Call It Out

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Yes, I love attention.

Anyone who knows me could tell you that. I always love to tell a good story, or make wisecracks and try hard to land the perfect joke. So with that comes a certain amount of spotlight loving, I’ll admit.

I used to blame all that stage hogging on my crazy family.

You try growing up being the fourth of five siblings. Think about it….what the hell does Number FOUR get you? You’re not first or second. You’re not the baby of the family so you miss out on all of those perks. I mean, you can’t even lay claim to be being the problem middle child! And let’s not forget that it wouldn’t be Cape Breton without raising a few wacky cousins! So with all that crowd and all that noise, and no place in the pecking order, what’s a guy to do but come up with unique and wonderful ways to find that misplaced attention sometimes?

This past week, I got a whole lot of unnecessary attention for something that just seemed kind of…well, obvious and decent to do. But the next thing I know, I am on the front page of the local newspaper and being asked to do radio interviews, all the while being pursued by a rabid “fan” base of alt right supporters from the good ol’ U S of A, who come equipped with ugly threats, questionable wardrobe choices, bad selfies because they can’t find anyone else to hold a camera, and shockingly bad spelling and grammar.

It all started innocently enough. It was Halloween eve and after overdosing on coffee and mini chocolate bars all day long, I thought it high time I introduce a vegetable or two to my system, so I decided to wander over to the local grocery store before it closed. As I stepped outside, I came across four figures approximately 20 feet away, standing on the sidewalk. They were dressed head to toe in dark clothes with black hoodies, and had anonymous white masks covering their faces. To be honest, I couldn’t tell their age or race or gender…they were covered in a way that made them pretty much unidentifiable…but I knew they were vaguely masculine shaped and all of them at least a half-foot taller and a few inches broader than me.

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For a moment I froze, and they froze, and my first thought was “aren’t you a lil’ old for trick or treating?” This was quickly followed by my second thought, which was: “DAMN but you’re all spectacularly creepy looking, just standing there and not moving or talking, so I’m just going to get the hell out of your way!” And so, giving them a pretty wide berth, I lowered my head, glanced at the sidewalk and quickly walked past. As I look back, I notice they still haven’t moved on, and I watch as the one in front, staring towards me through those empty black eye holes, motion towards a street pole with his hand. Then I heard the familiar click of what I thought was a staple gun – now, you try living with a reupholstering maniac and you’ll hear that sound in your sleep, too – and that’s when curiousity got the best of me. Yes, it is true that in that moment I thought to myself they are probably a posse of serial killers out advertising for their next victim, and all I have to protect myself is my charming wit, my boyish good looks, and my puny little fists, but I turned around and slowly followed them back up the street anyway. Before I’d reached the pole they had been standing in front of, they had already rounded the corner, and I could hear a horn blaring at them as their hard to see selves must have dodged traffic crossing the busy street.

So I got to the pole and I glanced up high and…I felt my heart sink and my blood pressure start to rise. There, in bold black letters on the stark white sheet were the words “It’s OK to be white”. Instinctively, I reached for it, ripped it down, and crumpled it into a ball, as I glanced around to see if anyone was watching. Then I ran up the street to where I saw the foursome headed before they had disappeared. I looked frantically around, unsure what I would do if I found them, but knowing I was angry and that I had to confront them and wave this stupid crumpled paper in my hand in their stupid blank, hidden faces and say “THIS? This right here? It’s WRONG”.

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RANT

 

 

I remember when the news first broke some time ago that Donald Trump was seeking the Republican nomination.  Like many others, I thought it was a joke…some elaborate hoax dreamt up for popular consumption.  Maybe the Donald was trying to increase his Twitter following since his usual bickering had become stale and Cher stopped biting back, or perhaps he now hoped to launch some twisted new reality show idea (the Apprentice goes to Washington anyone?) But soon realization dawned that he was actually serious, and we watched as his terrible Trump train left the station with all its “deplorable” and “degenerate” followers hanging on tightly, as it bulldozed its way over anything and anyone in its path.  Our attention then turned to the conspiracy theories as a form of explanation.  The one I clung to most was that he’d been a friend of the Clintons once, so perhaps he was now somehow working for them in some devious, underhanded, and convoluted plan to elect our first female president by making a total asinine buffoon out of her only competition.  And what a friendship he and Bill Clinton must have made.  When the “grab her by the pussy” debacle broke, also known as Donald’s version of locker room talk, he noted how he and Bill Clinton had engaged in “worst conversations on the golf course” (please don’t let there be a recording, please don’t let there be a recording…) But then I started following the news stories and the media as they chronicled his rise to political power and “glory”.  I saw the meanness and cruelty and the hatred that seemed to underlie much of the commentary – HIS commentary – and with that look in his eyes, one of scorn mixed with contempt and a lack of awareness of just how damaging one could be, I knew he was serious.  And so I started to worry.  And then, as I watched the polls and saw how close the race seemed to be, I was scared.  And this past Tuesday…well, by then I was pretty much out of my mind.   I guess the stress clearly showed on my face, as I had stopped at a local grocery store on the way home from work and this older gentleman, a total stranger, walked up to me and shook his head, and whispered “it doesn’t look good.  It really doesn’t.  I think they’re actually going to elect that guy President”

