i am the in-b-tween

I guess we just have to adjust

2006-10-23T13:53:00.000-07:00

There is an album that I cannot stop listening to. If I were to try to define catharsis I think the closest I can come to this concept through lived experience is what I feel when the words “I guess we’ll just have to adjust” echo out over the dissonant chaotic, avant-rock climax of “Wake Up” on the The Arcade Fire’s debut album Funeral.

What are we to make of ourselves? That is the question burning on the lips of the generation coming to be in the bold and brave new world of the 21^st century. There is nothing new about this question except that it is being revisited once again by the babies of the 1980’s rather than the Gen X-ers or the nauseously ubiquitous Baby-Boomers, who still maintain a firm grip on the cultural real-estate of the identity crisis. The question I would like to have answered is--is our period of becoming, new and different, or just the same old shit repackaged, made shiny and marketable for this hedonistic, media savvy crop of up-and-comers?

The obvious place to look for an answer to this question is the progenitors of the Nintendo generation…yep that means the afore-mentioned Baby Boomers, the very generation that popularized the identity crisis and still clings to this rite of passage as they enter their sixties. As most of us twenty-somethings, had the dubious luxury of being reared by spinning hippies, pragmatic protesters and the progenitors of the new market economy, we have been inculcated with the idea that finding out what we want to do with ourselves is an essential part of the game of life.

The whole idea that we should look for personal fulfillment through the precise exercise of choice in selecting our career and lifestyle is fairly new. Historically our vocation was generally determined by what our fathers and mothers did or did not do, and might only be reversed by the intercession of a divine power calling us to some different task. But to lay the burden of this decision on the shoulders of the now emergent Western middle-class youth is very new indeed. And the most confusing thing is the inherent flaw in this conception of maturation. It is as if our culture is still in a several decade long hang-over from the excesses and idealism of our parents that prevents us from seeing clearly that career building and finding meaningful work are not necessarily reconcilable with personal discovery.

We have forgotten that the spirituality and political protests of our parents led most of them straight into self-indulgent yuppiedom and not spiritual enlightenment or utopia. And that is because the demands of late capitalism require the incessant leveraging of wealth…the consistent maintenance of the machine. The wealth and abundance which helped to nourish the dissent for our parents has only increased since that time.

Rather than resolving the tension between the hedonistic ideals of the sixties and the commercial pragmatism of the eighties, our culture has chosen to maintain these strains of thought, cultivating bizarre admixtures of the two that characterize the state of post-modern confusion in which we are stagnating. We have been unwittingly drawn into the delusion of our parents, even as many of us try to rebel against them.

We enter the job market held aloft on the sails of our parents’ broken promises. We navigate a fictitious landscape created in a virtual world that promises everything but delivers much less.

From the time we were able to make use of the remote control we have been infused with dreams of celebrity and stardom. We are filled full of star-spangled delusions of personal fulfillment through celebrity, riches, fame and being the best that we can be. TV, and Film have learned how to tell us we are unique while simultaneously making us all the same. Even in our rebellion against the monoliths of marketing, against the lifestyle industry, our choices are noted and taken up into the machine faster and faster. Our ability to adapt is being compromised at an alarming rate and our failure to exit the system which robs us of our dreams does something even worse...it robs our actions, choices and our very modes of being of the meaning which we have invested in them.

It is not only those of us who live in the delusion that we can be, or for that matter want to be Brittney Spears or Kobe Bryant that are being duped…it is everyone and anyone who thinks they can free themselves from the crushing realities of our world; but what is most distressing about these times of ours is that even being outside the realm of corporate capitalism has become a marketable commodity. Indeed, virtually every dream a young person can have is being sucked up into the meat-grinding machine of personal identity that is late capitalism. Our identities are being bought and sold by market forces beyond our control, and our protests are feeble and powerless.

Hence the overwhelming resonance of the lyrics from the album I cannot seem to eject from my pathetic little stereo. This need to adjust is one that most of us, if not all of us must come to terms with, and it fucking sucks. Most of us want to be expressive, creative individuals who lead fulfilling meaningful lives, as naïve as that might sound, but it increasingly seems like there is no place in everyday life for that kind of person.

