Narrative

http://lawrencecjordan.com/Films/Ancient%20Mariner.html

I can’t tell anymore whether I’m at a concert or a play.  Drinks in hand and clustered around round tables dispersed through the auditorium, the audience is rapt.  I, too, am spellbound.  Ken Lavigne’s sonorous tenor voice captivates me.

The voice certainly works its magic through mellow and tender renditions of “Loch Lomond” or “Bring Him Home.”  It forges a bond with the audience just as much, however,  through sincere and dramatic accounts of challenges and epic moments in the singer’s career, accents and modulation included.  The music might make time stand still, but the stories create the relationship that freezes the moment.

Narrative has power.  Examples abound. 

·      After his election as Liberal leader in 2012, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau listens to the stories of Canadians from coast to coast to coast, in church basements, living rooms, and small halls.  The sense of the country’s pulse the stories of Canadians give him serve him well in the campaign.

·      Students tell a vice-principal how much they value the early morning pre-class conversation time they have with their teacher.

·      The father of a teen hockey star lost to a drug overdose retells the story to as many groups of adolescents as he can manage.

·      Siblings of a suicide victim  share their healing process with grieving families who can benefit from the experience of others.

·      A First Nations Elder teaches with stories of his own life and that of his people. 

·      An aspiring quarterback seeks out the stories of his star mentor, stories that might be his own one day.

·      A refugee recounts his harrowing flight from Eritrea at age seventeen.    Sent away with his brother by a mother fearful for her sons’ lives, he journeyed through Sudan and Libya before arriving in Canada.  Although the events occurred thirty years ago, the protection and welcome he came to know here in Saskatchewan still move him to tears.

·      First Nations men, hands in their pockets, meet the gaze of the folk in their small audience. Intent and matter-of-fact, they share the story of their imprisonment and their resolve to redirect their lives.

·      At a social justice conference, a speaker reminds his audience that the core of social justice is making time to listen to people’s stories.   And, really, why would it not be?  The act of listening tells another that he/she matters.

So what is it about stories that gives them such power?

Stories console.  They remind us that others have trod the path we are on, that they emphathize, and that we can benefit from their experience.

Stories affirm, and on many levels.  That someone will take the time to listen to our story recognizes our worth as persons.  We matter.    In our own listening, we affirm them as persons.   They matter.  In addition, their stories can be a mirror of our own experiences as well as a window into worlds we might never otherwise know as intimately or at all. 

Stories teach.  They honour the ability of people to draw their own conclusions.  They honour the dignity of the individual.

Stories heal.  Their subtlety is balm for soul.   The listener finds community.  For the teller, the experience, like that of Samuel Tayler Coleridger’s mariner, is cathartic :

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched

With a woful agony,

Which forced me to begin my tale;

And then it left me free.

The Rime of the AncientMariner, Part VII

The confession restores the soul.

Stories build relationships.   When they recount experiences, people offer each other the most precious possessions they have—their time and their selves.  The more personal the anecdote, the more intimate and lasting the bond, especially in the case of a confidence safeguarded.   

It should come as no surprise, then, that a singer’s storytelling talents would captivate an audience as much as the music.  For both the storyteller and the listener, stories mesmerize and heal.

Relief

I am sleeping much better since Monday night.  My heart is light, and I am infused with hope.  I smile with pride in my fellow citizens.

Canadians asserted themselves.  Almost twelve million Canadians (11 813 091 according to CBC), 67.4 % of those who cast ballots, voted against the incumbent government.  They reminded any future governments that they are an informed electorate not to be underestimated or manipulated, and that they attack ads and negativity cannot dupe them.   Nor will they succomb to fearmongering.  As for distortions about balanced budgets, Canadians  have long memories; they did not forget the deficits in the first eight years of the Conservative mandate.   Even more important, they refused to turn against each other. 

