Catalyst Centre Needs Your Help

Yup, we're hurting.

It all started with an idea: could we create a popular education organization that practiced the very ethics, pedagogy and politics that we presumed we could teach (facilitate, develop, support, etc.) to others? Matt and i shared a history of conversations about social change, Gramsci, popular education, ethics and so on and, while working to support a North American coalition of popular and adult education groups, we concocted an idea we called the "Catalyst Project." the project didn't go anywhere but we had this idea in the back of our heads that was ready-made for an opportunity to start a new popular education group round about 1998. We approached two friends, Clare and Darashani and thus became the co-founders of the Catalyst Centre. We had a handful of vigorous years though funding, from the get-go, was tough. Over and over again we encountered enthusiasm for the democratic process we represented but reluctance to fund processes that did not have clearly defined, measureable outcomes. Along the way, our modest resource collection grew from a few hundred books and manuals to thousands, as we acquired the collection of the International Council for Adult Education. Which brings us to our present crisis. We need to save our collection. So we're doing a BIG push on fundraising and hope to raise enough to buy us some time and capacity to continue to care for a unique resource. Below is our appeal (which you can also download as a PDF here) and we urge any and all who value popular education work to consider donating and/or passing on this appeal to others who might wish to contribute. Thanks in advance.

Monday, April 28, 2008

The Catalyst Centre needs your help. Urgently!

This is an emergency appeal for support to keep the Catalyst library intact. Our collection of thousands of books and journals (mostly in storage these past couple of years while we've looked for a new home) is in jeopardy. We have to move it (or renew our storage arrangement) by May 8. We need to raise at least $2,000 by May 6^th to move the collection and that may still mean giving away a lot of stuff.

Can you support us with a tax-deductible donation to support the library? Your donation can help us keep this collection alive. You can donate right now through our account with Canada Helps, a charitable on-line donation portal (please note that our incorporated name is "Popular Education and Research Catalyst Centre, Inc."). You can help out now by visiting:

http://www.canadahelps.org/CharityProfilePage.aspx?CharityID=d50680

Cheques can be made to the "Catalyst Centre Foundation" and mailed to:

Catalyst Centre

720 Bathurst Street

Toronto ON M5S 2R4

Our long-term goal is to raise over $20,000 to preserve what is one of the best adult and popular education collections in the country.

This need for urgent funds came upon us due to a change in management where the library is being stored. Catalyst, as organization in hibernation, has zero funds to support the library and storage costs have come out of one individual donor and significant financial contributions from Catalyst staff, a model that cannot be maintained past May 8. We are working to find a permanent home for the library in the next few weeks, but we need funds in order to make this happen.

The Catalyst Centre is almost ten years old. Hard to believe. When Matt and chris first began discussing the idea of founding a popular education group to continue the tradition of the Doris Marshall Institute for Education and Action and the Naming the Moment Project, we certainly didn't know where we'd be ten years later. The Catalyst Centre is respected both locally and internationally and, if people overestimate our capacity (which has always been modest), this is, nonetheless, a measure of the importance of the work that we do (along with numerous allies). And, while we are now in a phase of making new plans, circumstances have caught up with us.

We are currently expanding and renewing the membership of Catalyst. And we're looking into developing new programming that will include courses and workshops, support for the Indigenous Environmental Network's Alberta tarsands campaign, continued management and development of the collection and more.

Our immediate need is the collection. It is likely the single best collection of popular education materials in Canada. It contains extensive adult and popular education information, as well as archives from the Doris Marshall Institute and the Moment Project. It is a collection that is still an excellent support to community educators, community development practitioners, students, social workers and more.

Your donation can make the difference between preserving this collection and having to give it away in pieces, if not actually having to discard much of it.

Whatever you can contribute will be put to good use. Every little bit helps. You will get a charitable receipt for any donation and we ask you to consider giving anything between $25 and $1000. All donations are tax deductible. If you can help, please do so now.

Thank-you for considering this appeal and please feel free to share it with anyone you think might appreciate being a part of saving this collection and supporting the work of the Catalyst Centre.

Sincerely,

chris cavanagh, Matthew Adams, Corvin Russell

Simple Gifts

Jennifer was working as a waitress when, one night, a group of nuns came in. Jennifer served them and was also curious about these women who had devoted their lives to god. Their exchange was lively and the nuns’ joviality infected Jennifer who joked and teased along with the Sisters. The Sisters were themselves curious about Jennifer. The nuns were on their way to see a play called Nunsense.