Instead, we seek freedom, escape and some form of self-expression by frequenting dens of iniquity and dilapidated shared accommodations. There we party in an effort to forget for a brief time that we are being forced through the eyes of the meat-grinder.

Party hard kids cause the hang over is coming no matter what you do.

G.R.O.G.G.

2006-10-23T13:49:00.000-07:00

On August 15 Prime Minister Martin announced his choice for our current Governor-General Adrienne Clarkson’s replacement, Haitian-born Michaëlle Jean. The long-time CBC and Radio-Canada journalist will be installed as Canada's 27th Governor-General later this month.

The debate surrounding the appointment of our new Governor General has centred on the worthiness of the candidate, her allegiance to Canadian nationalism and the possible political motives of the Government’s choice. Surprisingly though, no one has asked the question of whether we need a Governor General at all. No significant discussion has considered the viability of a position that was established when Canada was but a colony of the still thriving British Empire. It is truly amazing that at the dawn of the 21^st century there is not even a hint of debate about whether or not a modern-day democracy needs an officer of a 19^th century monarch-or whether there is any use for monarchs at all in contemporary political life.

I have to wonder aloud about the credibility of a National Press Corps that chooses to totally ignore the fact that that the position of the Governor-General is an anachronistic hold-over from when Canadian nationhood was still in its infancy, and instead wallows in the mire of speculations and accusations about whether or not Jean and her husband are hiding nefarious separatist tendencies. It is a true sign of the level of political discourse in this country when reporting on hidden agendas insinuated by vested interests qualifies as News and intelligent discussion of our Political system and some if its more unnecessary appendages are left to the classrooms.

The G.G. is essentially a figurehead with an expensive party budget. Estimates for the expenditures of the office of the G.G. soared to 41million in 2003, an increase of over 200% from years prior. Included in the compensation and benefits package for Canada’s nominal head-of-state is a hefty non-taxable salary, some very fancy digs and a retirement pension that ensures a life of leisure well after her incumbency wears out.

Some may argue that the position entails an important diplomatic function both inside and outside the country, but realistically do we really need another Queen-coiffed self important regal wannabe touring Siberia to promote our country? Do we prefer to have our concerns assuaged by visits from an effectively powerless figurehead, than having them addressed by actual legislators and policy makers?

When a nation is facing the erosion of some of its most fundamental programmes--Health Care and Education, being the most apparent—and its own democratic institutions are being called to question, would it not be wise to entertain some serious debate on bringing our political structures up to date and dispensing with superfluous institutions?

In the last-term of Parliament we bore witness to a serious affront to our political process—the government essentially ground to a halt and the specter of corruption and nepotism reared its ugly head through the very public and embarrassing Gomery Inquiry. It now seems clear that the Canadian public no longer trusts the current political parties enough to endow any of them a majority government, and when our politicians are forced into the uncomfortable environment of a minority government we have witnessed the lack of willingness on the part of our representatives to play nice.

Here, in British Columbia an attempt at electoral reform just missed fulfilling the quota of necessary votes to overhaul our electoral system. Clearly, there is a willingness amongst the population to look at bringing our democracy up to date.

Which brings me to my point, if our political process grinds to a halt when the public’s mandate requires that parties conciliate and work together, and if the power to grant contracts and appoint nominees to positions like the G.G. or the Senate leads to the kind of ugly scandals which have dogged the current government then should we as a concerned and informed electorate begin to examine how well our current political model is working?

Perhaps it is time to unburden the system of patronage appointments and the kind of in-bred favouritism which is so much a part of the structure of our Government. If we are as unhappy and disillusioned with the behaviour of politicians and the process itself as both recent elections and polling seem to suggest, then maybe it is time we looked at the processes which allow for these behaviours and practices.

