See no evil, hear no evil

For the last 5 years, I have traveled to New York City to attend a conference at the UN called the Commission on the Status of Women which aims to make gender equality a lived experience by women worldwide. Strides to end violence against women and strengthen the participation of women is at the core of this work, so the irony of the experiences I am about to share is not lost on me.

I want to clarify that my personal experiences of violence are exceptional and that I mostly live a very safe and secure life. Yet as I listened at CSW to women talk about the need to redefine traditional definitions of peace and security, I remembered that I too can relate to their experiences, and that my tendency to trivialize some of the experiences I have had are symptomatic of a much larger problem. My stories are no secret, but nor do they regularly come up in dinner conversation, so they will be new to many who read this post.

The first of my stories took place in Rome in 1995, when I was 17 and away for a class trip with my school in France. It was our last night in Rome, and I decided to go for a walk. About half way through my walk, a man stopped me to talk. The ensuing interaction, which you can read about in more detail in 'Traffic', involved two men pursuing me on foot and in a car for what I can only guess was an attempt to abduct me - whether to rape me, or for sex trafficking or for some other purpose - I will fortunately never know. As I was running away from my would-be abductors, I happened to run into my classmates who had decided to go for a walk, prompting the men pursuing me to abandon their chase. I tried to explain to my classmates what has happened, but I had a hard time processing what I had just experienced. I never reported what happened that night to the police, and in the years that followed, I found myself second-guessing that this had actually taken place. It seemed like it was out of a movie. To this day, I have no proof that any of this happened.

The second story took place in 2006 on my second night in Istanbul when I was 29, and a month into a year of travels. I wanted to visit the Beyoglu district where I hoped to listen to folk music, but was having a hard time finding a place to go. I was getting harassed when I entered places on my own, so I was about to get a taxi back to my hotel when a young man who seemed nice enough stopped and asked me to join him for a drink. I decided to say yes, and he brought me to a place that was playing folk music. At the end of the night, he invited me to go have a drink in the park and "watch the lights." I thanked him for the offer but politely declined, and said I wanted to get a taxi, so he offered to walk me back to the taxi stand. En route, in a darker area when no one was around, he suddenly turned around, punched me in the face, pushed me on to a pile of garbage behind a staircase and tried to pull down my pants. I began to scream - screech is probably the right word - as loud as I could, kicked him hard in the balls, and bit his hand as hard as I could. I have often prayed since that I gave him gangrene.

When he pulled his hand away, I was able to regain my footing, and he became scared that someone had heard my screams, so he stole my money and ran off.  It took me a moment to notice that my mouth was bloody, and still more time to realize that one of my teeth was missing. When I managed to find other people on a nearby street, they called the police. When four stern male officers who spoke no English came to pick me up, they couldn't understand why I was reluctant to get into their police car. They brought me to the hospital, where I was forgotten. Eventually I was brought to the police station, where I filed a police report. The investigator wanted to catch the person who did this to me, and - to his credit - was visibly frustrated that I was not willing to give up my prepaid 5-week tour through Turkey, Syria, Jordan and Egypt to stay alone in Istanbul in attempt to identify the perpetrator who probably preyed on tourists. Apart from the cost and insecurity of this option,  I rationalized that staying there was letting my attacker ruin my trip and would give him more power over me and my decisions. When I tried several months later to get a copy of the police report from the Turkish police for insurance purposes, there was no trace of it.

The day after my attack, I learned that in order to replace my lost tooth - since the roots had already died by then - I would need to stay in one place for 3 months to get an implant. That is when - for the first time - I started crying. I have never really understood why something so superficial would be a trigger. Perhaps with an experience so overwhelming, I needed to process the small things before I could begin to tackle the attack itself. Perhaps I also perceived that the physical reminder of the attack - and the resulting whistle from the shameful gap in my teeth - would make it harder to forget. I'm not sure.

In the months that followed, I experienced panic attacks - including a very dangerous scuba diving incident - and I dealt with constant illness, including stomach viruses, a chest infection that lasted three months, a case of giardia, and more antibiotics than I have ever known. In December 2006, I landed in Cape Town, where I had lots of friends and no energy. I decided to forgo my tentative plans of continuing on to Asia, and instead stayed in Cape Town to recover, spend time with my friends, and volunteer with Habitat for Humanity, while completing the $5000 procedure to replace my missing tooth.

