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.

Traffic

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.

Life is like a box of chocolates....

The great thing about living in New York is that day-to-day, you never really know what’s you’re going to get. Like when Tillie and I were waiting in line (for 3 hours) for the Daily Show when 6 men all dressed like and wearing George Bush masks walked by handing out shot glasses that read, “Everyone deserves a shot.” Or the bright M&M candy leather-jacket-wearing Starbucks regular who thinks he’s Elvis. Or the wedding in Times Square. Or Sponge-Bob Square pants walking down the street. Or the people selling Sarah Palin, Barack Obama and Joe Biden stimulus package condoms, only $10 for 3.

The UN interns also recently got the chance to hang with Billy-bob Clinton and Ban Ki-Moon (oh Ban!). I sadly missed those events, but did attend a Care movie screening which was followed by a panel featuring, among others, Natalie Portman and Madeleine Albright discussing women’s economic empowerment in the developing world. And if I had been organized, I would have been at the MDG awards where Macy Gray and Akon were among the guests performing at a lifetime achievement event for Desmond Tutu, whom I had the wonderful privilege to hear speak 3 years ago while with Habitat in SA.

The past two weeks have been action-packed, and there are so many stories that it’s hard to know where to begin, but maybe I will offer a few. First, the Commission on the Status of Women was on for the first two weeks of March, and was an incredible experience. For reasons that are not entirely clear to me, this was the biggest CSW yet, with more than 5000 women descending on NY from all parts of the globe to find better ways to fight for the rights of women in their home countries. For many, including myself, this was their first CSW, and on the first day, and it is a rather remarkable experience to hear women speak about their experiences. A lot of the material covered in this conference is not for the faint-hearted. Like the documentary on how increasing violence in porn can be linked to increased domestic abuse. Or the presentation on how the presence of handguns in households following post-conflict situations can also be found to have a similar effect. Or the Iraqi woman who apparently couldn't contain herself and the fact that she could speak freely and got up and told everyone about how she has recently become an MP. Or the woman from Mali who spoke about challenging traditional within the patriarchal society that she lives in that prevents girls from getting an education. A sampler of a pretty intense but amazing week.

I also recently had the opportunity to visit the Iranian mission to the UN with the UN interns where I witnessed an example of political spin quite unlike anything I have seen before. For example, in response to the question, what exactly did Ahmahinejad really mean when he said that Israel would be wiped off the map, the Counselor replied that he simply meant that “if a democratic referendum was held today in Occupied Palestine, Israel would cease to exist as a country as a result of demographics.” To the question about Holocaust denial, the Counselor replied that Ahmadinejad simply meant that, “if one can question the existence of God, why can they not dispute the existence of a historical event?” Perhaps some may view this as a legitimate academic question, but I hardly think that he will make new friends with these explanations. Three women were also present (from CSW) who explained at length how many improvements had been made in the situation of women in their country, such as laws guaranteeing equal opportunity and compensation, strong female education enrolment rates, careers where women are dominating such as medicine and within government bureaucracy. But to my twice-asked question about female parliamentary representation, I got a very long-winded non-answer (it turns out there are 8, which amounts to 2.3%). And after spending 2.5 hours in their company, I was struck by the incongruity, at least from a Western perspective, of the message they were delivering and the fact that they are forbidden to shake our hands or look us in the eye as we parted ways. And also by the reminder that words such as progress and freedom are all relative terms.

Last weekend, I also flew to Calgary to speak at a military conference on two papers I write this year, the role of media in inciting violence, and on the impact of resolution 1325 on Security Council behavior. Although I was quite nervous going into the conference, seeing how nervous everyone else was actually calmed me down, and I was really happy with how my first academic presentation went.

Finally this weekend, Deb came to NYC for a fantastic visit and managed to be the voice of reason when my computer tanked when I was hours from completing my submitting my first draft of my Masters research paper (I was able to retrieve the data, and stayed up all night getting it out). We had a fabulous time hitting the city and checking out all the cool little corners. Until we go to our graves, I think that the words “its in the toaster” will lead us both ti keel over laughing hysterically.

And this coming weekend, I fly to Texas for the first ulti tourney this winter with the U of O ladies. Hope I can keep up! It will be a few more weeks before I can get another post off, but wanted to share some of the stories from this amazing month.

The calm before the storm…

So I have about one week of sanity left before my hair lights on fire and I become incommunicado for a little while. To celebrate the ½ way mark of my internship, I will be spending my week writing my paper. Yay! Ok, not so exciting. But what is remotely more exciting that its coming along well and hope to finish soon.

