So, I’ve been wondering whether I should comment on race. A post by buymeaclue made me decide “yes” (because it was a good post, I should add. It made me think, and it was the kick in the butt for me to write this). Therefore, I’m going to tell a story about racism:

Once upon a time, I was involved in a show that centered on a British music hall thingy. Each of us was assigned a solo, which fit into the larger show (those familiar with Fledermaus will know the scoop on this). After I was assigned my solo, I took it to the practice room and quickly discovered that there was no way, in good conscience, that I could sing it. The song, which was called “Indian Song to the Moon” or something like that (It wasn’t the more well known “Indian Love Call”, FYI) was written in pigeon English (Moon dear/how clear/your love/my hand…or something like that). Right about that time, a friend of our family was in the middle of a battle with the Canadian government because his mother had sold her scrip when she was young in order to buy food for her family and was trying to get his aboriginal status back (imagine the concept of selling your race to buy food…wow), so at the time, I was pretty aware of how cultural appropriation like this played into the whole concept of the “ignorant savage”, and how that attitude was still prevalent in modern culture.

So, I took my concerns to the director of the show, who didn’t want to deal with me. She pawned me off onto the assistant director, who told me that he grew up on the edge of a reservation and so he didn’t think there was any problem with the pigeon English, or the sentiment that “noble savage” also implied stupid Indian, so suck it up, because if I wanted to be a singer, I’d better learn to deal with sexism and racism (and, I had been warned by my own teacher at the time that if I went ahead and brought my concerns forward, I’d be blackballed by the individuals in question, which was pretty major as the director is a very well respected teacher in the opera community). Needless to say, I was pretty taken aback, but I wasn’t in a place where I felt strong enough to go further than this. So, I did what I was told, sucked it up, and sang the damn song, even though every fiber in my body hated it.

Fast forward two years: my aunt, while researching our family genealogy, discovers that we’re Métis. Since then, I’ve wanted to write to that assistant director and tell him that as a person of aboriginal descent, I officially object to that stupid song, and he and his high-handed attitude are jerks.

However...

I’ve really struggled with the concept of being of aboriginal descent. Because my family didn’t know we were Métis, we’re considered Nouveau Métis, which is just so bizarre – Nouveau Métis are considered lesser by some because we weren’t raised within our culture. Nothing like racism within one’s own cultural group. I’ve also been told by people that being Métis makes me less of an Indian because the Métis were the wealthy Indians, when, in fact, the Métis are the most marginalized aboriginal people in Canada. We weren’t entitled to live in towns, or on the reservation, and so there are records of Métis making their homes in ditches because that’s the only place they were allowed to live. To this day, my grandmother denies her native heritage because it was so shameful to be Métis, and my paternal great-grandmother always hated my mom because my mom looked Indian. (I should note that my personal struggle isn’t because I’m native – it’s because it’s really weird to wake up one day with the realization that you aren’t who you thought you were.)

The odd thing is that I’m the only person in my family who’s struggled with all of this. I don’t look native. I have fair skin, blue eyes, and my natural hair colour (which hasn’t seen the light of day in some time) is light brown. My sister, on the other hand, has very dark skin. When we were children and living in the Middle East, the Iranians thought she was Iranian and that my parents had adopted her. Some of my relatives have embraced our native status so much that, despite the fact that they are from an affluent family, they’ve taken advantage of all the grant money available to those of aboriginal descent (which is something that I am wholly opposed to – it’s my belief that that money is for those who need it, not for those who have lived with white privilege all their life). My brother, who is a social worker, works with aboriginal youth (child intervention, in fact. Want an education on what sort of horrors exist in aboriginal communities? Hang with him for a day. Nothing like realizing a third world country exists within our lovely first world nation.). My mom is the representative for women’s issues for our local Métis nation, and has begun to attend conferences dealing with all sorts of issues that are so horrendous that I can’t even begin to explain the depth of my anger. Just look up “residential schools” on Wikipedia. That’s what my grandmother was subjected too (we believe - we aren't entirely sure because of her silence), and it’s no wonder she denies her heritage.

