(I had a nice photo here of Skeleton Park but the photographer asked me to take it down or he would send me a $1000 bill for copyright violation… I sent him the link to Creative Commons.)
I am on the train, leaving Kingston where I’ve spent the last two days at a workshop.

I stayed with my good friend, The Uze, at his rad pad, which is owned by his roommate, Spink. Everyone refers to this house as “The Tavern”, apparently because in the “old days” it was a drinking establishment. Now it’s a lovely, cozy bohemian-type living space decorated in vintage-shop style, with couches and cushions and candles and two stuffed horse heads, adorned in wigs and scarves, hanging over one doorway with a hand-scrawled note: Forbidden love? It is an inviting, open space, painted in vibrant earth tones (my comfort colours), and designed for communal living; I was immediately at home.

The Uze walked me over to Queen’s University the fist night for the opening lecture by CCTV man Clive Norris (whom I kept wanting to refer to as Chuck Norris). That was when I began to fall in love with Kingston. The Tavern is right on the cusp of this lovely urban park, nicknamed Skeleton Park for it’s previous stint as a graveyard. This is a delightful park, with paths cutting across it from various directions, connecting it to the surrounding streets and hood. Immediately I spied the ice rink, and boys playing pick-up hockey in their short sleeves. I caught my breath at this sight, immediately hurtled back in time, to my childhood, and Kew Gardens rink, where I would often go with my siblings or friends. Memories of oversweet, watery hot chocolate, the futility of double socks and stiff fingers lacing up second-hand skates on the windblown benches are etched like tableaus in my mind. I was overcome with an aching nostalgia for Canadiana, my past, and an innocent, beautiful time that perhaps never was.

We walked through quiet streets of gorgeous old brick houses and I realized how much I’ve missed brick living on the Left Coast. More nostalgia, and something Smith (a west coast transplant) could not appreciate as we walked back later that night. The Uze and I followed Princess St, listing toward the U, and it was then that I realized not only how walkable, but how liveable Kingston is. There was everything you would need on this main drag – independent and chain retailers, restaurants, cafés. And not just one block of this stuff – the strip went on for probably 15 blocks. Naturally there was a Tim’s, seemingly the heart and hub of action, but also Brian’s Record Option, the Sleepless Goat Café Workers Co-op and some little hemp shop where the guy was so stoned he first overcharged, then undercharged me for some beeswax candles.

Queen’s itself is a venerable old institution, backbone of the old boys network doubtless, but with an air of dignity and history nevertheless. The workshop was very well run, with decent food and a great art component designed into the program. One thing I really enjoy about working on the research project that has hired me as a post-doc is its commitment to public dissemination of research, as well as its inclusion of non-academic elements and people (such as artists and activists). I met some rad folks working in the “surveillance scene” (as I like to call it), and even made a Windsor connection.

In all, it was a great trip. As I tromped around Kingston, to-ing and fro-ing from the workshop, I did my usual trick of imagining I lived there. I typically do this upon arrival in a new town that seduces me with its promise and novelty. Just as I haven’t moved to New Orleans or Montreal or New York, however, I likely won’t be moving to Kingston any time soon. But it’s good to dream.

]]> http://misscommunikate.ca/?feed=rss2&p=76 2 http://misscommunikate.ca/?p=32&owa_from=feed&owa_sid=3676358620 http://misscommunikate.ca/?p=32#comments Sat, 27 Jun 2009 21:19:10 +0000 KateM http://misscommunikate.ca/?p=32

About 2000 Vancouverites participated in the June 26 Critical Mass ride, which ended on the Lion's Gate Bridge. (photo copyleft Rodger Levesque)

I participated in my first Critical Mass Ride since moving to Vancover in 2004. When I lived in Ontario, I was a communter cyclist, beginning in my undergrad days at U of T, where my bike was an extension of my body. I went everywhere on it, rain or snow, day or night. When I moved to Windsor, Car and Smog Capital of Canada, I was one of perhaps 10 commuter cyclists in the city. There were no bike lanes and I was told that I literally took my life into my own hands when riding certain roads, despite the fact that bicycles were (and still are) designated as vehicles by the Ontario Highway Traffic Act subject to the same rules of the road as automobiles.

