Divide and Conquer

 In reading my morning news feeds, two stories - thousands of miles apart - struck me as being similar if only because they reflect that age old capitalist strategy of divide and conquer.

CBC reported on a twitter post from Qasim Rashid, a visiting fellow at Harvard University's School of Islamic Studies, wondering why "red blood from brown skin" is less newsworthy/less worthy of international condemnation and sorrow than when terrorist attacks occur in the western world. He, and others who have responded to his tweet accurately note that when there are mass deaths in France or in Florida, there is a public outpouring of grief and sympathy and rage. Social media sites such as Facebook create ways for people to easily express their solidarity with the those who have been terrorized.  Conversely, when there are similar or even worse terror attacks in Iraq, Turkey, Yemen, Saudi Arabia or Bangladesh there are neither the public expressions of anger or grief, nor does Facebook make any attempt to facilitate world wide outrage.

While there may be many reasons why there is such a disparity in how those of us who live in privileged countries chose what to be angry at and how we express our anger, it is clear that we are less connected (and affected) by those deaths that occur not only half a world away but as well to people with whom we have no cultural affiliation. It is clearly easier to feel less connected to people who appear to be different from "us'.

The second story that I have been following for the past few days has been the Toronto Gay Pride parade on Saturday. At some point during that parade, the Toronto branch of Black Lives Matter, had a "sit-in" and stopped the parade until the organizers of that parade agreed in writing to a number of changes to the policies of that organization, its employment practices and who would be allowed to participate in next year's parade. It was an interesting strategy. Similarly as to when left wing political organizations need to deal with their own employee unions, the Pride organizers had no expertise in dealing with people who were prepared to be more radical than them. The Pride organizers were forced to concede to all of  Black Lives Matter's demands.

There is no doubt that some of the issues were valid. It has long been the history of social movements, that they have initially focused on the needs of the middle class. For example, the Women's Suffragette movement from the turn of the last century was led by, and demanded rights for only a certain class of women. It is only relatively recently that the Women's movement has started to articulate the needs of women from visible minorities or immigrants or those who are poor. Social movements almost by definition are run by those who can afford the time and the risk to protest. It is not surprising that Black Canadians who are part of the LGBTQ community have felt ignored or unsupported by some of their seemingly less marginalized their fellow members.

I think the unifying bit between these two stories is the fact that there is some suggestion that some people's pain and suffering is worth more or less than others. That it somehow seems to be part of the human condition that we need to quantify our personal hurt and to compare it to others'. The members of Black Lives Matter were not saying that the white LGBTQ community had not been discriminated against, but rather that the black LGBTQ has had it worse;  Qasim Rashid was not suggesting that the western outrage at the events at Orlando or in Paris was inappropriate, but rather that we should at least feel equally as outraged at the terrorist attacks in Iraq, Turkey, Yemen, Saudi Arabia or Bangladesh. In fact because far more people have died in those countries we should be even more concerned/upset/outraged.

 A few weeks ago I did a blog that mentioned Ismael Beah's book A long Way Gone; Memoirs of a Boy Soldier, and his comments that sadness or anguish or any other emotion is relative. One sorrow is not greater or more important than another. Similarly oppression is oppression. Somehow we need as a society of people who believe in justice for all, to stop comparing people's pain or frustrations to see if they are worthy of public support. Somehow we need, while giving validity to the issues that were raised by Black Lives Matter, to recognize that other members of the LGBTQ community have also been affected by harassment, discrimination and a legitimate fear of being hurt or killed by bigots. We all need to work together to ensure that those issues stop being a reality for so many individuals in that community. The only people that are served by such discord are those who would deny any rights to the LGBTQ community.

We need to become equally as outraged when people die in Bangladesh as when people die in Paris. There is no reason, except for our own biases, to ignore lives being taken by terrorist, just because that person's skin is not white. The pain that death in Bangladesh causes for the person's family and friends is just as real as when it happens in Paris. For us to accept anything else only confirms the terrorists' statements that the west does not care.

In the ongoing class struggle for equality, we need to find ways of unifying not separating. Accepting the validity of others' pain, sorrow and anger and then joining them in their outrage might be a good place to start.

On the Road Again 2016 # 11

When I sit back and reflect, now almost three weeks since my brief hitchhiking trip, I still marvel how far one person can travel in a day if the hitchhiking Gods are kind. As I got into what would be my last ride of the day, my new driver said that he was going all the way to Calgary and I was excited. I knew I would be getting into that city very late, and at the back of my mind was the slight worry about where I was going to sleep. But sleeping was six or seven hours away and I was ready for another ride where my primary function was to keep my driver awake.

