renegaderesearch.org

When the weather is nice, Chuck and I often sit outside on the deck quietly observing the small, ever-changing world around us. We’ve come through a summer that has been one of the better ones in my recent memory and, I imagine, in Chuck’s as well. Getting closer to winter now, with months of cold, dark, rainy days ahead, we had one glorious afternoon last week when the golden sun streamed down like warm honey and lit up the last of the brilliantly coloured leaves on the neighbourhood trees. Chuck and I each had our own thoughts as we looked out over the trees in the yard.

My favourite tree, a beautiful Rowan (mountain ash), was completely gone. Until that morning it had stood close to the kitchen window. Over the summer it had grown berries that turned a beautiful crimson colour and attracted hundreds of feasting little birds. Now the tree was silent. The only evidence that it had ever been there was a raw stump encircled by a halo of sawdust on the lawn.

Chuck was stretched out, his head resting in my lap as he gazed at the apple tree. Not only were there no more than a dozen leaves left on the tree, but the branches themselves had been severely pruned, leaving tan, circular wounds at the ends of many of the grey-green branches. None of them even came close to the deck railing. I could only imagine what Chuck was thinking. A few days earlier I had learned how important the apple tree was to Chuck.

The apple tree is one of several fruit trees in the yard. Throughout the summer I had picked up its apples as they fell, not ripe but fully rotten, on the lawn. By the end of August all the apples were gone; and then the leaves began to fall. Raking the lawn and putting the leaves into the compost heap became my next small task. I enjoyed it as a meditation, a shift into the here and now and a break from the intellectual work of connecting dots among names, facts, events and trends collected over many years and from disparate contexts. I had nearly finished raking the lawn, having worked backward from the front yard, and was standing under the apple tree when I heard a rustling sound above me. I watched as a flurry of leaves fell onto the grass where I’d just raked. Suddenly Chuck appeared, skittering down the trunk of the tree and racing across the lawn. Aha! I understood immediately. I had discovered “his” tree, and I knew what he was doing in it.

Chuck is a very intelligent cat. He’s only two years old, but he’s good at figuring out how to get what he wants. Rather than chase birds, he was sitting in the tree, waiting for them to come to him. Once his secret was out, he started coming to the deck rail directly from the tree, gingerly navigating the branches, testing the smaller ones to see if they would bear his weight, and then leaping directly to the railing with amazing grace. Perhaps I’m anthromorphizing, but it seemed to me that he was quite impressed with his own agility and wanted to share his moments of glory with me. (I can only leap like that in my dreams.) Now the tree was bare, and beyond his reach. He looked up at me, and then at the tree, and then back at me, as if wanting me to share his sense of loss.

I stroked his head and told him, “I feel your pain, Chuck.”

And I do empathise with him. It’s so much less heartbreaking than empathising with humans, especially these days. When Chuck walks by with a bird he has killed (on his way home to the neighbours’ house, where his gift will not be appreciated), I know he is expressing the nature of the life within him, and I share in his satisfaction, though not the reason for it. I’ve seen a bird escape his claws and fly away, and I’ve rejoiced with the bird for still being alive. Chuck’s disappointment is always momentary, and that’s good. The bird’s relief is also momentary, but that’s also good. Our human lives are so much more complicated.

The difficulties we may face are not only those that afflict other animals: sickness, pain, hunger, thirst, fear, loneliness, loss, unexpected changes. Many are of our own creation. Over the millennia, because of what many humans consider to be our greater cognitive abilities, our species has applied itself to taking the edge off the vicissitudes of life. We have succeeded, quite brilliantly, in creating “the good life” for some while holding out the possibility of it (like a carrot on a stick) to many others. In our consumption-driven economy, most consumer goods have been rendered “affordable.” However, the highest price for what we have called “progress” has been paid with the blood sweat and tears of our fellow humans who hardly dream of the comforts to which we have come to feel entitled. They trudge off every day to mines and sweatshops and the fields of agribusinesses owned by transnational corporations. They are ordinary men, women and children. They are people, just like us; but we hardly think of them as we use the things their labour has made available to us … while they go without. Many of us have been able to live in a smug, “first world” bubble because they have been unable to prick it with their voices.

But things are changing … as tourists at the airports in Bangkok and in the upscale hotels of Mumbai have found over the past couple of days. Many are undergoing the difficult process of learning that the rest of the world “has a life.” One US citizen whose trip was interrupted in Bangkok ranted in a radio interview that he had confronted one of the protesters, saying, “I don’t care about your cockamamie protest. I’m an American and I have to get home for Thanksgiving.” I smiled as I thought of Mr. USA sitting there in the airport, fuming, shocked to discover that not everyone in his vacation paradise considered the fulfillment of his desires to be a top priority.