Anyhow…getting off track.

My way of working through all of this was to write The Shadows Cast by Stars, which is about a girl of mixed race who doesn’t fit into either world, and how she tries to find a place where she can be who she is, and no one else. I am fully aware that I’m probably going to get called to task by some within the aboriginal community, but no matter what happens, I know, within myself, that I have written this book from a place of absolute respect. I’ve struggled with cultural appropriation through the entire writing process, but I knew that I had to write this story and so I decided the risk of being called out was worth it.

So, after reading all the kerfluffle about RaceFail, as a person of a racial minority, a person whose heritage has been stolen from her because it was shameful to be a half-breed, this is what I say: any author should be able to tell the stories he or she wishes to tell. Should you wish to tell a story and include a character that has somehow been marginalized by the mainstream, I would encourage you to challenge every single stereotype you want - delve into those stereotypes, explore them, see if there’s a kernel of truth, mine them, push the boundaries of what’s consider nice and good, but above all, be aware of what you’re doing. Honor the traditions you’re working with. Speak to those who live them. Educate yourself on what it’s like to lose everything you’ve ever had, or to lose what you’ve never known you could have. And if you choose to play into stereotypes, do it because it is true to the individual character, and not to the race as a whole. If a character is "bad", let him/her be bad because that's inherent to who they are, not because of the colour of his/her skin (and I think anyone who decides to criticize the works of others should take this into consideration as well). Be aware that the wounds within some communities run very deep and have a long way to go before they're healed.

Because when all is said and done, I don’t define myself by my skin colour, or my race, or my gender. Those are components of who I am, but I am not just those things. I am a half-breed woman whose history and culture were stripped from her a hundred years ago, and who walks in shadows that are all colours. I am richer for wanting to learn of my Celtic heritage, and I am richer for being given the opportunity to explore what it means to be of mixed race, and I’m sure as hell not going to let anyone tell me which box I fit into or which stories I should tell, which means I’m sure as hell not going to tell anyone else how best to tell the stories they want to tell either.

Just go forth with respect and awareness. I think, if everyone did that, the world would be a much different place – and better for it.

Thanks for listening, and should you wish to discuss or ask questions or challenge what I've written, feel free.

So tonight, we saw Passchendaele. (http://www.passchendaelethemovie.com/movie/flash.html)

This isn’t a movie without flaw, but I think that the content of the movie is important enough to overlook those flaws. It portrays war with brutal honesty, such brutal, shocking honesty, and some of the scenes are breathtakingly horrific.

The entire theatre stayed to watch the credits. That’s the effect it had.

And, I don’t know about everyone else in the theatre, but for me, this movie compounded the fact that I hate war. Someone once wondered why so much of what I write is dark and brutal, and the truth is, I don’t like brutality, or gore, or violence, but the only way I can live in a world that is all of those things is to enter into it in my writing, and come out the other side, and hope that somewhere along the way, I find some little hope (and perhaps some understanding, though I'm not sure I'll ever understand any of those things). This is why I think Passchendaele is a tremendous movie, and a very Canadian movie in many ways, because at the end, after all the horror, there is hope. Some days, that hope seems pretty small to me. I think of the terrible waste of war, and find myself so mired in the cost – not the economic cost, but the cost of life, and not just human life, but of all life. There’s a scene at the end of the movie where the camera pans out from the battlefield until all you can see are the craters, and though I have no idea whether Paul Gross meant to comment on the environment, but all I could think of is – what have we done? What have we done to this world, and how can we ever make amends? How could anyone ever think that war, or conflict of any sort, is a good idea?

Maybe part of making amends is in remembrance. It seems like such a small thing, but if we can remember what has come before, even just a little bit, and remember the horrors rather than the glory (because there is no glory – none), maybe there’s some hope, and I have to hang onto that, because it would be all too easy to slip into despair.