My driver was driving a large pick-up truck. While at other times,  some drivers makes an attempt to clear of a seat for my pack, there was far too much stuff this time so I threw my pack in the back, hoping that I would be able to fish it out when the ride was finished. In some of the newer trucks with the slightly over sized tires it is a long reach down into the bed to grab the pack. As I age and lose a bit of flexibility, it is getting more and more difficult for me to get the pack out. Normally if I have a choice, I prefer to have the pack in the vehicle where I can see it. I am not afraid of the pack flying out of the truck, nor was I afraid of any rain - I just like to be able to see my pack.

My driver was from Transylvania. It was really hard to resist all of the silly vampire jokes that flitted into my mind. However the only time we talked at all about that country was when I asked what language they spoke (answer was Romanian).

It was a quiet conversation, with short spells of nothing being said. Those intermissions were not because we had disagreed or because there was nothing left to talk about, they were just quiet times of relaxing and enjoying the drive. Unlike my first drive of the trip, we made no attempt to discuss how to change the world or even to find a bridge between our two different cultures. At the end of the trip, neither of us knew that much more about each either than when we started out together. We talked about the usual things that strangers do, but for some reason we never got much past that. Maybe it was because it had already been a long day for me, or that I was not as skilled/pushy at prying as at other times- but our conversation while enjoyable and it certainly filled the six or seven hours we spent together - was superficial.

We got into Calgary about 3:00 in the morning. What does one do at 3:00 AM in any city? We had talked about it a few times and I had discussed my various options - sleeping outside, getting a motel, finding a hostel - but all of the choices seemed like more work than I wanted to do. All of the choices would have delayed the next day's start. I asked my driver to drop me off at a 24 hour Tim Horton's. He thought he knew where there was a 24 hour McDonald's that was right near a C train station.  The plan evolved without me doing any thinking or planning. I would spend an hour or so at McDonald's, use the bathroom, buy some tea and then get on the train that hopefully would connect me to the bus heading out towards the Calgary Olympic Park. From there I would start on the last leg of my trip to the Pacific Ocean.

The weather in Calgary  was a lot colder than it had been in Regina just half a day before. It was cold enough that I put on my fleece and just wet enough to put on my rain jacket. Across the street from the McDonald's there was some major construction occurring - the workers being in a rush to complete the night's work before rush hour started. Using the restaurant were a number of the road crew, a bored police officer who had spent the night in her car, with the lights flashing, making sure that drivers in the area were aware that there were some big trucks etc on the road, and a couple of young people who appeared to have spent at least part of the night there. I didn't feel out of place or unwanted. In fact no one paid me any attention.

I did speak to one gentleman who knew the area well. He both confirmed where the C train station was and wished me good luck.

At 4:30 I walked to the nearest station, spent 10 minutes reading the map to figure out which train to take and half an hour later I was in downtown Calgary.

On the Road Again 2016 #10

John dropped me off at the Husky truck stop on the east end of Regina. I had some very mixed emotions getting out there. On one hand, I had had some great rides out of there, some fond memories of warm nights hanging out with other hitchhikers. On the other hand, last year I had spent a fairly miserable 10 or 12 hours there before deciding to walk to the highway. As I stood there, just by the exit, surveying what could have been my home for the next few hours, I decided that I did not want to be there. There were very few trucks in the parking lot, almost no cars in front of the restaurant and the whole place looked unused, unlived in. It was hot, windy and looked really boring. There had to be another way to get to Calgary.

I walked for a few city blocks, saw a city bus, figured out were the next stop was and got on it. Initially the bus driver didn't think I should get on the bus, that I should just try to hitchhike from the side of the bus. I tried to explain that it was futile and dangerous to try - he seemed unconvinced that he could get me to anywhere better. But then, for some reason, he changed his mind and said that it was a long bus ride but that he could get me within half a kilometre or so of the Trans- Canada. I told him that was great. It was a long ride, but he did get me within a long walk of the highway. With a handful of exceptions, I have always managed to by-pass Regina. I am sure that it is a fine city and that it has many interesting features. The parts that I saw through the bus window looked like every other city that I have driven through. Because I didn't have a map of the city, I never quite knew where I was. When I got out and started to walk towards the highway, I was quite surprised to realize that I knew exactly where I was. One my first or second trip out west I had been let out of a car just west of Regina (The driver, a Christian had decided he didn't like my arguments and had abruptly stopped the car and told me to get out). It was getting later on in the afternoon and I did wonder if I would have to sleep under the same underpass.

