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.
"You're tired of him? What about me? I have to work with him everyday."
The now famous Sarkozy-Obama exchange about their friend Netanyahu is quite amusing for many, me included.
Who hasn't complained about a friend or colleague before? The sensitivity that we have upon hearing that someone has been talking about is amazing given how much we shit-talk ourselves. Not that I am crying for Netanyahu.
When we hear things about ourselves in that way, it is because we have stumbled into a private conversation we were not meant to hear. Which is exactly what Sarkozy and Obama thought they were having. A few issues I want to note:
1) As public figures can they expect privacy?
They are human and even though they are politicians, they are entitled to privacy. But thinking you can have privacy in a room full of journalists moments before they are supposed to be listening in on your conversation is maybe kind of ... stupid.
2) As a journalist, do you report this or not?
The journalists in the room had class and decided it was an off the record conversation - in part as a way to keep those that organized the event out of trouble. Isn't that sweet? But then someone broke the story anyway.
Dan Israel, an Arret Sur Images writer that broke the story eventually forcing other journalists to confirm what was heard.
3) Obama deals with Netanyahu everyday?
Isn't your economy tanking? Why are you spending so much time thwarting the Palestinian cause again? Just get caller ID Barack - it's life changing.
4) How hilarious is this?
Very. And on so many levels (please do comment and expand on why and how it's funny for for you).
I currently have an article to write, so I must be torn away from this subject that could provide me with endless hours of entertainment.
Today is my first Eid-ul-Adha in Vancouver. It is my fourth year missing Muslim holidays with my family. When I realized this earlier today, I was quite saddened as I also realized that I am really not quite sure when my next Eid with them will be. So, I thought I would take some time to reflect and remember the experience of Eid that my family consciously created for me.
Growing up, I always thought of Eid-ul-Adha as the "second" Eid, both chronologically and in importance. It is in fact the more religiously significant Eid, but I figured since I didn't get any Eidee (cash/money/bling) it couldn't possibly be that important.
In retrospect, and with a deep ache in my heart today, I realize beyond the cash value of the day, the ritual of family togetherness is what made it beautiful.
Eid can be equated to a pretty sweet open house. My paternal grandmother lived with us for many years and as a result our house was the epicentre of Eid for my father's family. The house needed to be scrubbed clean by me and my sister (she told me she missed my "slavery" earlier today), mom would magically create sweet and savoury delights, while dad would simply put on his new sherwani and topi (a fez if he was getting really fancy) and stay out of our way.
My family on what must be Eid since me and my sister have matching outfits
After Eid prayers in the morning, family would slowly start filling the house. First the Markham peeps, then a sprinkle of Scarborough, followed by some from Stouffville, and finally after crossing the sea of Toronto traffic the Mississauga crew would arrive. You never really knew who would show up when and there were always pleasant surprises of family friends and neighbours that would drop by.
Everyone would gush about each other's outfits ("the embroidery is truly amazing on that suit") and of course something about the inevitable fashion faux pas or two ("did she not realize only wide-leg shalwars are in this season?"). I never really understood what was in fashion or not in Karachi since I could barely keep up with the Toronto fashion scene. This frustrated my mother deeply as I always told her "it's fine, I'll wear whatever" until I saw my sister's carefully selected sparkling outfit. I would then proceed to have a mini-fit over my kameez not fitting properly or not having the perfect matching jewelry. Luckily, with the help of my mother and sister, it all came together in the end.
The conversation between extended family members was always too polite or too personal depending on who you were talking to. Some aunties inquired about my weight, which I never really knew how to feel about. I was always tempted to shoot the question back but thought my mother would kill me, since that would reflect badly on her rather than me (the associative nature of South Asian insults is tiring - can't I just be associated with myself if I am being rude rather than tarnishing my family's reputation?). Others discussed school with me, some with a razor-sharp memory of what I was studying and others simply lamenting it was a waste since I was clearly intelligent and should have done something useful like medical school (I wonder what they say about me now that I am in journalism school!).
Me and my dad, Eid-ul-Adha 2007
The food we ate was filled with love as my mother would try to make out favourite dishes, while also pleasing the crowd with things she was known for. The chai served was always taken appreciatively. No matter how basic (or offensive) the conversation with family, it was rooted in an attempt to connect. By the end of the afternoon, we were all exhausted. Folks would leave and we would have some down time before heading out to the party being hosted by another family member that evening.
The first Eid after my grandmother died was tough. There was a distinct void felt, but everyone still came over that year attempting to fill it for one another. That was the first time I began to realize the value of this particular day and the subtle ways family ensured this was a special day.
