Monthly Archives: January 2011

Rant: How Not To Be An International Traveller

Given all the serious news going on with Egypt’s revolution, I need a rant about stupid people to get my head back in the game this week.
These people will do.

Iran has summoned an American woman to return to the country and stand trial on Feb. 6 along with two other Americans still in custody and accused of spying after crossing the border from Iraq, a judiciary spokesman said Monday.
Their families say the Americans were just intrepid travellers out on a hike in northern Iraq’s scenic — and relatively peaceful — Kurdish region when they were arrested on July 31, 2009. The only woman among them, Sarah Shourd, was released on bail in September and returned to the United States.
The U.S. government has denied the charges against them and demanded their release. Their lengthy detention has added to tensions between the two nations over issues like Iran’s disputed nuclear program.

“Oh,” you say, “but they’re just innocent hikers who were out for a walk, and they got arrested by the big bad Iranians!”
Yes, but they’re innocent hikers who were stupid enough to go into one of the most unstable regions of the world without using the “REAL FUCKIN’ SAFE is better than bein’ REAL FUCKIN’ SORRY” Travel Method for Optimal Foreign Diplomacy.
In short, if you’re travelling even REMOTELY CLOSE to one of the most oppressive regimes in the world, who, coincidentally, nurtures the most profound hatred for your country’s way of life, you’d think a fucking proximity alert might be going off in their heads.
Instead, it was probably something like, “Hey, Bob, a little to the left, I can’t get THE MISSILE SILO in the background with the flowers.”
Okay, there were no missile silos.
Still.
I get that it’s a beautiful part of the world. I understand that it sucks that things like thousands-of-years of racial and ethinic tension get in the way of a lovely vacation, but it is what it is, man!
I call it LonelyPlanetitis. It’s not good enough to go to Puerto Vallarta. Now you have to conquer a Tibetan mountain pass in a deathly blizzard with tornado-like squalls in order to claim you’re an “adventurer.”
Bonus points if YOU carry YOUR sherpa.
In  a world filled with real and pressing dangers, I have a hard time seeing the amount of resources spent on people who take unnecessary travel risks just because they can. It’s IRAN, for crying out loud. Wake the fuck up, dumbass!
There are a few countries in the world where you just shouldn’t fuck around. Iran? Check. North Korea? Check. China? Check.
And, oh, yay, here come the parade of celebrities to try and get the guys free. Thank god for Sean Penn! Okay, great. Go, team! Cue the Hollywood director who thinks THIS COULD BE THE “Midnight Express” OF THIS GENERATION.
But it still comes down to this: A whole lot of effort’s being spent on people who should’ve used caution when they knew they were even 75 kilometres from the Iranian border.
It’s IRAN, motherfuckers! This ain’t Walley’s World, chumps!
One of the problems with calling these guys DUMB is: They’re not. They’re smart. They’re educated, empathetic, worldly, curious about cultures, etc. But what they did was fucking dumb.
Okay, here’s a more local take on things.
I live in Vancouver, BC. We don’t have border skirmishes to worry about, or threatening neighbours, or diplomatic stand-offs. We do, however, know a thing or two about mountains. And rescues.
Having been born and raised here in Vancouver, Canada, I have two of the deep-down inside fears probably most lifelong locals can relate to: Death by bear, death by avalanche.
Both of these are similarly unlikely. Why? Because, with a little intelligence and a lot of caution, they NEVER need to happen.
One hikes with a bell, bears stay away.
One follows the weather pattern of warming/cold/wet/dry/warming/cold that we have on the coast, and one knows this drastically impairs safety in the backwoods.
One should then know: Stay on the fucking trails, don’t go onto big beautiful fluffy open patches of mountain-side snow after temperature & precipitation fluctuations if you don’t want to risk an avalanche.
Fact is, Darwin was pretty on the money with the “survival of the fittest” thing, especially if “fitness” has to do with brain function.
Simple: If you have the time to plan a vacation to Kurdish back-country to hike mountains, you have the time to study the history, culture, and relative danger of crossing proximity into Iraq.
This whole “international crisis” thing because of a few stupid travellers? Well, sorry, I just don’t buy into the great tragedy of it all.
They fucked up. Big.
And now we’re all left trying to cover their asses for it. Expensive. Time-consuming. And real fuckin’ dumb.
Moral of the story? When YOU go travelling, don’t be a fucking moron. We have better things to worry about.
Fuck, man.
That said… death/imprisonment/etc in Iran, well, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I honestly do hope these people get released. I’d love to see them freed. But to say they didn’t fuck up? Wrong.

