Our story took us to Indonesia. We traveled to three islands (Java, Sumatra, Indonesian Borneo) and saw a slice of both urban and rural Indonesian life. I wish I had been able to slow down and observe more, but there was work to be done and a finite amount of time to do it in.
I've been finding it difficult to provide a flavour of my trip for interested friends and colleagues, so I put together a few personal highlights and lessons.
I was fortunate enough to have shot these photos with a pretty awesome camera (Canon 5D) but unfortunately, lost my point and shoot which I was tracking a bit more quirky observations on. Overriding lesson: shit happens.
1. People love getting their photo taken.
As a green journalist I'm a bit hesitant to take photos of people, assuming I'm an unwanted pest. And of course to some, I am. But most people loved that I was taking photos of them, even asking for photos to be taken that they may never see themselves. It made me realize that taking photos doesn't have to feel like a voyeuristic task, it can simply communicate human interest and make people feel valued. 2. Even a swamp can be beautiful.
It was hot, muggy and buggy pretty well everywhere we traveled but this particular evening had an air of calm envelope it. The image mirrors the feeling and I'm grateful to have been shooting stills with such a gorgeous camera.
3. Take the road less traveled - just make sure you do it in a 4 X 4.
This was a dirt road we traveled on for a bit longer than I would have liked. The moment I changed my mind about it was the moment I bashed my head into the truck window as a result of not holding on tight enough. Lesson learned. 4. Don't fight a rooster. Or a chicken.
My fear of contracting rabies from an aggressive dog (I'm a bit of a hypochondriac) was a tad overblown. I should have been worried about the lean but ferocious roosters and chickens. They pecked viciously at dogs and cats alike to get at leftover scraps of our warung meals. I was quite concerned about chicken eating chicken, so turned away from the feeding frenzy. 5. There is a reason people take photos of flowers.
This gem popped up in the middle of endless palm trees (think plantation, not vacation) and other uninspiring greenery. I couldn't resist my pedestrian urge to take a snap of a pretty flower. I'm glad I did.
There review can be found in the April edition of the Journal of Communication. Or right here.
An excerpt:
Dan Hind provides
insightful analysis on the effect of neoliberal policies on the public
sphere. He provides an interesting framework that helps connect private
enterprise, the state and the media to the larger ideological
underpinnings of neoliberalism and the threat it poses to the public
sphere. The solutions he offers to “publicize” knowledge creation to
create a better-informed citizenry have admirable intent. However,
Hind's (2010) assertion that currently, “genuine public opinion, in the
sense of rationally grounded and widely shared account of the world, is
unable to form” (p. 122) is misguided. His dismissal of social media and
the new journalism as marginal and unimportant to public life
ultimately weaken the value of the solutions he offers.
1. Looking to grab my car and drive home from a friend's I got out of an elevator on P1. Looked around and didn't recognize anything.
Got back in elevator. Went to P2. Looked around. Never been there before.
Got back in the elevator. Went to P3. Huh. Third time isn't a charm.
Got back in elevator confused. Got out of elevator.
Got over my pride and texted friend to ask what level her parking is on. Ground floor in case you were wondering.
2. About to jump on the DVP from downtown for my 30 minute trip to Markham and notice the gas light has come on.
A few blocks from the ramp I decide to be clever and use my built-in GPS to find a gas station. There is one a block from the ramp.
Except my GPS is outdated and it is now a construction site.
3. My oldest, dearest friend came over to burn the midnight oil and catch up on work. Half an hour later, she was sleeping.
4. Waiting to take a left at a busy intersection, I stay focused on the stream of cars. So focused I failed to realize my light had turned from green to yellow to red.
5. While grabbing a snow brush from inside the car, snow from the top of the car fell right in and piled on inside the car - not just the seat but wedged in all the fancy auto buttons on the driver's side of the car. My attempts to get rid of it only packed it tighter underneath the buttons.
I miss the days I could greedily absorb news site after news site but the great irony of being in j-school is that I read less news than I did when I had a 9 to 5 desk job. Or maybe I read more sources and have less time to actually peruse websites.
I set up a Google Alert for fed-prov relations news and an opinion piece from the National Post showed up, "A Wage Cut for Alberta's Future."
After living in Alberta for two years it has a special place in my heart that these types of headlines target.
The gist of the article is that public sector employees in Alberta - including public servants, teachers, nurses and doctors - get paid way too much as compared to counterparts across the country.
As a former public service employee, I was really troubled by the content of the piece as well as its conclusion that Alberta will have to make cuts and spend less on its public sector employees:
"If Alberta does not want a repeat of those tough times, it needs to
control public workers' wages now."
Photo:
Courtesy of Flickr user Natasha Moorfield
Public spending means WAY more than simply public sector salaries. There is also the revenue side - who the province collects money from and how often. But that could be the subject of a whole series of posts.