These were two clear incidents criminal acts by strangers and I consider myself very lucky in both cases to have gotten away without a worse outcome. I am aware that even if I was able to find the men responsible for these crimes, I would have no way to prove what had happened to me, much less that they were the ones responsible. Both incidents impacted on my life in different ways, but I am resilient and have been able to move on. No one wants to go through something like that, but having been through it, one learns things about yourself that you can't learn any other way. I took some comfort in learning that my instinct was to fight like hell.

More recently, I experienced another more subtle form of violence involving a former co-worker. This person has been a work reference and an invaluable connector for my current work, so it is a relationship I have wanted to maintain, despite unwanted advances which were mostly harmless at first. About 3 years ago, this "friend" became more aggressive. I told him I was flattered but not interested, and while his advances persisted, they always made me uncomfortable. We don't live in the same city now, so when I visit, I have tried to enjoy my time with him and ignore his advances, but I always find myself feeling on guard.

On my most recent visit, I decided to invent a boyfriend to help fend off his advances. It didn't work at all. On the first night, he just ignored what I had said and tried to hold my hand, touch my leg, and kiss me. I asked him to stop. The next time I saw him, he was at it again. After repeatedly telling him no, I experienced an onslaught of verbal abuse aimed at dismissing my agency as a woman. "So what if you have a boyfriend - you're going to dump this guy anyway" and "I'm attracted to you in your absence but not in your presence - you're way too high on yourself" and "get over yourself - I'm in love with someone else" and "you should stay at my place tonight - your place is so far away - you can sleep in my room and I'll stay on the coach" and - after trying to kiss me and me pushing him away - "sorry! sorry! sorry! we are just buddies" which was quickly followed by another attempt to kiss me again - and finally "you're over-reacting" and "you're making a way bigger deal out of this than necessary."

At this point, you would be forgiven for wondering what the f&*% I was thinking and why I ever put up with this. I have a hard time answering that myself. I also couldn't understand how he could have so many intelligent friends, including women, who were willing to look past his behavior.

It was at this point that I realized that I was part of the problem - because I was one of the people who tolerated his actions - "I should give him the benefit of the doubt" and "I don't want to lose him as a reference" and "he's had a stressful week" and "he drank too much" and "he's hurt because I rejected him" and "maybe I gave him mixed signals" and "maybe I over-reacted." But the fact is that I said no over and over again and he would not stop. He has one objective in mind and nothing I said mattered.

I doubt even today that he could admit that he has done anything wrong, much less take responsibility for his actions. I would not tolerate this behavior from anyone else, and I know that by treating him as a friend, I enable and normalize his behavior and open myself up to this or worse again. I now see that I need cut him out of my life and I am quite frankly embarrassed that it took me this long to come to this conclusion.

There are many reasons for how I ended up here, but I think what it comes down to is that I like to be believe in the goodness of the people I call my friends, and believe that they will respect my wishes. I need a lot of proof to the contrary before I believe otherwise. I got it in spades this time. It was a stark reminder that patriarchy is still alive and well and breathing even at home and even among my "friends" today.

Yet the fact is that my experiences are minor compared to those of many women and men who cope with different and more sustained forms of exploitation and violence, both physical, sexual and psychological. I have the choice to leave and stop answering his calls and I can call friends and write blogs about my experience without fear for my safety. Many women (and men) experience similar or worse and never have that luxury.

My visit to CSW this year reminded me how painful these experiences can be for survivors, especially when they are forced to suffer in silence, with no chance of justice. It reminded me how these traumas can affect not only your quality of life, including physical and mental health, but also the lives of those you love. It reminded me of women who must cope with unwanted pregnancies and sexually transmitted infections, not to mention stigma and rejection from families and communities. How violence - or even the threat of it - can affect your ability to do your job, engage with colleagues, or enjoy a day off. It reminded me that survivors become mistrustful, including of male-dominated security institutions and justice systems that prioritize evidence and all too often re-victimize survivors. It reminded me that violations can happen anywhere - at home, in a bar, at work, at church, or on sports teams; it can happen during peace or conflict; at home or during displacement; in repressive regimes and democracies; in peacekeeping operations and at police stations; and anywhere that unchecked power exists. And above all, it reminded me how very important it is for women to become leaders in shaping the policies and decisions that will help secure our future.