Praying for Egypt

As I write this, the Al Jazeera live blog is reporting that the Army has told protesters in Tarihr Square that they will not go against civilians. Hundreds of judges are now reported to have joined the protests. Curfews are being ignored. Jets overhead are being ignored.
I’m a child of the ’70s and grew up during plane hijackings in an era of war in the Middle East. In my lifetime, that region has always been a problem… from assassinations to oppression, and now the home of terrorism.
This dream of seeing dictators overthrown and new eras come to life is something one holds inside when they love journalism and politics, something we dream of seeing once in a lifetime.
When the East German Wall came down, down came the Communist regime throughout Europe.
Is this Egypt’s wall? Is this the toppling domino that unseats Middle Eastern dictators en masse?
In an era when it almost feels like there’s less hope than ever for civilians, this protest in Egypt makes my heart sing.  I’m so full of hope and prayers.
This could be the week that changes everything. It really could be.
If you’re not following what’s happening in Egypt, you’re missing out on what might be history happening… possibly the real start of real change in the Middle East.
Pray for Egypt. Pray for change.

A woman in Beirut supports the Egyptian struggles.

This Word, That Word, Any Ol' Word

I’ve been thinking a lot about language lately; useful if you’re a writer paid by the word. Words count. Every one of them. That’s why we charge you for each.
That’s why, when I watched this opening passage from an episode of The West Wing this morning, this exchange really tickled me. They’re talking about a pianist set to play a concert in the White House.

LEO: He’s North Korean, God knows how he managed to even learn. Their music’s all hymns to the barley harvest, not that they ever have one.
C.J.: To busy reprocessing plutonium to feed anybody.
LEO: Why they’re a rogue state.
C.J.: “Rogue” state… makes them sound bravishly charming. Should be “thug” state; “psycho” state.
LEO: We’ll ask the UN to re-designate.
C.J.: Punk state — that’s what they are, a bunch of punks.
LEO: Bunch of punks, with what could be six nuclear warheads.

(west wing transcripts: here)

There’s a lot of weight behind them there adjectives. Each one changes the matter drastically.
As far as North Korea and the adjectives go, the “rogue” is the Count of Monte Cristo. I don’t mind him, a namby-pamby guy, not scary.

Perhaps if he had asked for assistance with a more well-thought sentence, we wouldn't be laughing at his untimely demise.


The “thug” conjures images of 50 Cent. Not a fan, he smacks of “itchy trigger finger.”
Then, with “psycho,” it’s Norman Bates; translation: “don’t ask for pillow service.”
Finally, you have “punk” Sid Vicious, which I guess makes South Korea their ‘Nancy.’ (Which takes on still more interpretations when you consider the British slang of “nancy.”)
The last three dudes: Ixnay the ombbay, eh?
Exactly who I don’t want to have a finger on The Button.
Speaking of people I don’t want with a finger on The Button: For anyone thinking cultural terms are as interchangeable as Lego blocks, I give you Sarah Palin. The Alaskan village idiot’s speechwriter sure got a lesson in that one when Sarah Palin made her ridiculous hyperbolic claims of “blood libel,” regarding the “target poster: let’s-get-Palin” fall-out after the Arizona shootings.
It’s just another Tea Party attempt to paint her in a Messianic light, but it’s also a cruel insult to Jews, who’ve had century after century of persecution, of which this term speaks, when it’s someone as privileged and plain-Jane white as Palin claiming that brand of persecution. And she’s being persecuted only for her own choice to employ irresponsible rhetoric, too!
Then there’s the recent oh-so-asinine choice to willy-nilly swap out “nigger” for “slave” in Mark Twain’s lamentable “New South” edition of the classic Huck Finn. Like my friend says, such a context-lacking blanket noun switch is completely irresponsible. It ascertains that all slaves are niggers, and therefore all niggers are slaves. Hello?
Word choice is critical. Language is powerful.
Sadly, in an age where everything moves at the speed of light, people take too little responsibility for things said anymore — or too much. Either flippancy precedes everything and words zing across social networks with zero regard for their permanence, or else people are so terrified of permanence that they add very little of any consequence to the dialogue, or they magnify the least relevant detail because of perceived slights in the language.
I realise much of what I’ve said in the past few years can, and likely will, come back to haunt me, but considering the truth in what I try to say, and the standards I hold for myself, I can’t say I have a lot of regrets for putting my truth out there in as choice of terms as I have.
Do I wish I perhaps took the paid-by-the-word attitude of precision when choosing those words? Well, sure, that might cover my ass a little more, but it is what it is.
Sometimes we have to take a bigger-picture look at language. Instead of microanalysing every little word, take the whole of it together.  It’s often akin to a symphony. A piano can do wonderfully on its own, but really has so much more to give when played against, and with, other instruments. So too with any word you offer; they play importantly both ways — solo and ensemble. I like how mine play, either way.
But with so little regard paid to much of what we say these days, I’m afraid that, both ways, we’re often largely at a loss.
When it comes to language, think of words as your tools. Not just any screwdriver will tighten that couch leg when it wobbles, so why are we so given to such casual word choice?
Think. Choose. And then mean what you say.
Maybe then our conversations will offer more of consequence, more to be gained.