The Sisters returned to the restaurant after the play and sat in a section that Jennifer was not working. Nonetheless, the Sister’s called Jennifer over and told her of the play, blushing as they reported on some of the more scandalous scenes. Their good cheer was undiminished and, as they were about to leave, they approached Jennifer, told her how much they enjoyed meeting her, and gave her a five dollar bill. Jennifer protested that they hadn’t even been in her section but the Sisters were insistent, saying that they wanted to support Jennifer in whatever she chose to do.

Jennifer was moved by this humble gift and vowed to use the five dollars for something worthy: perhaps donate it to a shelter or some other charity. However, that night Jennifer went out drinking with friends and ran out of money. She debated using the $5 she had just received and went ahead and spent it. The next morning she awoke mortified at what she’d done. It was the beginning of a soul-searching during which she stopped drinking. She reflected on her life and eventually chose to get involved in literacy work as a volunteer tutor.

Some months after meeting the Sisters Jennifer was serving a young couple in the restaurant when something moved her to tell them the story of the nuns and the five dollar bill. She enjoyed serving the young couple and was surprised when, after the couple left, the man approached her and said his wife wanted to talk to her. Jennifer thought that the service had been appreciated but now prepared herself for some unexpected complaint.

The woman handed Jennifer a five dollar bill saying that she had been so moved by the story that they wanted to give her back the $5 the Sisters had given her.

Light in my life

The one on the right is J'net in a dress of her own making and which is part of an exhibit that starts in a couple of weeks at Six Nations Reserve south of Toronto.

Oy, but life gets busy sometimes

Well, i've just come through a rather crazy-busy stretch that included moving house, living outta boxes, watching my partner's belly expand with new life, volunteering with the Toronto Community Development Institute which just ended (rather successfully, if i don't say so myself), a number of contracts including an "ending poverty" popular education curriculum (that you'll be able to download from this website later this week) and numerous other activities. So, once again, blogging has been difficult to keep up with. So here's a wee tale i penned some time ago about something that happened almost 25 years ago. I still can't tell this story without crying - it still feels like it happened yesterday:

The Potato

While in the mountains of Nicaragua, surrounded by war, I chose to make a rather treacherous journey to the nearest city. We were bringing the harvested and washed coffee beans to the central location for further processing. And we were also picking up food for the community of refugees that we were working with. We were camped on top of a mountain with many of the campesinos from the surrounding valleys. The mountain top was defensible and safe. We made the 50 kilometer journey to Condega, traded our coffee beans for sacks of potatoes and journeyed back. We came upon one patrol of contras who took aim at us and fired as we sped away. This raised the value of the potatoes for me in a unique way. So later that night when a young girl of a family I’d befriended came to my tent with a hot potato, my first thought was that she was trying to unload the undesirable nightshade on the unsuspecting gringo. I saw those potatoes as an all-too-precious source of nutrition and one that I had risked my life for. There was no way I was going to let this five-year-old neglect her health. I accepted the potato graciously but took her and the potato back to the family. I tried to explain politely that their daughter was trying to avoid eating her potato but I was told quickly that I had misunderstood. They had sent the potato to me as thanks for having made the risky journey that day. Touched and a little broken-hearted (though in a good way) I thanked them for the precious gift and returned to my tent to enjoy, very deeply, the best potato I ever ate.

Culture Jamming Compared to Invisible Theatre

i just learned about this "frozen crowd" event that took place in February at Grand Central Station in New York City. Pretty impressive. Here's the backstory. It's a pretty compelling performance art piece. Makes me think about Invisible Theatre invented and developed by Augusto Boal. The difference is that Invisible Theatre is aimed at provoking dialogue on issues of power, oppression and social change while the types of public performance art like the one above (and also culture jamming events like flash mobs and public pillow fights) aim to be politically "neutral". And, of course, nothing is politically neutral. My concern with these public performance art things is how vulnerable they are to commercial (i.e. advertising industry) co-optation.

The Pinky Show - okay, so, like, i'm an instant total fan

I've just learned about The Pinky Show and i'm pretty impressed. The matter-of-factness of the little girl voice coming from the always-bewildered-looking Pinky gives wonderful life to facts (about resistance to immigration in the US) and quotes (as with Ivan Illich in this piece featured here). As much as racism, homophobia, mysogyny and all the other ways in which we do violence to each other deserve rage and anger, there's something to be said for a disposition of bewildered dismay, like "isn't racism just stupid?" Racism is, of course, many things and that includes "just stupid". This disposition carries truths in a peculiar way. I've always felt that we have to be careful with our anger - that it represents an enormous amount of energy and that it should be called forth only when violence is in action and dignity and life need immediate defense. Most other times, i feel, that humour is the best defense. To allow our anger to carry on beyond the moment of defense is to risk being drawn into the dance of violence and to give our energy away. I compare this to what i've learned about aikido - to stay centered, to keep the movement and energy flowing, to resist being drawn into your opponent's dance, to realize that there is no opponent, only movement. Humour can keep us centered, balanced. And The Pinky Show is doing a good job of that.