The last couple of weeks have been pretty interesting as I have been attending the International Studies Association conference, providing a pretty amazing opportunity to network with practitioners and academics in my field, and trying to narrow down a few career options (perhaps one of my weaknesses). I’ve also been getting out for some ulti including some pick-up games and to training with the local ladies teams. One of the down-sides to life in NYC is that all the decent fields are backed by major highways and auto-routes. But great people, and its really good to be playing again, especially with all the tourneys coming up. I am known as the Canadian refugee…

One of the girls I met works for the Stanford Group. Apparently in their Florida offices, regulators have been storming the offices and shutting them down as part of the investigation. She seems to think that her Investment Banking branch is legit, but is nonetheless working on her CV at the moment, and is a little stuck with what to write. To help her out, we suggested a few bullet points: Thinking outside the (legal) box; flexible and adaptable to new situations (and applying ethical values); networking and resolving disputes with challenging transnational partners (such as Mexican drug lords), etc.

And of course the financial world just keeps on keeping on… imploding, that is, with UBS recently admitting to conspiring to defraud the US government and planning to disclose its US account holders, all possibly marking the end of road for off-shore banking… interesting times indeed.

But back to fun stuff before I sign off. So this week, I have managed to get tickets to the filming of the Daily Show (not an easy task, to be sure). Look for me in the audience on Thursday night! Also, Deb and Clara have now both booked to come visit me here which is quite exciting!

Ok, that’s all for now. I will do my best to keep up the blog as my travels begin. Wish me luck! Missing everyone at home! Hope you’re all well.

The days are just packed…

Ok, not really. But I’ve always liked the Calvin & Hobbes title. And my schedule has been a little more robust that it has been in recent months, with lotsa new stuff coming up.

But first a quick recap of the last few weeks:
• Ma and b-stop hit NYC for an action-packed 3-day long-weekend in mid-January that included two Broadway shows (Billy Elliot & Osage County), one empire state building, a certain Statue of Liberty, a visit to one mostly submerged US Airways in the Hudson, two celeb sightings (William H Macy & Lucy Liu), a LOT of shopping, and a walk around the World Trade Centre site.
• For inauguration a couple of days later, I hit Times Square for a lot of raw emotion and celebrations from the people on the streets.
• By some miracle, this year’s Super Bowl actually managed to top last year’s game, and while my motives for cheering on the Steelers had nothing to do with football and everything to do with revenge (but she seems so sweet!) and I was the sole Steelers supporter at a party where I knew noone, it did not stop me from cheering loudly and obnoxiously when they stole the game back in the dying seconds.
• Saw a New York Ranger vs. Washington Capitals at Madison Square Garden - the game was complete with back-to-back fist fights, seeing Ovechkin kick ass, an overtime period, and a Rangers win in a shootout
• Catching up with friends in the city and family that I haven't seen in eons
• Visiting the South African permanent mission to the UN (next week: China and Zimbabwe)
• Seeing Mira Sorvino become the most recent Goodwill Ambassador to the UN on matters of Human Trafficking

I just returned from a fabulous couple of sunny days in Florida, and getting my head ready for the months ahead. I am partying with all the UN interns, checking out the hot spots around NYC and generally having a great time. The rest of February is dedicated to paper-writing, but the pace picks up after that. The UN Commission on the Status of Women Conference runs from March 1 - 14, I fly out March 13th to speak on two panels at a conference in Calgary, Clara visit at some stage, I jet to Texas a week later for an ulti tourney, and somewhere in between I need to submit my first draft of my paper. In April, we play sectional in Ithica, NY, regionals in Princeton, NJ, and I potentially fly to Vancouver at month-end. My final paper is due mid-April, I hope to visit Deb & Rory in DC and maybe Jordan in Boston, and somewhere near the end April, I head back to Ottawa. I’m not even going to talk about May.

I don’t know where I will land next or what I will do, but I’m increasingly feeling that, bit by bit, the answers that are starting to take shape into something more concrete, if still fluid. And while I have had moments of doubt along the way, I’m really very happy with the direction I am headed. Sometime this year, I will choose a semi-permanent home and try to beat my record of 3 years in one city since 1992. Not sure where this will take me, but as my brother once described his outlook on unemployment, with no prospects, “open skies, baby, open skies!”

Week 1.5 in NYC!!!

So admittedly I'm pretty terribly about keeping up my blog, but I thought I thought my 3-4 month stint to NYC for a research internship warranted a post. For those who don’t know, I found myself an internship that was completely unnecessary for the purpose of my program, but one that promised to offer some exposure to people and organizations (namely the UN) relevant to my research. I am now armed with a shiny new UN grounds pass ID, so I dropped in yesterday to hi to the gang for my first Security Council debate on Civilians in Armed Conflict, and followed that by lunch in the UN cafeteria overlooking the East River surrounded by unsurprisingly multi-cultural crowd of delegates, interns, aid workers, and bureaucrats.

To the best of my knowledge so far, my internship will have three components: to prepare for and attend the upcoming UN Commission on the Status of Women conference, including a number of events that my org will host; advocacy work to the permanent UN country missions regarding Security Council Resolution 1820 on Violence against Women in Conflict to influence the operational direction via member states, and; research on ICT as a resource for women in developing and post-conflict countries to capitalize on the opportunities presented by globalization.