Within a fairly short time I got two rides, each only for a short distance that helped me get to a better spot down the road. The first was from a former trucker who had been just about everywhere. Somehow we got on to the topic of towns and their symbols. I suspect it was because we were going by Moose Jaw and their large statue of a moose - I mentioned one of my favourites - Moonbeam, Ontario and their spaceship. For the second time on this trip, my driver knew exactly what I was talking about. He did offer to let me have a closer look at the moose but I told him that once was enough.

My next drive was seemingly hardly worth  the effort of getting into the car. The driver was a young man who was driving out to where he went to bible college. We had very little time to talk and where he let me out was a good spot if only because it had a Subway restaurant if I ever decided to stay the night. The mosquitoes were getting annoying and I really didn't want to spend the night in a place where I would have to fend off the silly little blighters. I could have stayed at the quite posh looking Pilgrim Hotel, but it looked a little bit out of my price range. Given the fact that I was in the middle of nowhere, I suspected that the hotel's main attraction was being close to the bible college. Fortunately I did not have to decide about where to sleep as I got a ride fairly quickly, All the way to Calgary.

On the Road Again 2016 # 9

Throughout my years of hitchhiking I have had a number of rides from individuals from various First Nation communities. However, most of those rides have been quite short and I have always gotten out feeling as if there was so much more that we could have talked about. This time I got lucky. My driver, a member of a First Nation community in Ontario, had lots of stories to tell and was glad to share them. He was also very clear in his values and how he approached life. What made him a particularly great driver was not only could he clearly articulate why he thought native spirituality was important, but he was able to debate, to listen to other approaches to understanding life. He may have been one of the most non-judgemental persons that I have ever met. He was firm in his belief system, but he was certainly not threatened by mine.

My driver, John, had, like so many other Aboriginal Canadians, had a fairly difficult life. He had been consumed by alcoholism and all of the consequences of that disease. He had had a number of run-ins with the law and at one point had been at risk of some rather serious jail time. While we did not talk about it, I think he had been married more than once. He certainly had a number of children and grandchildren. In fact he was on a cross country tour to visit various children, grandchildren and cousins. If I had stayed with him all of the way, he was going to end up on Vancouver Island after having seen folks in Regina. Calgary  and a few spots in BC.

While John's original trade was as an iron worker, he had worked in a number of fields, had gone back to school as a mature student and had a couple diplomas and degrees. He was a deeply spiritual man. He, along with his wife, practiced and taught the values, the spirituality and the medicines of his heritage. He appeared to be knowledgeable about plants and their medicinal value. He had had the opportunity of teaching some of his knowledge at the community college level. It was clear from the way that he talked that he lived his life the way he taught it. Open and compassionate. I suspect he was a natural and compulsive teacher. As I am - at least the compulsive part. But there was never any sense of competitiveness between us. He was delight to spend time with.  

At one point towards the end of our journey he said that we had not really solved any of the world problems. I suspect he was right, but on the other hand we had ensured that two people, about the same age but with almost unimaginable different life experiences, had managed to debate, sometimes with disagreement, and to explore those differences. More importantly we had discovered that in spite of those profoundly different life experiences, we had found the similarities in our values and in our beliefs.

There are times where I wish that I had a tape recorder with me as I travelled. There were parts of the conversation with John that I would like hear again. My comments about angels, his about honouring one's ancestors, the importance of having a spiritual grounding, the absurdity of the Canadian government's stand on land settlement, how decisions are made, consensus government in the North-West Territories and so much more all combined and flowed into a seamless piece that at least for me validated the belief that we can live and work together. The single point that I think we would have come to a more serious disagreement revolved in his contention that if the Europeans had never come to North America, the Indigenous peoples would have evolved into a peaceful, environmental respecting small groups. Whereas I wondered if given another couple of hundred years if nation states would have evolved and become as controlling as the European states.

In looking back, I realize that while I have not, in my life, had to accept discrimination or injustices, John had. He had had to learn how to forgive those who had perpetrated or at the very least had allowed those injustices to occur. One can only admire a spirituality that allows a man who, in spite of the challenges imposed upon him by an uncaring society, can still offer help to folks like me.