Colonization. In the Present Tense.

Something else that i've been thinking about lately, which i posted about on my other blog and which i'm apparently not done with yet, because here i am doing it again.

I was kind of disturbed to see a white girl selling a headdress at an anarchist craft sale a couple weeks ago.
(okay wait, anarchist craft sale? yeah i know. here are the fabled anarcho-capitalists we all thought were a joke. and i was one of them. hah! more about that fascinating contradiction later.)

I'm not going to outline the whole conversation i had with her about it, most of it is covered here
http://nativeappropriations.blogspot.com/2010/04/but-why-cant-i-wear-hipster-headdress.html
(i really recommend reading this, hits the sketchy racist nail right on the head)

She did have a few unique arguments, like that "we are all indigenous, because we were all born here", at which point i sort of just wanted to vomit all over her feathery handiwork and changed my tone from "have you ever considered..." to "that is racist, whitewashing bullshit".

I think the conversation ended when she tried to justify the whole thing by telling me how she made a dreamcatcher all by herself and then her "native friend" came over and saw it and said she'd magically found the right kind of wood to use. Clearly her 1/8 cherokee blood justifies everything. Clearly "their" gods smile down on her and approve. Vomit vomit vomit.

Anyway, the whole thing served to remind me of how fucked up it is that most people swallow the whole "Canada did some bad things while they were settling the country but colonialism is over and now the natives are all integrated, all the better for them, and everything is fine" argument. It always reminds me of the drunk person who says they USED TO be an alcoholic, but that they quit, and that the mickey in their hand is fine because they're better now. (no disrespect to folks dealing with alcoholism)

Just to be clear:

1. White folks continue to colonize Canada. Ongoing problem.
2. Any action we take that moves control over the public image, iconography, culture, history, etc, of first nations groups into our hands (ie white people making headdresses) is aiding in the colonization of those peoples.

There are times when people make art that's inspired by other cultures' art and claim that this is an homage, that it's a sign of respect, etc, and while a lot of the time this is clearly not true (the comic linked in that blog post up there is a great example), i'm not going to say that it's never, ever, ever true. However, there's a difference between being inspired or influenced by something and doing a cheap knock off of it to sell (or an overpriced bougie knock-off for that matter), and there's also a difference between being inspired or influenced by a culture and stereotyping a culture. So that gets complicated?

Then there's white people wearing first nations' traditional stuff, like mukluks, for example. When i see folks wearing these i (cynic that i am) tend to cringe and mutter "cultural appropriation" under my breath, but the truth is that there are lots of first nations artists in winnipeg that make mukluks, and lots of white folks that support them by buying them, and maybe that's not such a bad thing. But still complicated. Like, are you wearing those boots because you want to demonstrate that you are in solidarity with first nations folks, or because you like fetishizing other cultures that you actually know and care very little about, because it's edgy?

Life, so far, is Compromise

I spend a lot of time analyzing what i'm doing and whether it's contributing to or remaining neutral to the major problems with mainstream society, the planet being fucked over, etc.

I just spent a month making crafts of all kinds and selling them at craft sales.
Is this useful?

Being self-employed, if it's not fucking over other human beings, (horrible people, horribly rich people, and corporations excluded) is probably better than being employed. The last two jobs i've had have basically been focussed on pampering the rich and i don't really like encouraging shit like that. These excesses are the ones that are making us as a species unsustainable. Fuck fancy restaurants and fuck nice hotels.

So being self-employed is kind of useful. Making a living by selling things i've made myself to people who really appreciate them is way less dehumanizing than reciting the script that comes with almost every job that involves public interaction. ("would you like the meal deal or just the sandwich? would you like lottery tickets with your fuel? pickles, lettuce, tomatoes, onions?")

And making shit that's recycled is alright. I feel alright about that.
Although none of it is very, very necessary shit. But life is not just about stark survival. Inspiration is important. So, grey area.

But ironically, one of the things that i sell the most of is shitty junk jewelry, the parts come from michaels (the big megacorporation craft supply store) and are probably made in a sweatshop or something, (i don't pay for them, but that doesn't make me feel that much better about them) and all i really do is attach part A to part B with a little wire loop, and ta-da! a necklace!

And yeah, i sell a lot of those. Those are the little things that fill in the financial gaps between the occasional rug or wind chime or whatever.

This is fine, this is survival.

