Daniela Ginta, Freelance Writer

Gratitude makes the journey better. Kindness, too.

Category: Social issues Page 27 of 32

Education Should Not Be About Money But About Critical Thinking

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On February 13, 2015

In Armchair Mayor Column, Kamloops, Learning, Life Stories, Self-improvement, Social issues

Initially published as a column in the AM News on February 6, 2015. 

I grew up in a country where I had access to free university education. It seemed logical. I had to pay to live in the dorms and I had to pay for food, of course, and I also had to pay for some of the textbooks that were not available to borrow from school (department or library) but most were reference textbooks that I have to this day and have served me for more than one particular course with a final exam.

My graduate studies here opened my eyes about paid education. I could pay my tuition from scholarships and by teaching in my particular field, but the undergrads I was teaching often complained about having to work and study at the same time. Some could barely made ends meet, coming from underprivileged families but they were very keen on learning; their debt grew with every year of studying.

I also had many students that arrived to school in expensive sports cars and could not care less about the way cells uptake glucose. There were arguments about marks, haggling over fractions of a mark and an attitude that was that I had to deliver something that will push one’s social status to a higher tier. I guess the perception was that if one pays, the goods should be delivered and they’d better be worth the price.

That was when I started having the distinct feeling that such a conflict of interest might breed trouble. The story repeated itself during my years of teaching at a private post-secondary school. Some students believed that though they were paying (and more so, because they were paying money that did not come easy to them) they had to work hard and make it worthwhile. Others believed education to be some sort of merchandise that was being bought with money. A certain sense of entitlement was often looming over their heads and it was affecting the learning process.

Many a conversation with people who have to pay for their own education bear a bitter taste. Tuition is high and increasing, quality of education often low because, many feel, every paying student has to be caught in the safety net that will not allow very many to fall behind, whether they truly have something to show for it or not, and then, there are the exorbitant prices for textbooks that, on being resold after merely a semester, bring but a fraction of the money back (percentages may vary depending on the discipline and institution.)

Tuition, I was told by a second year student, includes a bus pass which she uses occasionally, but some do not use at all, it also includes daycare costs (she has yet to have a child in need of a daycare), and union fees; thus, fee by fee, tuition meant to open the avenue to higher education becomes an avenue towards frustration.

Should education cost so much? Getting a loan these days becomes increasingly difficult. Between not having well-to-do parents and/or acceptable co-signors, many a student willing to learn are pushed out of line because they cannot afford it.

The cost of living even in a city like Kamloops is increasing, rent and food, and many have trouble paying for textbooks that rake bills in the hundreds just for one semester, which makes one wonder about it all. Should education be free and standards higher, wouldn’t the whole society benefit after all?

By higher standards of learning I do not mean forcing kindergarteners to read before their time or promoting competitiveness at the expense of true knowledge and common sense, but rather allowing them to learn at their own pace while providing them with enough time to play and express their creativity and encouraging them to develop critical thinking as they see the significant adults in their lives use theirs.

As soon as we put a price on education, everyone suffers. The learners in the first place, the instructors, and the society. By promoting values and true knowledge, with no price tag, students feel like they have truly achieved something when they graduate from school, be it elementary, high school, university or post graduate) and moving forward. I have heard from high school students and university students as well that they do not feel challenged enough so when they finish school they almost feel like frauds. That is a sinking feeling.

On the other hand, no one benefits from anyone entering society with superficial knowledge or barely any knowledge, just like we do not benefit from people doing jobs without much passion and just for the monetary gain. We see critical thinking and common sense missing; in politics, at a family level, in all types of learning institutions and workplaces, we see it everywhere and at all levels.

Education should not be about money but about learning and acquiring knowledge not just for personal benefit but in order to bring a contribution to the society that has enabled us to get an education to begin with. When financial issues get entangled with education, a certain bias is bound to overshadow the noble and worthy endeavor of acquiring true knowledge.

A first discussion topic on many an education board should perhaps be disentangling the learning and finances for everyone’s gain… for the greater good, you could say, and that is a lofty goal for any society where critical thinking and knowledge are valued.

It’s High Time We Give Our Buying Power A Shake-up

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On February 5, 2015

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Kamloops, Learning, Self-improvement, Social issues

Initially published as a column in the AM News on Friday January 30, 2015. 