So what went wrong?  We can spend weeks and months analyzing it.  We can blame Hillary for being unlikeable or unrelatable.  We can say that Donald stood for outright change, and that people were tired of the same old politics and feeling ignored and forsaken by their leaders.  We can lay fault with a flawed electoral process that sees the person with the popular vote lose, as was the case with Al Gore in the 2000 election.  We can hate on social media, for spreading ignorance and lies like some absolute truths, and a biased, jaded media for only reporting or questioning what they judged important and newsworthy, based on their own bloated self-interests.  We can consider all these things, but what we can’t seem to consider is what this entire experience – this nightmarish ordeal – says about all of us.  Now some would argue that we’ve become so politically correct as a society that many are afraid to express what they want to say, or challenge what they believe needs to be challenged for fear of being wrong or ostracized. And that because of that, the rise of Trump – this man that could say what no one else could say like no one else could say it – is the logical and inevitable outcome of that.   But you know what?  I say FUCK that.  I believe that is absolutely unfair and categorically untrue. Trump is a bigoted, misogynistic, homophobic, xenophobic, hate mongering, law breaking, politically regressive, serially lying, morally corrupted monstrous bully of a man in an ill-fitting toupee who will set, not only his country, but this entire PLANET back decades in his attempt to crush the spirits of anyone who is against him.  In the last few days we have seen what a post-Trump world will look like, and it is uglier than we likely could have ever possibly imagined.  We have seen an increase in acts of hatred, aggression, and outright violence against people of colour, immigrants, and LGBTQ communities, and I fear that’s only getting started.  You see, those that supported him – those that secretly wanted to support him – feel that Trump speaks for them, that he says what they can’t say, and with Trump in the White House, holding the biggest megaphone of all, he now gives people some self-perceived onus or privilege or freedom to act out how ever and towards whoever they see fit.  It’s a Trump World, and in it women are to be played with, abused, and discarded; gay people are immoral and the cause of many of the world problems; people of colour are criminals and misfits who do not belong in the US of A; disabled people are to be made fun of or ignored.  And the list could go on and on and on.  Trump ran and won on what’s been described as the most extreme and regressive platform in the history of the Republican Party, one that was undoubtedly tailored to match his bluster, to go to the most extreme in any conceivable way on every issue. Trump’s anti-Muslim rhetoric and his Mexican border wall are front and center, along with his pro-life, anti-abortion stance (which will make no exceptions for rape or the mother’s health).  The platform will require the Bible to be taught in schools and make religion a central part of legal decision-making.  Trump has promised to appoint family value judges to uphold family centered values, aka anything not white and conservative, and he rejects any need for stronger gun control laws, despite the mass shooting epidemics that face his country.  And this platform makes as its centerpiece the denial of basic civil rights to gays, lesbians and transgender people. It repudiates same-sex marriage, and believes a “natural marriage” is only one that between a man and a woman.  It also defends merchants who would deny service to gay customers and legitimizes their right to discriminate.

Yet with this in mind, we’ve already seen the Donald, who campaigned on promises of everything and anything to get elected, reverse his stance on things like Obamacare and taxing China and jailing Hillary (I think the return of waterboarding still stands though).  His transition team is full of the very sort of Washington insiders and lobbyists he campaigned against, so it appears that  his “draining the swamp” of career politicians must now wait.  We’ve seen Trump name three of his children (Ivanka, Eric, and Junior….um, sorry Tiffany!) to run his global empire AND he has given them prominent roles on his transition team (because clearly there’s no conflict there?)   As for his Cabinet plan, there are rumblings of Ben Carson as a pick for either Secretary of Education or Secretary of Health and Human Services.  Now, Ben Carson is a retired physician who is a creationist and believes evolutionary biology is essentially a fairytale, and that being gay is a choice because people “go to prison straight and come out gay”.  So yeah, THAT guy could lead all education or health/human services initiatives in the country.  Then there’s talk of dear old Sarah Palin as possible Secretary of Interior, overseeing federal lands and the national park services, which means – “drill baby, drill!” – it will now become open season for oil and gas drillings on public lands.  And since Trump has already loudly proclaimed that climate change is a hoax perpetuated by “the Chinese”, what does any of that silly environmental nonsense stuff really matter?  Now as dangerous as all that really sounds, the one to really watch out for is vice president-elect Mike Pence.  He who is “a Christian, a Conservative, and a Republican, in that order”.  Pence has been at the forefront of the GOP’s battles against birth control access and abortion rights for years, and cuts that led to the closure of Planned Parenthood and an unprecedented HIV outbreak in rural areas of the state where the family planning provider had been the only HIV testing center. He signed a controversial “religious freedom” bill into law that licensed discrimination against LGBTQ people, which following some significant backlash he later revised.  Most concerning of all, Pence supports conversion therapy, a contoversial “treatment” used with LGBTQ people to “turn them straight” that has incorporated electric shock treatment and chemical castration in the past. Together, he and Trump have been described as the “perfect storm of classic, out of touch, Grand Old Party extremism.”  And what’s most frightening about all of this is that, with his sort of cabinet in place, Trump may truly become the most reasonable person in the room.

