Though feeling like I may rather fall asleep forever than go out tonight, I wandered down the canal in great company and had one of my best evenings in Ottawa.
It started in a park with people of disparate backgrounds who seemed to understand something in common about each other. A sense of ungroundedness? Belonging to a network of people searching for je ne sais quoi? Adult restlessness? Whatever the similarity of mind, we seemed on a wave length.
I parted for downtown to meet a friend for mojitos. The night ended with a conversation about love, wherein my brilliant male friend suggested each of our subjective understandings of love are conceptualized using two components: education (socialization) and experiential knowledge. Seems simple enough, but profoundly helps me appreciate confusedly competing definitions of love. To simplify, he beautifully described regret at his most important romantic relationship ending because nobody was there to tell him (educate him) that it would be okay.
Love talk including scarf metaphor on a warm patio evening had my soul sailing into faith and hope without reprieve.
Friday, August 19, 2011
how we view progress: Postrel's disturbing pseudo-philosophy of dynamism
Last week I was on my usual morning stroll through The Agenda with Steve Paikin when piqued by Virginia Postrel's blabbing on about How We View Progress.
Postrel speaks passionately about the individual's role in collective societal progress and our human desire (/need) to improve things. Her basic (read: basic) argument is that whenever we have an object, we have dissatisfactions with it, and we think of how it could be improved.
Her examples are pretty darn bad.
She tries to convince us that progress ("properly understood") is not progress toward a specific goal, rather it is open-ended and infinite. Each type of progress leads to new dissatisfcations which lead to new improvements. "Whatever is today leads to whatever is tomorrow." Riiiight.
Most interestingly, Postrel argues that understanding progress in this way lends a new way to conceptualize our long-entrenched right vs. left political spectrum. She posits that binary poles would be "valuing progress" (supporting a "dynamist" [she makes a mockery of this word] element with relatively simple rules that allow for competition) versus "stasis" (supporting the idea of a singular best way to do something).
Unapologetically, I think Postrel is scary-nuts. Her new "political spectrum" is full of contradictions, shoving her main points into irony as she claims to be developing a spectrum that is less dissonant than standing left-right conceptualizations. The scary-nutsiest part is her toss in that folks like Bill Clinton and Al Gore are people who are afraid of the future. Well, frack. We should be afraid of the future. Have you *seen* the global condition out there? And then she straight up disses Obama: apparently the recent lightbulb mandates (to reduce emissions) by his administration put Obama in the stasis category in a "deeply emotional way." And since in Dreams From My Father he writes about economic progress as devastating and disruptive to communities, Obama is "quite negative," she says.
I'm hard on Postrel because I'm afraid of a future with leaders and influencers of her ilk. Yes, this is "quite negative" of me. After all, she's brainstorming for the best version of a healthy future like the rest of us. Admittedly, though, I am afraid to be living in a time when opinions such as hers are represented as critical and innovative, and are seized by a culture that is thirsty for this kind of talk. I fall for buzzy sounding rhetoric too, so I suppose this is my reflection on for what we are thirsty and how sincere messages might quench.
Postrel speaks passionately about the individual's role in collective societal progress and our human desire (/need) to improve things. Her basic (read: basic) argument is that whenever we have an object, we have dissatisfactions with it, and we think of how it could be improved.
Her examples are pretty darn bad.
She tries to convince us that progress ("properly understood") is not progress toward a specific goal, rather it is open-ended and infinite. Each type of progress leads to new dissatisfcations which lead to new improvements. "Whatever is today leads to whatever is tomorrow." Riiiight.
Most interestingly, Postrel argues that understanding progress in this way lends a new way to conceptualize our long-entrenched right vs. left political spectrum. She posits that binary poles would be "valuing progress" (supporting a "dynamist" [she makes a mockery of this word] element with relatively simple rules that allow for competition) versus "stasis" (supporting the idea of a singular best way to do something).