I had forgotten my reusable bags at home that time and had to choose between plastic and buying another reusable bag. Too much plastic as it is, I thought, so I chose the latter.

After I got home I realized that the reusable one had a plastic insert on the bottom. Right. To keep things steady and prevent the usual crowding of groceries and falling on top of each other. A first world problem indeed. The insert, made from ordinary plastic bearing no recycling sign, defeats the very purpose of it all.

I was misled and felt uncomfortable. No one likes that. More so when the buying of something I believed greener than a mere plastic bag (many of which are recyclable, not that that makes it better) turned out to be the wrong decision. Greenwashing at its best.

Here’s the thing. Ever since we open our eyes to the world of commerce, we are being told that the customer’s wishes are the merchant’s desires. If only that’d be true. Once upon a time it was.

One cannot notice that things have shifted sideways for a while now. The merchant, backed up by crafty marketing gurus designing the offer, present it to the customers and the rest unfolds. The customers, minds ripe with commercials, promises of this if you buy that, expectations, not to mention the ominous ‘buy now, pay later’, well, it’s easy to fall into the trap (it really is one.)

It is truly scary and overwhelming to try to imagine the amount of goods – excluding food – that are being offered in all stores across the North American continent. Add Europe and Asia and Australia to all of that and it get nauseating.

After the buying comes the garbage and if applicable, recycling. Then, we move on to the next spree of things we do not need but buy anyway to fill spaces that cannot be filled that way anyway.

I am not here to deflate any bubbles, though maybe secretly that is the idea. I just cannot wrap my head around why the merchandise one can find in today’s stores often include completely useless items made from questionable or downright toxic materials, many of which are geared towards children (who are learning to equate happiness with being able to buy one more thing.)

At the same time, garbage grows, people complain of unhappiness and busy schedules, working long hours that deliver the means to buy more stuff we do not need, while stealing away any hope of spending time doing what we love and matters. Ultimately, ‘having’ just doesn’t deliver what the flyer promised.

We are, in many ways, at a crossroad. Climate change is more of a subject (and reality) than it has ever been, there are battles over approving and/or regulating products, including foods and chemicals that end up in our homes or around them, and there are debates over pipelines and mines and fracking.

It is enough to give one a headache. In some ways we seem to have lost our way while faced with so many opportunities to get rich (for some), to buy more (for many) and, should guilt or that little thought that says ‘I have enough’ ever come begging for attention, we have entertainment to chase them away.

Yet reality and truth have the annoying habit of showing up in front of us. Not always civilized and ready to spell it out for us, but rather aggressively throwing it in our faces. Pollution is high in many parts of the world, and because of it the health of many suffers, children and the elderly most of all.

The oceans carry more plastic than ever and more is coming, because we buy and throw more plastic, and more pristine land is being sacrificed to grow palm trees, create feedlots and extract natural resources. Hardly respectful towards the blue planet we all hail as unique.

We are at an important crossroad. We need to assert the power to do exactly what we were once told (and many times over since) we can do: have our wishes satisfied by those who are benefiting from our needs.

It is so. With every choice we each make in how we buy or not buy things, in what we buy and what refuse to buy because we think it unethical, toxic, unhealthy or environmentally wrong, we force the big river called consumption steer a bit in a better direction.

We might have to forgo a few things along the way. Simplicity is a beautiful thing. It helps us make time for what matters. It helps fill the spaces that cannot be filled with anything else.

It helps us help the world get cleaner, our kids breathe easier, have fewer chemicals around to absorb and ingest, and it will remind us of some of the reasons we’re here. To make every day count, to make a difference, no matter how small, to leave the world a tad better than we found it; to know, most of all, that is it up to us, to each of us really, to make good things happen.

It’s a Together Thing – A Kamloops Story

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On January 27, 2015

In Armchair Mayor Column, Kamloops, Life Stories, Social issues

(Initially published as a column in the AM News on January 24, 2015)

I saw her talking to someone in a parked car as I was walking towards mine. Then she wobbled her way towards my car. I was already in when I noticed she was standing by the passenger’s window.  I rolled it down.

At first I could not understand what she was saying. She had no teeth and her words were coming out mangled. She must’ve been 65 or so, maybe older.

‘Can you drive me to the Crossroads please? I will give you ten dollars.’

I bought a few seconds of thinking with a somewhat troubled smile, but realized soon enough that I could not say no. I just couldn’t. And I did not want to take her money either.