But here’s the thing.  We don’t get to admire Trump for his “remarkable rise to power”.  There’s nothing to admire here.  What Trump did was tap into every dark and insidious place he could find to promote white extemism. He turned over every rock to find it’s ugly underbelly.  He fanned the flames of hatred and ignorance and intolerance and from it sprung forth an inferno that consumed the country.  And as much as we can’t admire Trump, we don’t get to blame Hillary. She didn’t lose over some corruption scandal.  She didn’t lose because she’s unlikeable, stiff or cold.  She didn’t lose because she didn’t appeal to the poor or the working class.  She was the ONLY choice. And she lost because she’s a WOMAN, a strong, opinionated, determined woman, and our patriarchal and misogynistic society could not deal with that.  And what we should have known is that these attitudes and belief systems were there all along.  We have grown complacent and soft.  We thought the great U.S. of A a country so progressive it had elected a black man for two terms, so surely there was a place at the head of the table for a woman in power.  We thought we’d achieved so many of our goals with LGBTQ rights, and we believed we were opening our hearts and minds to the plight of immigrants.   And yet there were some pretty big goddamn signs we weren’t quite there yet.  The rampant racial profiling, the abuse of black men by law enforcement, the mass shootings targeting people of colour or LGBTQ communities.  Maybe Donald’s promise of change reached out and touched those people affected by all those things we didn’t see, or didn’t acknowledge, or chose to ignore – the disenfranchised lower class and the working poor.  But in the end, we were fooled by a great con man.  The only change we will see will be a dangerous, ignorant, regressive one.  Trump is most dangerous in that he is an arrogant, selfish, small minded man who doesn’t know what he doesn’t know, and will be far too proud to ask for clarification.  A Trump government will strip away rights of those most marginalized and oppressed.  It will disregard serious concerns for our already fragile environment, and eliminate any policies and structures we have safeguarding wildlife and ecosystems against climate change.  It gives voice and reason to the irrational, and it will allow ignorance, intolerance, and hatred to thrive and grow virtually unchecked.

So do we just give up and say that evil has triumphed? Do we shout out platitudes like #LoveTrumpsHate or continue to tell our children that bullies never win (because clearly they do), and then call it a day?  Do we check out and check back in four years later?  Will we still be here four years later if we do?  And as a Canadian, why am I even concerned?  Well, as citizens of this planet, as someone who believes strongly in social justice, and with our neighbor the US as a daunting influence with a  looming shadow, we have a LOT to worry about.  So here’s what I’m going to suggest: When you go to social work school like I do, you spend much of your time thinking and talking about oppression, and about privilege, and about one’s social location – where they are positioned in society in terms of one’s gender, race, orientation, class – and how we manage the resulting privileges and oppressions we face day to day. As a white male living in a middle class neighborhood, I have experienced privilege.  As a queer person who grew up in a lower/working class neighborhood, I have experienced oppression.  If you’re wealthy, or have access to higher education and health coverage, you have privilege.  If you’re a woman or a person of colour in our world today, its damn sure you experience oppression.  In her book Becoming an Ally: Breaking the Cycle of Oppression (if you’ve never read it, DO!), Anne Bishop displays very simple wisdom in telling people that in order to fight oppression we must be willing to fight ALL oppression, and recognize that my oppression is not worse than yours, and so on.  It’s good advice, but there is one chilling line I remembered from this book in the days since the Trump win that that’s given me some clarity in the chaos.  Bishop said “we carry with us the blueprint of our culture’s oppressive patterns to be reproduced wherever we have influence”.  We carry it with us, the ugliness and the hatred and the ignorance we have seen.  It is generational, bred within us to the very core of our being, sometimes buried, often hidden, but in times like this given power and influence and life. But we can challenge that terrible birthright.  We can recognize that ALL oppression is bad.  We can stop caring about our rights or the rights that affect us most – women’s rights, gay rights, black lives matter, all of it – and start caring about them ALL.  We can stop thinking that there is some hierarchy to oppression because there isn’t.   OPPRESSION: IT. IS. ALL. BAD.  When we see someone being bullied or harassed, we can help.  We can side with the victim, comfort them, acknowledge that not everyone feels THAT way.  We can make certain they know that some of us are different, and that some of us are better.  We cannot let racism, sexism, homophobia and bigotry become more normalized than it already has.  We cannot become more desensitized to violence and sexual exploitation than we already have.  If you witness acts against others, be sure to stay safe but at the same time don’t stand for it.  If you experience acts against yourself, reach out for safety and support, because you will find it. Seek out allies that share  your beliefs.  If someone is ignorant than challenge that ignorance with knowledge and awareness and even understanding.  You don’t know what their experiences have been.  You don’t know what dark paths they may have walked.  But you know what can and are willing to tolerate, and you know what you’re not.  Stop using Facebook and Twitter as you’re ONE source for news and information.  Start challenging our media to be less sensationalized and more inclusive in their coverage.  We have differences.  Acknowledge them.  Educate yourself if you have to.  Educate others when you can.  Be KIND to one another.  Be KIND to yourself. If we do all of that, maybe somehow we can survive what’s yet to come.