Unapologetically, I think Postrel is scary-nuts. Her new "political spectrum" is full of contradictions, shoving her main points into irony as she claims to be developing a spectrum that is less dissonant than standing left-right conceptualizations. The scary-nutsiest part is her toss in that folks like Bill Clinton and Al Gore are people who are afraid of the future. Well, frack. We should be afraid of the future. Have you *seen* the global condition out there? And then she straight up disses Obama: apparently the recent lightbulb mandates (to reduce emissions) by his administration put Obama in the stasis category in a "deeply emotional way." And since in Dreams From My Father he writes about economic progress as devastating and disruptive to communities, Obama is "quite negative," she says.
I'm hard on Postrel because I'm afraid of a future with leaders and influencers of her ilk. Yes, this is "quite negative" of me. After all, she's brainstorming for the best version of a healthy future like the rest of us. Admittedly, though, I am afraid to be living in a time when opinions such as hers are represented as critical and innovative, and are seized by a culture that is thirsty for this kind of talk. I fall for buzzy sounding rhetoric too, so I suppose this is my reflection on for what we are thirsty and how sincere messages might quench.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
(political) infection: a gooey mess
As we all learned in Grade 12 biology, infection is the colonization of a host by a parasite. The desperate parasite, biological clock a-ticking, tries to exploit the host organism's resources in order to reproduce, while the host (if it is a mammal) innately swells into a gooey mess as it tries to kick the parasite's ass (ask my parents for proof of the mammalian gooey mess phase in their pictures of me from our family vacation this past winter. yucky).
This fall, at a conference in Brighton called 9/11: Rethinking Reality, Inge Mutsaers is discussing the post-9/11 US discourse of "infected politics." Mutsaers reminds us that it is common under modernity for biology to be politicized (new reproductive technologies are one obvious [arguably eugenicist] example), but since 9/11, there has been a biologicization of politics. That is, terrorism is conceptualized as viral -- an infection that will plague its host organism(s) (in this case, "Western" nations) and reproduce (at the expense of our immune system's gooey resources).
This idea is argued by cultural zombie theorists: the post-9/11 surge of apocalyptic zombie films reflects a cultural fear that the enemy of Western democracy is irrational, violent, gender ambiguous and void of conscience (see Razack's "Muslim irrationality"). Therefore, the enemy is more horrific and terrifying than ever - an imminent and constant threat to "freedom" and survival that cannot be tamed. Interesting stuff.
I think it is a bit of a stretch to say that this biologicization of politics is a post-9/11 (or merely terrorist) phenomenon. Queer movers know that modern discursive constructions of "homosexuality" include disease-words that make queerness sound contagious. And if I remember the script of The Crucible accurately, pre-moderns thought witch-dome had parasitic properties too. The linking of human fear to perceived contagions is age-old.
Perhaps what is most interesting about the putative post-9/11 examples of biology language for politics is that biotechnological advances now show what is and is not parasitic, yet we use the language anyway, and on a more macro war-of-the-worlds scale. For example, in his spine-tinglingly horrible War on Terror Address to Congress immediately following the 9/11 attacks, President George W. Bush proclaimed that the US is "not immune" from attacks on US soil. As if there is an anti-terrorism booster, Mr. President?
I think it is useful to consider what about biological language is so preferred by politicians so that the messy political narrations that are produced under such rhetoric can be challenged. Is biological jargon appealing for its allusion to scientific legitimacy? Is it preferred for its relatability? Is it highly strategic propaganda? Or is it simply colourful metaphor? I tend to assume it is an intentional way of associating disease and dying of the human body with threats against Western liberalism. Who isn't afraid of getting cancer? Terrorists: our nation's most dangerous and elusive carcinogen. Effective fear-maker.
Looking forward to Mutsaers presentation! Stay tuned!
This fall, at a conference in Brighton called 9/11: Rethinking Reality, Inge Mutsaers is discussing the post-9/11 US discourse of "infected politics." Mutsaers reminds us that it is common under modernity for biology to be politicized (new reproductive technologies are one obvious [arguably eugenicist] example), but since 9/11, there has been a biologicization of politics. That is, terrorism is conceptualized as viral -- an infection that will plague its host organism(s) (in this case, "Western" nations) and reproduce (at the expense of our immune system's gooey resources).