catching up with the speed of steff

it’s a rainy sunday morning, and for once i’m gonna write without capitals.
i’m not wearing pants, either, so let’s just keep pretensions at bay and a coffee cup in hand, all right?
it’s been kinda a crazy week or so in the land of steff.
there’s one job i took a pass on, one job that took a pass on me (sort of), and a client that is a work in progress.
my old job has hours for me, my new client has work for me, and i think rent’s getting paid just in time. all things being equal? fuckin’ skookum*.
i’m in the middle of a sorting-out-my-homelife thing yet again. it has veered dangerously toward “rustic crack den” of late but also just needs bimonthly dustbunny-genocide duties executed. i’m all over the dustbunnies, man. makin’ asthma my bitch, yo.
for the first time in a long time, i’m liking the look of my work horizon. i want my home proper sorted so i can focus.
i’m widening my creative worldview and trying to take on a few things that i’ve always been terrified to try, though i deep-down dream of going there. like, i’ve done training for a radio station at the university recently. a friend and i are batting about the idea of doing a live latenight talk show that would be stream real-time on the intertubes and be downloadable later as a high-quality podcast. i’d also get hands-on skills with one of the most-used, best recording systems used on radio stations around the globe.
ideally, i’d be able to continue with my creative extracurricular goals along with work-type stuff. i’d love to be doing talk radio. i’ve always wanted to do that. i love my writing — i want to have the financial means to chill and keep at my goals there, too.
i have the time to be creative these days, but financially i’m too thinly stretched to have the freedom to do it WELL.
who i am creatively, THAT’S WHO I AM. that’s not negotiable. it’s not “hobbies”. it’s my identity. it’s what i’m comprised of at a molecular level.
you wanna live to work? fuckin’ rock on, buddy, but that ain’t my scene, never will be.
my mother DIED at 57. she didn’t get her retirement. she never saw her golden years. want to wait to live yours? FINE. not me.
so, we’ll see where the present situation leads. i think it’s what i’ve been looking for. the jury is out — and probably will be for about a month, until i get a better grasp at where i’m floating in the financial sea of life.
i’ve worked 60, 70, 80 hour weeks before, i once worked 10 weeks without a day off. unless it’s doing what i love — writing, talking, etc — then it’s never happening again.
i want the trappings of success, but not the trap of it.
as a result, i’m conducting the most patient and slow job search of my life. i want the right situation, not just a paycheque.
there’s no economy for being picky right now? we’ll see.
in the mean time: no pants and a coffee cup in hand, baby. that’s my sunday morning.
have a good one, world. 🙂
*skookum: (adj) it has come to my attention that this is a “regional colloquialism in southwest canada”. it basically means wonderful, really good, snazzy, and all those other lovely ducky adjectives. except… it’s skookum, bitch.