However, the larger reality is far more serious. It doesn’t take much to see that social struggles are surfacing everywhere, and that they aren’t always taking predictable forms. More and more frequently they involve innocent bystanders (although it is worthwhile to consider the concept of “little Eichmanns” – whether we actually profit financially from the misery of others, or mindlessly consume the products of their labour, or simply close our eyes, ears and minds to torture and genocide being committed on an unprecedented scale in the world today, with so much of it directly linked to “first world” prosperity). As fascism overtakes the world, instead of demanding nothing less than global justice, people are calling for more police protection, more “security.”

Some of us find it quite natural to empathize with and feel compassion for those who are being exploited and oppressed. These days, though, I’m finding it more difficult to feel anything for those who have no compassion for others, who feel a sense of entitlement to “the best things in life” without regard for the cost to others. They are increasing the amount of evil in the world, and everyone will pay a high price for it. I’m reminded of the words of John F. Kennedy (no radical, to be sure): “Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable.” And I wonder if it has already become inevitable.

Chuck isn’t concerned with these weighty matters. That’s why I appreciate that he comes around and reminds me that life is simple. Things happen that are beyond our control. They are not always to our liking, but we learn to work with them. Inside each change is the potential for a new direction. Creative hope is the key to unlock our imagined possibilities. Unlike Chuck, humans have been gifted with the capacity to create our own world. The world we live in wasn’t created by God, but by men and women in positions of power and influence, and by all of us when we uncritically accept the limitations their System has placed upon us and pursue the vision of the “good life” that we have been have been taught to desire from birth. It’s a world that fewer and fewer people are willing to accept anymore. The good side of all this change is that people are beginning to awaken to the fact of the unsustainability of the direction we have taken so far.

Hey World (4 min., 10 sec.) Michael Franti and Spearhead (Sept. 9, 2008)

Tags: bangkok, change, compassion, consumerism, mumbai, radical, revolution, wmpathy

While I’ve been thinking about hope, a global economic crisis has been unfolding; the world’s ecosystem is collapsing; and now a new President has been elected in the United States. Suddenly “hope” is one of the words that seem to be on people’s lips these days. The other word, thanks to Barack Obama’s campaign, is “change.” Mainstream news reports (like this one) paint a picture of people all over the world pouring their hopes for change into Obama. I hope it’s not true.

Beyond realistic (albeit incomplete) assessments of the difficulties Obama will face as he tries to keep his campaign promises, there is little in the mainstream media about the unrealistic hopes his glitzy campaign has engendered in so many of his supporters. There’s nothing at all about the possible consequences of his inevitable failure to meet their impossibly high expectations.

The sequelae of Obama’s win are interesting to speculate upon. I see three possible trends in the fairly near future. The first is that hardcore Obama supporters, with almost a religious fervour, will ignore “inconvenient truths” and follow their leader blindly. They will adjust to the gradualism of politics-as-usual, miring themselves in the endless game of gains and losses that resembles nothing more than treading water, with the water rising fast.

A second trend is that the various interests that have attached themselves to Obama during his brilliantly orchestrated “grassroots” campaign will use the relationships they have established within the Obama machine over the past 18 months to secure modest investments in social programs, alternative energy programs, some infrastructure upgrades and some sort of national healthcare program. However, with the U.S. debt currently standing at $10,624,730,227,798 (that’s trillions, and it’s rising by the nanosecond), the word will go out that this is not the time for great expectations. There’s just not enough money to pay for the “change we need.”

A third trend among Obama supporters is that many will return to their usual apathetic state once their interest in the “first puppy” has died down. According to Barack Obama himself, this issue has “generated more interest on his Web site than any other topic” – more than the Wall Street bailout; more than two wars; more than hundreds of thousands of people losing their homes and jobs; more than the possibility of a re-negotiation (but not the abrogation) of the North American Free Trade Agreement … more than any other topic. As post-election life settles down to the “new normal,” many of those who were caught up in Obama-mania because it just felt so good to be on the winning team for a change will begin channeling their energy into supporting their favourite team in the lead-up the Superbowl.

Meanwhile, in contrast to the “greatest show on earth,” Canada has just endured a federal election so boring that many Canadians, at least around here, have focused their hopes for “change” on Barack Obama. And so proceeds the “Deep Integration of North America” on the cultural front. The Council of Canadians has produced a timeline of developments in the so-called “Security and Prosperity Partnership” to show just how far this plan has already advanced with hardly a raised eyebrow in the mainstream media.