I said I will. She smiled and climbed in. Slipping on ice made her movements rather awkward. She had an almost empty bottle in one hand and was clutching an old purse with the other. She smelled of booze; that answered the question about the empty bottle. She poured the rest out.

The side of the road was icy and the car slipped a few times. I felt the woman’s gaze on me as I was trying a few maneuvers.

‘We can do it, me and you. Try again. Put it in reverse.’ Her voice was encouraging and the words were coming out less fragmented.

We got unstuck and drove away.

‘You’re a good driver,’ she said full of admiration. Right. If only. I laughed and said thank you. I felt a bit uneasy as we all do when something unusual happens, but I knew this was more than driving someone a few blocks through the downtown.

I turned right and drove into the heart of the downtown. The sun made the ice glitter and it looked pretty. I thought of how many people in this very city will not see that or hate it altogether for that is what you do when it’s cold and all that means warmth has been peeled off of your existence.

‘My name is Joanne. What is yours?’

I said my name and she repeated it slowly.

‘Are you named after your mother?’

I said no, my parents just liked the name. For a couple of seconds my mind flew towards one of the many times I asked my mom why she named me Daniela. She would always smile, her own thoughts carrying her to the time when I was born. There was always another story of my early childhood tucked in with the answer. Slices of life that help us understand.

I asked Joanne where was she from. Nova Scotia, she said. ‘I have nine sisters, but I don’t talk to them on the phone.’ I thought of her as a little girl, playing with her sisters and dreaming of growing up and… The contrast with today’s wrinkled face smelling of booze was sad.

What is life? How does it turn its ugly face and ghoul eyes at some of us… Life becomes a beached whale, abandoned on a beach that holds too much garbage, it just does and we often have no answers. It stinks.

Life can flip from gracious to ungracious in a few moments, and the witnesses to the ungracious disappear like scared birds. Ungracious scares us.

Joanne asked if I know where Crossroads is. I do, I answered. It’s the building that used to be an inn and now it is managed by ASK Wellness who made it into a shelter for the homeless. Fragmented life putters around the building at any given time. It’s a place of hope and despair at once.

Joanne repeated my name one more time, quietly, as if to memorize it.

‘Are you mad at me?’ she asked out of the blue. No, I said. Why would I? I hoped no one would be. Then again, being human makes us prone to emotions of all kinds and a person on the edge of life wearing all the paraphernalia of failure often serves like a mirror we’re never ready to stare in.

‘I like your name, it’s beautiful,’ she said as we parked in front of the building. Someone was sleeping on the sidewalk, lost in an old bright green sleeping bag.

Joanne opened the door, stumbled out with the empty bottle in one hand and the purse in the other. She bowed with a big smile and said thank you, leaving me with my thoughts. Sad and bittersweet, grateful that I was given an opportunity to remember that life is not a high note but a repertoire of many, some so low they growl at you, others so high they hurt your thoughts.

Balance and grace. How do we? How do we mask the failure, how do we fall and how do we get up? It matters to have someone to love you, it matters to be truthful to yourself and know that you can do more than humanely possible; you need a hand to help you up sometimes, hugs to remind of warmth and you need to be loved.

What happened to Joanne? Her journey from Nova Scotia to here and to today, what happened along the way?

Compassion starts with looking into someone’s eyes without judgment. It’s the hardest thing. We all carry stories, we carry our own mountains and valleys we crossed since we can remember, we carry guilt and heartache and all the hope one can muster when hope is a flotilla of broken vessels, most submerged… Can you still do it?

Is there an end to hope? I guess hope is like a torch. Some people carry it with them for as long as they can, and then they attempt to pass it on. It’s up to those who are still standing and have strength to take it and carry it forward. To use it to light a fire that will help warm those who are cold, and cook food if they need it.

It’s a together thing. The hope, making the journeys smother for those who have it rough. No one can do it alone. When we can, as much as we can. Never turn your eyes away when another pair of eyes is trying to find yours. You are the lucky one. You are giving hope and are, in turn, given the gift of humbleness.

Like Joanne said… ‘We can do it. Me and you…’

A Farewell To Mice (Yeah, You…)

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On December 16, 2014

In Kamloops, Life Stories, Social issues

The two of you that ran across the living room and entrance hallway this morning may have had a point. That the place will be yours again soon. Which is why I didn’t bother look twice. So it’s true. You win.