Those were the days when I was working at ROOM magazine, an alt weekly I co-founded with NotLeftToChance in 1994. One of the bees in our bonnet was cycling in Car Town, and we wrote a lot about the environmental, health and community benefits of human-powered transportation. We supported the city’s Bicycling Committee in its fight to put bike paths on Riverside Drive, something the (ill-informed, yet well heeled) residents opposed. We organized Windsor’s first Bike-to-Work-Week, and we held the first mass ride – I think there were about 10 people on it, which, despite the small number, still produced an odd sight in a town where there is one mode of transportation: driving. To see people walking, let alone cycling, is strange indeed. Today, some “inroads” have been made to raise the profile of cycling in Windsor, though I’m not sure how much of the Bicycle Use Master Plan has been implemented.

Having young children, moving to a new city and starting my PhD really put the brakes on my cycling. My old bike, which I brought from Windsor, rusted in the rain. I found myself with little time for cycling, and little inclination – I didn’t venture too far from home with the kids, and walking suited us just fine. I took transit to school everyday, and that was that.

Then two birthdays ago, I got a new bike. A shiny orange cruiser with fat tires and no gears. I slowly got back into the cycling groove. I’ve wanted to attend a mass ride for awhile now, and yesterday’s beautiful weather decided it for me. As it turns out, the weather also called out at least a couple thousand Vancouverites, who converged at the Vancouver Art Gallery for what would be the year’s biggest ride yet.

A researcher from SFU's psychology department interviews me about Critical Mass for the study Bike Activism & Collective Action. Photo copyleft Rodger Levesque.

The ride was super fun – a nice tour of parts of downtown and the west end that I don’t get to very often, being fairly ensconced in the Republic of East Van. There is truly something amazing about doing the unexpected and forbidden – about gathering together with other cyclists to ride en masse on the city roads – normally so hostile and dangerous for the two-wheeled. There is an exhilerating feeling of liberation, of community, and the sense, too, that things could be different, could be better. That we would make it better together.

The ride had its tense moments too. I’ve learned that this comes from confronting the status quo with alternatives, with forcing people to step out of their comfort zones (in this case, the security and isolation of their metal shells). I did witness some confrontations with motorists. Those who tried to bypass the “corkers” (cyclists who block oncoming traffic by lining their bikes up in a row across an intersection) were surrounded by more cyclists. In this scenario, someone usually tries to engage in polite, educational dialogue, to assuage the motorist’s concerns and develop allies.

As the Critical Mass Vancouver blog states:

This is not an us vs car drivers ride. Those stuck in car traffic are our friends and we need to be polite and respectful of them as we increase the traffic by putting more people on the roads. We do have to prevent cars from entering the mass and if anyone tries to use a car as a weapon to threaten aggressive force we call 9-11 and try to defuse the tension.

Most drivers I saw were pretty calm. A lot looked annoyed, many were resigned, and some called out questions. My favourite, of course, were the ones who honked and waved and smiled. One guy got out of his car, cranked the tunes, and watched the scene go by. Not surprisingly, though, some drivers became irate, shouting at cyclists. One woman even opened her car door into the ride and refused to move from beside the door, making a slow-moving part of the ride even slower as bikes wended their way along Beach Ave. Mostly, the mass riders I saw were cool and polite (though, like any large group, there are always those who don’t adhere to the spirit or intent). Sadly, conflict is inevitable when dealing with motorists who see driving (often single-occupancy) cars as their godgiven right, inalienable as their property rights.