It is perhaps one of the greatest shames of our era that in 2014, there is still so much violence in our lives, both physical and psychological. With one in three women experiencing violence in her lifetime, it is inevitable that violence affects people you know and occurs at the hands of people you know, even if you don't know who they are.

As both a gender equality advocate and someone who has escaped violence relatively unscathed, I believe that I have a duty to remind us all that this fight, which all too often lives in the shadows, is far from over. We ALL have a role to play in interrogating why violence occurs, how we enable it and what role we can play in preventing it. So that maybe one day, we will all be able to experience our own understanding of what it means to live in peace.

Single Female Traveling in Tunisia

I arrived in Tunisia on April 27th for what will be surely too short a visit. And yet I won't lie. There has been more than one moment since my arrival two short days here when I have considered changing my flight date and leaving early. But ultimately I'm glad I'm here and I'm starting to find my feet. It is a strange mix of other parts of the Middle East I have visited, European influence - France and Italy in particular - and possibly coastal east Africa (though the influence is likely the other way around). 

My frustrations here stem from the number of people trying to take advantage of me, which has quite frankly become exhausting. The motives vary but generally revolve around money and sex, which I suppose shouldn't surprised me. From taxi drivers who are trying to scam naive tourists - to my hotel which claimed to be in Tunis centre but was in fact in another city and mainly attracted old business men - to the friendly cab driver (organized by my hotel) who interpreted my returned friendliness as a desire to have sex with him - to the so-called tourist officer who claimed to be taking me to a unique traditional carpet exhibit only to take me to his brother's perfume stand, these experiences have invariably started with me wanting to understand the local psyche and ended with me being upset and frustrated at my inability to communicate and be treated with respect. I love meeting locals and I take the opportunity talk to people when I can about who they are and what they do. But these experiences become tedious after a while. And yet, if it was me in the same situations, surely I would do what I could to help bring business to my brother's shop, and perhaps I would also try to get more money for something I have if the person didn't know any better.

Despite these frustrations, Tunisia is a fascinating country, and the sources of this frustration are also understandable. It has had an economy that was reasonably well developed compared to other MENA (Middle East North Africa) countries, but while its people are very proud (particularly in the wake of the 2011 revolution that both ousted long-standing president Zine El Abidine Ben Ali and catalyzed the so-called Arab Spring and is decidedly the most successful among the revolutionary countries),  the revolution has exacerbated economic challenges, particularly for those living in rural areas. And while there is general support for the budding and democratically elected Islamic Ennahda, the financial pressures have created a space where the long-suppressed Islamic groups (salafists) have gained support, which poses a threat to the more liberal tendencies found here. Women's rights are considerably more advanced here than in other places, but there are still lots of differences. There are still plenty of male-dominated cafes, where I feel like a piece of meat when I walk by and wouldn't dare go, but there are lot of women of all walks of life out socializing, buying make-up, and working in different jobs. I also feel enormous intrepidation when I don't know what is happening - due in no small part to two attacks I have experienced, first in Rome in 1995 (see February 2010 entry, Traffic) and a second in Turkey in 2006.

The medina (old city) in Tunis is an experience not to be missed. A virtual maze of shops for all kinds of wears, frequened even more by the locals than the tourists, the medina features many different souqs - the ladies souq is mainly for jewelry, but there is also a wedding souq, a wool souq, a souq for traditional hats, for shoes, for tacky tourist gifts, for carpets, perfumes, etc. In a small area, a person can sample the goods of dozens of different vendors, as shop owners try to convince you to come into their store "juste pour voire." An economist might consider this efficient. I find it frustrating, but also endearing at the same time. Without fail, the only places where I would shop were places where the owners left me alone until I had questions, who were willing to bargain and who showed respect.   