New Paper on Popular Education

Claudia de Simone is a friend, a journalist, a drummer and a former student at the Faculty of Environmental Studies (including having been a participant in the popular education course that i've been teaching and co-teaching these past several years). Claudia has recently graduated and her studies included an excellent case study of popular education used in the context of watershed issues in a neighbourhood of Sao Paulo, Brazil. Her paper has just been published on the FES website under the outstanding major paper series and you can download it by clicking on the following:

‘Toward Popular Environmental Education in Marginalized Watershed Communities: The Case Study of São Paulo.’
Abstract: It is rare to find a critical discussion of race in literature about Brazilian urban environmental degradation and water pollution. Most of the literature discusses what to do with the “problem” of the periphery neighbourhoods – called favelas – whose residents are often represented as polluters of the rivers near to which they live and as occupiers of ‘environmentally risky’ territory. In Brazil, it is common to encounter environmental education projects that incorporate a debate on economic inequalities and environment, but without mention of colonialism or race subjection. Using the case study of São Paulo, this paper shows how racism has been historically spatialized through the material production of the favela, as well as through its discursive production in mainstream media and literature. That environmental injustices taking place in racialized communities are officially accepted makes it crucial to problematize this hegemonic violence in educational spaces. The author argues for the discussion of race, interconnected with class and gender, in environmental education. Paulo Freire’s principles of a pedagogy of the oppressed are critical to a discussion about the meaning of an anti-colonial pedagogy and thus, of the practice of anti-colonial environmental education.

Mark Your Calendars (if you're in Toronto or near enough)

I've been part of organizing a community development institute here in Toronto and if you're in the area i recommend checking it out. We'll have a program to share soon. It includes over 70 sessions on topics ranging from community engagement to community arts, anti-poverty to health and more; and much of it featuring popular education. If you want to distribute the poster you can download it here.

A Wee Book Exhibit

I have a small exhibit of handmade books mounted at the Spadina Branch of the Toronto Public Library for the next week or so. If you're in the neighbourhood, you should drop by and have a peek. It includes 'zines, stab-bound commonplace books, an annual solstice book project and and advent calendar (made from cigar boxes).

Ancient Advice

I plucked the Hua Hu Ching: The Unknown Teachings of Lao Tzu translated by Brian Walker off my bookshelf last week and re-read its 81 passages. Less well-known than Lao Tzu's Tao Te Ching, the Hua Hu Ching are Lao Tzu's oral teachings that have been passed down the centuries and generations. Yet again i am struck by how relevant ancient wisdom is to our world, and how often we are so foolish as to think we have invented something new. I was struck by many passages on this re-reading and one, in particular, struck a chord for me.

Fifty-Two

Do you think you can clear your mind by sitting constantly in silent meditation?
This makes your mind narrow, not clear.

Integral awareness is fluid and adaptable, present in all places and at all times.
That is true meditation.

Who can attain clarity and simplicity by avoiding the world?
The Tao is clear and simple, and it doesn’t avoid the world.

Why not simply honor your parents,
love your children,
help your brothers and sisters,
be faithful to your friends,
care for your mate with devotion,
complete your work cooperatively and joyfully,
practice virtue without first demanding it of others,
understand the highest truths yet retain and ordinary manner?

That would be true clarity, true simplicity, true mastery.

Trickster Pedagogy Notes -01

Alas, but the workshop on Trickster Pedagogy i would have done in Nova Scotia at the Tatamagouche Centre has been cancelled. Leaving me with workshop plans and notes that could fill a book (or tow or three...). Trickster Pedagogy remains something i am developing as both theory and practice or, in a word, praxis. I'll have more to share about this in future posts. Meanwhile, here's a few tidbits that guide me.

Be passionately aware that you could be completely wrong. dian marino, friend, artist, educator

None learned the art of archery from me who, in the end, did not make me the target. Saadi of Shiraz, Sufi poet 13th C.

The highest truth cannot be put into words.
Therefore the greatest teacher has nothing to say.
He simply gives himself in service, and never worries.
Lao Tzu, Hua Hu Ching: The Unknown Teachings of Lao Tzu (Brian Walker, tr.). NY: HarperCollins, 1992.

Teachers are people who help you solve problems you wouldn't have without them. Anon.

"One Big Union"

I learned about this terrific video and song from Straight Goods who also kindly posted the lyrics which i've included here.

by MATTHEW GRIMM & THE RED SMEAR

When the paycheck just ain't stretchin like it might've once before
'Cause the good jobs all are gone and left you in some bigbox store
Between food and rent and medicine, the suits just rate a whole lot more.