I’m up for the challenge. Are you?

Love VS Hate, Hate VS Love

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Senseless.  Tragic.  Unfathomable.

Those are the words we hear during times such as these, as sombre politicians and law makers parade before the cameras offering their sympathy and support while they ask people to pray for the victims and their families during such unimaginable grief…as if sitting somewhere in silence and praying to no one in particular is our greatest call to action.

We hear these same leaders say things like “this could have happened anywhere….but today it was our city’s turn” as though we’ve come to expect shootings such as these like we might anticipate rainfall for the weekend.  We watch as people come forward, giving exclusive interviews to the media and gaining their desperate fifteen minutes of fame as they claim some expert knowledge of the shooter.  They tell us how unhinged this person seemed for so long, how angry, violent and unpredictable was their nature.  And how they needed serious psychiatric help and no one would listen..and yet this so-called cry for help on their behalf always comes after the true horror of these events unfolds.  Never preemptively, never proactively, and almost always posthumously.

As I reflect on the past few days in Orlando, so many things run through and rattle about in my mind.  First, the staggering realization of such a profound loss of beautiful young lives, cut short in their youth and their prime, as they gathered together as a community, to laugh, to celebrate, and to dance.  To live, and to freely love.  If you’ve ever been to a gay dance club, you’ll understand, at its core, what an unabashedly joyous and fun-loving place it can be.  A place where people are free to let loose and be themselves without fear or recriminations, to let all thoughts and worries and sometimes even reason  get swept away as they lose themselves in a crowd of positive energy, flashing lights, and pumping beats.  Clubs such as these SHOULD be a safe haven for our community, and a celebration of love and acceptance for all who enter it’s doors…but early Sunday morning past it became a literal hell on earth, only our latest example of how terror and hate continue to wreak savagery in our modern world.

As a society, we’ve become desensitized to this degree of violence and mayhem.  For many, we shut it out completely and become almost numb to it, while others acknowledge it briefly before we quickly move on to our daily routines, with our Pinterest finds or the latest Game of Thrones spoiler, or some new fad diet or workout routine.  Or, for some, perhaps we truly become overwhelmed by it and are unsure of just what to do with all of our grief and our upset and our rage.  Most of all, that is where I find myself these days.

I question what I thought I knew.  I once again am left to wonder if we perhaps we haven’t come nearly as far as a society in our acceptance of LGBTQ people as I once thought we did.  With this singular terrible act, I am left with the possibility that I have only been deluding myself, convinced that the world had changed and that my rights and my beliefs, and those of my “family” of brothers and sisters,  were as valid and as important as anyone else’s.   That I was embraced and accepted by society at large, and that I was free to love whomever and however I choose.   And more than anything, I HATE that this self-doubt has come creeping back in, to take up residence in some dark, dusty corner of my mind.  Someplace I thought I’d locked away and banished forever.

So where do we assign blame for this latest tragedy?  Where do we focus our frustrations and our sadness and our anger.  There seem so many places.  I’m angry at today’s pop culture, and how we continue to glorify mayhem and violence in our TV shows and our movies, our music and our video games.  We rest easy at night thinking of the fun and the entertainment value of it all, and convince ourselves that no rational or sane person could truly be motivated or inspired to carry out some heinous act through the influence of Call of Duty or the Walking Dead.  But do we stop to consider how these games and movies and music we become so addicted to absolutely sensationalize and glorify violence,  paint unrealistic portraits of sex and incredible distortions of body image, and promote misogyny, bigotry, and homophobia?  Who truly profits from this?  When we try to justify or rationalize it to ourselves, do we stop and consider those less rational than us?  What about those significantly less rational and dangerously more radical?