Passchendaele is a Canadian film, so odds are, most of the people reading this won’t get an opportunity to see it in the theatres, but when it’s released on DVD, please consider watching it.

Despite the tone of my Olympic post yesterday, I love many things about the Olympics. I love that anything can and does happen, and that so many athletes rise to the occasion and surpass what they thought was possible, especially considering the odds some of them are up against. I often find I’m so inspired by the profound strength of the human heart, and on those occasions, I have a little more hope for the human race. I also find that watching the Olympics is a fantastic kick-in-the-butt, for they remind me that writers are elite athletes too, and that if I want to achieve great things (whatever those great things might be), I need to work for it.

Some of the things that have inspired me:

Kyle Shewfelt: Kyle won gold in the Athens games for his floor routine in men’s gymnastics. However, 11 months ago, he had a freak accident in a warm-up and broke both his legs. He wasn’t sure he’d compete again, but he did. Sure, he didn’t win a medal, but he went out and did his best, resulting in a top ten finish, despite the fact that he hadn’t been able to compete in any competition since his accident. But, here’s where it gets cool: rather than muttering about no funding and such, or running away to nurse his wounds, he decided to hang out with the CBC broadcasting crew and commentate on the rest of the gymnastics competition, and not only cheered on the two Canadians left in the running, but had fantastic things to say about every single gymnast.

Alexandre Despatie: a Canadian diver and Olympic medal winner, who broke his foot three months ago. He, too, wasn’t sure he’d be able to compete, but he worked his butt off so he could, not just for himself, but for his synchro-diving partner, the former Cuban diver, Arturo Miranda. Miranda had been primed for two previous Olympics, but hadn’t gone because Cuba couldn’t afford to send him. Despatie wanted to get back into form not only for himself, but so his partner could have the Olympic experience that he had missed out on before.

Captain Canada, Ian Millar: 61 years old. Nine Olympics. Go Captain Canada!

Eric Lamaze: Several years back, Eric Lamaze had something happen to him that has haunted him ever since. He is, to me, a reminder that past mistakes are in the past, and even if they haunt you, they don't need to drag you down.

Clara Hughes: Clara is probably one of the most passionate athletes I’ve ever heard. She’s the only Canadian athlete to hold medals in both the winter and summer Olympics (she started her career as a cyclist and now competes as a speed-skater). Not only is she heavily involved in the Right To Play organization (an international humanitarian organization that uses sport to foster health and healing in war-torn countries), in her commentary on the Olympic cycling, she gets choked up for the winners and for the athletes who have overcome adversity just to compete.

Dara Torres and Michael Phelps: I’m an admirer of these two American swimmers not because of their swimming successes (though those are certainly admirable), but because of their commitment to fair play. Both have volunteered to take part in a hyper-vigilant anti-doping program. They have had continuous twice-weekly drug testing all year and have permitted the samples for all their tests to be stored so that when more sophisticated drug tests are developed in the future, their samples can be retested. This is particularly important to Dana Torres as she’s come under a lot of flack about taking drugs, because she’s swimming faster than she ever has, and she’s 41 years old.

And then there’s the case of the Australian swimmer Libby Trickett, heavily favoured to win gold in (can’t remember which race!), but came in second to German swimmer Britta Steffen. When they got to the end, Trickett looked up and saw she came second. Then, she looked at Steffen and saw that the German swimmer had no idea she had just won, so she reached over and drew the German swimmer into a great big bear hug and told her.

I imagine there will be many more inspiring moments – there always are at the Olympics. Despite the politics and controversy and lip-syncing and all the other crap that hovers over the Olympics like a dirty halo, the Olympics also remind me that if one works hard, tries her best, and plays fair, then that is a very satisfying thing unto itself. Those things are as important for a writer as they are for the athletes, and for any member of the human race, and it’s good to have something to remind us of that, because it’s all too easy to forget.