When the bosses cut that last corner and you walk out those doors
When the truckers hauling sweatshop stuff won't stop there anymore
When folks won't cross your pickets cause their boat's the same as yours
That is one big union.

When the nickled and the dimed have had enough of being screwed
When they walk out of the sweatshops and the cops refuse to shoot
When the puppet regimes fall, when the World Bank gets the boot
That is one big union.

They call it a labor surplus
Market-value poverty
But what if that which ye do to the least of my brethren
So you do unto me.

We built the tanks and ships that
Saved a world in darkest throes
Back when young men fought for the rights of mankind
Not just some CEOs.

When a simple, decent living is a right that we all share
When the suits see us as people not just assets to be pared
When they can't just ship your job off 'cause it's happening everywhere
That is one big union.

When the volume of this chorus grows till they can't help but hear
When our leaders serve the people, not just banks and profiteers
When the food and labor of the earth feed everyone here
That is one big union.

That will be one big union
Come join our one big union.

New Activist Education Book

Just got my hands on a copy of this latest "handbook" for social change. I learned of the Trapese collective a few years ago and am pleased that they identify as a popular education collective. I still want to learn more about their take on popular education (they have a blog as well), and i can see that they draw somewhat on the Scottish popular education folks and i know there has been a significant interest there (in popular education, Paulo Freire, et al) for some i time. One excellent book from Scotland is Liam Kane's Popular Education for Social Change in Latin America.

Do It Yourself: A Handbook for Changing Our World is 320 pages of critical discussion, action suggestions and activity descriptions that is the kind of blend of theory and practice of which we need to see lots more. I have a small quibble with something that's 320 pages long being called a "handbook" but, to be fair, if i did a "handbook" it would likely be several hundred pages long as well. Activists, educators and engaged citizens have an urgent and overwhelming need for the kind of information found in these pages. The book's website (link above) is excellent and will give you a quick and thorough overview including some sample chapters (in PDF).

The book has nine themes, each addressed by two chapters, one analytical (theory) and one practical (applied). The themes are a good reflection of what social movements (especially since the WTO protests in Seattle) have taken up and include cultural activism, food, direct action and more. I turned straight away to the "Education" section which starts off right away talking about popular education. And it's a good introduction. I've got to read it more closely before i offer more than encouragement to get a copy. And get one you should. This book is packed with good stuff.

Activist Education Programs

I started this blog three years ago partly as a way to redirect my disappointment over a failed attempt to launch a national Activist School (aka Democracy School) across Canada. The Catalyst Centre along with a wonderful array of allies developed what i still think is a beautiful vision. And we came within a hair's breadth of having the start-up funds to launch something that i still think we desperately need. You can read our original vision here. You can even have a look at our business plan here (caution, it's a 2.7M PDF). Sadly, the idea proved too radical for the funder who had had some interest. We came up against a charateristic neo-liberal (aka neo-conservative) plaint that goes something like this: "will there be equal room at this Democracy School for someone with conservative politics?"

While our effort was definitely aimed at creating more space for social justice activism, it was equally committed to this being a democratic space and on that basis, the answer to the
neo-con objection would be "yes". But, of course, the naively worded question above disguises (and mis-directs) the true intent behind the question which is merely to bolster the dominant common sense that there is a basic equality between such things as the Left and Right, i.e. there are always two sides to an issue, etc. Nonsense, of course. Though it's true that there are two sides to an issue (in a Manichaean, good-vs-evil kinda way), it's more true that there are numerous sides or, still more true, facets. The dominating consciousness is always quick to demand "equal time" when challenged, though it rarely feels the need to offer the same when advocating its own positions.

At any rate, the Activist School proved too challenging an idea to access the necessary funds for us to get started. And i'll grant that we were applying an important ethic that made things especially difficult funding-wise. While we pulled together a remarkably diverse coalition of interests to get the things rolling, we were also intent on having enough resources at the beginning of the process to enable us properly to involve voices traditionally excluded until the party gets started. We dared to imagine that, just this once, we could establish a "ground floor" that would include the voices of our society's most marginalized and oppressed. Our ethic was one of democratic co-creation. We eschewed Margaret Mead's over-quoted "common sense": "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has." While these words have been used to mobilize people to get active with their neighbours and fellow citizens, they also promote the notion that mass movements don't "change the world" and/or, if they do, it is actually because of a small, elite group that can be found at a movement's core. Not to suggest that you won't find a small group at the core of such things. But it is a gross oversimplification of the complexities of social change to suggest, as Mead does, that a small group is "the only thing that ever has" changed the world. Contrast this with the Gandhian notion of sarvodaya which Gandhi coined and used as the title of his political philosophy. From two sanskrit roots sarva (all) and udaya (uplift) it translates as "the uplift of all" or "the welfare of all." I came across this term 20 years ago reading the work of Vinoba Bhave, spiritual successor to Gandhi and founder of the Sarvodaya Movement. In some article i read sarvodaya was translated as "all rising together" and that idea has stuck with me since. The more i learn about how the welfare of the privileged few necessitates the impoverishment of the many, the more i return to this gandhian notion. I imagined that our approach to the Activist School modeled some small part of this notion of radical mutuality.