I have also been enjoying the different experiences that I have been able to have here. I dined at an exceptional restaurant called Dar El-Jeld in the Medina, where I got to listen to moving traditional folk music. I had the chance to listen to the lively music form a Tunisian wedding taking place at my hotel. Five times a day, no matter where I am, I hear every day the call-prayer from the mosques in the towns and cities I visit. I also enjoy taking in the selection of local music on the radio. And in between I am subjected to the strangest - if not cheesiest - selection of north american music - My heart will go on (Celine Dion), Total eclipse of the heart (Bonnie Tyler), When I see you smile (Bad English), She's like the wind (Patrick Swayze), etc.

The history stemming from this place is also legendary, as a rival of the Romans and Egyptians. The sites, museums and stories are well worth a visit, even if I am somewhat ruined out. I can't help but take note of all the female leaders (princesses and queens) who were powerful and defining forces of antiquity but who we here little about in history lessons (apart from Cleopatra, Athena and the likes).

Tonight, I am in a town called La Marsa, near Carthage, which seems to be frequented much more by local and regional tourists than Europeans and Americans. I am at an outdoor hotel bar at Plaza Corniche Hote, which has a stunning view over the Mediterranean fishing community, and I am enjoying a few beers here before making my way back to my hotel. I wish I had time to visit the south. This is cheezy I know, but I would love to visit the town of Matmata, which is where the scenes of Tatouine (a real town here) were filmed in Star Wars. I would also love to visit the Sahara. But alas, that will have to wait for another trip.

Ok, that's it for now. I will try to post once more before I go, but I'm not sure that it will be possible. See you on the other side.

My mom is a hero!

Late last night, i noticed many of my friends had changed their profile picture to their mom for Mother's Day, and I decided to do the same. I went through my Facebook albums to find a great picture, confident that there would be lots to choose from. My mom has, after all, been there through so many things. But somehow, between not living in Halifax in since fb combined with my generally adventure-oriented albums, I realized - to my surprise - that I have few recent pictures of my mom and dad up there.There is no good reason for this and I intend to change that.

One of the pictures I did find - the one I posted - was from when mom and her sister visited me in NYC in 2009 for a fabulous adventure shopping, exploring the city by foot and visiting the US Airways plane that had just ditched into the Hudson. Another was from France when, despite being in a wheelchair, she joined us for the commemoration celebration of our great-uncle who died during the war. She was a real trooper.

But this isn't about where we have been or the adventures we have had. It is about what a wonderful person and mother she is. She is a best friend to me and a guardian angel to more people than I can count. When new families would move to our neighborhood where we grew up, she would be one of the first people to welcome them and to help them settle in. On Christmas eve for years, she would take me with her to secretly drop off presents to a family that couldn't afford to buy presents. They never found it was her. She went above and beyond the call of duty in caring for her brother Donald, a diabetic who smoked and drank his way to several heart attacks and even more strokes. She was there to support her close friends when their marriages ended. She has helped families to cope with realities of alcoholism. She has worked for years to support different charities in Halifax, including Laing House, supporting people living with mental illness and Adsum House, a shelter for battered women, among many others, earning municiple recognition for her work. She and dad have welcomed 17 relatives and friends into our home to live with us when we were growing up. She fundraised for countless charities, including the Heart & Stroke Foundation, the Canadian Cancer Society, the Parent Teachers for French, the Canadian Diabetes Association and her church. She randomly bought wool for woman in nursing home that she had never met before. She brings food to people when they are sick or when a loved one has died. She was a long-time a companion to an elderly woman whose families wasn't able to visit much. She displays saint-like patience with our lives and gives all of us (especially me) wise advice I don't take nearly enough. And despite my resistance, all the good that is in me comes from her. I am who I am today because of my mother.

These stories doesn't even really begin to scratch the surface of all the amazing things my mom does, or the people she helps, or ways she spreads hope and kindness. But it gives you maybe an idea of how lucky myself and my brothers are to have her as our mom.