The End.

So, it’s day six of the Olympics, and Canada’s medal total? Oh, a big, amazing......zero. Needless to say, any athlete who’s asked about why we have no medals says the same thing: sport needs more money.

Sure, in a perfect world, everyone would have funding for everything, but when there are eighty-year old grannies who can’t get new hips because the medical system is in such disarray, well, I’m sorry, but the Olympic athletes will just have to wait a little longer.

But, my objection to Canadian athletes’ continual moaning (and anger in some cases) about the poor state of sport funding runs deeper than that. You see, as poor as the funding for sport might be, the funding for the arts is even worse, and yet, Canada has produced some of the best musicians in the world. Ben Heppner, THE helden tenor of this generation. Richard Margison. Isabel Bayrakdarian. Measha Brueggergosman. Glenn Gould. Andre Laplante. Suzie LeBlanc. Daniel Taylor. And, the next generation is just as exciting – watch out for sopranos Joslin Rompf and Eve-lyn de la Haye (a friend from music school!). The depth of field is the same in theatre, acting, film, and popular music. The reason why? I’m not sure about film and acting, but in music, Canadian musicians are known for working our asses off despite the fact that funding is, well, non-existent for most people. Sure, some musicians get Canada Council Grants when they’re more established, but most don't.

And, then, there’s the Canadian literature scene – Margaret Atwood. Guy Gavriel Kay. Carol Shields. Jane Urquhart. Michael Ondaatje, to name a few. Granted, some of these writers got their start when there was more arts funding, but, some of us plan to be the next wave and do it with or without Canada Council Grants. Are we begging for funding? Are we using lack of funds as an excuse for not rising to the top of our game?

Sure, it could be said that in writing, there’s no Olympics. None of us are going to be competing against each other in the Short Story Under 2500 Words competition (but wouldn’t that be fun!). But, the thing is, all of us know that in order to get the gold (a publishing contract, for many), we have to work our butts off despite the fact that the odds are stacked against us. And we do it. Do all of us get there? No, of course not, but then, not all athletes make it to the Olympics. But I haven’t heard a single Canadian writer in my acquaintance complain that the reason he/she hasn’t received a publishing contract is because the Canadian government hasn’t provided enough funding for writers. And, consider: not a single Canadian writer is eligible for sponsorship by Nike.

The thing is this: I think sport is really important and I would love for athletes to be able to do nothing but eat, sleep, and train, and the fact that they can’t does put them at a disadvantage when compared to countries that have better funding. Yep, more funding would be super. But there are other things, like homelessness, like poverty, like medical care so people don’t have to sleep in hallways while waiting for a room in ward - that must come first, and I wish the Canadian athletes would take a look around and see that it’s not all about them. And then, get back to work.
(And in case anyone thinks I'm unsympathetic to the trials of high-level athletes, I'm not. Not only did my brother play varsity volley, both my brother and sister were on provincial volleyball teams and my cousin-in-law was a bronze medal winner in the 1996 Olympics for men's rowing. Being an athlete is hard work, and comes with a lot of sacrifice, but isn't that the way with anything that's important?)

Case in point? Tyler Christopher, who could see that he wasn’t going to get funding from the Canadian government and didn’t want to go the NCAA route. So what did he do? After saving every cent he could by working two jobs, he took out a $40,000 personal loan so he could go to Europe and compete, as well as hiring a physiotherapist and a personal coach. He says that it was a risk, but one that he was willing to take for because that $40,000 was an investment in an education, and if his running career didn’t take off, he’d have what he considered a student loan, just like everyone else in Canada. (Turns out he just won the indoor World 400 meters – not too shabby!). He knew government funding wasn’t coming, so he created his own through hard work.