Well, as i said, we failed to establish an Activist School. But for three years we shared resources, developed new relationships, and dreamed together about a better world. And i, for one, have continued to think about a national activist school that could combine the virtually countless on-going social change efforts in something slightly more cooperative and coordinated. All this to say that i've come across a number of institutions where there is space for activist education. So, if you're looking for a space where you can focus your learning about social change, a place to engage theory and practice, a place to develop new relationships, and even a place where you can learn more about popular education, here's a few i know about:

The Faculty of Environmental Studies at York University in Toronto, Ontario, C anada: FES has Bachelors, Masters and PhD programs. The MES, in particular, is an excellent place for activist education. The MES is a self-directed study program. Students make their own curriculum and, as such, have the unusual (for academia) freedom to craft a unique course of study. Many environmental activists have come to FES to hone their skills, explore theories of change and learning, learn how to influence public policy and more. I'm pleased to have taught the Popular Education for Social Change course since 2001 (excluding 2003) which is an excellent activist learning opportunity. And there are numerous other courses including about social movements and community organizing that are well-worth taking.

The Environmental Advocacy and Organizing Program at Antioch University New England, U.S.A.: this is a relatively new program, developed by Steve Chase as part of his PhD work. Steve included researching popular education into his PhD and he has subsequently incorporated it into the curriculum and pedagogy of the EAOP. I don't know the US academic landscape well enough to know if the EAOP is unique, but it sures looks it. Steven Chase also maintains a related blog that's worth checking out: The Well-Trained Activist.

MA/Diploma in Activism and Social Change in the School of Geography, faculty of Environment at the University of Leeds, England: I just learned about this program from a friend (thanks, Katharine) and i love the name. They offer an MA, Diploma and Certificate program. i've yet to look more closely at this program, but, at a glance, it looks great! Very interestingly, they are using Do It Yourself: A Handbook for Changing Our World by the Trapese Collective, a popular education collective that includes Kim Bryan, Alice Cutler and Paul Chatterton who is the Course Coordinator for this program. I plan to write about this book in a subsequent post.

CAW/MAC Certificate in Labour Studies at McMaster University, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada: i learned about this program through work i've done for the Canadian Auto Workers. What i've learned of the program is that it includes an emphasis on supporting union activism. Their description includes this paragraph that seems a good example of popular education practice:

Courses are offered locally in your community. Education has an important role in building a knowledgeable membership and workplace leadership. An educational program will develop members capacities for critical thinking. The learning process built upon a commitment to participants that translates into respect for prior experience, skill and activism.

(The image above is of one of the many meetings that happened over the three years of our effort. It was taken by Dorothy Wigmore.)

What i'm reading

I've been reading John Berger's work since i was a teenager and i'm surprised, as i read his newest book, how easily i seem to forget his profound influence me. I started this blog three years ago and one of my contributions that year was about guilt, inspired by my memory of Berger's 1972 essay Photographs of Agony. That essay forever altered the way i look at images both in the mass media and in general. I picked up Hold Everything Dear this weekend and am only a handful of pages along and already Berger's ideas are challenging my understandings of things.
I am perpetually disturbed by the use of the word terrorist and every time i hear it i imagine Orwell chuckling grimly. "Terrorist" is as pure an example of Newspeak (the fictional language Orwell created for his novel 1984) as exists today. It is blithely used by virtually every mass media publication or broadcast. And, like the vocabulary of Newspeak, it is designed to compel people to think in simple, totalitarian terms. Once we have labelled someone a "terrorist" we no longer have to think of them as human. And, sadly, i catch myself falling prey to this pervasive and evil piece of common sense. When i pause to reflect, i do wonder about the circumstances that drive people to the awful choices for which "terrorist" is a code. For surely these people once laughed as children, loved as brothers and sisters, dreamed of a better world. There is yet much to understand about the people we so quickly dismiss as "terrorists" and "fundamentalists" and Berger has some compelling thoughts on this which i leave you with:

A crucial question today is: what makes a world terrorist and, in extremity, what makes a suicide martyr? (I speak here of the anonymous volunteers: Terrorist Leaders are another story.) What makes a terrorist is, first, a form of despair. Or, to put it more accurately, it is a way of transcending and, by the gift of one’s own life, making sense of a form of despair.