For several years, I (and many other deeply concerned people) have known that this deal is in the works and have tried to initiate serious conversations with friends and neighbours to help raise consciousness in our localities about the changes that are gathering on our horizon. Unless one is “preaching to the choir,” these conversations are often difficult. Many people are ignorant of issues that are profoundly affecting their lives and their futures. Lacking knowledge of these issues, they feel compelled to trust “the powers that be” to handle things on their behalf, in their best interests. There is sufficient evidence to warrant the suspicion that our “leaders” (and the interests they represent) are, at best, incompetent. At worst … well, we really don’t like to think about it. “It’s so negative.”

Many social processes factor into a fairly generalized resistance to discussing these issues. One of these is, of course, the natural  discomfort people feel in talking about things they know little or nothing about. But another, even more important one is the normalizing effect of “public opinion” generated by the most respected members of the community, for whom the status quo is working out just fine. I was speaking with one of these “well-respected” people recently, and mentioned that I was impressed with the Zapatistas’ educational philosophy (not to mention the fact that they have schools at all), a philosophy  expressed on one of the fantastic murals in Oventik in the words: “El Álgebra de la Educación Revolucionario es la Dialéctica” (The Algebra of Revolutionary Education is the Dialectic). The pillar-of-the-community’s response, in a whiny voice slightly tinged with something like horror, was, “Why are Mexicans always talking about revolution?” Apparently, the person has not visited Mexico lately.

The only response that came to mind was, “I guess revolution is bred into their culture, like apathy is into ours.”

Granted, the idea of the dialectic (that is, “the art or practice of arriving at the truth by the exchange of logical arguments“) is a foreign concept in our educational system, and it would certainly be revolutionary if it were to catch on here. But the success of the North American educational system is not measured by its ability to produce critical thinkers. Rather, the genius of the system lies in its ability to produce uncritical producer-consumers. A comment made by a high school student on a radio talk show in the period immediately following 9-11 was instructive in this regard. Referring to news coverage of the event, she said (I paraphrase), “Like, before this I didn’t know anything about the Pakistinians.” Sometimes I feel welling up inside me the plaintive cry in the title of William Greider’s 1993 book, Who Will Tell the People? I also ask myself, who’s listening?

Of course, there are many who are trying to tell the people through various media. One such educative effort is “They Live,” John Carpenter’s brilliant allegory about alienation (not aliens), free trade and the brainwashing power of the mass media. It is now available on-line for free viewing. The fight scene, during which you can get up, go to the bathroom, make a coffee, make popcorn and/or make love, demonstrates the resistance faced by those “who can see” when they try to communicate what they are seeing to others. For your edification and viewing pleasure, a link to the video is provided below. For trivia buffs: Listen for the reference to “Hofmann lenses” – a reference to Albert, perhaps? Thanks to John Carpenter for allowing the film to be seen for free. A totally cool move.

Another video available for online viewing is “The Fourth World War” (link below). The Fourth World War is the global war being waged by the rich against the poor and the middle class (and, some say, against life itself). The video is a collaborative effort by filmmakers on five continents chronicling the creative resistance being mounted to the capitalist globalization of misery. The hope that energizes this globalized resistance is not the false hope offered by Barack Obama or any other leader. It arises from the power of conscious people engaged in a global dialectic and united against a common enemy. The definition of hope is: “to cherish a desire with anticipation; to desire with expectation of obtainment; or to expect with confidence.” The Fourth World War expresses the hope of this struggle of Life against Death. To paraphrase a quote erroneously attributed to Emma Goldman, “If I can’t dance to it, it’s not my revolution.” This is a revolution I can dance to.

The Fourth World War (76 min) Big Noise Films, 2003

They Live (94 min) John Carpenter, 1988

Tags: Add new tag, education, Hope, obama, revolution, zapatista

Last year, before I left Canada for six months of traveling, I read Curtis Muhammad’s “Farewell Letter on the Second Anniversary of Katrina.”  Addressed to the “progressive, left movement for justice in the USA,” it explained his reasons for leaving the U.S. to “seek refuge among the poor” in Latin America. I was experiencing a similar sense of futility and also found myself “at the crossroads of hope and hopelessness.” I already knew (through education and experience) how the system works in North America to crush people’s autonomy and to replace it with dependency on countless social services agencies. I needed to be among people who were not overcome by hopelessness; people who not only believe that another world is possible, but also believe in their own power to create it.