As a 1.5 generation Pakistani-Canadian, my family created a distinct experience for Eid. It couldn't have been easy. There are no "eid lights" or greeting cards sold. Sure, schools and workplaces accommodated for us to have the day off but life didn't stop for anyone else. There were always a few people missing writing an exam or meeting with a client. I would love to be in a Muslim country for Eid to truly experience what the holiday felt like for my parents growing up.
I have all my mostly sweet, sometimes sour Eid memories but I feel like I never tried to capture them because I never imagined a day I would be without the excitement of Eid.
My two-year old niece will get to experience all the excitement of Eid as she attaches her own meaning to it, renewing what it means to all of us. I hope I can be there next year to eat well, laugh along and take some photos to remember it all.
Terrorism is defined as political violence. Wreckless and shameless, it's all rooted in some all-important political message that supposedly justifies the means.
(Insert apologetic statement about being Muslim here, followed by a sombre pronouncement that this is not a sarcastic post.)
Reading about the twin suicide attacks on the British embassy in Kabul today (early Friday in Kabul) made me scratch my head.
I. Just. Don't. Get. It.
What I don't understand is the message. What exactly are these terrorists trying to communicate?
The attack comes on Afghanistan's independence day - independent from Britain since 1919. Is the rationale that since the Brits are in Afghanistan again, they need to be reminded independence has already been won? To me, it just further defines the power relationship; x terrorist group views "their people" as perpetual victims.
I am just so sick of this narrative of saving the people from the colonizers. This so-called political violence only enables further control. Is there no realization that the actions of a few make calls for collective punishment seem "rational"?
Instead, why not draw strength from the concept of independence to work towards rebuilding once more? Why not draw strength from the spirit of Ramadan? Or why not simply take a minute - think about it?
After studying the subject, pouring over academic papers, listening to political commentators, and generally losing my mind over it, I have come to one conclusion:
Your grievance doesn't count as soon as you become a reason someone else is grieving. It's that simple.
Having recently moved to Vancouver (ahem, yesterday), while looking for a place I can call home, the ridiculous cost of living of this city hit me while I was being naively optimistic about what I could afford.
Which got me thinking about the exclusivity of postal codes (ok, so it doesn't work as well as zip code, but you know what I am getting at). A glimpse of water, a mountain view will all cost you. Which seems fair - more desirable means more valuable. But is it?
How do we monetarily value views that should be available to everyone? The hardwood, the high ceilings, the fancy gym - that you can slap a value on. But isn't it a bit sad that you can buy a view or accessibility or fresh air? (Ok, so I am being dramatic about the fresh air)
Isn't it a bit absurd? Shouldn't we all have these things?
Tomorrow is New Delhi’s SlutWalk. There are many opinions about the idea of a SlutWalk, about the cultural “appropriateness” of the idea in Delhi, the issue of class and those privileged enough to participate and get their drivers to pick them up afterwards. To this I will simply lay out that, for me, the importance piece of this is women reclaiming public space. Especially in a city like New Delhi where if you are out in public as a woman, day or night, you can expect to be catcalled, harassed, or groped. It is this sad state of the status quo that this walk aims to change.
I read an interesting article in The Star a few weeks ago about the New DehliSlutWalk. Two thoughts ran through me: admiration for the women who will carry this out and fear for them.
Featured in the article was an interview with New Delhi police inspector Pavan Kumar who likely epitomizes the attitude towards women in the city. He led the police unit that investigated rape allegations for fifteen years. His explanation for the high rate of rape as compared to other Indian cities was that really, half the cases were only filed as a result of family pressure to cover up their daughter’s consensual sexual involvement with a man.
“A woman would go back home to her family and they would want to know who she was with and where she was. She’d say she was taken without consent to relieve the pressure on her.”
Seriously?
The fact that this man held a position of power in a unit that investigated rape allegation absolutely disgusts me. Was he appointed because of his attitudes, or was he one of the more progressive chaps in New Dehli’s police force?
For a woman to be brave enough to report a rape and for a family in such a climate to be supportive of her be simply cast off in this light is abhorrent.
Rape is ultimately an act of violence. No amount of flesh shown by a woman can justify it. Men are not simply driven to it because of women. It is insulting to all the respectful men I know to pre-suppose such a thing.
But that's not all Kumar had to say. The police inspector went on to explain why New Delhi’s rape statistics are higher than Mumbai’s: “Maybe it’s the climatic conditions,” he said. “Mumbai is humid but they have the winds blowing off the water so much. Here there is none of that relief. The temperature is so high and you see people angry here. We have so many incidences of road rage.”