This is why the term suicide is somewhat inappropriate, for the transcendence gives to the martyr a sense of triumph. Triumph over those he is supposed to hate? I doubt it. The triumph is over passivity, the bitterness, the sense of absurdity which emanate from a certain depth of despair.

From Seven Levels of Despair in Hold Everything Dear: Dispatches on Survival and Resistance by John Berger (NY: Pantheon, 2007), pp. 9-10.

Remembering Richard Flint 1959-2007

As this new year begins, i continue to reflect on the old year. One thing that has been in my heart most of the year is the death of an old friend, Richard Flint, with whom i worked on the McGill Daily newspaper in Montreal in the early 80s. Not that i'm feeling old and mortal. I suppose i may feel old someday, but now i feel as young as i have ever felt. And though Richard was the exact same age as i, i can't help but feel how young he was to die. Maybe because we were so young together. Richard passed away this past April after living for many years with a debilitating degenerative genetic disease. By all accounts he lived well, despite his illness and i am pleased to see that he was well-liked and respected by co-workers and friends alike. We lost touch by the 90s but i did hear word of Richard every now and again. There are remembrances posted here and here and eulogies here.
Now, while i admit the possibility of nostalgic romanticizing here, i don't think that's what i'm doing. I'll admit we were brash and cock-sure (sexist implication intended) and we thought we knew more than most. But we were also impassioned and we cared deeply about what we were learning, how we were acting in the world to change it and how we would act in the years to come. And i have always held close in my heart the lessons i learned in those years. Not least the importance of passion and commitment. I collaged together a few pictures from this otherwise forgotten McGill Daily meeting (circa 1982). On the left is Richard Flint in what seems an uncharacteristically calm and thoughtful pose (he was usually more animated than this), to his left our business manager Angie, then writer Martin Siberok followed by, i believe, Jeff (i'll correct this if someone helps), then Greer Nicholson (thanks to Suzy Goldenberg for the reminder) and, finally Brian Topp. I'm struck by how this photo symbolizes something i learned very powerfully in those years and which i have never credited Brian and Richard with (except subconsciously). I would say that the thing i learned most profoundly during the years i worked with the McGill Daily and Canadian University Press is, in a word, democracy. I'll not wax on at this time about the complexities of what i mean by this loaded word. But i do want to acknowledge two debts: from Richard, more than anyone else, i learned the need to fight, to push for change, to demand it - the image that comes to mind is that of a sculptor taking great whacks at the stone with hammer and chisel. And if Richard showed me some of the necessary force to shape this stone, then Brian showed me how to craft the desired image. Brian was, and i am sure still is, an articulate and brilliant (both for his age and just in general) thinker about democratic process.

Oh, but we had fun as well. And here's one anecdote of a road trip that remains vivid in both my mind and heart - i call it Almost, But Not Quite - this is for Richard:

It was Friday, September 18, 1981 and a few of us (some, like myself, from the McGill Daily newspaper, and a few from the Student Council) were wrapping up an anti-apartheid fundraising event when we heard news that Simon and Garfunkle were doing a reunion concert in Central Park in New York City the next day. Saturday morning there was some kind of meeting at the Student Union that got a few of us up early. I don’t recall who suggested it (though my conceit is that it was me – this being my story after all), but, in short order, we had blown off our meeting in favour of renting a car and hitting the road for Manhattan and Central Park. If we were lucky we would just make it. Calls were made, I rented the car, hasty packing was done and Richard Flint, Keith Hennessy, Liz Norman, one other woman (whom I’m forgetting for the moment and owe apologies to – was it you, Paula?) and myself were heading down the New York interstate before mid-day.

Well, we didn’t make it. We got to Central Park just as things were wrapping up. Alas, no sign of S & G. But Keith and i weren’t so easily cheated of our fun. We slipped backstage and did our best to impersonate roadies busy with the load-out. We climbed the stage and basked for a moment in our cleverness at standing where, mere hours before, Simon and Garfunkle had stood before tens of thousands. I suppose you could say we were easily pleased. We managed to blend in with the load-out crew well enough to line up for grilled hotdogs which we ferried over to the others on the other side of the fence. We rejoined our friends and, making our way back to our car, saw and large well-equipped bus pulling out of the concert00 area. We fancied it was the guests of honour and waved as if this were so. The buss stopped … could it be? But, no, they were merely allowing two groupie-type women to get off after which the bus drove off into the night. Beside, it was probably just the back-up band anyway. A tad crestfallen we made our way out to Queens where we bunked in with a slightly startled friend (Liz Lilker, an ex of Richard’s) and her family. It was a festive, if slightly awkward evening.