My office overlooks the front of UN HQ, which has proven distracting for a newbie unaccustomed to the constant flow of delegate convoys, periodic rallies (both anti and pro Israel), random NYPD emergency drills involving hundred of police cars, and countless dudes in black coats and shades strutting around sporting Secret-Service-like earpieces. My daily commute from Hoboken, where I live 2 blocks away from Eli Manning and where I’m renting a room in a 2 bdrm apt owned and normally inhabited by a gymnast who I will probably never meet because he has run away to Greece to join circus, involves a (normally) short bus ride under the Hudson (where a US Airways plane decided to go for a leisure cruise today) to Times Square and a 25-ish minute walk down 42nd St from the east side of Manhatten to the West past the The Pond (famed skating rink) and Grand Central Station (whew!). Contrary to my expectations, I have found New Yorkers to be incredibly friendly and helpful. And safe! Even Harlem seems pretty tame, though admittedly my standards are a little skewed after visiting places like after Khyalitsha and Kibera (the slums around Cape Town and Nairobi).

I have spent a ton of time just walking around Manhatten getting familiar with the neighborhoods, and although I’m not really into shopping, I have to admit that I am LOVING exploring Soho and other famed districts for things I can’t afford.

My to list includes: a live TV show, a hockey game, the met, the museum of natural history, skating (though nothing beats skating on the canal), broadway, the world trade centre, the Coyote Ugly bar, DC, the meat packing district, the Guggenheim, etc. etc. etc. (suggestions welcome) I have a couple of great friends who live two blocks form me, and a bunch of others folks planning on stopping in for a visit! Woo hoo!

Will try to do better than a blog every 8 months, at least for a little while!

That’s it for now! Please drop me your news! I’m sure I miss you! Luv Ren

10 Reasons that I will not (and will likely never) vote for Stephen Harper

Having watched the televised debates over the last two nights, I have reached 3 conclusions.
1. Stephane Dion has to go.
2. Having a capable woman at the debating table has reinvigorated the debates is very positive ways.
3. I do not want Stephen Harper running this country and God forbid he get a majority.

I still have no idea how I am going to vote at this stage, but I, like many people, am firmly on board the ‘anyone but Harper’ bandwagon. Here are some of my reasons in no particular order.

1. Access to information –The Harper administration has made it increasingly difficult for citizens and journalists, who serve a critical role in holding the government accountable for its actions, to access information and clarify policies and issues at the departmental level. This, in my opinion is a very disturbing infringement on the democratic rights of all Canadian citizens.

2. Media Control – While acknowledging that Mr. Harper is very smart in his media tactics, I find his need to control his environment and his media coverage upsetting. He is the only party leader to refuse to participate in CBC's 'Your Turn' which gives citizens across the country the opportunity to ask questions to party leaders. Also, Harper plans all media access around the media cycle announcing new items in the morning and taking only 10-12 questions at that time. This means that any questions and clarifications on old issues are ignored. Furthermore, if one of the 10 (or 12) reporters who has asked a question then has the ‘audacity’ to ask a second follow-up question, the next journalists in line will have their question skipped, creating animosity between reporters. He is the only politician to use this tactic and I don't understand why journalists have played the game his way. There was, early on, some criticism, but journalists wanting to get heard are no longer standing up against such censoring tactics. Perhaps they have little choice.

3. Women in government – Women make up over 50% of Canada’s population yet the Conservative party is the only political party in Canada that does not have any clear program to recruit female candidates, nor does it appear to have any goals on this matter. The Conservatives have the lowest representation of female candidates running in this election at 18%, many of whom are in running in unwinnable ridings.

The UN, through the Beijing Platform for Action (1995) and Security Council resolution 1325 (2000), have put the onus on member state governments to involve women at all levels of decision-making, and have repeatedly held up the target 30% as the minimum required for critical mass for policy issues to have a gendered perspective. According to the IPU, 58 other countries around the world have better track-records on this matter than Canada

4. Elizabeth May – Stephen Harper’s open contempt for Elizabeth May during the debate was almost more disappointing than his attempt to exclude her from the debate in the first place. As the leader of a federal party, she deserves a seat at the table. I don't know why this was even a debated point or why the networks were willing to allow the Conservatives to bully into getting their way. While I recognize that it poses a challenge for the conduct of debates, that is a matter for those designing format to work out and is NOT an excuse to exclude a party from being at the table.