Kumar assumes it must be something innate in the environment that drives men to rape. As if such a brutal act is simply a response to the weather. I cannot wrap my head around how he could find this to be a rational explanation that is appropriate to share for print.
For a woman to be in public on a hot day in Delhi is not a good enough reason for her to be harassed, groped or raped.A woman may have the right to be out in public, but that does not mean she will be safe in public. Every society owes it to half their population to ensure this basic right.
---
On a related note, an interesting academic exploration of gendered use of public space in Mumbai I have come across is the book Why Loiter? Women and Risk on Mumbai Streets by Shilpa Phadke, Sameera Khan and Shilpa Ranade. I haven't read the book yet but have read other pieces by Shilpa Phadke on the subject that have been excellent.
The location of the shoot appears to be India. A beautiful backdrop no doubt, but not very original and quite frankly, a little colonial in style.
A quick sample of the catalogue to your right - the lovely model is wearing the "contrasting halves dress". How clever, to have a contrasting dress on a glowing model in front of a small army of brown boys. Are we seriously still using "locals" as props to ensure the product is prominently shown? Is this actually seen as appropriate?
I was thinking about why this particular company would bother to go on a trek to India to produce an offensive catalogue. Then it struck me: Anthropologie. The connotation of the brand name itself, Anthropologie, combined with this absurd neo-colonial imagery leads me to ask the question: Are people that unaware of history, or do they feel they have the power to simply ignore it?
Anthropologists have generally made me uncomfortable. The need to examine other cultures is not what makes me uncomfortable, it is the classic attitudes that I have encountered in reading, talks and the like that have incited an unsettling feeling to stir deep within my belly. The history of this particular field is not pretty. The study of people in "other" cultures emerged from the study of natural history. Cultures that had been colonized by European powers were studied in a "scientific" manner, studied as one would study the environment. Once anthropology was seen as distinct from natural history, the concept of race and the placement of value on races was a hot topic. Cultural dominance often comes with the assumption of cultural superiority - and wasn't that the essence of colonialism?
Although the field has changed rapidly and anthropologists of today would not share the views of their nineteenth and even twentieth century peers, it's unfortunate that this retailer has chosen to be "clever" with their May catalogue and use beautiful clothes to dredge up reminders of an ugly past.
"Anthropologie offers a one-of-a-kind and compelling shopping experience that makes women feel beautiful, hopeful and connected ... Complex as you are, you remain our inspiration and because of this, we endeavor to bring you an unimagined experience."
Upon discovering the colloquial use of Paki in Spain (or in Barcelona at the very least), Andreea and and I decided to dig a little deeper.
First stop? Google. After watching a documentary called Pakcelona, we learned about Huma Jamshed, a businesswoman who owns a travel agency and started a Pakistani women's association in Barcelona - ACESOP. We tracked her down in Raval, one of the city's better known immigrant-populated neighbourhoods. Since it was siesta time, we headed from her office to the women's centre.
After moving to Spain to complete a PhD in Madrid, Huma started a business in Barcelona and established ACESOP. Huma has developed an interesting perspective on the subject of Pakis. Check out the video below for her thoughts.
From this conversation, it became clear that for Huma survival issues were the primary priority and identity issues would only become important after the community becomes more established in Spain.
It is impossible to undermine the importance of her point; economic and social security are not only vital to quality of life but survival itself. When helping someone escape an abusive home and trying to ensure their immigration status will be valid without their sponsor, it becomes obvious that identity politics will not be front of mind.
This, however, does not mean that survival and identity are mutually exclusive issues. In immigrationspeak, settlement and integration are processes vital to considering immigration successful for both the immigrant and host country. (Yes, people have all sorts of issues with these terms and their meanings, but bear with me for now.)
Settlement typically refers to the immediate issues - housing, employment, schooling and the like.
Integration is a longer-term process, the ultimate aim being for immigrants to feel they are able to participate in their adopted society socially, economically, culturally and politically. For me, this vision represents the opposite of ghetto-ization.
When people have a name for a group of "ethnic" people that the community itself does not use, when they are geographically clustered in particular neighbourhoods that are considered dangerous until the yuppies move in and gentrify it, when an employer cannot with "good conscience" hire an individual because of their ethnic background as it is perceived to be a huge risk, when girls are being asked by their parents to not continue school after high school so as not to be corrupted by the "adopted" country's culture - this vision of integration is a distant reverie.
The way an identity is constructed by both the adopted society and the ethnic community will forever shape the relationship between the two.
When a Paki means a corner store to locals, it corners Pakis into a particular socio-economic box. Identity shapes how one will survive - barely living is barely survival.
This phrase is a normalized part of the English language for me. Not to say I am pissed all the time - but when I am, I rarely will express it as: Well, I am angry.