I’m sick over the lack of gun control laws and the pervasive influence of the NRA on the political landscape in the US, particularly the power and influence it seems to wield, supporting the very politicians who built their careers around stomping all over the rights and freedoms of the LGBTQ community, women, and minority groups everywhere.   Consider these statistics: In the US there have been over 1200 was mass shootings (defined as incidents where 4 or more people are shot) in the past 3 years.  And in these past two weeks in June there have been 74 deaths and 125 people wounded that are attributed to gun violence.  That’s 199 people in less than two weeks!   Let that sink in for a moment.

I’m saddened for the young members of our LGBTQ community.  What does this absolutely horrific and devastating hate crime say to them?   What happens when what was once considered a safe and welcoming space becomes a literal hunting ground of terror?   And now we are forced to bear witness as the  world media avidly works to downplay the idea of this as a “hate crime” against gay people everywhere and promote it more as some insidious plot stemming from ISIS and other terror regimes, as though our response to one should outweigh the other?  Or is it because the political gain is so much greater when we can invoke the fear of terrorist attacks?  How much does it sting to hear of blood shortages but know that, because of your sexuality, you are unable to donate to your very community that so desperately needs help?  How must it feel to hear these latest reports that the shooter was gay himself, and was perhaps facing some profound and terrible internalized homophobia that led him to his actions that day?  Are we suggesting that being closeted and conflicted can therefore lead to murderous thoughts and rampages….that we as a community somehow ignored and rejected this man, and in turn created our own monster?

So are these the messages we must take away?

No.  They are decidedly NOT. But in order to make sense of the senseless, in order to find meaning in the tragedy, we HAVE to learn something.  We have to find something that makes us better and stronger and more united than before.   Once again, we are forced to look for meaning in the darkness and the chaos.

And so, the message is this:

Stop glorifying the shooter.  Don’t try to understand their motives by giving them some international spotlight they do not deserve.  Remember that often these actions are fuelled by some sick need for attention that’s gone unfulfilled,by their desire to leave some terrible mark on this world and incite others to do the same.

Do not give him – do not give anyone – that sort of power.

Stop trying to process the fact that some unhinged individual with violent tendencies and a history of spousal abuse, someone who was investigated by the FBI TWICE for possible terrorist connections, was still readily able to buy assault rifles and handguns within the span of a day or two and then use them to such terrifying ends.  There IS no logic there.

Remember and honour the victims.  Celebrate their lives and let their spirits live on by holding close the ones we love and reaching out with compassion and tolerance to those that we do not.

Accept the simple fact that gun control laws save lives.    Australia adopted stringent gun control laws in 1996 following decades of violent outbursts and has not had a single mass shooting SINCE.  Not one.  Let that be our statistic.

Stop using religion to promote hate and intolerance.  Let our religious teachings centre on love and acceptance, not some warped interpretation of some loose guidebook allegedly written hundreds or thousands of years ago.  They were meant as a reflection of that time, not ours.

Stop attacking Muslims and immigrants and refugees.  Stop vilifying people who are probably more frightened than you are. Stop equating all Islamic people with terrorist and radicals, and acknowledge and accept the fact that a small faction has  perhaps perverted the Islamic religion to their own sick and twisted ends and means.

Accept that this was undoubtedly a hate crime against the LGBTQ community, carried out by an AMERICAN citizen…a mentally ill and repressed homophobic man, radicalized by a father who appeared more concerned his son would be considered gay than his newfound infamy as a mass murderer.

Don’t let a hateful, knuckle dragging, fear mongering and all around repulsive human being such as Donald Trump actually have a chance to aspire to the “highest office in the land” by allowing him so spew venom and hate and actually use this tragedy for his own personal political gain.  It sickens me to the core that a tragedy affecting LGBTQ people could be a true catalyst to his rise to power.

Be mobilized, demand change, fight oppression and hatred in ALL its’ forms and promote peace, acceptance, and harmony.  Embrace diversity in all is beautiful forms in this world and stop marginalizing others.   Accept differences and worry less about these stupid conflicting opinions.

Realize that ALL life is precious, and that our time here is simply too damn short, and enjoy each day as some kind of blessing.  And know forever that love is love is love is love….

 

 

WRONG

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Sometimes I can be wrong.