This idea is argued by cultural zombie theorists: the post-9/11 surge of apocalyptic zombie films reflects a cultural fear that the enemy of Western democracy is irrational, violent, gender ambiguous and void of conscience (see Razack's "Muslim irrationality"). Therefore, the enemy is more horrific and terrifying than ever - an imminent and constant threat to "freedom" and survival that cannot be tamed. Interesting stuff.
I think it is a bit of a stretch to say that this biologicization of politics is a post-9/11 (or merely terrorist) phenomenon. Queer movers know that modern discursive constructions of "homosexuality" include disease-words that make queerness sound contagious. And if I remember the script of The Crucible accurately, pre-moderns thought witch-dome had parasitic properties too. The linking of human fear to perceived contagions is age-old.
Perhaps what is most interesting about the putative post-9/11 examples of biology language for politics is that biotechnological advances now show what is and is not parasitic, yet we use the language anyway, and on a more macro war-of-the-worlds scale. For example, in his spine-tinglingly horrible War on Terror Address to Congress immediately following the 9/11 attacks, President George W. Bush proclaimed that the US is "not immune" from attacks on US soil. As if there is an anti-terrorism booster, Mr. President?
I think it is useful to consider what about biological language is so preferred by politicians so that the messy political narrations that are produced under such rhetoric can be challenged. Is biological jargon appealing for its allusion to scientific legitimacy? Is it preferred for its relatability? Is it highly strategic propaganda? Or is it simply colourful metaphor? I tend to assume it is an intentional way of associating disease and dying of the human body with threats against Western liberalism. Who isn't afraid of getting cancer? Terrorists: our nation's most dangerous and elusive carcinogen. Effective fear-maker.
Looking forward to Mutsaers presentation! Stay tuned!
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
vacationing at home
Since moving to Ontario three years ago, I loosely conceptualize my 'home' as my general places of origin and socialization: Vancouver city, the surrounding Lower Mainland, and several villages and towns in the rural Southern Interior where my parents grew up and where my siblings and I spent most holidays as a kid and continue to spend summers and every other Christmas. Now that I live 5000 kilometers away from these places, most of my vacation time is spent hopping between them. Home is my vacation destination. I feel lucky to have these spaces and people in my memory and lucky that they seem all the more special now that I no longer live here.
A hot, dry afternoon in Kelowna feels worlds away from Ottawa. I gaze out my window at desert hills: dotted with oaks and cedars, striped with rich vineyard rows, scarred with new townhomes and wartime bungalows, crawling with pick-ups and Harleys. It's not like any place I've seen, but is like a hybrid of Tucson, AZ and Niagara on the Lake, ON in my mind.
The entire southern interior of British Columbia is a strange place to me. Kelowna and the Okanagan have been Conservative since the 60s. The major industries are construction, retail, hospitality (from fancy winery bistros to fast-food... K-town ranks 2nd highest in fast-food restaurants per capita in Canada) and health (the hospital here serves the sickest patients of the BC interior). I imagine it also scores high in tanning beds and tattoo parlours per capita. Unemployment and immigration are way below the provincial and national averages, and home ownership is high.
Kelowna/Okanagan is also one of the most naturally beautiful regions I have ever seen, and boasts the best climate in the country. In every season, I lust after the lifestyle here: skiing in the winter (but not too cold), wakeboarding in the summer (hot but dry), triathlon training all year round, affordable lakeside property, fresh produce all year, a lively arts scene, and a UBC campus on the hill. What Kelowna lacks in diversity and international influence, it certainly boasts in lifestyle. If only this playground weren't couched in what I see as a totally backward and insular sociopolitical atmosphere, I'd probably already live here.
Juxtaposing the healthy living and conservative urban/rural valley community of Kelowna (should these be put against each other) feels especially strange to me as I begin to view the infrastructure of my childhood through critical eyes. As I'm sure is common for many of us when returning "home," sweet nostalgia is often disrupted by cultural awakenings and a loss of innocence. This sensation is unsettling to say the least, and can even feel depressing (see Garden State). For me, it is also wrapped in pleasure seeking, family love, leisure time, consumption, general self-indulgence and corresponding guilt.