We felt victorious for those three days or so of decimating (have we though?) your troops a while ago, but I had this nagging thought at the back of my mind that though it was hard to get ten mice in a couple of days, it was a bit too easy after all. I was right.

You laid quiet for a few days. We put away all food overnight, every night, save for a piece of mozzarella I left on the counter – on purpose! – and you did not touch it. Nice refraining from what nature tells you to do. I know, your beady eyes (and no, I do not want to know how many) were focused on the larger goal, and that was to make us believe that you are not here anymore. It almost worked. Almost.

I heard you a couple of nights ago and blamed the heat gushing out the vents and ruffling the Christmas play announcements stuck to the fridge. Deep down I knew it was you and I had a feeling it would come to this. You are not the only ones relying on that sixth sense, just so you know.

I appreciate the decency in not touching our food anymore, I do. The raucous group that we ousted a while ago created some damages in the food department and that is just not right. I know, nature calls and such, but come on… We did not take revenge on them though, just so you know, it was simply too much to take even for the kindhearted. Your teeth marks are simply atrocious to discover around the house.

As for cuteness, my husband puts it bluntly: Just don’t look at them up close, there is nothing cute about that. He knows, he got to see a few while dutifully removing them from the premises once the snap happened. Snap! Oh, sorry, did the word evoke some bad memories? Welcome to the club then, I too have been touched by the mighty sound. Even the accidental ones get my heart rate up now. Yours too? There you are, we are united by an interspecies bridge that will cease to exist once we leave the house.

It’ll be soon, no need to worry. You probably do not worry, based on your confident trotting through the house in early morning. For mice, I have to give it to you, you have guts. A cat would appreciate that even more; literally. Just thank your lucky stars that due to my son’s allergy you are not about to see a feline anytime soon.

So you win. We tried, we sure did, but you prevailed.

By the way, the space behind and underneath the stove is all clean now; enjoy! Same for the space behind the fridge, though we noticed you don’t use that one much. A spare perhaps, for guests popping in? Maybe we ousted a few during the days of multiple trapping. Apologies. City mouse should’ve instructed country mouse about the perils of the human abodes.

Oh yes, laugh about the human abodes all you want. I know there’s been no decent bathroom in the last month here, no laundry either, and the furnace broke down just as we are about to vacate. Human troubles, not that you care. The modem cable seemed to have some issues lately too… Wait a second… You didn’t, did you? That’d be low, too low, even for a mouse. Revenge is the weapon of the fool, I was raised with that belief. Don’t go that way.

While we’re at life lessons, you may want to take a look at the charming “The tailor of Gloucester” by Beatrix Potter. Nifty little tricks those mice pulled. They proved to be helpful and nice to the guy who lived there. Correction: to the guy in whose house they lived. Don’t roll your eyes, there is no debate. It’s humans who build the homes, you just move in. So there. You’re simply profiting, admit it. Hey, I am not judging, you’re the ones who have to live with it. I am pointing out that your British relatives seemed to have agreed to help in exchange for rooming. Feeling inspired?

Anyway, the tailor’s story… you may want to take a peek and learn a thing or two. There was no mentioning of droppings anywhere by the way, and that’s a fact. European elegance, what can I say. Oh, and the manners; exquisite. Go read for yourself. No, we won’t leave the book behind, go find your own. Try vintage, it tastes better than the new stuff. But what do I know…

So farewell, fellow mice, it’s been interesting. We’re done trapping you. For the few days we have left here, walk in peace and remember to pay it forward. As a sign of respect, if you can keep the scampering to a bare minimum (portable potty is outside by the way, not that you care) we would greatly appreciate it. It makes for better mornings when the house is an untoasty 15.

Oh, in the interest of fairness, you should know that I know that you stole a few of the chocolate wafers the boys love so much. I found them behind the stove, half eaten with those atrocious teeny teeth marks on. If I were you I’d watch my diet a wee bit more. All those treats add to the waist and guess who will not make it through the hole when they need to?

You’re welcome. We won’t miss you!