I don’t admit that easily, but it’s true. I can be rash, opinionated, and vocal without truly having all the facts. I will support the good cause, champion those who are persecuted or downtrodden, and fight for action and social justice, and a big part of that is because I’ve seen so much injustice through the years. I want this world we live in to be a better place, and I truly believe it can be. So when news broke about Jian Ghomeshi and his firing from the CBC, I was angry, frustrated, and quick to rush to judgment.

And I was wrong.

Now I can’t say I’ve been an avid follower of Jian like so many others. But as a creative type, I’ve admired his creativity, and how he managed to parlay that into such an incredible career trajectory: from his indie pop beginnings with “Moxy Fruvous”, his sophisticated and hip presence as a host of “Q” on CBC radio, and the debut of his bestselling memoir 1982, there was nothing Jian couldn’t do. Like some shining star in the northern constellation, he seemed like some magnetic unstoppable force, perhaps now poised for international stardom.   When I first learned of the allegations, my mind IMMEDIATELY went to thoughts of racism: a case of that bastion of white, upper class patriarchy known as the CBC attempting to marginalize this man of colour. Then, I thought, here this same elite guard of conservative blowhards ready to dismiss him as a “pervert” and pass judgment on his “unusual bedroom antics”. It’s like the way homophobia “works” in this country. We are ready to describe what we don’t understand as disgusting or perverse or immoral. And then finally, when more people started to come forward with stories about Jian and his wicked ways, I thought, perhaps desperately, that these were people jealous of his success, looking to undermine, discredit, and somehow harm him.

No. I was wrong. And as more and more brave women come forward with their stories, forced to now share to their world some secret hidden shame, I’m angry again, this time for very different reasons. My reality check came first from another Facebook post, a column by author Chad Pelley in the Newfoundland arts and culture paper The Overcast. In it, Chad talked about “the real take away message” from this whole ordeal, and that is that women who are assaulted by men – by powerful men in particular – are now afraid to come forward due to the public persecution and shaming that THEY would most assuredly endure. He noted that while comments about the story were mostly supportive or added to the conversation, over 20% were decidedly NOT, with many of those blaming the women, minimizing the story’s impact, or excusing it by way of the BDSM lifestyle (something I admittedly don’t know much about, but what I do know tells me that bondage and discipline is more about a role play of power inequalities between equals who are players in a game involving consent. Something this clearly was not).

There exists in this country a rape culture, and its pervasiveness seems to grow year after year. We tell our young women “if you dress a certain way, if you act a certain way…you’ll draw unwanted attention”. We lecture them to “never leave your drink unattended at your party…you don’t know what might get slipped into it”. We tell them to lock their doors at night, and walk with a buddy, carry a phone for emergencies…and if they don’t do all that, well, I guess at least they have been warned. But I wonder does it ever occur to us to teach our young men what it means to treat another human being with dignity and respect? I’ve worked for many years with aggressive youth, the vast majority of them young males, and often when they are emotionally dysregulated these same youth will act out verbally. They might threaten me, or scream at me to “fuck off”, but for more female colleague the focus and intensity of their aggression is that much worse, and I’ve literally heard hundreds of variations of how to viciously belittle and degrade a woman: bitch, whore, cunt, slut…and the list, sadly, goes on and on. But little boys weren’t born with this vocabulary. This is learned behaviour. As a society, what are we teaching our little boys? What are we showing and modeling for them everyday that seems to tell them this is some accepted norm?   That this is somehow OK?

Here in Nova Scotia, we need look no further than the case of Rehteah Parsons, a young woman bullied to DEATH, and failed miserably by both our justice and mental health systems. Local police and RCMP decided, after much public pressure, to seriously follow up on her allegations of rape only after her death by suicide after months and months of cyber bullying over her assault claims, and even then chose to prosecute the accused not for rape but for making and distributing child pornography. Recently we have learned of the “always on stalker case”, a story detailed in The Coast by Hilary Beaumont of two women relentlessly harassed by a jilted ex who, among other things such as making harassing phone calls, showing up at places of work unannounced and distributing private nude photos, went as far as to actually place ads as his former girlfriend online seeking a “rape fantasy”, and sending those who responded to her door. When these women sought help, they encountered roadblocks and barriers through the police and mental health, to the degree they have no faith there even is help for women like them today. And finally, there’s the fine example of Saint Mary’s University, where a chant about rape was used (and had been used for years) as a bonding exercise during frosh week. When someone finally pointed out this is wrong, student leaders stood like deer in the media headlights glare, seemingly unaware why there was uproar over the chant and why we might expect someone to be held accountable. And all the while as this unfolded, the country’s media seemed to shake its head and do a collective “tsk tsk” about the “inappropriateness” of it all. You know, boys will be boys and all that. But rape chants aren’t “inappropriate”. Swearing in front of your grandma, talking on a cellphone in a theatre, wearing high heels on a mountain hike, and most guys in Speedos (I don’t care if you THINK you look like Channing Tatum or not – you don’t) are inappropriate. To be clear, distributing pictures of drunk girls being assaulted at parties, placing ads seeking rape fantasies on your ex’s behalf, and rape chants of ANY kind are taking inappropriate to a whole new disturbing level, and therefore requires a swift and appropriately measured response.