Home has become tied up in feeling compelled to determine to which parts of my history I am attached, and how these construct my present behaviour and goals for the future. To cope with the stress of this, I will roll over on my water floatie and request a glass of wine from my dad.
A hot, dry afternoon in Kelowna feels worlds away from Ottawa. I gaze out my window at desert hills: dotted with oaks and cedars, striped with rich vineyard rows, scarred with new townhomes and wartime bungalows, crawling with pick-ups and Harleys. It's not like any place I've seen, but is like a hybrid of Tucson, AZ and Niagara on the Lake, ON in my mind.
The entire southern interior of British Columbia is a strange place to me. Kelowna and the Okanagan have been Conservative since the 60s. The major industries are construction, retail, hospitality (from fancy winery bistros to fast-food... K-town ranks 2nd highest in fast-food restaurants per capita in Canada) and health (the hospital here serves the sickest patients of the BC interior). I imagine it also scores high in tanning beds and tattoo parlours per capita. Unemployment and immigration are way below the provincial and national averages, and home ownership is high.
Kelowna/Okanagan is also one of the most naturally beautiful regions I have ever seen, and boasts the best climate in the country. In every season, I lust after the lifestyle here: skiing in the winter (but not too cold), wakeboarding in the summer (hot but dry), triathlon training all year round, affordable lakeside property, fresh produce all year, a lively arts scene, and a UBC campus on the hill. What Kelowna lacks in diversity and international influence, it certainly boasts in lifestyle. If only this playground weren't couched in what I see as a totally backward and insular sociopolitical atmosphere, I'd probably already live here.
Juxtaposing the healthy living and conservative urban/rural valley community of Kelowna (should these be put against each other) feels especially strange to me as I begin to view the infrastructure of my childhood through critical eyes. As I'm sure is common for many of us when returning "home," sweet nostalgia is often disrupted by cultural awakenings and a loss of innocence. This sensation is unsettling to say the least, and can even feel depressing (see Garden State). For me, it is also wrapped in pleasure seeking, family love, leisure time, consumption, general self-indulgence and corresponding guilt.
Home has become tied up in feeling compelled to determine to which parts of my history I am attached, and how these construct my present behaviour and goals for the future. To cope with the stress of this, I will roll over on my water floatie and request a glass of wine from my dad.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
one's nethers, one's self
It's 40 degrees, therefore officially beach season, and everyone and their dogs are talking about pubic hair.
Okay, not everyone is talking about it, but many in my close circles (and in close circles of strangers sitting next to me at the Manx) are discussing their preferred treatment of nether regions. To remove or not to remove is the most basic dilemma anchoring these conversations (basic, though theoretically fascinating and intellectually stimulating to me) - the how/what/where questions take divergent paths from there.
My good friend and esteemed colleague has written on this topic for thesis work and I should note that I am recording the following musings without being exposed to much of her or others' theorizing. The thought-flow that follows will likely be substantiated after consulting with experts in the field! Here are my untamed reactions.
So, pubic hair. I can see my parents cringing right now. Fair enough (sorry parents), but I insist on this topic to point out: nearly all of our cultural taboos are related to genitalia in strange/unintuitive and problematic ways, especially to the sexualized parts/processes of women. Menstruation, for example, is a prominent component of most lives and goes literally undiscussed in the mainstream unless referred to as part of a sexist slur, or framed as an (grotesque) inconvenience. I flag this because I am complicit in intentionally erasing menstruating bodies, to my own dismay.
This topic recently came up with a male friend of mine when we discussed the Julyna campaign. Julyna, spearheaded by Vanessa Willson in Toronto, is a campaign for raising money and awareness for/of cervical cancer. A response to Movember, the idea is to draw attention to women's pubic hair choices as a playful way to highlight the severity of cervical cancer and risk-reduction via the HPV vaccine. The choice can be no choice at all (see the Barbara Bush design), but I see this as an almost laughable option, as the footer reads, "No one knows how she styles her pubic hair, but I'm assuming she's too busy to trim." Read: you should, at least, trim.