Bikes and the City: A pretty awesome mix. Photo copyleft Rodger Levesque

I understand that the wait was long (at least an hour or more in spots) and I understand that it was the end of a long day, at the end of a long week. But progressive social change isn’t convenient. It isn’t comfortable. It takes and shakes us out of our complacency, out of our routines, which – in the case of massive over-driving – is having devastating impact on our planet and human health. Cars kill, literally. For example, a 2005 study found smog -  a key ingredient of which is the major atmospheric pollutant carbon monoxide, a by-product of internal combustion engine use – kills thousands of Canadians prematurely each year. There were 2,889 people killed and 199,337 people injured in road crashes in Canada during 2006 (the most recent year for which official statistics are available).

Like everything, this translates into dollars and cents. One government study estimated that the social cost for car collisions is $62.7 billion a year or about 4.9 per cent of Canada’s 2004 Gross Domestic Product. BC ranked fourth among the provinces, with annual costs of $8.8 billion (see the Transport Canada report). Another Transport Canada report estimates the annual financial cost of roads to be $156.35 billion, and the social costs (such as accidents and pollution) were $29.59 billion.

There is some irony in the fact that Vancouver motorists willingly wait two or three  hours to cross the border or board a ferry in long, boring, sweaty line-ups. But for the odd time they might encounter a mass ride, whose social objectives are hard to argue with (we drive too damn much. This behaviour is killing us and our environment. Period.), they lose their marbles, and can only whinge about what a long day they’ve had. This is more than a little self-absorbed, and short sighted. We forget that along with certain rights (and I’d seriously question that auto travel is a right) that membership in society confers, it also conveys responsibilities. We are beholden to our fellow human. We are required to husband this earth, from which we derive sustenance and often abundance. We don’t just get to drive in our isolated metal shells from the suburbs to work in the city every day and ignore the consequences. Critical Mass simply draws our attention to the consequences of our behaviour. And points to positive alternatives. Better health. Cleaner air. Physical connection to our streets and neighbourhoods. Strengthening of community, and of the caring it brings.

There was time when it was inconvenient to have women in the workplace. And to have black people sit at the front of the bus. Social change is uncomfortable. Sometimes it even hurts. But it is necessary if we are to continue to evolve as a sustainable, equitable and caring species.

How can we change?

1. Stop driving to work if it’s under a 15 minute drive. Ride your bike, walk, or take transit.

2. Stop driving if you live within a 10 minute walk from transit. Buy a pass. Get going.

3. Carpool. Find someone at work with whom you can do this. Make it work.

4. Sell your car! Join a car co-op and drive only when it’s really necessary.

All these things will improve your physical fitness, save you money and maybe, just maybe, lead to something interesting, something that the isolation and alienation of car travel could never provide. And remember, Critical Mass is the last Friday of every month, rain or shine. Save yourself the “hassle” and don’t plan to be anywhere near the core of the city with your car between 6 and 8pm. Telecommute, take transit or goddessforbid, bring your bike and join the ride!!

See you on your bike!

“Modern capitalism needs men who cooperate smoothly and in large numbers; who want to consume more and more; and whose tastes are standardized and can be easily influenced and anticipated. It needs men who feel free and independent, not subject to any authority or principle or conscience—yet willing to be commanded, to do what is expected of them, to fit into the social machine without friction; who can be guided without force, led without leaders, prompted without aim—except the one to make good, to be on the move, to function, to go ahead.

What is the outcome? Modern man is alienated from himself, from his fellow men, and from nature. He has been transformed into a commodity, experiences his life forces as an investment which must bring him the maximum profit obtainable under existing market conditions. Human relations are essentially those of alienated automatons, each basing his security on staying close to the herd, and not being different in thought, feeling or action. While everybody tries to be as close as possible to the rest, everybody remains utterly alone, pervaded by the deep sense of insecurity, anxiety and guilt which always results when human separateness cannot be overcome.”