I have a problem with problematizing well-paid public sector employees.
These quotes (among others), show the deep failure in logic:
"Senior provincial bureaucrats bring home salaries as good as or better
than their federal counterparts, even though they are administering a
jurisdiction only about one-tenth as large as the country as a whole."
A federal bureaucrat does not go to their job every day and take care of business across this whole nation - they have a specific role within the organization. Just because you work for a multi-national corporation doesn't mean you should get paid more than working for a local business because the assumption is you work simultanously in all those countries.
"For every new dollar Alberta has brought in - nearly $11-billion extra a
year - 95¢ has gone into the pockets of civil servants and other
public-sector workers."
What is the baseline number that is being worked with and where did that money go? If $11 billion is the new money, I bet there are way more dollar bills in the baseline.
Beyond this - public sector workers do the WORK. It shouldn't be surprising that a significant amount of the public sector budget goes to the people who run our hospitals, teach our children and work to enhance our quality of life.
"Most of the extremely generous public-sector wage and fee agreements
that have led to this explosion in pay were signed by the current Tory
government in the name of securing labour peace and at a time when the
government was awash in resource revenue."
The piece repeatedly alludes to fat cats and agreements made during the province's heyday. It fails to mention the negotiation failure to put in a collective agreement with Alberta Union of Public Employees working within the Alberta government's program and services.
Negotiations failed in September 2010 and an agreement was not voted upon by it's membership until April 2011. This was after a health benefit was suspended and cost-of-living increases were frozen as a result of the stalled agreement.
The agreement in the end was fair but the delay was a frustration for many. It certainly wasn't negotiated with a government willing to write a blank cheque.
I am just sick of the unsophisticated attacks on public sector employees using basic numbers and comparisons. There are LOTS of stories journalists can go after within the public service - some of them may even be positive (gasp!). A little bit of research, reading and FOIing may do journalists a great service.
One of the reasons I went into the field is to tell government stories and focus on policies and not politics. I hope I last in this field.
But back on topic, at the end of the day: Do you want a public sector worker that is happy and feels recognized and compensated for their work, or some one that is looking for a job in the private sector that will help them meet their financial needs?
Public sector workers should not have to be martyrs just because they choose to devote their lives to public service.
Instead of advocating to punish them we should be advocating for Alberta's provincial and federal counterparts to up the ante and do the same for their public sector employees.
About a year and a half ago I started writing a novel. When I will finish writing a novel is a whole other question. Might be a good time to start a pool.
I feel quite nervous putting something so deeply personal out here in cyberspace, but if I ever actually want to publish fiction I guess that means I have to let people read it. Thoughts and comments are more than welcome.
So here is an excerpt from the very first chapter ... here it goes ... and I will muster up the courage to paste the contents of it ... now!
Karachi moved beneath me and
moved me along with it. Its warmth grew everyday. It seemed to liquefy every
object within its jurisdiction. It stuck to you, and sucked you into its
orderly chaos. It was this sticky heat
that seemed to have consumed all my thoughts. My thoughts fell out of my ears
and once the chaos stopped for a few minutes, all I had was scribbles and
giggles.
I confidently started to write “the” on a clean
page hoping it would inspire a sentence to follow when my bedroom door swung
open.[1]
John stood in the doorway, somehow looking fresh as
ever in a white tee and jeans faded the perfect amount to be considered cool. I
quickly glanced down at my own appearance: a baggy linen shirt and tights. My
dark brown hair defied gravity, as if I was consciously trying to get my waves
to reach out to the world when in reality I merely stopped fighting the
humidity. Along with my hair straightener, make-up also ceased to be a friend.
Most of my lipsticks created a beautiful earth tone at the bottom of my make-up
bag once they melted. I felt too
gross to consider that I might actually look cool.[3]
“JOHN! How many times have I told you? Common space
is fine to pester me in but knock before entering my private space. Helloooo I’m a woman, living in a house
with boys I never chose to live with is bad enough let alone you-“
He interrupted my rant, “You are setting women back
with your ‘I-am a-woman-treat-me-like-a-flower’ talk while you are writing away
about elevating the status of women in this society through following a path of
sustainable economic development.”
I thought about this for a minute. I hated John for
challenging every little thing I said and contorting my words into opinions
that went against those beliefs that lived at my very core – otherwise known as
my unwritten thesis.
“Let’s just have chai. You can sort your curiously contradictory ways later.”
I followed John into the kitchen where he made
chai. Somehow as an American living in Karachi for three years he learned how
to make chai better than me, a self-proclaimed Pakistani that rarely tagged on
the Canadian bit unless I needed a visa for some place controversial.
“How’s your work coming along?” John asked as we
sat in the only common area in the house. It was a long room with stark white
walls and a few colourful paintings done by street artists the four of us
living in the house pitched in money to get framed. John and I each took seats at the unnecessarily ornate
dining table.