5. Platform (or lack thereof) – The Conservatives have yet to produce a platform, or for that matter, any clear policies on what we can expect, but have attacked relentlessly the platforms put forth by others. It begs the questions what is Harper planning and what is he hiding? (see PS below)

6. Canada in the world (or lack thereof, aside from Afghanistan) – Harper has made many changes that reduce Canada’s contribution in the world, including significant cuts to CIDA programs. He has also restricted the ability of officials and bureaucrats to maneuver. Repeatedly I hear form academics, former and current bureaucrats, and other practitioners and professionals how the current environment handcuffs the ability of individuals who have in the past been able to act in brave ways that make me proud to be Canadian. For example, Bob Fowlers efforts as the President of the Security Council in 2000 led to the development of the Kimberly Process which regulates the flow of conflict diamonds, and has been largely credited for the ending civil wars in both Sierra Leone and Angola. Or Lloyd Axworthy’s brave decision to invite world leaders back to Canada to sign a comprehensive ban of anti-personnel land mines. These acts require the support of government and are among the contributions that Canada has made to the world that make me proud to be Canadian. They are more diplomatic and peace oriented approached as opposed to Harper's focus on military strength. While there is a need for balance, and recognizing that is a philosophical debate for which there are no clear answers, the status quo is unacceptable. I sincerely doubt you can identify many people who feel that Bush's military tactic have instilled a stronger sense of security in the global community. There are alternatives to state and UN-sanctioned wars that can help bring about strong, sustainable peace solutions and which represent a fraction of the costs being incurred to fight wars. Just maybe it is time to give these alternatives serious consideration again.

Foreign Policy in general is sadly largely ignored by all parties in this campaign.

7. Policy Philosophy – For example, the Harper government has offered money back to parents who have their kids enrolled in sports. However there is little proof that it is changing behavior of families, but rather that it is subsidizing behavior that was taking place already to families who are unlikely to need it the most. This philosophy places ‘blame’ firmly on the shoulder of individuals, and ignores systemic issues such as availability of green space, bicycle lanes and other key infrastructure, programs, education, and the real costs of participating in sports, especially for single parents etc.

Another example is the Conservative Child Care plan. $100 a month is a tiny fraction of the cost of day care and does not enable real choice to families who previously did not have access. Furthermore, Harper’s policies have not resulted in the promised day care spaces so that even families who might be in a positions to take advantage often end up on waiting lists that are several years out. This impacts on the ability of parents, and especially women to re-enter the workforce, results in more families on welfare, and makes it even more difficult for these parents to find work once they can find care for their children. Furthermore, there no guarantee that this child benefit goes towards the children it is intended to benefit. (see PS below for updates)

8. Cuts to Arts – At one naive moment, I thought that just maybe in announcing such dramatic funding cuts to the arts which will have serious consequences for the livelihoods of thousands of artists nation-wide, he might rebound with alternative, albeit dramatically (no pun intended) reduced funding scheme. This does not appear to be the case, and many across the country will rightly be concerned about where their next paycheck are going to come from, putting an already underpaid segment of society that much closer, if not well below, the poverty level and needing to seek income through other means, reducing their professional opportunities and credentials.

9. Abortion - While Harper may have officially declared that he will not seek to legislate abortion, his previously state support for this movement has mobilized anti-abortion groups across the country who are endorsing candidates. While there are clearly ethical dilemmas associated with abortion, a woman’s right to choose should not be tampered with, and should certainly not be decided by a group of predominantly men who will not feel the full impact of the decisions they are making.

10. Negative Campaigning – While acknowledging that Conservatives were not the first to use negative campaigning, they have nonetheless taken it to a whole new level. I find it despicable that such tactics are becoming the norm of Canadian politics. They feel un-Canadian in my opinion.

I have many other reasons for not voting for Stephen Harper, including his climate change policies, and the youth crime bill that he has touted. These are but a few. I sincerely wish all the best to the candidates, including Conservatives some of whom campaigned for my father during his leadership bid. I sincerely regret not being able to support these fine candidates in their own bids, however support for Stephen Harper would be a betrayal to my own principles and pride as a Canadian.

PS. Since I have written this blog, a number of changes have occurred. First, the conservatives have announced an indexation of the Child Tax Benefit to correspond with inflation. This will raise the current tax benefit from $100 per child to $103 per child. Also, the Conservatives apparently will be announcing a platform tomorrow. It is being released after the debates so that he doesn't have to answer any questions about it that he doesn't control. Thirdly, given the current financial crisis, we can all see that the risks of less government which can have dire consequences. Harper's reassurance that he has plans without any details as to what those plans entail are not at all comforting to me. More than ever, transparency must be paramount in the policies and plans being developed to reassure Canadians and the rest of the world that the ground that we stand on is firm. Secrecy and control must not be the norm on which the future of this country moves forward.

Of heroes and dreamers…

Admittedly, my new year did not get off to the start I might have hoped for. Twin ski accidents leaving me with a fractured thumb, a torn ligament, a concussion and probably some whiplash, made for a less-than-ideal start to my semester. Add on a nasty flu, congested chest, antibiotics from hell and I can qualify these first few weeks of 2008 as “sucky.” But in truth, I thank God regularly for my problems because they are small, and I am blessed in so many countless ways.