The next morning we decided, having missed the concert, that we owed it to ourselves to take in some Broadway plays before heading home. Let’s hear it for half price tickets: Liz Norman and i went to see Children of a Lesser God while the others went to a Marx Brother’s show, if i recall. It was a great and full day. After finding dinner somewhere we hit the road for home Sunday evening.

We were driving up 11^th Avenue and everyone was settling down to sleep, save for myself, the trusty driver. It was then that i noticed the llama. On Sunday evening, on 11^th Avenue in downtown New York City there was a man, wearing a pauncho and hat characteristic of the Peruvian Andes, leading a llama along the sidewalk. I laughed, not quite sure that i was, in fact, seeing a llama on a Manhattan street. I told my weary companions about the strange sight and was quickly ridiculed, mocked and otherwise told to “cut it out; we’re not falling for the old, ‘look, everyone, a llama’ trick”. I faced a dilemma. The llama was a block behind us now and i had to decide whether or not i was willing to live with a lifetime of hearing, “Yeah, go ahead and ask Chris about the time he said he saw a llama! Bwaa hah hah!” I pulled a U-turn, drove back a couple of blocks, pulled another U-turn and pulled up alongside the llama and the fellow leading it. I said, “There! See!” Everyone had to admit that it was, indeed, a llama. And, as we watched bleary-eyed and content with our impulsive New York adventure, the fellow and the llama walked into the Irish Cultural Center. It seemed a fitting note on which to start the journey home.

January 1, 2008 - And May 2008 Bring Wonder & Love to Us All

The Pickpocket

Once there was a pickpocket who lived in a small town in the north of England. He picked pockets day and night and became quite good at his chosen trade. Before long he had picked every pocket there was to pick in that small town and decided that it was time he tried his talent in the big city of London to the south. Off he went and London was everything he’d hoped it would be: hundreds of thousands of pockets, everywhere, all the time. He made good use of his talent, if you could call it good. Pretty soon he knew that he was the best pickpocket in London. There was no one to match his skill. Or so he thought. One day, making his way through the market he was perfectly shocked to discover that someone had picked his pocket. He never imagined that such a thing was possible. He looked around and, sure enough, he saw a suspicious-looking head bobbing away through the crowd. He made chase and quickly caught and tackled the thief. The thief, as it turned out, was a beautiful woman and, for a moment, the pickpocket forgot that he had been robbed. Well, they fell in love and, together picked pockets all over London. They married and soon spoke of having a child. They realized that since they were probably the best thieves in London (if not the world) that the child of their union might very well be the best thief in the world. They conceived a child and were very excited as the happy day approached. But, as fate would have it, they were tragically disappointed. Their child, a boy, was born with a terrible deformity: his right arm was paralyzed, his little fist clenched horribly under his chin. Nothing they could do would move the arm and, of course, they were afraid to hurt the fragile creature. They were, however, rich by now and were able to use their fortune to consult the best doctors in all of London and Europe. They traveled and hoped and prayed. They searched for the wisest physicians in the world. But nothing that anyone could do made a difference. Until one day an old man showed up at their door. They hoped, and said that they would pay him whatever he asked. The old man sat before the child. He took out a gold pocket watch and began to dangle it back and forth before the boy. The boy watched the watch intently. Closer and closer the watch came, back and forth, back and forth. The boy’s eyes followed it back and forth, back and forth. Suddenly the boy’s paralyzed arm shot out and grabbed the watch. And dropped the gold ring that he had stolen from the finger of the midwife.

A World of Wisdom

A disciple of the Sufi master Bauhaudin Naqshband once asked him why he never interpreted the stories he told. Naqshband responded, “How would you like it if the fruit vendor from whom you bought fruit ate the fruit and left you only the skin?”

A story, like a piece of fruit, is a unique experience for each person. And, while many may agree that the taste of an apple is of a certain quality, a certain sweetness, who is to say that one person’s pleasure in the fruit is identical to another’s? Or, perhaps, we could compare a story to a many-faceted jewel through which light refracts in myriad ways. Each moment of experience of the wonder of refracted light is unique. So it is with stories, each telling is unique; the experience of each listener is unique. Each story represents a vast wealth of meaning that is in constant motion as we tell to each other, listen, remember and reflect. Indeed, often our remembrance is varied, emphasizing one element over another, leaving out a critical element that the story needs to work. But somehow we piece it back together again – we make up for the missing pieces with the gift of our imagination – so infinitely variable.