I don't have enough photos of two of the most important people in my life on Facebook and I intend to change that. But photos alone can't capture how wonderful a person she is or how much she has given to us and others. And the important thing isn't the number of photos, but in acknowledging all the great things she has done for so many people, including us. I love and admire you mom. You are a hero to me and so many other people and the world is better place because of you.

acts of heroism

Today, social media changed for me once again. As some of you know, I have been researching the ways in which social media are used to impact on political authority in non-democratic regimes for the ISA conference this week. And I knew full well - given the many stories of citizens being targeted for activism and protest - that it was only a matter of time before one of my sources were targeted. I have suspected for some time that several of my Tweeps in Libya have been killed, after they suddenly stop posting following ominous messages, but not actually knowing them, its been impossible to find out for sure. Today, that changed.
When the Libyan uprising began on Feb 17, 2011, a 28-year old Libyan Oxford graduate named Mohammed Nabbous stepped up to play a key role in helping to tell the world what was happening in Libya. Twitter helped to connect me to Mo, as he was commonly known, and to Libya Alhurra TV, a private station that he created and broadcast through Livestream using proxy servers, satellites and other technology to circumvent internet blocks. He let me and many others have a window into his world so we could see what was happening on the ground in Benghazi. As the days and weeks went by, he increasingly became a source for Al-Jazeera, CBC and other news stations as well as a key symbol of the resistance movement.
When I got in last night and checked out the latest news on the siege of Benghazi, Mo's most recent video was taking those of us tuned in on a tour of a residential neighborhood called Hai al Dollar, where Gaddafi's forces had continued to attack since declaring a ceasefire. He showed burnt-out cars, the blood-stained pillows of two kids who had been killed by a blast, bullet-riddled walls covering homes, blown-out houses, and more. As he walked from home to home, he would greet locals in Arabic, get their stories, and then tell us in English what had happened.
At one point, Mo's pregnant wife Perdita, who was not with him at the time, came on to the chat and connected the us directly to Mo's cell phone. At that moment, he was walking around another residential quarter of Benghazi and filming more scenes of destruction, while describing to those of us online just what he was seeing.
Quite suddenly, we found ourselves listening in horror as gunfire erupted out of the blue. He stayed on the phone and was describing what was happened while urgently trying to get away. When the phone connection went dead a moment later, the chat room went wild as everyone desperately tried figure out what had just happened, hoping, against all odds, that Mo was ok. He wasn't. I stayed up for some time after hoping to hear more, but eventually fell asleep.
I of course didn't know Mo personally, but when I found out today that he had been killed, it was a little too much. I know very little at this time about the exact circumstances of his death, but some have claimed he was killed by government snipers, led to him possibly by his own video. I found an audio message from his crying wife who confirmed his death and called on Libyans to keep the station going and make sure that Mo's death was not in vain.
Mo played a pivotal role in telling many of us - and possibly even the world leaders who were gathered in Paris to decide on mission strategy - about the reality on the ground and affected us in many ways. He will surely be remembered as a hero to countless Libyans, to those of us who were lucky to connect with him however briefly and to anyone who is moved by his courage.
Throughout the recent Middle East revolutions, Facebook, Twitter, Livestream and other tools have played key roles in bringing people who are not on the ground closer to events than ever before. They have been used by revolutionaries to connect people, share information, coordinate protests, generate media attention and much more.
But at the end of the day, they are just tools. Their real power lies in how people engage with them for their own ends. Some have described these events as 'Twitter revolutions' or 'Facebook revolutions' but this is wrong. They are people's revolutions during which countless heroes like Mo risked and indeed lost their lives to bring these stories to the world in the hopes that their countries might one day have freedom. Mo left behind a wife and unborn child. No piece of software can do that.
Rest in peace, Mo.
Audio of final call: http://www.nowpublic.com/world/mohammad-nabbous-killed-libya-citizen-journalist-shot-video-2768803.html
His wife's message: http://www.livestream.com/libya17feb/video?clipId=pla_9745ec21-c64d-440f-abe7-a412e7db456d&utm_source=lslibrary&utm_medium=ui-thumb
Star article about his death: http://www.thestar.com/news/world/article/956802--libyan-citizen-journalist-killed

Down the rabbit hole & out the back door

This past year has been a bit of a limbo year as I have endeavored to figure what to do next with my life. As those who know me well will already know, the choices I have contemplated are many and seemingly have little or nothing to do with one another. They include doing a PhD continuing my MA research on women and war, pursuing new research on the impacts of social media on accountability in non-democratic regimes, continuing to consult work with New York-based organizations on women in conflict, starting up my own NGO to support women peacebuilders, starting up my own business, and more.