It wasn’t always that way. In fact I was a spoiled brat when I was younger and had no idea how good I had it. But I am daily made aware of how lucky I am to be Canadian, educated, have a wonderful and supportive family, to have options.

Three recent stories of how fragile life can be have recently stood out. The first occurred in fact on New Years Eve in Halifax, as I was designated driving friends to and fro parties. En route back to the party, I passed a few people standing in the middle of the road desperately trying to flag down any moving vehicle because it was impossible to get a taxi, so I stopped to give them a ride. It was only as the girl began walking towards the car that I realized she had no arms. And one of her “friends”, who jumped into the front seat next to me, also informed that she had two prosthetic legs as well. I dropped the two boys off at a hotel, and drove her to her apartment, as she told me about how one of these guys had convinced her to stay with him, and was now abandoning her to go be with another girl. At her place, she got out of the car, braced herself against the side of my car, at which point I realized that she was standing on a patch of ice, unable to take one step. I got out of the car, and helped her up the stairs and into her place. She thanked me for the ride and wished me a happy new year. I didn’t really know what to say, but I wished her a happy new year too.

The second story occurred 3 weeks later on January 21st, to one of my dear friends who, for reasons that might become clear, has long been one of my heroines. The day I got my annoying half cast replaced with a more practical splint, I was in such good spirits that I thought nothing could upset me. When I got the email, entitled, ‘Jasmine & Ezra,’ whom I had been with on New Years Eve, I assumed that the email was announcing their engagement. Instead, I learned of black ice and a terrible car accident near Lunenburg that claimed Ezra’s life and left Jasmine unconscious with 8 broken ribs, a broken collar bone, punctured lungs and a pelvis broken in 5 places, all on top of having Chrones disease which has debilitated her much of the time I have known her. When I got to see her about 2 weeks later, she was already showing everyone how amazingly resilient she was, sitting up in bed, laughing, remembering Ezra, and talking about the positives of what had happened, including that her bowel surgery was being pushed and her luck in not having brain or spinal injuries. Luck, it seems, is relative.

The third story took place the Friday following the accident, as I was taking a cab to a Supreme Court hearing in Ottawa, where Amnesty International was taking the Crown to court to insist that the government halt the transfer of Afghan detainees to Afghan authorities because of evidence of torture. My cab driver, who it turns out had immigrated to Canada from Afghanistan 16 years earlier, recounted stories to me that were beyond imagined horror. He also told me that he had dreamed of a day when his country was safe, and where he could be free. He told me that his dream had come true, but in Canada instead of Afghanistan, and he thanked me for taking an interest in his country and he dropped me at the court.

I know I should whine a little less than I do. But I celebrate my life everyday. And pray for those who dream of better times, show us that we are really living a dream, and look up to those who are heroes to others. They show us how incredibly precious and fragile life can be, how quickly life can change and why it is important to celebrate all the things we do have every day, including in the case of most who might read this post, our problems.

This is dedicated to Jasmine & Ezra

My first week in Ottawa has been very interesting. Having only applied for this program (the brand spanking new Masters of International Affairs at the University of Ottawa) on Aug. 16th , I had no idea if I stood a chance of getting into the program, Lucky for me, the program was approved very late so the normal onslaught of applicants for these competitive programs had not come until quite late and so there were still a few spots open 2 weeks before the program began. I learned about the program a week earlier from our former Haligonian neighbor Tim Shaw. Tim was once a Dalhousie professor in this field who has spent considerable time teaching in Stellenbosch. He happened to mention it over after-dinner refreshments with my folks, I jumped, and well, here I am.

I had been interviewing for a number of jobs back in the IT world, including what would no doubt have been a very interesting and incredibly stressful job with the Vancouver Olympics organizing committee. Although I didn’t feel this way at the time, I am now thrilled that I didn’t get the job. Another IT project, even for the Olympics, is still just another IT project.

I have only had two courses to date, but so far, I am in love, something that has been decidedly lacking from my careers to date. I remember the apathy and lack of imagination of my undergrad professors, and know that I’m incredibly lucky to be in such a well thought out program with very talented faculty and surrounded by such a broad swath of society. Because we are the first class of this program we have a unique opportunity to shape the experience of future students.

As we were running through the syllabus in one of my courses yesterday, I found myself excited about every topic we will study. Perhaps it is a matter of age and maturity, but I don’t ever recall feeling that way about any course before.

On my first Saturday in town, I cycled around the city checking out the climbing gym, visiting old haunts, and getting a lay of the land. It will certainly be a very different experience than I had 10 years ago when Jo rescued me from the dungenous apartment owned by a certain ‘slum’ landlord by the name of Prem Palta. None of my friends from those days are here now, but I have many memories from those days that are resurfacing, some of which are melancholic as I reflect on the tragic death 2.5 years ago of my dear friend Chris.