There are no winners in this story, only losers. The women who suffered at Ghomeshi hands get to relive their trauma all over again, some privately and others very publicly. Other victims of similar circumstances who felt they couldn’t come forward get to vicariously live through someone else’s pain, and feel those familiar stirrings of their own self-doubt.  A media giant in this country perhaps failed to protect its employees from a known predator in its mix, perhaps afraid to lose their very own “goose that laid golden eggs” as some have speculated, while writers and journalists and music industry types snickered and gossiped about rumours and innuendos for years, and yet did nothing to stop it. And young women in the media…reporters and editors, interns, assistants, and on air personalities – share talk now of their secret code: lists they share with one another, lists of powerful men to be careful around or avoid, to never get to close to or be alone with. And then there’s Ghomeshi himself, an Iranian man, a man of “colour” who for many has served undoubtedly as a symbol of cultural diversity breaking down “white barriers” in this country. It is a sad day that such a symbol is now gone.

So what can we do to make a change, as bystanders in this country, particularly as men? We can call out misogyny and sexism every time we see it…on the streets, in our beer ads, in our music videos. We can stop treating women’s issues as special interest groups in our governments. Women are more then half our country’s population, so by definition they are therefore NOT a special interest group. And with all the time and energy we invest in teaching girls how to be “safe” and “careful”, we appear to spend disproportionately less teaching our boys to be “moral” and “good”, to never violate the rights of others, to never marginalize or oppress. Again, this doesn’t come instinctually. This is learned behaviour, instilled in our young at an early age and reinforced time and time again through the thoughts, beliefs, and actions of our collective society.

Let’s teach the world a simple lesson – right from wrong.

Children need role models. Be THAT role model. Let’s show them a better way, starting today.

RANKLED! Or How to Survive a Broken Ankle

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I WISH I had a better story.
I wish I’d been surfing a killer wave when I was dragged under by some vicious undertow! Or mountain climbing and I tumbled from a ledge for almost fifty feet! Or perhaps tidal boar rafting when the boat suddenly flipped over and I was smashed viciously against some rocks!

Now THAT’S the way to break some bones!

Emegency Room, Take One

Emegency Room, Take One

But no.

We went to watch some fireworks, or what will now forever be known as raining darts of hellfire. (I mean, I don’t even like fireworks, with all their loud noises and sudden popping and their big build up until they fizzle out to nothing – and that was BEFORE the incident.)

Afterwards, we slowly started back home, enjoying the warm summer night. I was walking down a hill, on a poorly lit roadway, took a misstep off the curb, fell down a small embankment, and BOOM – next thing you know I’m laid up (mostly) for six weeks with a twice fractured ankle.

Not in the cold winter, or the rainy spring, or the windy fall. But the summer. During quite possibly the sunniest, hottest, haziest summer we’ve had in years.

Now let the injustice of all THAT sink in.

Living the Dream!

Living the Dream!

Now, when most people hear those magical words escape a doctor’s lips – “looks like you’ll be off work four to six weeks” – you think “PARTY!” and “I’m the luckiest guy in the universe right NOW!” And you start to say stuff like “Work nerds! Have fun while I’m off “working” on my tan!”

But then comes the reality check.  In order for that nasty break to heal, your foot needs to be immobilized, and in order to be immobilized, it has to be  confined in a plaster cast at a 90 degree angle.  And casts, in case you don’t know, are heavy, ugly, stupid, awkward things. And despite being all hard and substantial, I came to learn they can actually break fairly easily, which then leads to multiple trips back to the hospital for multiple re-castings. You know, to that awful place where all the germs and all the sick people live.

As for “making the most of it”, racing on crutches is only fun for maybe the first day or two. Pretty much everyone else is busy working or vacationing or raising babies or dog sitting or just living life large, so you find yourself talking to your cat a lot. And rudely, he rarely ever talks back. You start to read or watch TV a lot, but then you criticize everything you see, and you grumble how you could write or act or sing an opera WAY better, and start to wonder how are you ever going to get those last 30 minutes back. And napping or just generally laying about?  Sounds fun in theory, but seriously overrated. Because then you’re awake at night, cursing the napping while everyone else is sleeping.

