Check out this excerpt from the site: freegrassy.org

The people of Grassy Narrows have sustained themselves for thousands of years on their traditional territory – 2,500 square miles of forest, lakes, rivers north of Kenora, Ontario.  Now plans for clear-cut logging, mining and the legacy of residential schools, hydro damming, relocation, and mercury poisoning threaten to uproot their way of life. 

I'm writing in a room with no ceiling light. The lamps are dim, so I turn on the hallway light, hoping it will brighten the room a bit; its hard to concentrate in the dark
This song is playing: Twilight, the Band

Hydro damming
feed the bright lights of the towns and cities. brighter Brighter.
Hydro damming
its renewable, 'its their lifestyle that isn't'
feed the bright lights of the cities, towns. brighter Brighter.
Lights flicker.
Hydro damning
to a life without land
without trees; feed the lungs of the earth. hungry Hungry.
Lights dim.
Hydro damning
the waters are managed like kids  in collared shirts from a browned photo. whiter, Whiter.
Lights go out.

*          *          *
I'm going to speak with a member of the Women's Drum Group at Grassy Narrows, and Chief Simon Fobister this Tuesday on NSN: ckut.ca about their 10th anniversary of the blockade on their territory. Tune in at 6pm eastern or catch the show after on our archives.

Little Bird

I sometimes feel like I'm copping out of politics. I sometimes feel like the big problems need bbbig solutions. i sometimes feel like i'm happy where i am with people and conversations, like i fit. I sometimes feel llike a letter plus a letter make a word, and a word and a word make a story and that's big. I sometimes feel like it isn't. Sometimes I wait til I'm old so I know the importance of little things.

Hey folks! Welcome to Bird call!
A little Thursday commentary on CBC coverage of Winnipeg's awesome hip hop group and Aboriginal Music Awards winners, Most's decision to purchase headstones for 2 mudered Indigenous women.

Here's a link to the piece: http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/manitoba/story/2012/11/14/mb-winnipegs-most-headstones-murdered-women.html
... and info about Most: http://rpm.fm/artist/winnipegs-most/

I am glad that the CBC is covering this, and is expanding the public's awareness about the cases of murdered Indigenous women in Manitoba, and about what this amazing group is doing to honour them. The heading: 'not just sex trade workers' is, however, demeaning and perpetuates stereotypes about missing native women, about sex workers, and about who is worthy of safety. It implies that it is somehow more expected or acceptable for women who are 'just sex workers' to be murdered. It also suggests to us reading the article that we should take more interest in these cases because these women were not 'just sex trade workers.' We need to denounce violence no matter who is targeted, and rather than looking at what kind of woman is being harmed, recognize that it is the perpetrator who is resonsible and to be held accountable. And that it is Canadian society, that devalues and does not protect women and girls, particularly Indigenous women and girls, who is also responsible. Let's follow Most's lead and take actions to send a message of love and support rather than opening the door to victim blaming.

Looking for answers,
scratching hurried words
with an obstanant pen
old and
dry

I ask questions on
the airwaves
in soundproof boxes; rooms
with damp carpet and years of searching
embedded in cedar walls.

I ask questions because
I am afraid of statements.
I am not an expert
not even of myself.

You let me ask,
you travel with me on wires, chords, through screens,
you are there with me in the ambiguity, in the between spaces.
You are there, holding my voice, humming, the vibrations feeding my comfort raising questions.

Together we search and we don't find answers.
That's not really what we want.

The longest War

Cultural casualty.

Should I wear Black?

Cultural casualty

Plastic faces push me back.

Cult

   ural casualty –

She fell from constant attack.

A shared story.

Don’t know the pressures on her back.

Her choice;

Cultural causality.

À qui la rue?

I hate to say it but today's march did not embody solidarity for me. To the friendly Steelworkers Union Man who told me I was 'formidable' for coming out, this does not include you. And to the young man who helped me at the print shop last week, who recognized me and thanked me for coming out, you neither. To the person behind me who kicked my cane and did not apologize, and to those people holding banners behind me who were impatient that I was not  moving fast enough for their banner to be straight as an arrow, this is directed at you: solidarty is not just for people who walk fast. La Hausse does not just affect young able bodied CEGEP students who are anxious to jump around to the awesome marching band. We all feel the beat. Neoliberalisme affects us all, and all the people at the march today are opposed to it. Whether we are running, riding our bikes, walking, limping, rolling, being carried, strolling, wearing masks, waving flags.

I guess there's a difference between thinking the world should be shaped just in the way that I like, just to suit me, and expecting respect and solidarity, enacted not just written on signs at a march for community, a march of critique against neoliberalism and the individualistic worldview it promotes and neccessitates. I guess I've ignored this for a long time, framing it as a self indulgent frustration as opposed to a visceral experience of the anonymity and loneliness of ablist north america. I guess I've said in my head, the other times I've thought this: 'don't be emo' and then made myself laugh thinking about emo emus and the like. But its not emo, there are no emus in my apartment, and this is my experience. And I am not going to apologize for walking slow. My knee hurts, and it was hard for me to make it out at all. But this is important to me, and its important to you and let's respect that. And let's respect those Grandmères en solidarité aussi. And the guy with the Guy Falks mask in the motorized chair. Respect.

Friends, what solidarity looks like to you? Picture it and then ask 'who is excluded in this version', and then think of a way to include them.

Sand on my Shoes

The environment was never an acting point, I saw it as something out there, outside the city, I was, am, disconnected. But going to spend time at a camp on Algonquin land, hearing the bulldozers or whatever they are, at 2 am, clearing, clearing, going to the logging site, it was the first time the community had gotten there, a week after the destruction started, because the cops had been guarding the company’s equipment and not letting them through, on their own land, the elders gasped, someone said, look at the tree. Someone said, where will the animals go? Someone mentioned all the little animals like rabbits that get crushed under the machines, one man said, they don’t even use the poplar, it’s just faster to cut it all down and leave them or burn them. Later he said quietly, ‘we’re not going to win.’ When I was driving home I saw another clear-cut spot on a mountain and it hurt. There’s still sand on my shoes.