Fromm adds that capitalist society offers numerous palliatives to  help people deal with their devastating aloneness, their unconscious despair: the routine of monotonous work; the routine of amusement and the unsatisfiable satisfaction of buying new things. In this way, contemporary society is close to Huxley’s Brave New World, where people are “well fed, well clad, satisfied sexually, yet without self, without any except the most superficial contact with his fellow men.”

“The world is one great object for our appetite, a big apple, a big bottle, a big breast; we are the sucklers, the eternally expectant ones, the hopeful ones—and the eternally disappointed ones. Our character is geared to exchange and to receive, to barter and to consume; everything, spiritual as well as material objects, becomes an object of exchange and of consumption.”

Cool so far. Fromm continues:

“He has faith in the principles which ‘God’ represents; he thinks turth, lives love and justice, and considers all of his life only valuable inasmuch as it gives him the chance to arrive at an ever fuller unfolding of his human powers—as the only reality that matters, as teh only object of ‘ultimate concern’; and eventually, he does not speak about God—nor even mention his  name. To love God, if he were going to use this word, would mean, then, to long for the attainment of the full capacity to love, for the realization of that which ‘God’ stands for in oneself.”

Right on.

1. “a theory dominated at every turn by a concern for reasonable conditions of life;

2. a theory which Condemns exisitng social institutions and practicies as ‘inhuman’;

3. a theory which contemplates the need for ‘an alteration of society as a whole.”

Is it any wonder this is my theoretcial framework, my intellectual orientation and foundation? It just seems so simple, so obvious and so sensible.

There have only been two advice columnists in my life since: Rob Brezny and Dan Savage. Rob Brezny is a bitter disappointment, as I have mentioned before. Basically, he writes a kick ass horoscope column, Free Will Astrology, with assignments rather than predictions for his readers. My friends have these amazing connections with column, and can’t believe how insightful and prescient it is, how Rob just seems to *see* into their innermost selves blahbitty blahbitty blah. But he must have a karmic block when it comes to Leo or something. Whatever it is, his advice to Leo is uninspired new age crap that falls flat almost every time.

Dan Savage is a different story. I came across Dan as I began to part ideological ways with Ann Landers, in my early 20s. He was touring the college circuit promoting his new book, The Kid. I remember reading an ad for his talk in one of the alternative weeklies. I thought: 2 gay guys adopting a kid. Cool.

Shortly after I discovered his advice column, written for The Stranger, Seattle’s alt weekly that he helped found, and syndicated in The Metro Times (Detroit). I have been a devotee ever since. Really. Sad to say, I feel a bit like a virtual fag hag. I think he’s the bees knees and I wish I had been reading him from pre-pubescence and not Ann Landers. Things might have been different.

But not only am I down with most if not all of the advice Dan doles out, I really dig his political approach to sex. And not just sex for homos – which of course is a hot button topic pretty much everywhere. Dan puts out for the hets as well, reminding them that their sexual freedoms are not etched in stone tablets handed down from the gee oh dee but highly contingent, historical and fading before our very eyes. I like how Dan uses his column to educate readers and disseminate important perspectives that are woefully absent from the mainstream and the even the alt-mainstream press. I love even more that he is unapologetic about it. That he swears in his column. That he doesn’t mind to call you a piece of shit if you are one. And that he writes his column in a bar. But for all his brashness and swagger and gay snarkiness Dan is a loyal, loving and all round decent human being. You can just tell. See? Virtual fag hag.

But this isn’t why I’m writing. I’m writing to give a little love to Dan’s new “word”, “saddlebacking.” In fact, it’s not Dan’s word at all. Periodically, Dan has contests where readers are asked to do something. The contest this time sought to redefine the word “saddleback” – the name of the evangelical christian megachurch founded by anti-homo pastor Rick Warren. It all started with Stephen Colbert suggesting “saddleback” was a sex act. Way back in December, a Savage Love reader asked Dan if it was indeed. And thus the contest was born. Thousands of suggested definitions clogged Dan’s inbox, and finally, the long awaited results last week:

“Saddlebacking: the phenomenon of Christian teens engaging in unprotected anal sex in order to preserve their virginities.” After attending the Purity Ball, Heather and Bill saddlebacked all night because she’s saving herself for marriage.