To me, the creators of Julyna are no fools to the controversial personal choices of pubic hair maintenance. Their message is carefully and inclusively crafted as they advocate "exercising creativity and personal wellness" for this fundraising technique. That said, the concept is fairly free of consideration for the sociopolitical implications of fundraising vis-a-vis choice of pubic hair design. On that, Gender Focus provides a compelling reflection.
In this case of women's grooming, I think an intersectional analysis of the forces and fall-outs is demanded. Whose bodies participate in Julyna? Whose bodies are unable to participate? Whose bodies will never know about it?
While I initially became giddy at the thought of displaying a button about pubic hair to raise questions and reject a taboo, I doubt whether the idea of Julyna is as playful for most people as its creators have in mind. Come to think of it, it's not that playful to me. Will the focus on these choices serve to isolate women from their own bodies? In anticipation of Movember comparisons, I do not think the Julyna project posits an approach to cancer awareness that is nearly as neutral as grooming facial hair (I should add that I don't think the grooming of men's facial hair is politically neutral), nor do I think grooming is a simple choice to make.
The practice of regular waxing, for example, is extraordinarily cultured, raced, abled and classed, but the 'playful' pressure to conform to some standard set of grooming practices as a way of performing some version of normative sexuality erases these exclusionary modes and, to me, obscures any choice we have. The choice becomes which kind of razor, machine, cream or wax, and at home or at spa, rather than no choice at all, and we're bombarded with the (unchosen?) set of choices every time we climb into the shower and look down.
To take a personal example (without going too far to protect my family members' sanity), I have found myself so confused (especially in adolescence, but a lot since then also) by perceived social expectations of the presentation of my own naked body that I feel profoundly distanced from any sense of what I might want for myself, in terms of look, experience and cost. In this case, I would argue that I have been so inundated by the relatively narrow dialogue about hair in mass media and social life that I feel isolated from my own desire. What could be worse?
When I was at UBC, a marxist feminist professor confessed to me that while she does put some effort into her appearance (she always looked incredibly punkrock cool as she lectured us) she resists gendered beauty pressure/myths by vowing to spend about the same amount of money on her appearance as does her average male colleague. Her simple commitment blew my mind, and I've since vowed to do the same. Backing off makeup expenditures is simple (and liberating if you ask me), but regular waxing appointments sort of blows the balanced budget out of the water.
I know my friends out there are more informed on this issue than I am, so please feel free to educate me! I'd love to start some dialogue.
Okay, not everyone is talking about it, but many in my close circles (and in close circles of strangers sitting next to me at the Manx) are discussing their preferred treatment of nether regions. To remove or not to remove is the most basic dilemma anchoring these conversations (basic, though theoretically fascinating and intellectually stimulating to me) - the how/what/where questions take divergent paths from there.
My good friend and esteemed colleague has written on this topic for thesis work and I should note that I am recording the following musings without being exposed to much of her or others' theorizing. The thought-flow that follows will likely be substantiated after consulting with experts in the field! Here are my untamed reactions.
So, pubic hair. I can see my parents cringing right now. Fair enough (sorry parents), but I insist on this topic to point out: nearly all of our cultural taboos are related to genitalia in strange/unintuitive and problematic ways, especially to the sexualized parts/processes of women. Menstruation, for example, is a prominent component of most lives and goes literally undiscussed in the mainstream unless referred to as part of a sexist slur, or framed as an (grotesque) inconvenience. I flag this because I am complicit in intentionally erasing menstruating bodies, to my own dismay.
This topic recently came up with a male friend of mine when we discussed the Julyna campaign. Julyna, spearheaded by Vanessa Willson in Toronto, is a campaign for raising money and awareness for/of cervical cancer. A response to Movember, the idea is to draw attention to women's pubic hair choices as a playful way to highlight the severity of cervical cancer and risk-reduction via the HPV vaccine. The choice can be no choice at all (see the Barbara Bush design), but I see this as an almost laughable option, as the footer reads, "No one knows how she styles her pubic hair, but I'm assuming she's too busy to trim." Read: you should, at least, trim.