Macleans journalist Scott Gilmore crystalizes the quandary many Canadians faced in their determination to reclaim their country.   In his article,  “How Stephen Harper Led Me to Do the Unthinkable,” Gilmore tells the story of how he came to vote Liberal despite a family tradition of voting only Conservative.  Although Bill C-51, the anti-terrorism legislation that impinges on individual rights, and the mounting deficits disconcerted him, in the end, the Islamophobia was the turning point.    A snitch line on barbaric cultural pratices was the last straw. 

Now that millions of Scott Gilmores across Canada have elected a majority Liberal government, what role can we play as Justin Trudeau forms a cabinet and prepares to assume the reins on November 4?  In my view, we must support this government as it finds its legs.   Let’s send it information and opinions, but not vitriol; let’s impart fair critiques and suggestions, but not attacks.   We must give our new government the opportunity to succeed.  After all, an effective government benefits us all.

Will the government have to shelve some of its election promises?  Of course.  I consider that normal—not because I am cynical of the election process, but because that’s how life works.  Things never go as planned.  Imagine a home renovation without surprises as walls come down and carpets are rolled away, or a vacation without interventions from weather or illness or just bad luck.  So, I fully expect Mr. Trudeau and company to have to put some plans on the back burner and to alter others. 

On key points, however, I expect Mr. Trudeau and the Liberals to be true to their campaign pledges:

·      collaboration with all members of Parliament to govern well for all Canadians;

·      a positive, inclusive approach;

·      availability to journalists, so they can do their job keeping the Canadian electorate informed and thinking about issues;

·      increase in funding for the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation;

·      increase in funding for research and innovation;

·      increase in protected wilderness lands;

·      action on protection of the environment;

·      respect for scientific research and its role in shaping public policy and direction.

More even than economic decisions, these points set the tone for our country.  They orient us toward a positive, collaborative, respectful society that values information for decision-making, especially dissenting information, and that acknowleges the role of sharing information in keeping the citizenry engaged in the political life of the country.

I am relieved that the government has changed.  I am so proud of Canada as a nation.  The disillusionment I have experienced since 2011 has galvanized me as never before.  Now, though, I must be positive, and remain engaged in the process.  That is a two-pronged approach:  support the new government as it begins its mandate, and communicate to my elected representatives my opinions and suggestions.

Action

It’s only when I got to the last third of Steven Galloway’s novel, The Cellist of Sarajevo, that I realized the parallelism between that story and the Canadian election, 2015.

The novel is based on actual events that occurred during the siege of Sarajevo in the early 1990’s.  On May 27, 1990, at 4 :00 p.m., a rain of mortar shells from the hills above Sarajevo killed twenty-two people who had lined up behind a market to buy bread.  For the next twenty-two days, Vedran Smailović, a local cellist of note, played Albinoni’s Adagio in C Minor on the very spot, in hommage to the dead.  The odds were that he, too, would be killed.  After all, the snipers that lurked in the hills and in the shelled buildings picked people off every day.  But he lived.

The bodies of the dead and injured, though, were gone—the factions made sure of that—and the bombed out, disintegrating infrastructure was not enough to incite action.  As a result, the perpetrators of the war continued without reprisal. Galloway says:

When people die, they’re removed, taken to hospitals and graveyards, and before the bodies are  healed or cold the spot where they were shattered is unrecognizable as a place where anything out of the ordinary happened.  That is why the men on the hills are able to kill with impunity.  If there were bodies in the streets, rotting where they fell,

. .  .  then maybe the men would be forced to stop, maybe they would want to stop (164). 

The cellist, then, is a visible symbol of the senseless destruction.  Every day, his act reminds his fellow citizens that people have died.  The other characters in the novel see in his courageous act the resolve of one person not to live in fear, but rather to make a statement to the snipers and the forces all around intent on destruction.  They may kill him, but they cannot control him.

As a result, characters in the novel initiate actions that make a statement of hope in the future of their city, that it can once again be what it was before the war.  They realize that if their city is to die, it won’t be the attackers in the hills that will have killed it.  “If this city is to die, . . .” the author says, “it will be because of the people in the valley.  When they’re content to live with death, to become what the men on the hills want them to be, then Sarajevo will die.”