Way to call it, Savage Love folk. Saddlebacking is the second word Savage Love readers have defined, or redefined. The first was Santorum, as in Rick Santorum, member of the American Taliban, whose family name will forever after be known as “that frothy mixture of lube and fecal matter is sometimes the byproduct of anal sex.”

As usual, I can’t wait for this week’s column.

But. With me, hope springs eternal, despite the shit and horror of this world. I am the hopeful despondent. And so when Trophycase drew my attention to my horoscope in Free Will Astrology, I gave it a gander. Now, I have written about Rob Breszny’s FWA before … and my assessment remains the same – Leos get the short shrift in his column – despite the odd bone tossed our way. Here’s what Rob wrote about the regal star sign as 2006 drew to a close:

Leo Horoscope for week of December 14, 2006

“Your face alternately contorts with strain and breaks into beatific grins. Your body language careens from garbled jargon to melodic poetry. Your clothes make a fool of you one day and show off your inner beauty the next. Are you becoming bi-polar? Probably not. The more likely explanation is that you’re being convulsed by growing pains that are killing off bad old habits as fast as they’re creating interesting new ones. This is one of those times when you should be proud to wear a badge that says ‘hurts so good.’”

And, you know, I took heart at the idea that people could change. That I could change. Not so much a new year’s resolution but a work in progress. I think that’s more artful and beauty-filled than any finished “piece.” Course, the years flow on, and nothing much does seem to change. Least of all me. And I find myself mired in my own shit all over again, or still. And then up pops another inspiring horoscope from my buddy Rob and I tempted to hope once more:

Leo Horoscope for week of December 18, 2008

“Happy Holy Daze, Leo! If I could give you one gift for the holidays, it might be a magic object to add to your love altar — something like a pomegranate resting on red velvet, or a golden heart-shaped magnet, or Pablo Neruda’s book 100 Love Sonnets. What? You don’t have a love altar? Well then please begin creating one as soon as possible, and continue building it throughout 2009. For the next 12 months, the time will be right to get smarter, wilder, and kinder in your approach to creating intimate connection.”

Sounds pretty awesome, hey? If only I could deliver. Once every year or two Rob Breszny comes through for Leo. Somehow, it feels too little, too late. A bit like me and my “changes.” I recently watched the latest from Harmony Korine, Mister Lonely. The Michael Jackson impersonator is played by the ohsolovely Diego Luna. The expansive Samantha Morton is Marilyn Munroe, who asks Michael whether anything ever changes. He says of course. And she repeats her question with more insistence: But does anything ever really change?”And Michael is stumped. Then Marilyn, true to form, kills herself. It’s a good movie. Go rent it.

My new year’s resolution for 2009 is the same one I set for myself every day, the same one I’ve had since I was about 30: to change myself. To rail against the social constraints and limitations that stripe my being like whip marks. I tell my students at the beginning of each course (whichever one) that the world is a social construction; as it is made daily by our participation in social and physical structures, by our acquiescence to the status quo, so it can be unmade, remade.

But can I remake myself? How to change daily practice that has become second nature? People default to nature as explanation, our animal instincts as some sort of salve that would soothe us, cleanse us, even, from any responsibility for our very conditioned (re)actions. It is tempting, believe me, but not in the spirit of metamorphosis.

Marcuse writes of “second nature” – both of the current capitalist set of values/mores and of the instinctual foundation for liberation:

“Once a specific morality is firmly established as a norm of social behaviour, it is not only introjected – it also operates as a norm of ‘organic’ behaviour the organism receives and reacts to certain stimuli and ‘ignores’ and repels others in accord with the introjected morality, which is thus promoting or impeding the function of the organism as a living cell in the respective society” (Essay on liberation, p. 11).