In typical Renee-style, I have had a difficult time discarding any of these ideas and the consequence is that I have in some way pursued them all. I recently submitted a paper proposal to the International Studies Association on social media & accountability, which will likely be the basis of a PhD should I decide to pursue one. In September, I found out that I was accepted to present that paper in March in Montreal.

I also spent March and October in New York, first for the Commission on the Status of Women and then for the 10-year anniversary of Resolution 1325 on Women, Peace & Security, consulting with the Global Network of Women Peacebuilders, in between my contract with the Olympic and Paralympic Winter Games in Vancouver. I also finished my contract with UNIFEM, where I authored the web site content for their Women, War & Peace section.

In late spring, I also decided to pursue a business idea that I devised years ago after my friend Matthieu developed a little web site for my condo association to help with document sharing, community building, condo greening, and strata professionalization. The result of these efforts is my first small business, Stratasphere, which will launch in a few weeks time.

November also brought a rather unexpected connection my way in the form of an NGO upstart called United Girls of the World. The women with whom I will serve on the Board aim to strengthen the self-esteem of women and girls (as well as boys and men) by engaging on projects addressing critical issues affecting girls around the world.

In November, I also got my first article published in Vancouver paper The Georgia Strait which discussed the missed opportunity of engaging the talents and skills of our civil society at home in supporting those abroad. Both that article and a screening of 'Pray the Devil Back to Hell' have together catalyzed the assembly of a wonderful group of 50 (and counting) fabulous women and men volunteers who have come together under the name Women in Peacebuilding to find new ways to use our skills, time and networks to support women's peacebuilding initiatives in conflict-affected countries. This group is weeks old and I am very excited to see where it goes in the new year.

I also keep getting asked to speak in various venues on some of these issues. A woman in Calgary asked me to speak to her high school students on the ways that social media is being used to promote accountability. I have been asked by Engineers without Borders to work on the Women in Development panel at the Bridging the Gap conference in March, and separately to host a screening of Pray the Devil Back to Hell followed by a workshop on the role of women in peacebuilding. UBC has asked me to do something similar as well.

These are all really exciting development, and the only concerns I have are around how exactly I will support myself financially as I pursue these projects, and how I will get over my extreme nervousness of speaking to crowds. I am excited to face both challenges and explore these new directions in the new year.

With these new opportunities, I have also identified some habits that I need to break, including:

• Doing less distracting and avoiding recurring patterns in my life and instead dealing with things more openly and honestly
• Spending less time in virtual reality and more time in actual reality
• Getting past being nervous and being more confident in my ability to move people with stories
• Avoiding cutting people off and instead listening carefully and with curiosity

With that in mind, my goals for the new year are as follows:

1. Be happy & healthy
2. Take music lessons & live with music in my heart
3. Pursue meaningful relationships
4. Help people in difficult situations in meaningful & empowering ways
5. Find new ways to challenge my heart and my mind
6. Listen carefully to others
7. Continue to explore new places
8. Use my time well, including relaxing time
9. Change the rules of the game

I am incredibly grateful for the people I have met, and the opportunities and experiences I have had so far and I'm excited to face the challenges and opportunities that 2011 will bring!

The Art of Policy

When I was in New York during October consulting with the Global Network of Women Peacebuilders on events for the 10-year anniversary of Security Council Resolution 1325 on Women, Peace & Security, I attended a wonderful exhibit in a part of the UN known as the Delegates Hall, an area that most people don’t see, except perhaps when escorted by a Member State delegation.

Entitled ‘No Women, No Peace,’ the exhibit was produced by a Geneva-based NGO called PeaceWomen Across the Globe, was hosted by the Mission of Switzerland to the UN and consisted of several components, including:

• Pre-recorded video messages from women around the world who spoke about how to support, secure and empower conflict-affected women;
• An uneven negotiations table from which the panelists spoke and which symbolized the disproportionate power held by men during peace negotiations;
• A red carpet with the names of the countries to date who have developed National Action Plans for UNSCR 1325;
• A series of banners with powerful quotes and images from the likes of Desmond Tutu, testifying to the critical contributions women have made in conflict resolution and prevention

However the masterpiece of this remarkable exhibit was a 1000-card display that hung suspended from a cable at least 60 ft off the ground and that stretched across the length of the back wall. On it hung roughly 25 rows and 40 columns of cards, each of which featured the photo, profile and work of a specific woman from one of 150 counties who has been recognized for her contributions to peace initiatives and to the advancement of women’s rights in different parts of the world. Among these cards was one of the guest speakers that night, Cora Weiss, whose insightful suggestions clearly provoked the imagination of the attending policy makers.