Gawker Lowers the Bar Even Further

Ed. Note: This posting requires heaving use of annoying quotes, italics, and bolding, because it’s so fucking ludicrous that anything less would imply I respect the source. My apologies for the heavy-handed grammar. This is what they have reduced us to doing.

***

This “story” (cough, right) on Gawker.com makes me quite angry.
Look at the photographs on the page, the “questionable embrace” that seems so dirty and wrong takes place in a fraction of a second. How do you know? Look at the water line.
These are bracketed photos, taken at high speed and in succession. The WHOLE “STORY” attached to these highly-inflammatory photos is:

“When I first saw these amorous images, I thought supermodel Stephanie Seymour had taken a young lover. But—surprise!—that is actually her 18-year-old son. How close is too close when it comes to mothers and sons?”

SERIOUSLY? If anyone’s ever had an overly-gushy mom who smothers them with affection, they know what it’s like to get big crushing hugs and endless interaction. It’s embarrassing. And sometimes it feels really awesome to be loved that much that they’re crushing you with a big embarrassing hug.
Trouble is, it’s not usually a woman this hot who’s “Mom”. And it’s not usually a teen who’s this buff and cute who’s “the kid”.
Does the “reporter”, and I use the term as loosely as I possibly can, cite even a single source that claims the family has inappropriate relations? No. Do they have any other “photographic evidence” of this possibly inappropriate relationship? No. Is there even a RUMOUR they’ve got a quote on? NO!
This isn’t just fun gossip.
It’s fucking slow news day and they’re saying, “Huh. Hug, or incest? You decide. Pass the salt?”
By even saying “I thought supermodel Stephanie Seymour had taken a young lover,” the reporter* is implying a family is engaging in incest. This is tarring the reputation and image of a KID.
Not a single source. Not even a source of “rumours”. Nothing! No evidence of anything, save for ONE embrace at the end of what looks like a good swim at the beach.
What the fuck are Gawker thinking? How is this even REMOTELY credible journalism?
Quick answer? It’s not.
It’s trash meant to create discussion and propel traffic. It’s NOTHING more.
Way to really lower the bar on credibility, Gawker.
This week, that takes a lot of fucking doing. Nicely done. Asshats.
*That’s Maureen O’Connor, for those keeping score at home.

The Blind Leading The Blind: News, Twitter Style

Days like yesterday make me realise I’ll always feel I’m a journalist. My schooling leaves me obligation-bound to the truth and facts, not conjecture.
Yesterday was a painful lesson in how very exceptional that mindset can be on the web, when it comes to researching from a fact-based place, and not just trying to find reports that match your worldview.

***

Cutting-edge graphic demonstrating how news circulates on Twitter.


Early in the day, a “Congress on Your Corner” event in Tucson, Arizona, left 6 people dead and 14 injured when a gunman opened fire with a semi-automatic weapon armed with an extended magazine of ammo.
For a very short time after the first word of the shooting in Arizona, all we knew was that a politician and her surrounding entourage had been fired upon in a crowd at Safeway, and the casualties seemed heavy.
Immediate reactions were: “Some Tea Party bastard did this!”
And my gut reaction was the same. Do the math, right?
Emotional reactions happen to us all, that’s humanity for you.
Then I realised: We don’t know jack. We need to wait for more. Realising that put me in a very small minority.
Probably 80% or more of the content I saw flying about on Twitter was rampant speculation about political motivation.
Now, here’s the thing: We still don’t know what happened. Anything I say about Jared Loughner, the alleged gunman, or his motivations, are speculation until his life is torn apart and we know everything.
There’s a possible second shooter/accomplice that the officials are still seeking, so we’re far from having a clue about what really happened.
Early evidence, though, suggests that Loughner is anti-government more than he is motivated by party lines. There’s also evidence that he’s usually a nice guy and a volunteer for social events, but that he has some kind of mental illness.
This is all we know, really, so far. And it can change, quickly, and so might my stance; but the EVIDENCE will dictate my reaction.