Our current political system was inherited through the channels of an Empire which no longer exists and was designed for a nation which still operated under a thoroughly monarchist ideology. The roots of our democracy were founded in a time when status and title were still the dominant mode of social organization, and our current political model was spawned following a feudal civil war—the Glorious Revolution.

Since that time we have overhauled virtually every aspect of our social, economic, and cultural lives, and yet we have done virtually nothing to up-date our political process. The current configuration of Parliament was designed at a time when it was necessary to keep opposing parties opposite each other lest the proceedings breakdown in swordplay and slaughter.

Today those proceedings degenerate into name-calling and the worst kind of childish behaviour when our representatives are asked to work together. If our Parliamentary process was born out of a feudal mentality reflecting the bloody vendettas of 17^th Century England, then the only analogy which can sufficiently describe the politics of 21^st Century Canada would be to the politics of the playground.

If any change has taken place in the manner in which we govern ourselves, it is that we have debased a system established to shore up power in the hands of elite Nobility to one that rests in the hands of a childish set of capricious finger pointing, bullies, all jostling for position at the top of the monkey bars.

What our lack of willingness to critically examine our political process suggests to me is political infantilism. This extends to all levels of our society, from politicians to civilians, media to independent commentators. Just like our politicians we, politically at least, are still children unwilling to accept responsibility for the stagnation of our polity. Because, after all, it is so much easier to gripe and complain about bad press and worse politics, than to actually look at our own political apathy. Rather than becoming engaged and demanding that Ottawa do away with the nepotism it has built into the system, we delight in the scandals and failures of a process that is inherently flawed.

Whether it is the sponsorship scandal which saw the distribution of millions of taxpayers’ dollars through Chretien’s good ol’ boys network, or the inflated spending of appointees like Dingwall and Clarkson, which are making the headlines, it is the citizens of Canada who are systematically failing to provoke enough change to overhaul the status-quo. As a result the cycle continues.

The cycle for those of you who have not been paying attention goes as follows: scandalàmedia coverageàpublic outrageàan attempt at unseating the government by the opposition partyàsome form of nominal recognition of faultàa report is filed, slaps on the wrist for the fall guys, and possibly some stop gap measures to address the problemàscandal.

Why is this happening you ask? Because we are not looking at the root of the problem. We are not asking for real substantive systemic change. We do not even question the viability of a position like the Governor General’s, nor do we ask ourselves whether patronage appointments to the Senate are a good way for a so-called democracy to go about being democratic. We do not bat an eyelid when anachronistic institutions are upheld simply because that is the way things have always been. And so the system stays the same, because that is what it is meant to do—ensure its own survival.

Ultimately we are ceding our own civic responsibilities to hold government and its institutions and protocols to account. It is our responsibility to demand our political machinery is being kept up to date with the needs of the body politic and I believe it has become increasingly clear that government is out of step with our needs. Without a doubt it is time for us to do away with the vestiges of an ancient monarchy. It is high time we get rid of the Governor Generalship.

Guilt and Self Loathing in the Parisian Underground

2006-03-16T13:29:00.000-08:00

Walking through Les Halles at five in the morning the alcohol gently distilling from my organs…I am only partly conscious…but also intensely aware. It is a state that only befalls the body in times of need…I am in the hub of the Parisian underground and suburban train grid…the centre of the city…the centre of France…

The shunting of trains new and old shudders through the corridors, tunnels and passageways of the bowels of the city. The stench of bodies and machinery, thick and warm, infuses the air with an intoxicating mélange of old and new, man and machine. The grime of the last hundred years is thick, illuminated by incandescent green/orange neon lighting which bathes this post industrial environment with a cinematic intensity. The walls are lined by ceramic tiles that speak of sanity and cleanliness where none is to be found.

I am floating over black worn rubber floors that are punctuated with poke-a-dots that are both functional and aesthetic…or so someone might once have thought. Everything about the Paris underground has a hint of design and function about it though in most places the elements of design have worn away...given way to being background to the shuttling of the urban bloodstream.