Having said all of that, I realize comparing sport and art is a little like comparing apples to eggplants, but then, so is comparing swimming to archery. To be the best one can be, it takes discipline, hard work, dedication, and luck. Money would help a lot, but if it’s not coming, what are you going to do?

And, the other thing? I’m amazed at how a lot of people I’ve spoken with are upset about Canada’s lack of medals and yet in the very next breath, condemn the 2010 Olympics because the cost of funding it is taking away from health care. You can’t have it both ways. What we can do is take the pressure off these athletes a little by celebrating their successes (I mean, come on, a fourth at the Olympics is nothing to sneeze at and for those who say fourth = loser, go ahead and try to do what those athletes do. I dare ya!)

Work hard, and then work harder, and put the energy you’d put into blaming the government into training. That’s the Canadian way, I believe, and it’s a good way. And success is possible, because look - all of us are doing it!

That's my story and I'm stickin' to it. The End.

I'm very lucky to live on the edge of a large greenspace called the Beaver Lodge Lands (frequent readers will have seen my photos of this wonderful piece of wildness). And, as the name suggests, Beaver Lodge Lands is inhabited by beavers. I was telling lookingland last night that one of the beavers is a local celebrity and all sorts of people were coming down to watch him build a dam at a bridge that had been washed out over the winter. And, on the numerous occasions I've been down there, everyone's been curious, yet respectful of the little guy's space.

Until tonight.

I confess I got a little knicker-twisty, so I wrote a letter to the society that's responsible for maintaining the park's watershed. Here it is:

Dear Members of Greenways Trust,

Since I've moved to Campbell River, I've loved the Beaver Lodge Lands, and try to walk or run there every day. So, first of all, I'd like to thank your society for the work you do maintaining the trails and ensuring that the natural beauty of this parkland is kept for all of us to enjoy.

The reason I'm writing is because of the beavers that have been building a dam at the bridge that washed out over the winter. Like many Campbell River residents, I've enjoyed going down and watching the beavers work. It's great to see how industrious they are, and it's doubly great to see so many people coming out to witness an aspect of nature that they might not otherwise get to observe. Unfortunately, when I made my stop on the bridge tonight, I was so disheartened to see a man dismantling the dam. When I asked what he was doing (note: which required just about all the courage I had), he said he was breaking the dam because the beavers would come back and build it again, and it was educational to see them do so. While I agree that it is very educational to watch an animal build his home, I'm less sure of the reasoning that it's educational to watch man destroy an animal's home, yet again, especially since part of this gentleman's reasoning was that beavers go crazy when they hear running water, and therefore they were sure to return and rebuild the dam. I did suggest that perhaps the responsibility of breaking apart a dam might be best left to those who take care of the park's watersheds (I knew that your organization existed; I just didn't know your name), and he responded that the park was looked after by volunteers and therefore it was acceptable for him to break apart the dam.

My hope is, that by writing to you, there might be a way to bring greater awareness to leaving nature and its creatures alone, so that they can live in peaceful coexistence with humans. I was wondering if a sign was in order, asking people to not disturb the beavers, or perhaps a newspaper article that would do the same thing. I realize the gentleman I spoke with was not doing what he was doing out of malice, but I'd hate to have some other individual witness his activities and go further, or, worse, to have someone actually injure one of the beavers in their attempt to be educated or entertained.

Many thanks for your time.

***
I've never pegged myself as a crusader (does a cape come with that moniker?) but....I am quite boggled by the arrogance of some people. If someone came along and started dismantling this guy's garage because it would be educational and entertaining to watch him put it back together again, do you think he'd stand for it? And, I don't buy the reasoning that, well, they're just beavers, and a person's house, well, they're people, so it's different.

No, it isn't, I say. That's why our planet is in the mess it's in. The only way to fix this whole big mess is with a humungo paradigm shift, and sure, that's not comfy or easy, but do we have a choice?

Besides, poor beaver.

Thus ends another episode of Me and My Soapbox.

The End.