***

It’s funny, the public always says how crap the media is, so off-the-mark so often, but the public itself doesn’t seem to have a clue on how to check stories before they go retweeting “facts” or “news”. They don’t seem to even care if it’s true.
But god help the news organisations if THEY get it wrong, right?
Case in point is this particular tweet from late in the day, when reports suddenly circulated that stated Congresswoman Giffords had already magically recovered from being shot in the head and was up chatting just a matter of hours after the shooting.
Because that always happens, right? Why not just assume it’s true. Okay! Here goes.

This tweet flew fast and furiously, with these 143 retweets coming within a half-hour of the report. His profile says he’s a reporter with KTLA. Therefore, he MUST be right, right?
How did I respond?
First reaction: That’s AWESOME.
Second reaction: Okay, says who?
So, I did a Twitter search for a couple different terms: “Congresswoman” and “Giffords”. When paging through HUNDREDS of results, the ONLY report saying she was awake was coming from this guy, Reporter David Begnaud of KTLA.
Literally, no other source was claiming this on Twitter. No news organisation links were floating, nothing. Just Begnaud’s inaccurate story.
Did the rest of Twitter check this out? No, more than 140 people blindly retweeted Begnaud’s erroneous information without seeing if a source had been cited anywhere.
One great thing about Begnaud is, he retracted it as soon as he knew.
But the big problem? He had a lousy 550-600 followers at the time. The 143 retweets had spanned widely across the web, with a vast array of six-degree tweeters, and the damage was done.
As soon as he retracted it, I was the FIRST PERSON to retweet his retraction. Others followed.

Just not many others, that’s all. Lookit. Four lousy retweets.
His retraction received less than 3% of the retweeting traffic his erroneous information generated.
So, who’s at fault here? Well, both the journalist AND the public.
Kudos to Begnaud for admitting he fucked up, big ups to him for retracting it and deleting the wrong info. But he reported without getting definitive confirmation from authorities. Journalists aren’t supposed to do that. “Be accurate, THEN fast.” Not the other way around.
Damage? Done.
And that’s how the whole OMIGOD A TEAPARTYMEMBER KILLED A MEMBEROFCONGRESS, WHATAREWEGONNADO? panic got unleashed on Twitter earlier yesterday.
Folks just ASSUMED there was a Tea Party connection. Someone remembered there’d been a clip about target practice in the opponent’s campaign, someone else remembered the Palin infamous “target” poster, and everyone just assumed they went together.
The wrong story flew and a shitstorm ensued.
But don’t just take my word for it, take a look at Craig Silverman’s excellent timeline of tweets that shows you how the Twitter Day of News progressed after the horrible shooting happened. It’s simply brilliant. The news agencies screwed the pooch six ways to Sunday yesterday.