Despite Ottawa’s conservative reputation, it is really very active, diverse and interesting city. Culturally, it has just about everything. The lifestyle is very healthy, and it is a hotbed for social activism. This past Sunday, for example, a group calling themselves the ‘Fiery Grannies’, grandmothers from Canada and many parts of Africa, descended on Parliament to demand that the government keep its promise to deliver affordable HIV medication to sufferers in Africa.

All in all, this is a pretty exciting place to be for me right now. I don’t quite know what the career path is from here, but I guess that’s part of the adventure. And God knows I love an adventure. Decisiveness has not been among my stronger qualities to date. Just maybe that is about to change …

A journey to the past...

Well coming home has felt distinctly like traveling, namely because 9 days after returning to Canada after a year of mad travels, and the night following my ‘surprise’ welcome home party (full with belated 30th birthday cake, embarrasing photos and stories, and about 75 people... I'm dreading getting married now that I have an idea of how much material is out there), I hopped on a plane back to England to proudly represent the Black clan at my Great-Aunt Doris' 90th birthday bash just outside of Bath. I arrived into London at 9.30pm, spent 1.5 hours clearing customs, B-lined it to Paddington on the Heathrow Express, and made the last train to Bristol at 11.30pm with a whole 5 minutes to spare. Landed in Bristol around 1.15am and was tucked into bed by about 2am. The kindly Afrikaans door guy apparently forgot to mark down my wake-up call time, and by the time I awoke and called the rels in Bath, I had missed the last transport to the party. So I ran out the door of the hotel trying to figure out what to do and flagged down the first bus I saw which miraculously was the public bus bound for Bath. Then by some equally freak miracle I managed to immediately connect with the Limpley Stoke bus that dropped me off at the bottom of this small English country-side hill. Wearing my favorite maroon skirt and my fabulous new 3-inch heels from Le Chateau, I walked the 750m up the hill in the rain to the hotel from the bus stop, while people drove by looking out with a confused look that hesitatingly said to me, 'should i offer her a lift??'. When I reached the top, everyone let out a bit of a hoorah, since almost noone knew I was coming. I also met the kind folks who passed me on the way up the hill and who turned out to be family I hadn't yet met.

The birthday celebration was a party that will be remembered for years to come, and it reminded me of some of the many incredible stories I have heard over the years through my family and in particular through the legendary Aunt Doris. Among the stories are incredible tales of heart-break, betrayal, an epic love story and adventures worthy of a Hollywood movie.

Doris is the matriarch of the Black family, and she is the last remaining member of her generation. My paternal grandfather Gordon, her youngest brother, had a stroke when I was 2 years old at the age of 64, and although he lived till I was about 16, he never really recognized me.

One of the great surprises of my life occurred about 2 weeks after his funeral as I was driving in town with my mom and one of her sisters, when she pointed to a woman on the side of the road and mumbled, 'c'est la femme de Gordo', meaning 'that's Gordo's wife'. Now of course I naturally thought my mother was a little off her rocker. After all, my grandmother Kerstin had died when I was 7. I discovered for the first time in my life that Gordon had divorced my grandmother in 1967 and had been married a second time to a woman named Natalie.

Doris and Gordon had three other siblings: Kaye and Eileen, who married and raised families in Halifax; and Bill, an RAF aerial photographer who was killed during World War II two weeks after he was married in July of 1944. Gordon was also sent away to war to join the RAF at the age of 18, and his plane was shot down over Germany a few months after he arrived. As with his older brother, no one knew if he was alive or was dead for some time. Eventually, he was able to send word that he was in a POW camp somewhere close to current-day Poland. From this camp eventually emerged the story of escape-artists digging 3 tunnels, named Tom, Dick and Harry, to break out and cause trouble for the Germans within their territory. Gordon was among those who helped to build these tunnels. In the end, he was transferred out of the prison about 2 weeks before the actual escape occurred.

If this story sounds familiar, it is because it was the subject of the heroic 1963 World War II movie 'The Great Escape' (starring Steve McQueen, Charles Bronson, Richard Attenborough and many others). The plan was to free 250 prisoners, but in the end only 76 prisoners managed to escape before they were discovered, and of those, only 3 made it to safety. The rest were re-captured or killed trying to get away. Of those captured, 50 were executed en-route back to camp, a warning to those who remained.

The end of the war was unfortunately not the end of trauma for Gordon. Shortly after Germany had surrendered, he was being transferred with other POWs to another camp when the RAF struck not knowing that they were hitting their own men. Many were killed during this attack, including some family friends. A traumatized Gordon did survive and eventually ended up in England, where he visited with Doris, with whom he had kept correspondence for much of the last 3 years while he was a POW.

