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.

They Peeked

A young couple were thinking about having a second child. Their daughter was four and, not wanting to startle her, they thought to let the girl know what they were thinking about. Sensitive to how children could react to change they were curious about their daughter’s reaction. Though they didn’t know what to expect they were themselves surprised when their daughter nodded thoughtfully at the news and said, “Oh, that’s very interesting.” They were a bit puzzled at this but felt that they had done what was right. A year later they gave birth to a boy. Bringing him home where his sister would meet him for the first time, they recalled her strange reaction a year earlier. They brought their son in the house and laid him in a crib. His sister looked at him and then at her parents and said, “I would like to be alone with my brother for a while?” This was an odd thing for a five-year-old to ask and it worried them a bit. But they loved their daughter and were sure that whatever she wanted could hardly be dangerous. They agreed and, leaving the two children alone, left the room. But they peeked. They saw their daughter drag a chair over beside the crib. She climbed onto the chair and, leaning into the crib and over her brother, they heard her whisper, “Tell me about God. I’m beginning to forget.”

I learned the above story almost 20 years ago from a friend in California. She told it to me as something she had heard had happened to some friends. As delighted as i was by the tale i was skeptical that it had actually "happened". It had the telltale feel of an urban legend, despite how benign it was (urban legends tend to be rather more violent or gruesome). I thought if it was an urban legend it was only a matter of time before i heard it once again. And, sure enough, i did hear it again - ten years later. I've since heard in one or two more times. Nor does it matter to me whether these types of tales about about something that "happened" or not - the truths they carry are no less important.

"House Rools" and the Wisdom of Children

Though popular education is often reduced to being only about playfulness (and therefore neither serious nor rigorous) there is, nonetheless much truth in its use of playfulness. I like to remind people that in our first five years of life we learn language, social and motor skills and much more largely through play. I saw this first-hand when, in 1976, i studied with Wally Weng-Garrety, an early childhood educator at Dawson College who then got me a part-time job at the McGill Family Daycare where i worked on and off for the next four years. The childrens' day was one of perpetual play and i could see that every second of it was a learning experience. I have often wondered why it is that, as we grow older, we reduce the amount of play in our learning - in many cases reducing it to zero. Play is one of the most powerful pedagogies that we have. But it is the nature of play to be very hard to control as well as predict. And, since most mainstream mass education is about conformity before it is about learning, play moves to the bottom of the list. This is only a smidgen of my reasoning about the importance of play and why popular education values play and playfulness more than most other approaches to learning. Of course, with popular education, it is not play for playing's sake - rather it is about learning what power is, how to deal with power, develop one's own and both resist unjust uses of power as well as exercise justice (as well as a whole host of other dispositions such as compassion, kindness, etc.). All this to say that we should all look to children for daily lessons in play. They can be our teachers, those of us who have grown up and away from that time in life when all seems to be about play. I think artists and parents will know readily what i am talking about. So, it was with utter delight that J'net called my attention to our daughter's and her friend's "house rools" for a fort that they had built of blankets, sheets, chairs and futons. As you can see from the list above, written by our neighbour's youngest, their "rools" included:

1. no war
2. have fun
3. eat candy
4. smell bad
5. be nice

Now how's that for a guide to right living? What would Marcus Aurelius or Lao Tsu think of that?

The Goddess in Disguise (as usual)

Another Befana photo - this collage of images is from Giselle Signoroni. And this juxtaposition of Befanas and puppet faces reminds me that La befana is none other than the Goddess in disguise. And, as Actaeon, who learned the hard way, knows, to look at the Goddess unmasked is a dangerous affair.

Celebrating the Return of the Light

Here's a lovely Befana shot from sister hag Mary Li (thanks, Mary). La Befana for those of you who have been wondering is an Italian legendary figure who famously travels the land on the eve of the Epiphany (aka Twelfth Night) leaving gifts of candy. There are a few versions of the legend that range from quaint to bittersweet, from ethical to moralistic, but all agree that La Befana is an old woman who did not give directions to those peripatetic Magi (aka Three Wise Men aka astrologers from the east aka three kings aka George Clooney, Mark Wahlberg and Ice Cube) as well as failed to accept an invitation to join them in their pursuit of that shining star and the Christ child. After having second thoughts, La Befana runs after the travellers, but it's too late. Thus she spends every eve of the Epiphany in her own endless pursuit. When i have a wee bit more time i may render my own version of this charming legend, for there are many themes within it that are close to my heart, not the least of which is gift giving. But in reflecting on this legend this weekend i was struck by the more moralistic versions (e.g. if the child is good she gets candy but if bad, coal) and i suspect that few people, if any at all, give coal. And the more benign take on the gift-giving of La Befana is that she sees divinity, the sacred, in every child. And in this sense, are no all children, including those of us who haven't been children for a long time, deserving of these gifts?