The stories I share on this blog are tales that i have found (or, as i often feel, have found me) that persist in my mind and heart. They speak to me over and over again of things that i am always coming to understand better, more deeply, more slowly. I am always prepared for boredom to set in as i tell a story for the Nth time only to be surprised again and again at the seemingly unending abundance of meaning to be had. One of my delights in learning and researching stories is finding stories that are similar yet different and that come from different cultures of the world as with the following two stories. The first is a “joke” that I learned while growing up in Quebec. The second is a tale from Bengal that I found in Folktakes from India: a selection of oral tales from twenty-two languages selected and edited by A.K. Ramanujan (Pantheon 1991).

Faith
Once there was a flood in which a faithful man was trapped in his house. He went to the second storey where he looked out the window and saw a canoe approach. “Get in, get in,” the canoeists said. “We’ll save you.” But the man waved them away, saying, “I put my faith in the Lord. He will not let me come to harm.” The canoe paddled away. The floodwaters rose and the man had to flee to the third floor. He looked out the window and saw a motorboat approach. “We’ve come to rescue you,” the boaters said. But the man waved them away, saying, “I put my faith in the Lord. He will not let me come to harm.” The boaters left and the floodwaters rose faster. The man climbed onto the roof of his house when along came a helicopter that lowered a ladder. But the man waved them away yelling, “My faith is in the Lord. He will not let me come to harm.” The waters rose and the man drowned. In heaven he demanded an audience with the Lord. Standing before the Lord he asked, “Why did you let me die? My faith was strong and yet you let me die.”

“I don’t understand it,” said the Lord. “I sent you two boats and a helicopter.”

God in Everything
Once there was a guru giving a lecture to his disciples about God. His teaching on this day was about the presence of the divine in everything. “God is in the trees, the stones, the river, the animals and in you,” he said. One disciple was very moved by this lecture and was pondering the teaching as he walked towards a nearby village. On the edge of the village he looked up to see a commotion down the street. Soon he saw that it was an elephant that had gotten out of control and was smashing its way down the street. The driver was madly flailing as he struggled to keep his balance on the elephant’s back. The disciple could see the damage the elephant was causing, people almost trampled, carts overturned, shop fronts reduced to rubble. But the disciple thought of the new teaching he had just received. And he considered that if God was in everything then God must be in that elephant as well as within himself. He resolved to stand in the elephant’s way and practice his new learning believing that his awareness of the presence of God would protect him and the elephant. He stood his ground as the elephant galloped towards him. The elephant was suddenly right in front of the disciple. The elephant wrapped his trunk around the disciple, picked him up and smashed him against one wall and then another. It dragged him in the street and left him bloodied and bruised in the dust. A short while later the guru came by and was startled to see his disciple injured in the street. “What has happened?” he asked. The disciple explained: “Master, I was reflecting on your teaching this morning when I saw the mad elephant. I resolved to deepen my belief in the presence to God in everything, including in the elephant. I believed that God would protect me.” “I see,” said the guru. “It is indeed true that God was in the elephant. But God was also in the driver of the elephant who was yelling at you to get out of the way.”

The Fate of a Bird

Once upon a time on the banks of a river that ran along the edge of a large city there lived an old man who some said was very wise while others said he was nothing but a homeless fool. Children were told by parents to stay away from the old man. But children are curious, and all the moreso of those things they are told to stay away from. One day three children were walking along the road when one spotted a wee bird that was tangled in some roots. The boy bent down to free the bird and, holding it gently, said to his friends, “I have a way to see how dumb that old guy by the river is. I’ll hold this bird in my hand behind my back and we’ll ask the old guy if it’s alive or dead. If he says ‘alive’, I’ll break its neck and show him he’s wrong. If he says ‘dead’ then I’ll let it go and he’ll still be wrong.” The friends agreed and they set off and found the old man sitting by the river as usual. The kid with the bird in hand and behind his back said, “old man, I’ve got a riddle for you. I’m holding a bird in my hand. Is it alive or dead?” The friends chuckled. The old man looked at the kids and said, “well I don’t know if the bird is alive or dead. But I do know this, whatever is the fate of that bird is in your hands.” The friends stopped chuckling. The three kids looked silently at the old man and then turned and left. As they stepped onto the road the child holding the bird held his hands up and let it fly away.

I learned this story so long ago i cannot remember not knowing it. Perhaps i carry it with me still because i can remember so many cruelties from my childhood. Mostly i remember the absurdly cruel behaviours of my peers (there was the boy's gang and the cool girls and you were cool or not, in or out at the whim of the in-crowd). But i also remember my own wee cruelties, inflicted on snakes and frogs who were guilty of nothing more than the bad luck to be in my path on days i was probably feeling particularly put upon.