Our own country has also been eviscerated.   Information necessary for future planning has been systematically destroyed (Macleans, Vanishing Canada, September 18, 2015).  Indeed, in a passage that echoes the Cellist quotation, the article continues: “Stories about government data and historical records being deleted, burned—even tossed into Dumpsters—have become so common in recent years that many Canadians may feel inured to them.” Scientists are muzzled. Studies from the 1970’s on the potential impact of tar sands development have disappeared. The number of protected wilderness areas dwindles. Our public broadcaster gasps for air. Parks Canada funding has eroded. Canadians are pitted against each other on the basis of race. We are being manipulated to be fearful. Fear will not protect us; fear will destroy us in the end.

That’s why we have to vote tomorrow. And that’s why we have to vote for change. No party that purchases a front page ad in the bright yellow of Elections Canada, without a drop of representative ink on the page, to confuse people while that party reminds them to be afraid, deserves to govern.  No party that can create a tip line to encourage citizens to rat on each other for “barbaric cultural practices ” deserves to govern.  This is not Canada.

The lesson Galloway explores in his novel is that powerful forces that would make us afraid cannot control us.  Ultimately, our actions speak for us, as did those of the cellist and the characters his courage influenced.  Although the circumstances are much safer for us individually than they were for the cellist, the consequences of our actions are no less serious.  We are in danger of losing the Canada we have known.  We must neutralize tactics of manipulation and fear.

Eyes

My grandson’s eyes hold the essence of life.  In the changing phases of his twelve-month-old eyes, I see the unfiltered purity of what it means to live.  They connect me to core traits I want to find in myself.

His eyes trust.  They meet mine for extended seconds, and in that freeze-framed moment, tell me that he feels safe and knows he is loved.

They return the unbridled joy his parents have in him. 

They share the wonder of minute-by-minute discovery—the cold sweetness of ice cream, the crash of a tower of wooden cube blocks,   

They reflect the delight of a shared activity.  They invite me to play peek-a-boo, to catch the bouncy ball he has thrown me, and send it back to him, to imitate his movements, and, as I do, they scintillate.

They focus attention on the task that consumes him.  He circles a bath tub faucet with hair elastics.  He nests two containers over and over, to be sure the result will be the same.  First a water-filled teether and then a plastic cup,  resonate on the laminate floor, and, seconds later, thud on the carpeted stair.

His eyes declare a mission: let go of Mommy’s finger or the drawer pull to take off on his own, walking down the hall, negotiating a turn, and heading toward the office chair.

His eyes express pride:  I can walk!

They convey his uncertainty around the dried leaves that crunch as he moves in the pile he’s sitting in, and then

they channel the resolve to move through that newness to Daddy waiting on the other side.

They narrow into mischievous intent just before the hand that has grabbed the slice of cooked chicken slides over the side of the high chair and releases.  

I figure if I hang around him enough, some of those very precious traits will rub off on me, and I will be redirected toward the essence of life.

Hiatus

Source:
http://www.naamjai.com/2014/02/05/create-it-challenge-hiatus/

It’s a month since I last posted.  Where have I been? Well, I’ve been writing.  How paradoxical is that!  Not that I haven’t had a lot to say.  Those stories have been dormant, asleep in the pages of my writer’s notebook or tucked into a secure corner of my mind.  The stories in which I have been immersed, though, and to which I’ve given voice in the last month, have targeted a professional audience rather than a diverse readership.