One of the evening’s messages delivered by our host, Ambassador Paul Seger, the Permanent Representative of Switzerland to the United Nations, is that these ideas, messages and stories are not reaching enough people both in the policy world and in the mainstream, that they are not well enough understood and that they need to be brought more into the mainstream. He challenged attendees to bring the message of ‘No Women, No Peace’ to everyone, and suggested the need for a song that would become as well known as the Bob Marley song in the same vein.

Being blessed to have many friends who are talented singers and songwriters, this comment piqued my interest. I challenged my friends (none of whom knew anything about Resolution 1325) to come up with songs within seven days that we could use to close a week-long Peace Fair entitled “Women Preventing War Promoting Peace” that featured civil-society led talks on the progress of UNSCR 1325. I also indicated that I would also pass the song along to any organizations involved in this area in case they could use it to promote the cause of women and peace within their specific contexts.

It seems to me that engaging artists in such initiatives hold promise on many levels. First, music is a powerful tool that can help to unite people around a common theme or message. Political messages already frequently influence music of all types from rock, pop, punk, hiphop, raggae, gospel, traditional and countless other forms of music. They have been used to try to connect people to important issues, including poverty, corruption, war, power, unity, and many other topics. Yet few songs talk about the power of women, and even fewer talk about women and peace.

Second, engaging non-traditional allies in the task of spreading political messages highlights useful information for advocates:

• it reminds us of the challenges in disseminating complex messages even to supporters;
• it enables us to see the issues and solutions with fresh eyes and from new perspectives
• it is a model for engaging other non-traditional supporters of these issues

This latter point is perhaps the most important. I myself come from a private sector background where I worked on technology projects for eight years. I am struck by how many people (and women in particular) from all walks of life are interested in using their talents, connections, and ideas to help conflict-affected women to transform their societies from within. These include social workers, marketing professionals, programmers, web designers, lawyers, stay-at-home moms, actors, journalists, naturopaths, and many others who want to engage in these issues, but don’t yet know quite how. To me, unleashing this power holds enormous potential.

Today, there are some isolated, but exciting examples of how artists in different communities are using their talents in innovative ways to bring these messages into the mainstream. One is Abigail Disney who produced a movie called ‘Pray the Devil Back to Hell,’ which documents the story of how instrumental the women’s peace movement in Liberia was to ending both the conflict and the terrorizing reign of President Charles Taylor. Another is ‘The Voice Project,’ in which musicians have come together through technology in a cross-cultural internet musical exchange with their peers around the world to both raise awareness on how women’s peace initiative have helped to stabilize conflict-affected communities and to raise funds to support their important work.

By the week, a number of artists had worked on this challenge and in the end, the song that was chosen to close the anniversary week is a fun, insightful and energetic song called ‘Let the women inside,’ which prompted a number of women in the room at the time to start dancing spontaneously. This song was written and produced by Michael Dewey, an artist and marketing professional for a natural products company who lives in Vancouver, and was performed by musicians Gina Hetland and Iain House.

They not only worked tirelessly to put together this song in a very short time, they shared the message with their peers, are willing to re-record the song as they learned more about the topic, and have offered to produce a musical score for a promotional video being produced for the Peace Fair, which we probably wouldn’t be able to afford otherwise.

It is noteworthy that mainstream media were not present or at least did not cover either the Peace Fair or the 10-year anniversary celebrations at the UN in any significant way. Even within the UN, former colleagues in a number of agencies noted that they had heard little to nothing about events marking the 1325 anniversary. This is a real shame, as there is unlikely to be another occasion in the near future where there is more concentrated attention to these issues as their was during the anniversary week of UNSCR 1325.

Yet it makes it all the more important to be strategic about finding new ways to get the message out, to seize opportunities to engage new contributors, energy and perspectives and to help unleash the potential of those who can help us bring these ideas into the mainstream. Moreover, surely we lend credibility to our own calls for action and for adopting new perspectives to problem solving if we ourselves are open to innovative ways of mobilizing action and getting these messages out.