Slang is associated with many things - the evolution of language, the re-appropriation of terms and the misappropriation of terms.
Slang can be so whacked out in your own language, so why does it always seem even stranger in other languages? The connection from the slang term to the actual term seems so much more distant in other languages because of our own ignorance of the language and it's many intricacies.
So, while visiting my dear friend Andreea in Spain, she mentioned to me that the word for variety store here is Paki. And for dollar store, Chino.
Huh?
Those who grew up in Spain have assured me these are not racist terms. They simply refer to the short-form term for ethnicities that tend to own these kind of stores. They are perceived as innocuous terms with no latent negative meaning.
I am most interested in the use of Paki, given it's long ugly history. The power to create this slang and make it a mainstream phrase is not with Pakistanis, but most seem to think Pakistanis likely don't mind.
So how do the Pakis feel about this?
Andreea and I have decided to explore the subject further. Stay tuned.
International Women’s Day always brings gender issues into the mainstream media, providing a rare reason for a broad audience to talk about how to eliminate violence against women, ensure greater political representation, or guarantee reproductive rights.
As happy as I am to see those issues be discussed by a wider audience than the usual “progressive” crowd, I can’t help but think: Will I ever live in a world where we don’t needa day to speak about these issues? Where the population at large simply cares to ensure particular privileges exist for women and men alike?
This gets me thinking about the “women’s movement”. I am not sure it is a singular movement anymore since every issue has a gender angle to it - poverty, climate change, economic development. Many people that cringe at the use of the “f-word” often wonder why, in a society where women have equal rights, do women have to be so annoying and talk about gender – it’s a non-issue right?
I always keep a few responses in my back pocket:
1.It is about gender – men and women are NOT the same, therefore have different needs.You cannot have a conversation about gender without talking about men.
2.Fixation on the pay issue is always a favourite for many people in North America. “Women work, they make the same money, have the same opportunities” is something I hear all the time. Women are now attaining higher levels of education, but still make less – across almost every field. It’s still an issue as economic means remain a determinant of other opportunities available to an individual.
3.Women “here” are connected to women “there” – those faraway places that we don’t like to think about because unpleasant things such as genital mutilation and forced marriage happen.
4.Women “here” experience many of the same things – do we truly believe there are no forced sex workers, women experiencing violence, or systemic poverty in our society?
5.This isn’t about making women victims. Every society I can think of in today’s world (I am sure I have knowledge gaps – this is a blog not a thesis, get over it) patriarchy reigns. We need to work towards a world where victimizing a woman isn’t normal and advocating tooth and nail for a fair shot at life is no longer the case. The power for a woman to choose her own destiny is all we ask for.
Work life, family life, sex life – whatever, is all affected by gender relations. For many, the status quo provides benefits- making individuals blind to its effect on others, or the status quo is so completely normalized it becomes difficult to imagine any other type of society.
We pesky women (and men) have imaginations. We can imagine worlds that do not exist butcan exist. One where your genitalia does not determine your destiny.
Moreover, us pesky feminists believe it will exist.
To women all over – mothers, sisters, friends and lovers, have a lovely International Women’s Day.
Bev Oda, the minister responsible for Candian International Development Agency, altered a recommendation made by staff within the agency. By hand-writing "NOT" in a document produced by a civil servant, Oda altered the recommendation from reading a contribution to the organization Kairos be approved, to reading the contribution not be approved. See the document here.
Oda has now come under fire by opposition parties for previously denying any knowledge about who had altered the memo.
PM Harper has defended Oda by saying that it is the minister's decision whether or not to fund an organization and not the bureaucracy's.
Once again, Harper relies on the lack of knowledge in the general public around the role of bureaucratic arm in relation to the political arm. The civil service is certainly not composed of decision-makers, rather, it is composed of those who have the academic, technical, and institutional knowledge to advise politicians on making decisions.
By changing the recommendation, Oda was not taking responsibility for her decision and rather was trying to shift that responsibility to the poor bureaucrat who wrote the memo (in all likelihood in good faith).
Part of being a politician is the privledge of making these types of decisions. That being said, the politician also bears the responsibility for that decision- especially in cases when decisions are contrary to what has been recommended by the bureacracy. Given that every recommendation that comes up to the political level must be buttressed with an appropriate amount of evidence to clearly demonstrate why the recommendation is in fact in the best interest of the public, that same burden must fall on a politician when he or she decides to take another course of action.
So either our PM is trying to pull a fast one on the public with his justification of Oda's actions, or he simply misunderstands the intended model of a relationship between a cabinet and the bureacracy. Either way - it's NOT looking good.