I put a finger to my lips and shook my head
vigorously. John understood this type of day. Just last week he went on a
rampage while reviewing the first two chapters of his work. His entire six foot
being stomped around the house like a madman tearing up each page in exactly
eight pieces.[4]
His green eyes moved about as though he was
physically searching for something to talk about when finally they lit up.
“Want to watch the test match? Starts in an hour.”
I let out a deep sigh. No matter how many times I
tried to explain to John, he never quite digested that just because I was
Pakistani didn’t mean I pledged allegiance to the one thing all Pakistanis
could actually agree upon – their cricket team. In fact, I didn’t even
understand cricket. I watched snippets of matches when I was younger with my
father mostly when I thought there was a crush-worthy player on either team. I
did not discriminate.
“Samar, you have to immerse yourself in your
environment. I am aware you don’t enjoy cricket, but view it as part of your
research. Be one with your own!”
His eyes were wide and had sparkle in them as
though he was Martin Luther King delivering his “I have a dream” speech.
“I have been the culture since landing. I
eat all the same food, I shop at all the same markets. I go to women’s
shelters, hospitals, orphanages, government offices, aid agencies and transform
clients into human voices. That is my work.” I snorted, “John, you think your
lens becomes more genuine because you’re one with the people watching cricket?
You don’t see the neo-colonial relationships you create, the way people follow
your every step, never missing an opportunity to call you sahib.” I
played the race card. It was cruel but needed to be done to shut him up.
“Listen miss-I-think-my-skin-colour-legitimizes-me-”
Thankfully I was saved from his impending monologue by a banging on the gate
door. John shot me a nervous look.
“Well, go on. I am just a simple, defenseless woman
afterall.” I batted my eyelashes to annoy him even further.
I slipped up the stairs as I saw John lead a man
into our academic haven that also happened to be our residence. I placed myself
strategically in the hallway to be able to view the visitor without being seen.
He was talking to John and dressed in a khaki-coloured shalwarkurta.
Perhaps this visitor was one of John’s many local friends that he collected to
prove he was truly keeping it real. For a moment, the visitor turned around as
though he knew I was standing just up the stairs and I caught sight of his
face.
Perfectly symmetrical.
[1]
Had I not been interrupted, I am certain I would have come up with something or
other to follow “the”, but John, as you will get to know him, is a master at
impeding progress.
[2]
Tea in Urdu. Although chai-tea-lattes are ubiquitous in North America,
the way the word is used makes little sense. Chai is tea, so why say tea tea with a shot of espresso in steamed milk? I am lost in this awful
translation.
[3]
I didn’t care to look fresh and cool for John in particular, but the way his
perfectly groomed appearance was worn so nonchalantly irritated me. It’s like he was always singing anything you can do I can do better ...
[4]
He was strangely systematic even when enraged.
Some more thoughts on Kenney's recent decision that have come
out of thinking through the issue while writing an article for Schema (I
am just about done, I promise):
Beyond all the marginalizing ramifications over the move to ban
the niqab at citizenship ceremonies, what interests me most is Jason
Kenney's logic.
Kenney wants to
ensure people
are committed to Canada, which apparently seeing people mouth the oath
itself will prove. Is he also going to recommend lie
detector tests as folks leave the room to see if they really meant it?
A friend
recently confessed to me he did not repeat the oath at the ceremony. “I
didn’t want to promise to be the Queen’s bitch,” he joked.
For Kenney, seeing people perform the oath is vital because it creates two classes of ceremonies and citizens: “If
Canada is to be true to our history and to our highest ideals, we cannot
tolerate two classes of citizens."
Canada's history is littered with examples of scales of
citizenship. I am not too interested in preserving the Canadian history
of quotas on immigration from particular countries, head taxes and of
course, stealing all the land we all live on.
Many Canadian-born people feel the same way. So maybe Canada
shouldn't be defined as
a country trying to preserve its history, but one that is able to honour
the outcome of it by ensuring its culture is as dynamic as its people.
1) Niqabs and burqas are not the same thing. You can wear a burqa without covering your face. Hijab is a related concept, but stop using hijabi women in photographs when speaking about niqabis.
2) Assuming these women do not have agency is oppressive:
a) Oppression has many layers. A niqab may represent a form
of oppression but let’s not forget it can also represent choice.
b) Please, please, please speak with women who wear a niqab
before forming an opinion. It is only fair. Speaking with "moderates" and academic Muslims creates a nice supporting cast but you are missing the star of the show.
3) Do not become entangled in Islamic debates about the "obligation to veil" and to what degree. People will still wear the niqab as an expression of religiousity whether or not you can prove what the Quran truly means by "modest."
4) Finally, let's address the elephant in the room: How will alienating these women teach them about the equality Kenney is trying to preach?
Working on a longer piece with the voices I'd like to hear in it .... stay tuned.