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During a recent project for work, I was reminded of an incident that happened to me years ago... one of the very many 'I'm glad I don't know what that was about' stories that kept my parents ever-fearful about me arriving back home in one piece

When I was 17, I went to Rome for Easter break with a group of classmates from the Lycee I attended in France. On the whole, I loved my visit to this stunning and ancient city, with its wonderful architecture, artwork and imperial history. But for several reasons, I am very lucky that I came away from there in one piece.

For one, I still had not lost the Haligonian habit of stepping off the curb in the middle of traffic and expecting everyone to stop and let me cross the street… even during rush hour… and across a 5-lane roundabout. No, in Rome, they not only don’t stop, but in many cases I’m pretty sure that the drivers actually speed up and gun for you.

However there is another story of note. The day before returning to France, my classmates and I had taken the train to Naples, and we continued on to Pompeii, where we visited this fascinating city, renowned both for its history of phallic worship and for meeting its fate at the hands of a volcano. After an exhausting day, of wandering around museums, churches and galleries, and even playing a somewhat intoxicated game of hide-and-seek among Pompeii’s erotic ruins, we returned to Rome by train, a trip that was interrupted when someone apparently jumped in front of the train to end their life. Although we were largely oblivious to what had happened, it took a toll on those of us who eventually heard this story.

When we finally arrived back at our hotel late that night, my travel companions were understandably physically and emotionally drained. I, however, have always been a night-owl and come alive at night. Wide awake and not wanting to waste my last night in this beautiful city, I decided to go out for a walk, leaving my friends behind to watch black and white Italian movies, and ignoring my mother’s wise advice about not going out alone at nighttime, especially in Rome.

I set out on foot from Piazza de la Republica down via Nazionale and towards the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. A number of times along the way, cars stopped and Italian men would try to communicate with me, to which I would shrug and simply say ‘Sorry, no Italiano.’ The area near the tomb was quite dark, and there were few people around, and after staring at this rather fascinating piece of architecture dubbed the Wedding Cake by my Classics professor, I began making my way back along a side street that would eventually rejoin Nazionale.

As I walked by a small bar, a man came out, and began speaking to me. Being quite naïve at the time and thinking that it would be very rude to just ignore the man, I replied hello back. The man then began a lengthy monologue describing his Nigerian origins and work that had brought him to Rome, while I tried to devise a polite way to excuse myself from the conversation. He eventually insisted that I give him my address so he could write to me, which I gave it to him reluctantly (with some ‘adjustments’) thinking that he would perhaps let me go on my way. Yet this act prompted another soliloquy during which he announced his intention to come and find me in Canada in order to bring me back to Nigeria as his 3^rd (or was it 4^th?) wife. Lucky me!

Somewhere around this point, another man walked by wearing a 3-piece brown suit and hat, heard our conversation, and stopped and waited a few meters away. I was now very uncomfortable with this situation, and finally insisted to the Nigerian that I had to return to my friends. He went on his way down the road, while I proceeded up the street, now pursued by the man in the brown suit.

It was at this point that I began to realize that a small blue car had circled the block several times, and the driver was clearly focused on me. I began to walk a little faster, and so did the man. I crossed the street, and so did the man. I then broke out into a full run, and the man followed suit. At this point, the blue car came around the corner again and the driver began yelling something to the man in the suit. He then drove his car up onto the sidewalk right in front of me, in attempt I suppose to cut off my escape. I somehow got around the car and broke into a full on sprint up the road, with both men now running after me.

I don’t recall all these years later how close they got, because at that point I ran into a group of my classmates, who, as my luck would have it, had gotten bored of watching movies they couldn’t understand and had decided to venture out for a walk. The man in the brown suit took off down a side street, while the driver returned to his car and took off down another road, and I never saw either of them again. Panting and quite shaken, I tried to explain what had happened. Even today, it doesn’t seem real, and I’ve often questioned if my memories are clear, but of course I know they are.

I’ll luckily never know what exactly they wanted, or even if they knew each other. But if I had to guess (as I did at the time), I would say that they were trying to kidnap me… for whatever reason. That remains my theory today.