To me, the creators of Julyna are no fools to the controversial personal choices of pubic hair maintenance. Their message is carefully and inclusively crafted as they advocate "exercising creativity and personal wellness" for this fundraising technique. That said, the concept is fairly free of consideration for the sociopolitical implications of fundraising vis-a-vis choice of pubic hair design. On that, Gender Focus provides a compelling reflection.
In this case of women's grooming, I think an intersectional analysis of the forces and fall-outs is demanded. Whose bodies participate in Julyna? Whose bodies are unable to participate? Whose bodies will never know about it?
While I initially became giddy at the thought of displaying a button about pubic hair to raise questions and reject a taboo, I doubt whether the idea of Julyna is as playful for most people as its creators have in mind. Come to think of it, it's not that playful to me. Will the focus on these choices serve to isolate women from their own bodies? In anticipation of Movember comparisons, I do not think the Julyna project posits an approach to cancer awareness that is nearly as neutral as grooming facial hair (I should add that I don't think the grooming of men's facial hair is politically neutral), nor do I think grooming is a simple choice to make.
The practice of regular waxing, for example, is extraordinarily cultured, raced, abled and classed, but the 'playful' pressure to conform to some standard set of grooming practices as a way of performing some version of normative sexuality erases these exclusionary modes and, to me, obscures any choice we have. The choice becomes which kind of razor, machine, cream or wax, and at home or at spa, rather than no choice at all, and we're bombarded with the (unchosen?) set of choices every time we climb into the shower and look down.
To take a personal example (without going too far to protect my family members' sanity), I have found myself so confused (especially in adolescence, but a lot since then also) by perceived social expectations of the presentation of my own naked body that I feel profoundly distanced from any sense of what I might want for myself, in terms of look, experience and cost. In this case, I would argue that I have been so inundated by the relatively narrow dialogue about hair in mass media and social life that I feel isolated from my own desire. What could be worse?
When I was at UBC, a marxist feminist professor confessed to me that while she does put some effort into her appearance (she always looked incredibly punkrock cool as she lectured us) she resists gendered beauty pressure/myths by vowing to spend about the same amount of money on her appearance as does her average male colleague. Her simple commitment blew my mind, and I've since vowed to do the same. Backing off makeup expenditures is simple (and liberating if you ask me), but regular waxing appointments sort of blows the balanced budget out of the water.
I know my friends out there are more informed on this issue than I am, so please feel free to educate me! I'd love to start some dialogue.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
temporal critique and accepting being haunted
I dedicate this post to the occult. I have never known quite how to interpret the word occult, but I am using it to mean things unknown - not measurable by science and not occurring within modernist temporal imaginings. Perhaps the dedication will flatter processes enough that they will reveal themselves to me.
When considering and theorizing the occult in academic settings (which happens more frequently than I could have predicted), I have been squeamish. It could be because I have felt threatened by this undeniably allusive topic-afraid that appreciation for forces beyond my current awareness may stay outside of my perception and comprehension-but I think it is more likely that secretly, I wish to be the 'anti-colonial' 'progressive' feminist activist/academic who can write about alternative spiritualities... and I haven't been able to get into it.
I remember intro-level methodology at UBC when my professor began the first class by asking us if we find our daily horoscopes accurate. If I remember correctly, I spoke up saying no, and probably explained my skepticism about relying on unmeasurable things. Horoscope skepticism aside, my positivist education was palpable.
The myth of scientific objectivity/neutrality (and any reference to observing through the senses as truth-making) was busted by my feminist/critical sociologist educators years ago, but sacred power has (for me) remained obscure, and unattractive in its mysticism. A few months ago, I read Chandra Mohanty's Third World Women, Katherine McKittrick's Demonic Grounds, and M Jacqui Alexander's Pedagogies of Crossing, all of which at least allude to the occult or the sacred or alternative memory work in ways that assume problematic colonial ties to what is valued as knowledge in Western feminism(s). Reading the works of these admired scholars, I have been asking 'why the occult?' in prominent contemporary feminist/cultural theory. The most obvious answer to me is it is a necessary component of any resistance/anti-colonial project: to resist the displacement of indigenous knowledges by colonial temporal and spiritual understandings (that are framed as modern and therefore factual and desirable), but for some reason my curiousity is not allayed.