Doris' story is also a fascinating one. She discovered at a young age that she had a passion for sailing, but at the time, it was not normal for women to sail. Not only that, but to be a member of the Royal Nova Scotia Yacht Squadron, one had to own their own boat and a lady did not simply go out any buy themselves boats. Not to be deterred, Doris used the unique opportunity in the form of an inheritance to buy herself a sailing boat, which she named, 'Weatherall'. Now the only female member of the Yacht Squadron, she began racing and winning and has a number of regattas, trophies and cups to her name. She also got herself into the local newspaper on more than one occasion, the sole female in a sea of young men.

In the early winter of 1940, some of Her Majesty's Royal Marines were based out of Halifax for some time. One of her girlfriends had befriended one of the Officers from one of the ships and he had invited her on board for a visit. Afraid to go alone, she begged Doris to accompany her, and so the officer found another friend to join them for a double-date. That is how she met Patrick Campbell, and how one of the greatest love stories in the Black family began.

One Friday in March 1941, he received word that their ship might be sailing the following week. They were married on Tuesday. In the end, the ship stayed until the early fall and they lived with her parents during that time.

At that point, she had to figure out how to get to England. Somewhere between Patrick's naval connections, and our family connections to the Commercial Shipping industry through Pickford & Black, she managed to secure herself passage. In early 1942, in the midst of the Battle of the Atlantic, she boarded an American naval vessel bound for England with a trunk full of her belongings. On her first day on board, she made her way on to the deck of the boat, whereupon she was informed by one of the commanders that she must stay below for her own safety. She spent the remainder of the journey in stifling heat below deck with little or no access to sunlight.

When I try to picture her when she was young, the image that comes to me is of the one of her standing on the deck of this boat in the midst of the Battle of the Atlantic sailing to England, not knowing if she would ever make it there while U-Boats navigated the waters seeking their next target. I often wonder where my adventurous nature comes from, and I like to think that I got some of what she got.

She arrived in England penniless, and unable to locate her husband. When she called the barracks, they told her that there was no one there by the name Patrick Campbell. She luckily met a family friend who gave her a bit of money to get by for a few days. Eventually Patrick did get the message that she had arrived, and came to meet her.

In 1944, Doris was preparing to give birth to the first of 5 children. They had hired a taxi well in advance to bring her to a safe spot outside of the town to deliver her baby, as it was too dangerous to enter town, especially on cloud-covered days when bombers were most likely to strike. But the baby was late arriving, this was making her quite nervous because there was a shortage on petrol and she was afraid that their taxi driver was going to use up the petrol before she was ready to deliver. They called everyday to make sure that he still had enough petrol to get her safely out of town. In the end, she did deliver and the taxi was able to get her to safety, and Elizabeth was born.

When the war was over, Gordon made his way to England and spent some time with Doris and her new family. Gordon had not known the beautiful and determined Kerstin Hellstrom, whom he had met while studying law at McGill University in Montreal, for very long before he went away to war. They were both still very young upon his return. Doris recounts trying to talk Gordon out of rushing into marriage, but Kerstin's family were very favourable about the union and pushed it forward. Doris was not without reason in her concern. The two were fiercely independent characters, very witty and at times merciless. Gordon was an up-and-coming lawyer, and Kerstin was an up-and-coming socialite. They married in Halifax in 1946. The result of their union was 3 children, Pamela, who left for the West coast of Canada as early as she could, my father Bill and my uncle David. Kerstin and Gordon were known to party regularly with Halifax's elite, variously attending and hosting cocktail parties all over the city.

Every summer, Kerstin used to head to Lac Marois, Quebec with Gordon and whichever of the kids were still around to visit her family, where her parents had built a beautiful log house named Helga Hill. In the summer of 1967, my father was 17 and had secured himself summer employment and so was unable to attend the family pilgrimage. Gordon, Kerstin & David arrived in Lac Marois one day after the 14 hour drive and settled in for tea and a drink or two. Gordon eventually excused himself to run to the store to buy a pack of cigarettes. He never came back.

Days later, after much panic, it was discovered that he had driven back to Halifax and had moved out of the house they had shared for 20 years. It was also revealed that he had been having an affair for several years with the aforementioned Natalie.

I never met Natalie. She died a few years ago. I don't know if my father ever forgave his father for what he did. Being younger and a perhaps little more resilient than my father, David did befriend her, but she was never part of the 'family' that I came to know. My father's own family experience must have driven him to make sure that he did not repeat the mistakes of his parents. When he met my mother, his request and perhaps ultimatum was that she never ask him to attend a cocktail party. While we were growing up, he was away a lot on business, but few winter weekends went by that he was not taking me and my screaming brothers and whoever else up to Wentworth to ski while singing along to Mr. Mistofeles at the top of our lungs.

In some ways it boggles my mind that we are here today at all. Gordon had many close calls, and that coupled with Doris' warnings about his anticipated marriage to Kerstin make me all the more aware that its a small miracle that my family is here at all. Doris was also exposed to significant danger for several years, but persevered in the end, and has a wonderful group of kids and grandkids. Bill died without any children. I often wonder what and who they would have been like and what impact his surviving might have had on the family.