PS: For your information, it is true what Roald Dahl mentions in “Matilda” about the heartbeats. Your ticker goes about 670 or so per minute. Impressive, but don’t let it get to your head. You have a small bladder, nothing to brag about. I know, I know, the joke’s on us ‘cuz you peed all over the house because of that. Which is why I do not feel sorry for the tail that belonged to that first mouse we caught, the tail my husband accidentally removed part of during a man-to-beast scuffle; and no, you cannot have it, it’s been long thrown into the garbage. He did not mean to inflict any suffering, by the way, it was just the imbalance of forces…

A Story Of Waste And Inexcusable Indignities

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On December 16, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Kamloops, Life Stories, Self-improvement, Social issues

Food The article was initially published as a column in the Armchair Mayor News on December 12, 2014. 

Our garden was lush and plentiful this year. We had lettuce since early spring, we had green onion, radishes, kale, chard, and herbs. Later in the summer we had carrots and potatoes and corn. We shared lots with friends and still had enough to freeze.

All that we had was grown on less than half of our backyard, so it was only normal that I kept fantasizing about growing food on the rest of it. If less than half could feed us so well, how about a whole back yard?

The work was hard, no question. Incredibly pleasurable though and rewarding. On any given summer morning I was greeted by an army of grasshoppers guarding the corn, pumpkins, tomatoes and potatoes. Hopping as their nature prescribed, they were a sign that my organic garden was well liked by other critters like butterflies and ladybugs.

The boys helped out as well and they loved eating straight from the garden. They learned a lot too; gratefulness most of all, and the wonder of a seed becoming a full grown plant ready to provide for us.

They learned the value of food and understood why throwing it out uneaten, as waste, is unacceptable. It happens more than we would expect, or admit.

I remember seeing piles of fruit and vegetables discarded on Granville Island in garbage bins, a stark contrast with the perfect produce offered inside where everything looked nothing short of perfect.

I felt slightly uncomfortable thinking that we, the consumers, shape that perfect offer with our buying habits; which, in turn, have been shaped and conditioned by crafty marketing teams over the years.

The fallacy of that way of thinking and acting is that produce is not perfect. In our garden we got to see dwarf veggies, contorted carrots and a misshaped pear here and there. Nature is not perfect. But they were all perfectly edible, no matter the shape.

I remember when I was little and among others, I would go get the fresh eggs every day. I liked seeing them round in the straw nests and I would always inspect them carefully. Some were misshapen and I would ask my dad why. He would shrug, not bothered in the least. It’s how they come out, he would say. It made sense. Nature is not perfect.

Fast forward a few good years; I was at Simon Fraser University having lunch with other grad students and while no meal stood out, this particular one did. One of my friends was ready to eat a peach and seeing a bruise on one side, she said a loud ‘yuck’ and sent the unfortunate fruit straight into the garbage bin.

Many years later, the memory of the plunging peach is still with me. It stopped me from throwing food out every time, and it made me shake my head every time I see hungry people. I tried often to do my part and provide food for the less fortunate, yet thoughts related to food and waste are relentless. How could there be?

There is enough food lying around for no one to go hungry no matter what their budget is like, even if there is no budget at all.

There is too much food going straight into the garbage because of perfection standards that we should no longer entertain; it is insulting towards those who do not have any food, and it is insulting towards nature itself. We cannot give to food banks with one hand and throw away food with the other.

If you have doubts about food waste, just talk to the produce clerks. If the store is small enough you might see the old stuff bagged up for sale at a fraction of the price, a good solution to prevent waste. In big stores though, everything unsightly or old goes into the garbage.

A recent report pointed out that Canadians throw out up to 50 per cent of the food they buy. A few years ago I would rolled my eyes at the numbers, but not anymore. I went to one too many dinner parties or events where the leftovers were discarded and sent straight to the landfill.

With Christmas just around the corner, the thought of food and food waste comes back with a vengeance. How much food will be wasted, how many people will go hungry or eat low quality food that comes from a can rather than fresh, albeit slightly bruised produce that is better nutritionally than anything canned that might or might not come with added chemicals.

There is no simple answer to the food dilemma. Until we all decide that bad food is not the bruised or misshapen fruit, or even the ones that reach the best before date (think perfectly edible stuff like frozen food, dry food or yogurt that go a day or two over the date), we will have inexcusable indignities in food distribution, and we will have mountains of food piled up in landfills instead of people’s plates.

As for the truly bad food, some of it genetically modified, or the one that we insist on growing with loads of toxic pesticides so that we can have it all: lots of it to choose from, available all year round, cheap enough to throw out and tasteless enough to not feel bad about it anyway… well, the old ‘you are what you eat’ should be warning enough.