But then the other day (on solstice, actually) dandy and i went for breakfast at the black sheep, and from the table beside us, one girl to the other, "aw, that's so nice, thanks!"

And i look over, and lo and behold, i'm witnessing someone giving someone else something i made, neither one knows that i have anything to do with it, and they're both excited about it!

And, it's a shitty piece of micheals junk jewelry.

And so it goes.

The Darkest Day of the Year Approaches

I don't like the "disorder" part of "seasonal affective disorder". (also, what a shitty acronym!). I feel pretty affected by how much sunlight/daylight i'm getting but i don't really feel the need to paint it as some huge flaw of mine, or as a horrible weakness. I just spend more time in bed, expect a little less of myself, rely on my friends a little more to keep me going.

And, that's the thing i've been figuring out lately. I spent some time reading old journals, thinking back over the past few years, and the times when i've been really unexcited about everything, right down to existing in the first place, are times when i'm not spending quality time with other human beings.

Winnipeg has been tough because i'm not super close to many people here yet. (other than a certain amazing person who i love dearly).

I miss being able to walk down the street and hang out in the kitchen with a bunch of other kids who also don't work and like to hang out and make art and play music. I miss the ones who are always making things and finding reasons to get people together, I miss that one who's always joyfully making strange things out of ceramics, i miss that one who stayed up all night telling me wonderful stories about his family, i miss that one who checked in on me when i seemed particularly depressed, i miss the one who crisply and politely asked the most direct questions, i miss the one that would get so excited about everything and play fiddle like a madman, i miss all the kids taking photos and lovingly documenting things, i miss the one i played very old nintendo games with, i miss the calm, joyful way those other ones were ready to subvert everything, as though it was only natural to do so, i miss the strange electronic creations of my favourite computer genius, i miss the one i often drank tea with, listening to their complicated and wonderful analyses of class and oppression, i miss that one that i made a rap album with, who lovably does whatever the fuck she wants, i miss that one who seemed so quiet and complacent but always remembered the crowbar when we went where we weren't supposed to, i miss the one who couldn't walk down the stairs from my apartment without jumping most of them and doing a ninja-like 360 on the way down, i miss that one who introduced me to the idea of listening to two tapes at the same time, and the one i played ping pong in the bathroom with, and the ones who dressed up ridiculously just to go stand on the corner and confuse people. just to name a few.

These are the people that reflect my excitement back to me and keep it alive. these are the people whose actions excite me. I miss you all dearly.

It's 30 below!

This is the existence i've dreaded for the last few months. maybe even since i moved here. possibly since i first thought of moving here.

After ten minutes outside, my scarf is frosty and i can't feel my fingers and toes. There's ice on the INSIDES of the doors and walls of the house.

But i'd forgotten! I'd totally forgotten how clear the air seems when it's this cold, how everything sparkles when it's coated in ice, the beautiful angle of winter light, the way snow muffles everything like a blanket, the way untouched snow glitters, and reminds me of being a kid and walking around in winter, of the icy eternity of prairie in winter and how much respect i have for it, and how much bigger and older and more important it is than this foul city and the people crawling all over it.

And, i'd forgotten how much more of a pleasure it is to arrive, when you've worked hard to get there. I walked into the drag on saturday to pick up food not bombs and was so pleased to see so many people i knew, and so happy to just sit down with them, and the cold outside, rather than being oppressive, just made me enjoy their company even more.

Maybe i'll be less excited when it's 40 below. But so far, so good.

How to get a "Sick Pack"; Three Easy Steps!

1. Get a cold or flu.. preferably something that will make you cough a lot and be very uninterested in food.
2. Cough a lot, for a few days. Make sure to use all your abdominal muscles while coughing. You'll know you're doing a good job when your ribs start to hurt.
3. For the same few days, be nauseous, eat very little.

Ta-da! I have emerged from my sleepingbag/cocoon after three days and there they are, subtle but clearly there, the thing that every beach goer would die to have: nicely defined and clearly visible stomach muscles. All i had to do was suffer a few days of fever, headache and miserable hacking coughs from the depth of my lungs. I can't wait until the fashion industry finds a way to market this.

Next week: How to find out what your man ~really~ wants!

[this is all a joke. except that i have been miserably sick and did wake up with creepily well-defined ab muscles this morning. and so it goes.]

[oh, and, i'm getting better. hooray!]