***

But that’s traditional media. Surely social media has no such ethical obligation, right? Wrong.
If you’re a member of “social media” and you think you’re some news aggregator, and you’re sending out link after link because you’re “so on top” of all this shit, but you don’t research to make sure there’s more than one source cited, or ensure it’s not just speculation, then you have no business aggregating news.
I don’t give a shit that you don’t have a degree in journalism, you’re not paid, and you think the media’s “ethics” aren’t bound to you.
You’re “helping” people by spreading “interesting” stories?
Um, no. No, you’re not.
You have a responsibility to do your CHOSEN job well. Make sure what’s sent around the web isn’t just more of the lies and half-truths that are tearing America apart.
Waiting for the right information isn’t sexy.
Being the woman shouting “YOU’RE SPECULATING, THERE’S NO PROOF” is really hard when people accuse you of being a heartless bitch or not caring about the victims, or that you’re stupid and ignorant about the OBVIOUS political situation.
Conjecture and speculation are dangerous.
What if it took longer for the news to come in? What if enraged Democrats loaded their rifles and went out looking for retribution?
What if?
Yesterday could have been a far worse day.
We’re very lucky the misinformation and passionately partisan battles have largely subsided today, because it’s toxic and should have no place in our society.
As social media, we too have a responsibility to ensure the accuracy of what we report. We have an ethical obligation to ensure truth, not conjecture, is what we spread.
I’ve been saying for years that blogging and social media could change the news world forever, that the non-corporate “journalist” worldview could bring a more “We, The People” perspective on the news, and events could be shaped with more societal relevance than ever.
But, you know what?
Not if you don’t get your shit right. Not if you don’t stop believing that, if it’s in print, it’s true.
There are more inaccuracies on Twitter than anywhere else on the web, I feel, because of the fly-by nature of tweets and the ease in which you can delete them.
But tweeting fast-and-furiously without regard for accuracy and then just using the Cleanup-on-Aisle-7 method of delete-and-retract IS IRRESPONSIBLE. It’s dangerous.
It’s bad social media.
I don’t give a fuck if you think the Tea Party is horrible, and that violence seems to be something they espouse. You don’t take that belief and sandwich it with what APPEARS to be the situation, then call that a “news”. That’s a gossip column, at BEST.
You don’t take your politics and then analyse the situation according to your worldview then report your subjective take on it.
Who the fuck are you, Glenn Beck? Oh, you’re a liberal, so THAT makes it okay? Uh, no.
And I don’t care if you’re some guy with a Twitter account, not a “journalist” — you’re a part of the misinformation problem. Don’t be.
Sooner or later, bad things are gonna happen if people don’t start spreading information with more objectivity and research done before clicking on “update” or “tweet”.
If folks don’t like me because I call it like it is when people are injecting personal feelings into their chosen “news” tweets, or are jumping to dangerous conclusions that are inciting others, then so be it.
But I sure as hell won’t stand around when I see nothing but half-truths, inaccuracies, and preaching being sent around. I won’t stand around when partisan hate of either political affiliation is being circulated as “news”.
Because, whatever you might think of some fuckwits in the industry, I’m a journalist, I learned the ethics of news circulation, I live the ethics, and that’s not changing.
Integrity matters. Truth matters. Because that’s what the press SHOULD be guided by. That’s what social media SHOULD be guided by.
If we the people want the media held to a higher standard, reporting better than they have been, then it needs to start with us.
It starts with us demanding more, but also with us researching the claims we make, the links we share, and the stories we tell…
BEFORE we send the information out there.

[insert happy dance here]

So, my little piece over at Books on the Radio got a nod from The Week magazine as one of the three “Best Opinions” on the web about the Huckleberry Finn “We don’t need the word ‘nigger'” revisionist fiasco.
Back when I was the girl merchandising the magazines at Duthie Books, I’d put The Week next to TIME, the Economist, MacLeans, and the New Yorker.
And you know what I never wanted to write when I was younger? A book. Know what I wanted to write? Op-ed, like writing idol Hunter Thompson.
So, when a thinktank like The Week says I’ve got one of the best opinions out there right now on a subject like racist rhetoric — when Dad raised me on slavery history and civil rights — it’s a really fucking nice night Chez Steff.
Better than money, man.
I’m just recording it here for posterity. I, Steffani Cameron, have The Week’s Best Opinion tonight.
2011 looks fun. Yep.

Censoring Huck Finn is a mistake: The way Huckleberry Finn “captures, in a beautiful and heart-rending story, the racial hatred and poison that marred America’s early days” is what makes it a classic, says Steffani Cameron in Books on the Radio. Censoring the language dilutes the significance of the “biracial friendship” between Huck and Jim, a slave trying to reach a free state. The “soul-crushing, race-dividing epithet” gives educators an opportunity to discuss with students “how powerful” words can be.