If less than half of a cultivated back yard can provide enough fresh produce to feed a family of four over the summer and well into the fall, sure people can grow enough food, healthy food that is, to have everyone fed and no bits thrown out unless they go into the compost.

With food becoming more expensive as we go (have you noticed?) it’s impossible not to ask why. Why, when there is enough to feed us all, and if there isn’t enough, then there shouldn’t be any in the garbage.

The Reason We Are Not Oblivious To Magic

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On December 3, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Life Stories, Social issues

Initially published as a column in the AM News on Friday, November 28, 2014.

Beauty to live byToday’s early morning sky had a streak of blue I had never seen before. It was a blue that you pat yourself on the back when you get it by mixing watercolours; it was that beautiful and unique.

Except that someone else mixed the colours this morning. Not only that, it made sure to sift some sunlight on the north shore hills, a patch of brightness splattered here and there, as if some celestial egg was broken over those spots for a reason.

The only reason I could think of was to see. Not the whole landscape, which habitual browsing takes care of but often gets thrown at the back of the mind, but the small patches that stop you short, making you curious and grateful at the same time.

Curious to see more of the hills many times before, because today the sun is shining just so, making you wonder if you’ve ever realized just how pretty that particular slope is… Gratefulness is an automatic response your mind comes up with when you look long enough. I did.

Two hours later I took a walk with my oldest. He remarked on the murky waters of the Thompson River and the white shores hemmed with sand. By then, the cloud curtain had been pulled aside and a whole hill shone white and pretty. Snowy paths snaked their way behind unknown knolls and I wished to be there. I wished for the sunlight to keep on doing its thing many hundreds of years and beyond.

You could say it was one of those moments, which I am grateful to not be oblivious to.

There was something simple yet remarkable about it all: a growing boy, us walking and seeing the world around, a train going clickety-clack pulling its load through town, the light that kept on shifting revealing hill after hill and the realization that the world is changing, every day, and every hour of the day, and unless we make an effort to see it, we won’t. Unless we make an effort to keep it, we won’t…

Everything evolves, the slogan goes. Progress pushes some items out of sight to make room for new ones, and the phenomenon that promotes them. Yet the sun shone on the north shore hills way before progress was accounted for in the way we think of now, and the river kept shifting from murky to blue-green and clear since before this place had the name we know of.

I want my sons to grow up thinking of that as they go about their day. There are no ordinary moments in a day as far as nature is concerned, no matter how menial the daily activities become as we grow accustomed by them.

Like the walk to and from school every day with my youngest. One morning we woke up to snow and we walked through a blizzard that spat snowflakes into our eyes, on our cheeks and down our backs if the scarf got loose. You laugh yourself silly, because what else can you do…

Another morning we witnessed a most spectacular sunrise: a ribbon of sunlight, fresh and bright, rolling down from thick clouds to the bottom of the hill. Everything was shrouded in thick grey fog, save for the patch that looked like golden cotton candy. We were both mesmerized.

I wondered how many people got to see it that day and how many before us, and if they did, did they step out the next morning knowing that there will be something else to see, equally spectacular or more…

WorthyOne of the biggest accomplishment as a parent and guide to life as it happens for my sons, is to have them point out the ordinary bits of everyday life that steal their eyes and hearts. Leaves that are too beautiful to leave behind even as they lay shriveled up by incoming cold weather, grey mornings that have a mysterious feel to them, the ever so perfectly shaped rock that sits among many on the shores of a lake yet somehow it stands out, the occasional mirror-like surface of the river and the miracle of snowflakes. They point them out, and I know what touches their hearts the most. They know of mine.

And then, there is the magic of reminders that are as poignant as they are unique. One night, past midnight and way too close to the witching hour, we heard noises in our sloped back yard. Boys sound asleep cozily nestled in warm beds, we stepped outside.

The next moment I was staring at a beautiful doe. She stared back. Everything was quiet. She walked towards the neighbour’s yard and before swiftly jumping over the low fence, she looked one more time.

We walked up a couple of steps and under the sleepy apricot tree was a buck; not moving a muscle, he looked at us, and he looked towards where the doe went. For a few short seconds we stood, species boundaries notwithstanding, united by the simple magic of being there when no one else was. I could see his breath and I felt privileged.  Never so close… never so magical.