I am moving through blood and vomit stained concrete stairs. Is this a dream? And what is this offensive smell? Is it the thick warm sulphorous stench of semi-sweet rotten eggs or the fumes of a man-made hell wrought beautiful by the undeniable humanity of it all? Some would speak of this as unnatural but it has all flowed from the same source. We are the products of our evolution/devolution and we are insane in the sickly sweet metaphors of our minds.

As I approach the red and blue mosaics of the RER, the suburban train network, I catch sight of one of the disaffected, poor and “unassimilated” North African youths who haunt Parisian street corners and the darker areas of the Gallic subconscious. They are the scourge of 21st century French Republicanism, the ever present reminders of the failure of their enlightened cosmopolitanism…the ever present threat of the justice of the past.

Standing aloof at the entranceway to one of the myriad of tiny passageways that snakes its way through the subterranean web of this transportation hub, he is waiting for me and I know I am about to be confronted… I know what will transpire…I accept this. I know I could walk right by him…pretend he doesn’t exist, but I am drawn to danger in an effort to preserve something human….in an effort to recognize myself, I will allow this to happen...in an effort to clasp to the ideals of a dying dream world I have only known in books. I will sacrifice my security.

“Tu as pas une kloppe par hasard? Do you have a smoke?”

The words of the street ring out and I am sound.

A moment of resistance. I refuse. But I am already stopping. I stop and I don’t know why, but I accept it.

The conversation begins…I have spoken these words before…I am being seduced by the street…by the violence and anger of the street. I could be having this talk, this dialogue with a hundred thousand other young men and women whose parents or grandparents made their way to the grand Republique in search of the safety and security which the paternal Colonizer had taken from them, always promising something better even while their land and liberty was being stripped away. Those people came to the “free” world in search of something better, and most of their children have found it severely wanting.

I am speaking to Karim but names do not matter in the dialogue between oppressor and oppressed. Our names and our identities are stripped away by the tide of an injustice that is greater than both of us. But for this moment we will resist the tide. I will stop to listen and he will speak.

I am the colonizer right now...and there is nothing I can do to change that…I am colonizing with my words, I am colonizing with my being. This has been decided for me by history and the systemic process of power and economy, culture and war, dissimilation and assimilation, colonization and Diaspora. I am the colonizer.

Karim is angry but wants to speak wants to be heard, and wants to take things from me. He offers a cigarette. I cannot refuse. I cannot refuse the cigarette he is offering but I have refused him the cigarette he asked for. The pack of cigarettes is burning a hole in my pocket. They have become alive, born into the world by the utterance of injustice and deceit. They are the personification of my guilt, and I am the colonizer.

He leads me to a staircase so that we might not be disturbed. He intends to take things from me and I am allowing him. I am going to be robbed by the street, robbed because my forebears thought not for a second when they reached out their hand and brutalized Karim’s ancestors.

The politics of history is brutal and unforgiving…it is really the only politics which matter. We live in the delusion that we control, navigate and chart the course of history…it is humanity’s hubris, our tragic flaw, from the birth of civilization to its very demise here and now, and all around.

As we smoke there is conversation. He asks me about where I am going, where I am from…

“Canada…quel beau pays.” The fragments of a dream hover over him for a brief time. The thought of escape is tantalizing…perhaps there are friends or relatives in Montreal. “It is better over there isn’t it?” He must ask himself.

Tu viens du Quebec?

“Non…mon pere est Suisse.” I reply. I am the colonizer again, redeemed for a brief time by the fragments of that dream of escape. The dream is shattered once again by the monolith of the West and the weight of history.

We are all so mobile aren’t we…so well connected and cared for. Of course we, we can hop across the pond. Why wouldn’t I take a break from my studies to go learn French, in France…I don’t hesitate. But to my peer the thought of airplanes and other continents are but the bitter left-overs of a dream already abandoned. To him as he will explain there is no real hope for the good life.

As I stand and talk tough with Karim he searches for what he can take from me...his eyes seize upon the bulge of my pocket…the pack of cigarettes are burning a hole right through my jeans.