Recently, upon great recommendation from a professor, I have turned to cinema studies (Bliss Cua Lim, among others) in my exploration of the occult and temporal critique. Perhaps it is the media combination of film and narrative that allows me to see the power of the occult and alternative temporal imaginations, or maybe I'm just reading persuasive writers, but whatever it is, film studies is helping me understand lots about clocks, the unknown, and my own experience of being haunted. I'll continue to explore my relation to writing on the occult, but for now I am interested in how through memory (or, rather, a willingness to engage in memory work), we might snap ourselves out of a linear experience of time. We might experience "past leaning on the future" or simultaneous presents that occur outside of "5:00am" flashing on the digital alarm. I might accept the memories that haunt me as living in my present and determining my future - a future that continually combines my past and present lives - a future that need not attempt to reject hauntings of the past - a future that is more livable because it is haunted.
When considering and theorizing the occult in academic settings (which happens more frequently than I could have predicted), I have been squeamish. It could be because I have felt threatened by this undeniably allusive topic-afraid that appreciation for forces beyond my current awareness may stay outside of my perception and comprehension-but I think it is more likely that secretly, I wish to be the 'anti-colonial' 'progressive' feminist activist/academic who can write about alternative spiritualities... and I haven't been able to get into it.
I remember intro-level methodology at UBC when my professor began the first class by asking us if we find our daily horoscopes accurate. If I remember correctly, I spoke up saying no, and probably explained my skepticism about relying on unmeasurable things. Horoscope skepticism aside, my positivist education was palpable.
The myth of scientific objectivity/neutrality (and any reference to observing through the senses as truth-making) was busted by my feminist/critical sociologist educators years ago, but sacred power has (for me) remained obscure, and unattractive in its mysticism. A few months ago, I read Chandra Mohanty's Third World Women, Katherine McKittrick's Demonic Grounds, and M Jacqui Alexander's Pedagogies of Crossing, all of which at least allude to the occult or the sacred or alternative memory work in ways that assume problematic colonial ties to what is valued as knowledge in Western feminism(s). Reading the works of these admired scholars, I have been asking 'why the occult?' in prominent contemporary feminist/cultural theory. The most obvious answer to me is it is a necessary component of any resistance/anti-colonial project: to resist the displacement of indigenous knowledges by colonial temporal and spiritual understandings (that are framed as modern and therefore factual and desirable), but for some reason my curiousity is not allayed.
Recently, upon great recommendation from a professor, I have turned to cinema studies (Bliss Cua Lim, among others) in my exploration of the occult and temporal critique. Perhaps it is the media combination of film and narrative that allows me to see the power of the occult and alternative temporal imaginations, or maybe I'm just reading persuasive writers, but whatever it is, film studies is helping me understand lots about clocks, the unknown, and my own experience of being haunted. I'll continue to explore my relation to writing on the occult, but for now I am interested in how through memory (or, rather, a willingness to engage in memory work), we might snap ourselves out of a linear experience of time. We might experience "past leaning on the future" or simultaneous presents that occur outside of "5:00am" flashing on the digital alarm. I might accept the memories that haunt me as living in my present and determining my future - a future that continually combines my past and present lives - a future that need not attempt to reject hauntings of the past - a future that is more livable because it is haunted.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
happy alberta, errr, canada day, turtle islanders
Holiday weekend in the National Capital Region! This time of year is always nuts in this town (ripe for social analysis), as tourists, suburban families and drunk teenagers descend on the various green spaces of Centretown to consume and perform nationalism. Last year, I tried to squash my political opposition to demonstrations of patriotism by donning my red and white maple leaf socks and starting the day on the Hill, but it turned out to be an isolating day of conflicting feelings. I remember feeling almost embarrassed that I wasn't having much fun with my friends and tried to change my attitude, but it didn't help and I wound up crying at a K-OS concert for reasons I cannot explain.