My own misadventures have only furthered the point of how lucky I am. I have survived a potentially life-threatening surgery, an attempted abduction, several not-particularly well thought out solo long-distance swims across large channels, several sky-dives, bunji-jumps, gorge-swings, rock-climbs, and bridge repels, a couple of car accidents and a particularly scary incident in Turkey.

But I am blessed by many fortunes, most importantly a wonderfully loving family. There is nothing particularly unusual about my family. But the stories from those who came before us are the stuff of legends. I hope they continue to be passed down for generations to come. I know I will do my part to keep them alive.

Meanwhile, back in Halifax...

My life since I have returned to Canada has been somewhat hectic. This is a fairly accurate summary of the highlights since my return:

June 14th – Arrived home; 1 week of rest
June 22nd – Attended my not-so-surprise ‘Welcome Home!’ party
June 23rd – Flew to London Heathrow 12 hours later; caught last train to Bristol at 11.30pm; arrived at hotel around 2am
June 24th – Bussed it from Bristol to Bath and from Bath to Limpley Stoke for Aunt Doris’ 90th birthday celebration – Surprise!!
June 26th – Spent the night in Bath with Aunt Jane
June 27th – Trained it back to London, met up with James who was returning from Slovenia
June 28th – Flew back to Halifax
June 29th – Drove to Canso for 3 days of chaotic drinking & the fantabulous Stan Rogers Folk Music Festival
July 2nd – Back to Halifax
July 3rd – Back to Mahone Bay
July 6th – Off to PEI for the Souris Triathlon
July 7th – Drove to Tony River, Pictou County for Jo’s rocking annual cottage party
July 8th – Job Applications, Business Proposal writing, Meeting with Journalism types, catching up with friends, Marketing mentoring, etc.
July 13th – Back to Mahone Bay for cottage party
July 17th – Cousin Clara landed in town; 1st of 3 interviews with Organization X
July 20th – Clara and I head to the bookstore at midnight and manage to bump ourselves to front of line of 200 fans hundred already gathered to get their Harry Potter book
July 21st – Drove to Port Hood, Cape Breton
July 22nd – Finished Port Hood Triathlon and drove back to Halifax
July 23rd – Got the news that my 84 year-old Great-Uncle Klas passed away (he was like a grand-father to us)
July 23rd – My best friend since grade school had her first baby, a boy named Alec
July 24th – 2nd of 3 interviews with Organization X
July 27th – Flew to Montreal and head to Lac Marois for Uncle Klas’ funeral
July 31st – Four chaotic days of celebrating a life well lived and at least 2 very heated family controversies later, back to Halifax
Aug 2nd – 3rd of 3 interviews with Organization X
Aug 3rd – Back to Mahone Bay
Aug 5th – Drove to Bridgetown and back for Bridgetown Triathlon

Aug 10th - To Larry's River for La Festival de Savalette

Aug 14th - Off to Vancouver for Nick's wedding

Aug 25th - Off to Sackville, NB Triathlon

Aug 26th - Halifax Ultimate Finals - Cherubini vs. Spndrift

Coming home has been perhaps even more chaotic than my last few months of travels. In between the above, I have been taking a photography course, writing music, submitting articles to various publications, authoring business plans, exploring new career paths and directions, playing ultimate with one of the best teams in town (Cherubini), researching various municipal petitions, working on several web site projects, re-establishing contact with people everywhere, getting out and catching up with friends, family, and my growing niece, etc. I really have no idea how I’m going to fit a job into my life when one does come along.

For now, I plan to enjoy the beautiful days we have left of this summer, including a lot of time on my bike touring Nova Scotia and visiting our fabulous beaches, some of which have quality (if somewhat cold) surfing. I also have decided that I will actually train for my next triathlon. My body is holding up fine, it is just my ego that is taking a beating.

It turns out that I was wrong about my home town not changing. Even the bums have changed. It is starting to feel like a much more cosmopolitan city, much more diverse than when I was growing up. Lots of new and exciting ethnic restaurants, salons, funky new shops and bars, exciting new bands with energetic and unique sounds (such as the Tom Fun Orchsetra or Carmen Townsend) a much less white population. I am loathe to say that Starbucks (who I used to boycott) has actually livened up downtown a bit. All in all, mostly good changes. On the down side, Nova Scotians aren't as healthy as they could be. It will take some time, but I think the change is in the air.

Halifax has the potential to be such an amazing city. If we can elect a new mayor in the next municipal elections and get some fresh eyes and perspective on local issues, I will think will be a great first step. Next will be tackling the ambiguous and confusing legislation that has lead to so many development disputes, and is the reason why there are so many empty lots in our city centre.

Ok, i promise no more politics. Life is good and I think it’s about to get better!