To reach their public and attain their goal, those stories needed a particular voice, and voice needs time.  I finished the draft of a book chapter a former colleague asked me to contribute to a collection of pedagogical essays she is editing for pre-service teachers in French.  The challenge here was to synthesize my knowledge and experience on the subject, ground that how-to in the professional literature that gave it life, and connect the parts to a practical narrative that could subsume the whole.    At the same time, another writing job surfaced.  I needed to summarize a two-year project that would illustrate its impact to an audience in the field but unfamiliar with that specific work.  Here, a professional, factual, and neutral voice would want to capture the energy inherent in the project.  Yet another concurrent writing job demanded that I create examples of written texts that would correspond to writing prompts provided to students.  Both teachers and students could use the examples to clarify criteria and discuss approaches to the task.  In this case, the prompt dictated the voice, and my writing purpose the appropriate choice of language register.  When I add to the mix the assortment of emails that have been necessary during the past month, I am comforted that I have been writing a lot, just for a variety of purposes and audiences.

I’ve missed the gifts that the regular articulation of sometimes disparate ideas can bring:

·  a loose chronology of the big ideas and events in my life at the time;

·  the reflection on those ideas and events that records who I am at that moment;

·  the discipline, at first, and later the habit, of paying attention to details in life  moments that are easy to miss, or worse, to dismiss;

·  the challenge to make connections between my lived experienced and those of others and what I might be reading at the time, and weave those threads into a coherent whole that not only makes sense to someone else but could even inspire reflection in its turn.

So, although I’ve mind-mapped ideas and connections onto the pages of my notebook, scratched facts into the margins and spaces of existing pages, and found comfort in details and scenes  my fountain pen has inscribed, I haven’t posted for more than a month.  In that time, I’ve also read, made music, interacted with wonderful people.  My soul feels nourished and replenished.  Time to wake up!

Election

I will remember 2015 as the year I became politicized.

Image source:  

http://www.elections.ca/content.

aspx?section=vot&dir=reg&document=index&lang=e  

Not that I have been apathetic.  That would not be true, or even fair.

I have always been interested in politics and followed the actions of governments at all levels closely.  I listen to the news, I read, and, from time to time, I discuss politics with family and trusted friends.  I’m careful with people I don’t know well, just because politics doesn’t always bring out the best in people.  On occasion, I have voiced my approbation or my displeasure of government actions in letters to the premier or prime minister, and my MLA or MP.  And, I always vote.  Always.  But—that’s been the extent of my political involvement.

I haven’t ever taken the next step to take a public stand and get my hands dirty.  I’ve never been a card-carrying member of a political party, nor have I ever volunteered to work on behalf of a candidate or a party.  I’ve kept my opinions mostly to myself.

This time, though, for me, circumstances are different.    Many things bother me.  Decisions made in government are changing the very face of Canada, and not for the better.     The gap between rich and poor widens.  Bill C-51 curtails human rights in the name of security.  Protected wilderness areas shrink.  Canada lags on stewardship of the environment.  The CBC, our national broadcaster, who, through the century, has nurtured political dialogue and showcased Canadian artists, is being strangled.   First Nations struggle.  We are building more prisons, even as crime rates fall.  Scientists have been muzzled, under threat of losing their jobs.  Handlers vet reporters who have access to the Prime Minister, and the questions they are permitted to ask--all two of them.  Politicians are more adversarial than collaborative.   As a nation, we are losing our social consciousness.

Changes in the electoral process worry me, too.  They undermine the focus on governing that elected representatives need to have to be effective.   Prior to a fixed election date, politicians could concentrate on government for a few years of a new mandate, anyway.  Now, the election cycle has lengthened, and the unofficial campaign begins long before the formal election call.  This year, under this format, politicians shifted into hustings mode more than a full year before any election announcement.  Furthermore, the party in power has initiated an eleven-week campaign, the longest in one hundred years.  The long campaign is advantageous to them.  First, the ceiling for election expenses is pro-rated to adjust from six to eleven weeks, and, conveniently, the party in power has twice as much money as the opposition parties.  In addition, long campaigns tend to focus on the economy, another perceived asset from the perspective of the Conservative Party of Canada, that wants to promote the party as good managers and to make the citizenry afraid.   Steps have been taken, then, to give the incumbent an advantage.

The question is, as Stephen Marche asks in "The Closing of the Canadian Mind" from The New York Times, do we like our country like this?