Anyway, with all this time to kill, I decided I needed to write more. And the first thing that came to me – the first thing I noticed was lacking – was some some handy dandy list of ways to survive a broken ankle (or broken anything for that matter) while maintaining MOST of your sanity. This may not work for everyone, but over the course of the summer I’ve found it to be pretty helpful guidelines to follow, and for the most part I’ve been able to retain most of my sanity. Note I did say mostly.
So here we go…

1) Seek out medical advice.  Sure, maybe you’re clumsy and walk into walls and glass doors and such, and maybe you’re used to falling down because you’re not looking where you’re going or you’re quite easily distracted (squirrel!)  But let’s face it, when your foot is purple and visibly throbbing and the size of an engorged watermelon, it’s time to call in the big guns.

2) Get a second opinion.  In seeking out medical help, sometimes the first doc you see will make Doogie Howser look like a senior citizen. Still, when he wraps your ankle and wisely tells you to “walk around on it,but don’t BABY it” you think “dude or not, this guy is the DOCTOR, so he must know what he’s talking about!” But when little Doogie’s panicked phone call comes the next day with the news of two fractures in your ankle he somehow missed, and he’s screaming “FOR GOD’S SAKE DON’T WEIGHT BEAR ON IT! YOU COULD CAUSE PERMANENT INJURY!!!”, you realize TV lied, and Lil’ Doogie does NOT know what he’s talking about, and that all doctors should indeed be old and wise, with thick glasses and weird facial hair and wrinkled lab coats with mysterious stains that smell vaguely of mothballs.

 

3) Accept the fact you’re new cast is one ridiculous looking appendage that just kind of hangs there and does nothing but gets in your way. Fact is, you can’t dress it up, you can’t make it prettier, you can’t make it lighter. I will refuse to cooperate, so just stop trying, and instead consider unique ways to take a selfie with it…

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4) Realize that stairs are now you’re one true enemy.  Obsess over how you will hop on one foot while maneuvering crutches in a futile attempt to conquer them.  Focus on creative ways to crawl, sidestep, back pull or plain ol’ scooch yourself up and down these blasted obstacles from hell, and hope that no one’s shooting the YouTube video of same.

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5) Kiss your dignity goodbye!  You will not only seem awkward, but you’ll look plain stupid trying to do the things you are used to doing or those simple tasks you foolishly take for granted everyday.  You will hear the words “pee bottle” and shudder and think NEVER, but before you know it you’ll quickly change your mind. Someday, you will come to think of that pee bottle as your best friend. “Pee bottle? I love you! What did I ever do before you?” Seriously, you’ll want to marry that damn pee bottle. I am speaking the TRUTH.

6) Have a good support system!  Your loved one(s) will have to do things for you that neither one of you will EVER want to speak of again (see #5 re lack of dignity)  Be kind to them, because you’re going to need them someday in ways you never imagined, and probably don’t want to ever consider. Trust me on this one.

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7) Get a furry sidekick.  He might sleep on the job lots, but he knows your feeling down and will make it his mission to cheer you up! Also, you can reveal to him all the gossip you want, and he will never share it with anyone.

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8) People will STARE.  STARE BACK.  I like to stop, put my hands on my hips, and give them a good ol’ fashioned Oscar the Grouch staredown while pretending to sharpen my crutches like spear tips.  You better believe they break eye contact first.  And usually start running.

Oscar-the-Grouch---SCRAM

9) Start to realize how poorly many of our city establishments are equipped for handi-capable people as you venture out into the world, and make a mental note to increase awareness of that in the future (actually, give yourself a mental spanking for not noticing it before).  Marvel at the gaping chasms in sidewalks and street corners. Ponder the narrow stairs you must climb or clunky entrances you must pole vault over. Laugh at the sheer stupidity of people who stand in the way while two five foot wooden sticks and a boatload of plaster are swinging in their direction by someone who has no idea how to wield either…

10) Celebrate graduating to a fracture boot/walking cast, until you realize just how hot and sweaty plastic, foam, and air cushioning can be.  Then, discover you have to learn how to walk again, because “walking cast” or not, that sucker encases your foot at the same ol’ 90 degree angle – there’s no pivoting, no twisting, and just a lot of loud, massive thumping.

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11) Mourn the fallen victims of your loud, massive thumping. (Thus far, together we’ve destroyed several glasses, a few books, a lamp, and, most tragically, a pair of Rayban Wayfarers.)

Rayban

12) Start to consider what a kick ass Darth Vader Costume this will all make someday!

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And I suppose, most importantly of all, KEEP A SENSE OF HUMOUR about it all and just keep smiling!!

With just a week or so left, I know I can and WILL survive the experience. And soon enough I’ll get to go dancing (badly) again. And hike over some strange undiscovered hillside. And jump joyfully into the ocean for that first summertime swim.

I’ll just be sure to avoid fireworks this time! And most of all, I will always remember to look before I leap!
(Oh, who am I kidding! I’ll just hang on to the boot!)