In the post 9-11 crackdown on activism throughout the world, I (and many others) withdrew to consider the future. With so much at stake, amidst a general population paralyzed by ignorance and apathy, I wondered if it was worth the effort and risk to openly confront our own corrupt governments and the corporate interests they serve. As far as I could see, the North American frog had already boiled. The only hopeful developments I knew of were occurring in Latin America, where a massive shift to the Left is being propelled by indigenous and poor people’s movements. Here in Canada, as industries collapsed, leaving whole towns of mostly unemployed people, the pathetic cries that arose were mostly for government intervention, or at least a job retraining program. In Argentina, people were taking over their factories with the cry, “Occupy. Resist. Produce.”

I was drawn to Mexico by independent media reports of the months-long occupation and defence of the Zócalo in Oaxaca. This spontaneous uprising of self-organized, virtually unarmed, poor people took place within a country arguably more overtly repressive than either of its NAFTA partners. I wondered why such an uprising had not occurred in North America (at least since the 1960s) despite more than adequate provocation. The sheer numbers of people living on the streets of the U.S. and Canada because they can’t afford to live indoors gives evidence that North America’s “grossest” domestic product is poverty. But poor people in el norte weren’t saying anything close to ¡Ya basta!

I was especially interested in the Oaxaca uprising because women had been in the forefront of it all. Fidelia Vásquez, one of hundreds of women who took over the state-owned TV and radio stations, said:  “Our mission as women is to create, educate, communicate and participate. That is why we are here occupying the state radio and T.V. station.” That sounded awesome to me. If something was happening in Oaxaca, I wanted to know more about it. I was badly in need of a fresh infusion of hope.

By the time I arrived in Oaxaca, the Zócalo had been quiet for over a year. Brad Will, an NYC Indymedia journalist, had been assassinated by paramilitaries in November 2006 – which brought the situation in Oaxaca briefly to the attention of the North American public (before the corporate media dropped it down the memory hole). How many even knew that the uprising had also left many Mexicans dead and many more imprisoned or disappeared? Even though the Zócalo was alive with poinsettias, tourists and vendadoras, APPO still maintained a visible presence.

But, apart from occasional (though impressively large) demonstrations, things were relatively quiet while I was there. Fresh daily graffiti – and the fact that women in the Zócalo referred to each other not as amigas but as compañeras – gave me the impression that the movement was still very much alive, but underground. I saw this as a good thing because underground, away from public “leaders of the masses,” the grassroots can grow strong. I am in love with Oaxaca, but I didn’t find the source of hope I was looking for there. (You can read my dispatches from Oaxaca here, here and here.)

Another year later, and reports are that “APPO for all intents and purposes no longer exists,” having fallen to a combination of internal conflicts and government repression. What continues are community-based groups, including a number of community-based low-power radio stations. The umbrella organization may be defunct, but the social movement continues, even in the face of serious repression.

In April, two indigenous women, Teresa Bautista Merino, 24, and Felícitas Martínez Sánchez, 20, were ambushed and assassinated as they traveled from San Juan Copala to Oaxaca city to attend the State Forum for the Defense of the Rights of the Peoples of Oaxaca. Both worked at the community radio station La Voz que Rompe el Silencio (The Voice that Breaks the Silence). A married couple and their young child were also injured in the attack.

In September the decomposed body of Sali Grace Eiler, a 21 year-old activist and Indymedia journalist from the U.S., was found near San Jose del Pacifico, Oax. She had been raped and brutally murdered. According to an Indymedia article, “many people believe that her murder is part of the widespread
repression against the social movement and directed particularly at international observers.”

On October 16, despite evidence pointing to the paramilitaries seen in Brad Will’s last video, the Mexican Federal government charged two members of APPO in his murder.

In 2006, Mexico was the second most dangerous country in the world for journalists, according to the Reporters Without Borders’ Press Freedom Round-up 2006; and in 2007 it was “still the most deadly in the Americas for journalists” (download 2008 Annual Report, pdf file).

It is certain, Oaxaca no está en paz. (Graffito on the wall in front of Santo Domingo church, Oaxaca)

Last year, with my focus on Oaxaca, I missed the first Encuentro of Zapatista Women and the Women of the World. It was held in the Zapatista caracol of La Garrucha, Chiapas from December 28, 2007 to January 1. But when I arrived in Chiapas in February, Zapatistas – especially Zapatista women – were everywhere. The more I learned about them, the more I realized that I had discovered the source of hope I was looking for.  I began to believe again that the struggle is worthwhile, whatever the cost.

The following videos online are an excellent introduction to struggles of the social movements in Oaxaca and of the Zapatistas in Chiapas, which are the struggles of people everywhere to keep hope alive.

El Enemigo Común (65 min) Austin Independent Media Center, 2005

Zapatista (48 min) Big Noise Films (2001)

A Place Called Chiapas (92 min) Canada Wild Productions (1998)

Tags: activism, appo, chiapas, oaxaca, women, zapatistas