He further observes that the “so-called consumer economy and the politics of corporate capitalism” comprise the second nature of human, tying her “libidinally and aggressively to the commodity form.”  The constant need to possess, consume, own that capitalism offers to and imposes upon people has become “biological”in this sense.

“The second nature of (hu)man thus militates against any change that would disrupt and perhaps even abolish this dependence of (hu)man on a market ever more densely filled with merchandise – abolish [her] existence as a consumer consuming [her]self in buying and selling” (ibid). According to Marcuse, the needs created by the capitalist system are stabilizing and conservative – in this way, the counterrevolution becomes instinctive.

Marcuse says that unless the “revolt” – that is revolt against capitalism as a dominative and repressive mode of social organization – descends into this “second” nature, these ingrown patterns, “social change will remain incomplete, even self defeating” (ibid). The radical change needed to transform existing society into a free society therefore must take place within the individual, in the biological dimension, which will then unfurl and extend to social relations and then to social organization itself. For this to occur, according to Marcuse, the “vital, imperative needs and satisfactions of (hu)man” would need to assert themselves. Currently, our “instinctive” needs and satisfactions reproduce our servitude. “[L]iberation presupposes changes in this biological dimension, that is to say, different instincutal needs, different reactions of the body as well as the mind” (p. 17).

The difficulty is changing our instinctive reactions to the social conditioning that has literally ruined us as free, expressive, loving individuals. Intellectually, it isn’t that difficult to observe and analyze the history of humankind, which Marcuse calls the “history of domination and servitude.” But to liberate our scarred, branded, crippled selves from that history is tricky business indeed.

So it’s true: if you want to change the world, you have to change yourself first. And that in itself is a revolution. It might be bloody. And there might not be survivors. But as Spartacus said (just watched for the first time last night), a slave only finds freedom in death. I am speaking metaphorically here, and the conundrum remains: how to be reborn, free of the societal chains that confine and maim, and yet still live in that society?

For my reverse chronological account of Last H.O.P.E., go here.

So this morning, I started from Grand Central Station and took the subway to the East Village and have been roaming around ever since. I do have a guide book, so that’s tipping me off to cool sites, like where CBGB used to be, Leon Trotsky’s old printing press and other nifty stuff. I must admit, I was a bit freaked out when I wandered by the Hell’s Angels Clubhouse, tucked into a row of apartment buildings on E. 3rd St., a quiet, tree-lined street. My first inclination was to take a picture – I’ve been snapping photos like a maniac – but checked myself immediately. Too scared.

I walked west to Greenwich Village to see what all the fuss was about and I haven’t been able to figure it out… maybe I haven’t hit the right streets. Washington Square is pretty neat – loads of people lining the benches, sleeping on the balding grass and just hanging out. There are a lot of parks in this town, which I like. I stopped by NYU’s Department of Media, Culture and Communication, just for kicks. It’s freaky: you have to give ID before entering any of their buildings. Because of this, calls were made, directions given, and I ended up talking to the graduate adviser, basically by accident.

I’m now off to find Bob Dylan’s old house and take a picture, like a total tourist. I hope to document the rest of my New York stay, but it will be in reverse chronological order, seeing as I haven’t had one minute to post about what I’ve been up to. I will say, my first impression of this town is immensely positive, and contradicts most stereotypes I’ve picked up through cultural osmosis. What I have learned about NYC:

1. It’s actually safe (at least where I’ve been).

2. It’s pretty clean (shopkeepers everywhere cleaning windows and washing streets – I’ve really never seen such a thing).

3. It’s really fucking crowded in Midtown.

4. There are loads of fat people here.

5. New Yorkers are nice (to my total surprise…no offense).

My biggest surprise: I’m still alive, despite what Law & Order has to say.