The Week’s Best Opinion “Books” round-up

Whitewashing Who We Were Doesn't Erase Slavery

We live in the age of anti-bacterial hand-sanitizers. It’s as if we scour enough, we’ll get rid of everything offensive about us, even the bacteria.
We’re overkillers when it comes to cleaning, so it was a matter of time before such practices overtook the literary world.
We’re so politically correct now that it’s easy to forget things were ever offensive. Better to pretend we’re a happy-shiny society than to wallow in our real, albeit largely-past, flaws.
There I was, chillaxin’ on Twitter, when @PublishersWeekly tweeted that a new whitewashed (pun intended) version of Huckleberry Finn is being released.
In it, the word “nigger” will be replaced with “slave”.
Here’s the thing.
Picture-143-300x300When you think about that horrifying chapter of America’s history — the era of slavery — what cultural works come to mind right off the bat?
Two. Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe, and Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain.
Even though the Library of Congress and other organizations have listed them amongst the books that have “changed the world,” both have been banned — even recently.
Yet, if we had a time capsule that was to reflect who and what America was in the 1800s, you can bet those two books would make the cut… whether you appreciate, in modern terms, the language used or not.
It’s pretty easy to argue that, during those times, people weren’t exactly breaking their typewriters pounding out future classics that recorded the slavery horrors around them. Ignorance was the safer order of the day.
Literature was about escapism then, not realism.
I get that “nigger” is said too much (219 times) in Huckleberry Finn. But are we really trying to suggest that, back then, the norm was using niceties like calling them “coloured folk” or “black” or even “slave”?
Isn’t the whole POINT of Huckleberry Finn being a classic the fact that it captures, in a beautiful and heart-rending story, the racial hatred and poison that marred America’s early days?
Isn’t the point that, in the middle of those times, bi-racial friendship could evolve against all odds? Wasn’t the story a glimmer of light about a darker era?
Shouldn’t the presence of the “offensive” words give schoolteachers the opportunity to discuss how powerful language can be — especially when used against people, in an attempt to oppress or hurt them?
Isn’t Twain’s language merely a stepping off point for talking about how word choice is important, how words can hurt as much or more than sticks and stones, how they ring out in our head long after blows stop landing?
Can’t that discussion help us in the battle we need to fight against modern bullying and other kinds of “schoolyard oppression” that change into darker themes as we age?
Whitewashing the language used in Huck Finn by taking the racist rhetoric from the book is exactly the kind of soul-destroying move that makes most writers cringe.
Language is everything in writing. We obsess over word choice. We wake in the night just to change a noun in our text.
“Nigger” is not “slave”. Nigger is a soul-crushing, race-dividing epithet. “Slave” is what we call them now — not historically relevant in words spoken then, though it is historically accurate.
Rewriting literature because of how society evolves is how we lose the impact of that literature, the relevance of that writing, the truth of its wordy-snapshots of our times. It kills truth.
That we once lived in a world where one could haphazardly toss around crushing racial epithets like “nigger” without anyone thinking twice, that’s something we not only need to remember, it’s something we need to remain aware of — to accept as part of who we once were and who we must strive to never be again.
racist_button_2We’re in a better day, but not by much. Not when African-Americans are a fraction of the population butalmost a majority of the penal system. Not when Tea Party freaks are shouting down a black president because they can’t handle his skin colour.
Huckleberry Finn’s linguistic offensiveness is exactly the way to further the almost non-existent dialogue on race in America. Instead of shutting it up and putting prettier words on the page so it’s less offensive, let’s wake the hell up.
HEY, it’s SLAVERY. It IS offensive. It SHOULD offend us. It should make schoolkids’ skin CRAWL when they learn what REALLY happened. WAKE UP.
They should learn how horrible tarring-and-feathering was, that slaves would be killed by being made to drink boiling water or oil, that lynching was a common “behaviour tool”.
Slaves weren’t just treated badly, all right? Let’s get real here. Let’s be honest about how horrible it was.
Saying the word “nigger” 219 times barely even scrapes the surface.
The country’s moving past its civil rights days, but race IS an issue in America and the conversation still isn’t something suitable for dinner parties. It’s skirted and avoided.
Our race is a part of who we are — we need to get to the point in society where we’re comfortable when comedians like Russell Peters joke about all the cliches that define us race-by-race.
We do that by accepting what we did wrong in the past, and then celebrating what we share in common — as well as celebrating those things that make us different, because it’s in that difference that we find the beauty of contrast.
Picture-144-231x300Let’s get past this ridiculous apologist crap about whining over words and try to accomplish real change by discussing why those words still need to be heard.
All this confusion keeps the real issue off the table. Just because America has a black president doesn’t mean society’s past this. Our refusal to discuss racism because of the presidential elephant in the room does us no favours.
Let’s not kid ourselves. Racism exists today.
Let’s show how horrible it was then;  we do that through the language.
Teach the book, the original language. In so doing, teach the pain, but also teach the better way we need to behave.
Teach that talking, not ignoring, is how we heal and grow.
Teach. Don’t confuse.

Not For You: Undoing the Undoings, And Writing

Just another cliche sunset shot. Taken at Vancouver's English Bay, looking south, in December 2010.


