or a cross, ever silences the just souls among us. May they, and may Harriett, continue to make us restless, and move us to act. ......................by Kevin Annett / Eagle Strong Voice Author's Note: You can see Harriett Nahanee in our new, award-winning documentary film on Genocide in Canada entitled UNREPENTANT. Info: www.hiddenfromhistory.org . Classicide
Classicide “for want of the price” - Pink Floyd It takes a lifetime for the free-market to kill the poor. It is murder nonetheless. Are you earning a good living? Do you know who you killed today? Stephen Belkin solo art and poetry exhibition
Thank you to Paul the editor of the Carnegie Newsletter, to all at the Carnegie Centre and to all the angels who appeared to lend me their hands while I was putting up my 1st solo art and poetry exhibition. The opening night was a stupendous success. The Guitar playing and singing by the lovely and talented May and Rachel Davis, who has Friday morning music sessions, set an ambiance of positive flow. We enjoyed lots of food, music, poetry readings and a bit of wiggling and giggling to belly dancing music and had lots of laughs. My exhibit will be up until April 14th 2007 on the 3rd floor at the Carnegie. See you there, Montana. Poem There's nothing funny Except that bunny Honey, it's cute The Bees have 'forgotten' Their way home What! NO HONEY Now I feel all sticky My hand's stuck in the Bottom of the pot It won't come out I'm all stuck with sticky Goodness what am I to do? My hand has disappeared And I feel all ticky Goodness gracious me Here comes a Moose I hear its hoofs Crack the pot My hand has come loose Hay Ms. 'B' I got honey for our Cup of tea. © Montana King