I will back track to set the scene for my West Coasters: Canada Day in Ottawa is a scary thing. National pride demos include swarms of people baring temporarily tattooed skin, ripping red and white clothing to expose more body parts, and chugging dark-coloured liquid out of plastic water bottles. To be clear, I'm not really against any of those things. It's the sum of the parts that is unappealing.
This year, Canada Day in Ottawa featured the crazed fans of the visiting royal Duke and Duchess. Terrifying. Aside from my pro-republic leanings, I find it remarkable that anyone would brave a crowd in 30 degrees plus humidity to watch two people walk by. To my friends who made it out for a glimpse of Kate and Will, please let me know what inspired you. And did you also watch the wedding?
In search of a holiday free from the masses, I leapt at the offer of a cottage escape on July 1st, and enjoyed a hot afternoon of swimming and lounging with extraordinary company on the Ottawa River. We talked about advocacy, women's rights, environmentalism and bio-ethics... there was no mention of cause for celebrating this great nation. Perhaps strangely, on a day spent tossing around difficult ethical issues, I felt more relaxed and appeased than I ever do when intentionally celebrating. I experienced waves of that I'm-so-lucky-to-be-alive sensation all afternoon. I was really happy with the decision to skip town.
That evening, I returned downtown wearing green, wolfed a poutine, and escaped yet again to my friends' condo gathering to watch the fireworks. To get there, I wove through swarms of (mostly intoxicated) people and fielded many harassing comments, some of which actually frightened me. At the small gathering, though, more wonderful and kind company. Blackberry sangria and maple leaf cupcakes did not hurt the kindness vibe.
After rejoining my cottage friends for a quick post-fireworks cocktail, I meandered home through the police riot squads, paramedics, girls nearly teetering off of their platforms, and mounds of poutine and street meat litter. As usual, the aftermath of celebration, perhaps more aptly termed rampant consumption, is waste and destruction. Doesn't this beg to be critiqued? Resisted?
So it turns out I don't like Canada Day, and I've become okay with it.
I will back track to set the scene for my West Coasters: Canada Day in Ottawa is a scary thing. National pride demos include swarms of people baring temporarily tattooed skin, ripping red and white clothing to expose more body parts, and chugging dark-coloured liquid out of plastic water bottles. To be clear, I'm not really against any of those things. It's the sum of the parts that is unappealing.
This year, Canada Day in Ottawa featured the crazed fans of the visiting royal Duke and Duchess. Terrifying. Aside from my pro-republic leanings, I find it remarkable that anyone would brave a crowd in 30 degrees plus humidity to watch two people walk by. To my friends who made it out for a glimpse of Kate and Will, please let me know what inspired you. And did you also watch the wedding?
In search of a holiday free from the masses, I leapt at the offer of a cottage escape on July 1st, and enjoyed a hot afternoon of swimming and lounging with extraordinary company on the Ottawa River. We talked about advocacy, women's rights, environmentalism and bio-ethics... there was no mention of cause for celebrating this great nation. Perhaps strangely, on a day spent tossing around difficult ethical issues, I felt more relaxed and appeased than I ever do when intentionally celebrating. I experienced waves of that I'm-so-lucky-to-be-alive sensation all afternoon. I was really happy with the decision to skip town.
That evening, I returned downtown wearing green, wolfed a poutine, and escaped yet again to my friends' condo gathering to watch the fireworks. To get there, I wove through swarms of (mostly intoxicated) people and fielded many harassing comments, some of which actually frightened me. At the small gathering, though, more wonderful and kind company. Blackberry sangria and maple leaf cupcakes did not hurt the kindness vibe.
After rejoining my cottage friends for a quick post-fireworks cocktail, I meandered home through the police riot squads, paramedics, girls nearly teetering off of their platforms, and mounds of poutine and street meat litter. As usual, the aftermath of celebration, perhaps more aptly termed rampant consumption, is waste and destruction. Doesn't this beg to be critiqued? Resisted?
So it turns out I don't like Canada Day, and I've become okay with it.
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