I’m writing again.
Let’s not talk about resolutions. They’re stupid. I’m just trying to undo some of my undoings. There have been a few. Simply achieving the undoing of undoings will lead me to a pretty wonderful place this year.
With writing, my goal is very simple: Try to write every single day.
I’ve been forgetting that I’m a writer. I’m not sitting down to build word cities anymore, and I wonder why my emotional landscape seems so barren.
Writing is a verb. It’s helpful to remember it requires doing.
There are those who claim inspired writing is like trying to catch fireflies or something else as fleeting and unlikely.
Like, you see a bright spark and chase it. Sometimes you catch it, sometimes it eludes you. The point is, you give chase. You try. You look in the darkness and hope some spark finds you, that you can catch that spark and embellish it, create something illuminating and amazing.
Oh, bullshit.
The truth is, inspiration comes easily when you have work ethic. By writing every day at a certain time, it’s almost like you can turn inspiration on within five minutes of pounding the keys. I know, I’ve been there.
Only twice in my life have I resolved to write daily on matters that move me. Both times I managed to segue into the best writing of my life. The first time, it shattered six years of writers’ block. It was simply a matter of working on it, daily.
Instead of thinking a thought, write it. Simple.
I know this. I know it takes work. Scheduling, regularity, routine. These are a writer’s best friends.
In the manic ways of our modern world, it’s easy to forget how simple work ethic — a little every single day — adds up over the long term. Writing compounds like any other effort.
I’ve had a terrible time with writing in 2010. None of it went as I wanted. Much of what I did has been worthy of trash heaps.
A false start here and a false start there, sooner or later it all feels false.
Hemingway said he wrote as an exercise of truth-finding. Any writer worth their salt, he suggested, was one who sought truth and wrote truth. The truth shall set you free… and make for some pretty entertaining reading.
The kind of writing I aspire to requires exactly that. It’s easy to lie to you, but insufferable to live with lies. Through my year of failed writing and wrong-perspective-having, I feel like I’ve danced through a darkness filled half-truths and white lies — leaving stories incomplete because incompletion is better, more true, than inaccuracy. Why end a story when you’re unhappy with the conclusion?
Anyone who complains about how hard it is to find a pair of jeans to buy has never tried to find a story to write.
I’m at that point, too, in my writing journey, where I question my creative instincts. All of them.
Is that story really one with legs? Can I make it walk? Does the journey have a point? Should I bother?
Creatively, I’ve been filled with false hopes for some time. That fog is starting to lift. My clarity is returning. I’m remembering that writing must be a daily pursuit. More importantly… I’m wanting it to be a daily pursuit.
Two truths:

1) I like myself better when I’m writing well.
2) I only write well when I write often.

Pretty simple to add 2+2 on days like this.
For the first time in years, though, that daily writing will be private. All in the name of The Book That Will Be Written (TBTWBW).
It’s the new year. Ahhh, that silly marketing ploy to sell us calendars filled with puppies and bikini-wearing babes.
In theory, the year is unwritten. Unmarred upon the page. Waiting for me to give it adventure, love, humour, drama, pathos, and more. Just a naked page, yielding to whatever I desire to impart it.
I like that feeling.
2010 was a hard year for me. It started poorly and pretty much stayed there. I had a lot of moments of light-in-darkness, but I ultimately let my year get the better of me — personally, writing-wise, professionally, physically, and more.
Life happens.
I’m not a big fan of New Year festivities and think they’re largely overhyped, but this year I’m ready to flip the script on the Year That Was. And for whatever 2010 wasn’t, I’m grateful to the things it suggested could be possible. I’m grateful to experiences like speaking at Northern Voice 2010, the people I’ve met, the bucket-list items I checked off.
But those 2010 moments were few and far between.
I’m not in some “thank god it’s over” naive mindset that the date somehow implies everything has changed.
I realize my life is pretty much exactly where I left it last week. Financially, spiritually, and more. But I don’t care.
I know any change that comes this year will be self-driven. I’m aware any writing that comes from me will have to come from me, be OF me.
I get it. I’m nowhere better than I was before “2010” flipped off my calendar.
And yet.