I felt like an intruder, but witnessing their graceful presence reminded me of the big world we should strive to keep alive. It’s a gift like no other.

Perhaps magic is, after all, not only what lies out there but the fact that we choose to see it and that we are, sometimes, given the amazing gift of seeing it. It is not without purpose that that happens. It’s the only way we can find reason to keep it alive; sunlit snowy paths, nighttime deer and all…

If You Believe In Making Good Things Happen, You Need To Vote

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On November 5, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Kamloops, Life Stories, Social issues

Originally published as a column in the AM News on Friday, October 31, 2014. 

It is a time of turmoil, social and political. A few days ago, thousands were present for Cpl. Cirillo’s funeral in Hamilton. Next is Warrant Officer Patrice Vincent’s funeral, who will be laid to rest on Saturday in what the family requested to be a private, no-press-allowed, ceremony. Lest we forget.

As the dust settles and other news will boil over, one can hope that the troubling questions left behind by the sudden and violent deaths of the two soldiers will be answered sooner than later. Much has been said about the charismatic smile of Cpl. Cirillo and his good nature, less so about why he was shot by someone who managed to run amok in an area that has at least one surveillance camera.

Presumably, someone was watching that screen at all times, in which case, how could a man with a long gun be overlooked. And if he wasn’t, where were the security forces that were supposed to come out in a blink and contain the situation before anyone got killed. Answers are not easy to come by, and accountability is an elusive creature we want to see materialized among politicians.

Then we have the lingering, growing as we speak, energy-related issues that transform people into rabid partisans of the pro and cons arguments. We see it all over the country, and we see it in our own city.

Ideally, our elected officials should be able to sort it out in a way that will be good for all and there will be someone who will answer the tough questions or pay the actual price of damage should any damage occur after all precautions have been taken. Or oppose a project unless it is done right, which is the latest case of the David and Goliath type of confrontation between Kinder Morgan and the city of Burnaby, mayor and people standing together. Accountability is what helps with that.

We can toil over these issues and more all we want; truth is, there is no easy solution. Problems arise daily, some bigger than others, and it is often that people feel helpless about them. Expectedly so, when questions fall of deaf ears. Which is why voting becomes the one thing anyone can do to lessen the feeling of helplessness.

Unless we go out and vote whoever we think will do a good job at addressing issues that have to do with the state of our democracy, our environment, education, health, housing problems, and so much more, nothing will be done in a way that feels right.

Someone said to me ‘if I do not vote, at least I cannot say I voted the wrong person when they don’t do their job…’ But is that the point? It is never a matter of whether a politician does it right or wrong by me only. I can voice my concerns, I can express ideas and if I feel in any way betrayed by the ones I chose, I have to take it further than just sanctioning their activity in my head.

I do not vote my personal councilors and mayor, just like you do not either. It is a concerted effort and, as always, my deed (vote in this case) will affect your life and the other way around. A community that can vote is a community where good things can happen.

There is no escaping this one if we want to see changes and issues dealt with in a responsible manner. Freedom of speech and freedom to vote are two important assets in a democracy and they should be exercised by the people who have them.

There have been multiple instances of freedom of speech being impended (see the case of Canadian scientists being silenced to the point of scientists from other countries expressing concern over practices that are unbecoming of a democratic government) and there are cases of truth being withheld for various reasons.

There are decisions being made in regards to pipelines, mines and fracking that are questionable to say the least. There are accidents such as tailing ponds ruptures, oil spills and chronic health issues in many who live near exploitation sites and no one has to live with the consequences expect for the people who suffered in the first place. There are provincial parks that may be having their boundaries redefined just so pipelines could run through it.

All these matters have to be addressed in a responsible manner. More than that, the government officials who address these issues and more, have to be accountable to voters and open to having dialogues as needed.

In which case, one wonders, where are such perfect politicians hiding?

There are no perfect humans, politicians or otherwise. But in case of politicians, they have to understand their mission and the trust they are given by people like you and me.

More so, they need to be able to stand up right, be accountable and make truth their ally. If we all speak the truth, things are bound to get better.

I guess the best way to describe my expectations for what’s to come is to say that we elect representatives that will keep on growing to become great politicians rather than go for the perfect ones from the start, because truth is, no one is perfect and everyone should be given chances to grow and do better every day. What I do ask though is openness and a social conscience.

For that, I will go vote and I urge you to do the same. It is a privilege to have choices.

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