“Can I use your mobile to make a call…it won’t take me a minute,” he asks.

I know now that it is going to get worse before it gets better, but I am calm. “I don’t have a phone.”

“What’s that then?” He motions to the pack of cigarettes burning with guilt in my pocket.

“Cigarettes”

“You fucking bastard I asked you for a cigarette and you said you had none. What did you think I was going to rob you? You think I am a thief…look at the cigarette you are smoking did I not offer that to you in friendship. You fucking son of a bitch….”

He grabs me with one hand and reaches with the other into pouch slung round his waste. “Give me all your money now or I will fucking open you up right now.”

I think. I could push him down the stairs. I think. It is already too late for that. If you were that kind of person you would have done it already. I am oddly calm. Afraid but calm.

“Look you know perfectly well that I can’t just take out a pack of cigarettes at 5am in the morning in the Metro and not expect to be swarmed. You know that. You just told me I should be careful..that not everyone was good like you. Look you want my cigarettes you can have them but don’t think that it is because you are holding a knife that I am going to give them to you…it is because you offered me your own. Thank you for offering me one of your smokes.”

“I want some money give me some money. Show me your wallet.”

“OK I will.” I take out my wallet…if I am shaking I don’t know. If I am looking him in the eyes at this moment I do not know… I see only the colours of the bills as I shift them between my fingers, thinking about how much I should give him. Wondering what he will take. Trying to hold on to the wallet as I show him what I have.

“Give me some money.”

“OK.” I give him 10 euros. “It’s all I can afford, I am a student.” I plead meekly.

I slowly but forcefully put my wallet back. He releases me and I begin to stumble for the words to explain. The words to explain why I understand that he wants what I have…why in some ways I know he is entitled to it. The Great White Guilt swells inside me…I am awash in the compassion of this guilt and I relinquish my safety and sanity to it.

Karim tells me a tale of shit jobs and failed education, of prison and broken dreams, of the dull drudgery of daily life in a France that is his country but not his home. I listen…I listen with the empathy and compassion that seeks to heal the guilt I feel for being white and privileged and educated and lost in a world that is not what it is supposed to be.

In time we will part ways. I will walk away trying to convince myself that I understand what just happened…that I understand Karim’s plight. But a voice inside me tells me that next time I will not stop to listen…next time I will walk right by the guilt that haunts the street corners and underground stations of the Western world.

A Simple Curve is Simple Genius

2006-01-27T14:22:00.000-08:00

A SIMPLE CURVE...Opening Night

Friday, February 3, 2006

Cinemark Tinseltown

88 West Pender 3rd Floor (Yahoo! Maps, Google Maps)
Vancouver, British Columbia V6B6N

Friends and Fellow Canucks…

Despite recent political developments there is still much good news to be found in our dear land. I have the pleasure of informing you that one of the brightest lights on the horizon of Canadian Cinema, writer and director, Aubrey Nealon’s debut feature A Simple Curve is opening this February 3.

I was able to see this film at V.I.F.F. and I can only agree with Variety: this film is “An Elegant Gem!”

website:
http://www.asimplecurve.com

trailer:
http://asimplecurve.com/view_trailer.html

Set in the idyllic beauty of the Slocan Valley, A Simple Curve captures the sweeping cinematic beauty of British Columbia and tells a touching, funny and pertinent coming of age tale about the hang-ups and hang-overs of Baby Boomer idealism and Twenty-something angst.

With a compelling score written by Ohad Benchitrit and Justin Small of DoMakeSayThink, and featuring songs from The Stars, Consecos, and Caribou.

This film bridges the gap between traditional Canadian cinema and contemporary Canadian culture, between rural and urban, young and old.

Opens FEB 3

Canada Square, Toronto
Tinseltown, Vancouver
The Globe, Winnipeg
The Civic Theatre, Nelson

Victoria Film Festival on January 29th in advance of the
opening.

Other openings will be announced shortly.

Please feel free to spread the word...Canadian Cinema needs all the help we can give it...