Monday 18 June 2018

Making It Stop

I usually strive for a light tone in my posts because much of the academic writing I do is dull, serious, or both. It's a genre thing.

But I'm not feeling jaunty at the moment. I've been looking at pictures by Getty photojournalist John Moore of the families separated at the US border by order of the current administration.



The horrors of Nazi concentration camps and of Canadian and US Japanese internment camps during World War II have been invoked. Forcibly separating children from their parents is cruel and unusual punishment. It's illegal, immoral, unconstitutional, inhumane, and shitty. It's basically kidnapping. Children are being held hostage by the White House and the ransom demand is money to build a wall. It is absolutely un-American.

When I was an undergraduate I worked as a volunteer in a children's hospital in Oakland. My assigned shift was 3:00 pm to 6:00 pm. I was meant to leave the hospital when the volunteer office closed, and for the first few weeks, I did as I was told. But at six p.m., most of the parents left the ward; back then, few parents stayed overnight with their children. Some were unenlightened, yes, but most simply could not manage it even if they wished; they lived far away, they had jobs and homes and other children and too few resources. So at six o'clock, the crying started. The nursing staff were busy. I stayed, moving from crib to crib, from most frantic to least, until the little ones fell asleep.  I remember one youngster, maybe two years old, standing up in her crib and wailing 'Mommy! Mommy!' A nurse walked in and told me to distract her. "Show her this picture book. Sing a song." I tried; nothing worked, she cried harder. Finally, I started agreeing with her. If she said "Mommy," I replied "Mommy." Sometimes I added "...will come back tomorrow," or "...loves you." And that finally did the trick. She settled down. Her intonation changed to "Mommy?" and I answered, "Mommy." With our shared words, we created "mommy" for the night. I crept out when she fell asleep. My shift became 6:00 pm to 11:00 pm.

In the shell of a Walmart, in the cells where these children are incarcerated, who is caring for them? How are they recreating their mothers and fathers, and what happens every morning when they wake up and mommy is not there, again? What horror fills their minds? How can any civilized society get away with inflicting such torture and how can the rest of us make it stop? It makes me understand a little better how the rest of Germany felt in 1939. This is how holocausts happen.

Last week, after the man occupying the White House trash-talked Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, there were numerous messages of apology and support from various US citizens to Canada's government. One American tweeted, "Hey Justin Trudeau, if you want to invade us, many would welcome you. Come on over. I made potato salad."

I have a dream. My dream is to accept that invitation, and for everyone to start crossing into the US. At first I imagined we would gather in Canada and march south,  holding hands in a long line, like a search party. We sing lullabies as we walk across the dividing line. When we reach the other side, we might get potato salad but more likely, we get locked up. Fine. We might start a trend. Everyone, come on in. The ICE is cold.

But now I have another idea. Let's go to Mexico. Everyone. Hundreds and thousands of us, from every country. And let's all start crossing the southern border into Texas, Arizona, California. We won't bring our kids; let's not get silly.

What might we accomplish?

I know there are other ways to help. Activists here in Toronto are protesting creatively; an example is the "Toy Tower of Shame" at US ConsulateSlate shares a list of organizations that are helping practically and who need funds here. I've donated; have you?

I still like the invasion plan, though.

Wednesday 13 June 2018

Going Green: Wheels within Wheels

Politics is interesting to me if it's local. The nearer the better. I began this morning by sitting for 90 minutes in the little park across the street and counting up the number of cars that failed to stop at the stop signs and who drove the wrong way on one-way streets. It was part of a neighbourhood traffic-safety fact-finding mission; volunteers agreed to monitor a number of intersections in our Harbord Village area. I experienced stretches of boredom and moments of high drama (a speeding garbage truck dinged a parked car! Yelling ensued!). I drank tea from a flask, made tick marks on the page, and felt like an Involved Citizen.
Rights of way



Same during the recent Ontario provincial election. Husband and I could not vote, having yet to complete our citizenship applications, but we could campaign. Rather like the Russians, I thought: influencing an election in which we had no right to cast a ballot.

I aligned myself with the Green Party, because a) my friend Rita Bilerman ran as Green Party candidate for 'MPP' (member of provincial parliament) in the district or 'riding' just south of me, while a neighbour, Tim Grant, ran in my riding; and b) the Green Party platform pledges to abolish the system of separate, taxpayer-funded Catholic schools, a deal with the devil made some decades ago to placate Quebec and convince them to remain in Canada. (That's the gist, though I probably have some of it at least slightly wrong.) The unfairness makes my blood boil.
Going doormat to doormat

Husband and I happily canvassed door-to-door for Rita, and we displayed Tim's lawn sign in front of our house. The election took place last week. As predicted, neither of 'our' Green candidates won. The NDP (New Democratic Party) triumphed locally, but overall the province went resoundingly blue-- conservative--and elected Doug Ford, brother of the infamous former mayor Rob (RIP) as premier, or provincial leader.  The party formerly in power, the Liberals, got whupped and are barely hanging on to 'official party status' with only 7 seats. On the plus side, the leader of the Green Party in Ontario, Mike Schreiner (an American/ Canadian who lives in Guelph), did win, taking the first ever Green seat in the provincial parliament.
The Green Party after party at the Victory Cafe

I definitely did not have my finger on the pulse of the province, believing that everything was pretty much okay under the Liberal regime. Clearly not. I guess I don't live amongst and work with the disaffected majority. All that blue. Who are those people? I suppose I feel as foreign here in Ontario as I would in Brexit UK and Trump USA.

Soberingly, though, the real and best reason to have backed the Green Party is its commitment to the environment. Like husband and me, candidate Tim Grant goes around everywhere on his bike; his campaign signs depict him mounted on two wheels (and helmeted). The future of the city, the province, the world, depends on safeguarding the planet, in large part by reducing our use of petroleum. In Toronto, a flat city with a lot of people and a fairly compact downtown, a bike is best for moving from point A to point B. Right? Of course right. Not, however, according to a foolish city councillor who today said in a meeting of the Public Works and Infrastructure Committee that bikes should not be allowed on the roads at all. Yes, today, well into the 21st century, that's what he said. Out loud, on the record. Protest ensued but he did not back down.

In a tragic twist, by the end of today, two cyclists in the Greater Toronto Area had been struck by motor vehicles. Another cyclist who had been hit by a car several weeks ago, today succumbed to his injuries. One of today's fatalities was a 58-year-old woman, hit by a flatbed truck just outside my husband's office building. Ten minutes earlier,  I had ridden right past that spot. I can't stop thinking about her and her family tonight. Horrible. Chilling.

I'm almost ready to say that cars should not be allowed on the roads. And that is quite a thing for someone who grew up in Los Angeles to almost say.

Save our environment. Save our cyclists. Save my husband, and children, and friends. Save me.