Well, I don’t.  So, it’s time to mobilize.  The eleven-week campaign will be good for me.  I will have time to become more knowledgeable about all the issues, not just the ones that are important to me (Maclean's has prepared election primers on many issues).  Rather than complain about political ads and become so weary of election talk that I disengage,  I can do the opposite.   I can watch, analyze, remain vigilant, and, with a critical eye, make sense of what I see and hear for myself.  Even more important, however, I have to act.  I must refuse to be a victim of fear-mongering.  I can’t let anyone make me afraid of change. 

So much for the quiet involvement.  This time, I need to make my voice heard.  I must discuss, write, post, contribute, work, and not just in a partisan way to promote a particular view.  I want to urge all Canadians to be vigilant, to be informed, to dialogue, and, most of all, to get out and vote.  The stakes are so high, especially for the young.  We cannot leave the decisions to others.  This election is critical.  I must get involved.  All of us must get involved.

Amazement

Friday afternoon at the national park campground check-in window,  we nose our old camper van behind six other rigs.  I have time to take in the new surroundings as, one by slow-minute-one, the attendant processes the reservations.  I see the park motto:  Leave no trace.  

I understand what the sign means—clean up after yourself, don’t leave a mess at the campsite or anywhere else, be wary of the bears and store your food in the vehicle and garbage in the steel bins provided.  Most of the time, I file the recommendations away to be pulled out of that compartment in my brain when I need them.   Today, though, the guilt feelings that have festered since the shopping trip the day before to stock the camper break the skin in bulbous postules.    True, if we are careful, the campsite and park may not be be scarred with pockmarks of our passage, but other sites in time and space will surely be.

Source:  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/01/07/
uva-bottled-water-lawsuit_n_4551099.html 

We are camping without electricity this round, and convenience has won out.  I tucked 30 bottles of water into the camper closet  (unable, as well, to resist 30 bottles for $6.00).  At the very least, those bottles will consume energy to recycle, if indeed they make it that far.  Ditto for the plastic cups, plates, and cutlery we will be using to offset indirect access to hot water.  Five meals for four people:  at least twenty plates and corresponding utensils.   Add in the foil broil pans to cover the grill of the campsite fire spot.  Although I could technically reuse those a limited number of times, chances are, again for convenience, I will pitch them this time.  Factor in the Lysol wipes I have in stock to mitigate hot water issues, and the environmental toll mounts.

To that total, I could add the footprints from other moments in the day.  I start the morning with a shower.  As I scrub down, I wonder about the homes and hotels running multiple showers multiple times a day.  At the filling station where we stop to check the tire pressure, I have a clear view of the touchless car-wash.   One vehicle has entered, and a black half-ton waits its turn, on a non-descript Friday morning of summer, albeit after a torrential rain.  Pressurized hot water sprays every crevice of the vehicle.  I don’t want to estimate the gallons / litres consumed for vehicles that might use the service that day in our city times the number of touchless car-washes in our country, never mind on the planet. 

On the way to the park, we stop for a sandwich.  The travel stop is a busy place—line-ups at both food outlets.  To the garbage, my husband and I contribute two plastic bags,  two plastic cups, two waxed papers and a wad of napkins.  You used a tub and cloth bags for your shopping yesterday, I tell myself.  You just about never use disposable dishware.  Okay, true enough.  Still, somehow, that rationale just doesn’t seem to cut it.

I am overwhelmed by the toll our own lifestyle is taking on the planet, and how little a difference our efforts to be responsible might make in the grand scheme of things.  I am not surprised that animals whose habitat is compromised stalk landfills and campgrounds, that the oceans vomit garbage, that the carbon levels in the atmosphere confuse weather patterns, or that the earth cries out in death throes.  Frankly, I am amazed at the earth’s resilience over the four hundred brutal years since industrialization.  I am astounded—that the earth has endured for this long, that it has taken this long for its screams to be heard, and that the collective will to change our lifestyle paradigms is not yet galvanized.