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Early this year, Morgan told me she was trying to finish a lot of books she had started but not finished. But there were still several half-read books on her ipad, and I found seven partially completed reviews, which I am cleaning up and posting here. I suspect most of the reviews were started before she decided she needed to focus more on reading than on doing write ups of what she had read.

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Social historian Stephanie Coontz’ book, A History of Marriage, has a rather long subtitle: From Obedience to Intimacy or How Love Conquered Marriage. Coontz argues, to make an extremely general statement about her research into changes in the patterns of marriage around the world over the past several thousand years, that the essential social meaning of marriage has undergone a massive change in the past 150 years, particularly in North America and Europe.

Coontz argues that, whatever its structure, status with regard to law and religion, frequency, division of labour, and the general condition of the participants in any given society, until recently, marriage has been seen as a social matter, not an individual matter. Its function has been to bind families, communities, even countries, to arrange for the transfer of property and other resources between generations, to ensure a labour force for the future - all matters of concern to the society as a whole, not the people in any particular marriage. As such, marriage was too important to be left to the whims and desires of individuals, it was a matter for families and communities to determine.

“For centuries, marriage did much of the work that markets and governments do today. It organized the production and distribution of goods and people. It set up political, economic, and military alliances. It coordinated the division of labor by gender and age. It orchestrated people’s personal rights and obligations in everything from sexual relations to the inheritance of property. Most societies had very specific rules about how people should arrange their marriages to accomplish these tasks.”

But beginning with the social and cultural changes of the Enlightenment in Europe, the idea of marriage as an individual matter, a source of companionship between two people based on mutual attraction, began to take hold, changing the meanings of marriage. And this shift, from an institution supported, even demanded, by the social and economic circumstances from which it had emerged, to a negotiation between individuals based on personal goals and needs, has led to the growing instability of marriage, and the sense that there is a crisis to be resolved around it.

“These ideals gave people unprecedented opportunities to get more personal satisfaction from their marriages, but they also raised questions that posed a fundamental challenge to traditional ways of ordering society.

If marriage was about love and lifelong intimacy, why would people marry at all if they couldn’t find true love? What would hold a marriage together if love and intimacy disappeared? How could household order be maintained if marriages were based on affection rather than on male authority?

No sooner had the ideal of the love match and lifelong intimacy taken hold than people began to demand the right to divorce. No sooner did people agree that families should serve children’s needs than they began to find the legal penalties for illegitimacy inhumane. Some people demanded equal rights for women so they could survive economically without having to enter loveless marriages. Others even argued for the decriminalization of homosexual love, on the ground that people should be free to follow their hearts.”
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When you start reading a book, and the first three named characters are a young lesbian, and two young gay men, one black, one Latino, who have just met and are bonding over The Force Awakens, then you kind of know you’re reading something different and good. But I had no idea just how powerful the experience if reading this would be.

It starts out as a ‘meet cute’ scenario. Moss - Morris Jeffries Jr. - and his best friend Esperanza are stuck on a stalled BART train. When the train starts moving suddenly, the passengers are jostled a bit, and Moss connects, literally and figuratively, with Javier Perez. But the light opening gets dark almost immediately, as they arrive at the station to find police confronting a demonstration against yet another police shooting of an unarmed black man. And that sets the tone for what is to come. Short notes of sweetness amidst the bitterness of life as a person of colour in a racist world.

Mark Oshiro’s debut, the young adult novel Anger Is a Gift, is a portrait of growing up in America today, the kind of America that’s multi-racial, where immigrant families from Korean and Ethiopia mingle with black and Latinx families whose roots on the land go back further than most whites. Where your friends at school are Nigerian and Muslim and trans non-binary and one of them needs a mobility device to get around.

Where there’s an armed guard at the school door and random locker searches. Where there’s no money for school supplies and they sold all the books in the school library, so your English teacher reluctantly arranges for you to get pirated epubs of Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. And you have panic attacks every time you see the cops because you saw your father killed before your eyes just because he was black and in the wrong place at the wrong time - which translated means he was just doing the same things everyone does, stopping off at the local market to do some shopping, but he was black and some cop decided he was a criminal.

This is a book about what it’s like to be young and not white in America, to be the focus of unrelenting racial profiling at school, on public transit, in the streets, in any public place. About the school to prison pipeline. About the brutality of the state toward the young and marginalised. About trying to resist and find joy in the midst if it all.

The narrative follows Moss as he navigates both traditional young adult topics like dating and figuring out what to do when you grow up, and far more difficult issues, like trying to block your school from installing metal detectors and discovering that your best friend, despite her Puerto Rican heritage, doesn’t always see past her privilege as the adopted daughter of well-off white intellectuals who send her to private school where she doesn’t face the same things you do every day. And what to do when the cops strike and your fiends are hurt and dying.

The metal detectors are installed because of a “brawl” - students reacting when one of their own, Shawna, is brutally handled by the school’s ‘resource officer’ because he found her epilepsy medication in her locker and assumed it was illegal drugs. On the first day the metal detectors are in operation, Reg Phillips, a student recovering from major surgery after a car accident that left his legs badly damaged, refuses to go through the detector because he is concerned about its effects on the metal pins and other hardware in his legs. The police officers grab him and shove him through the machine, which malfunctions, tearing the metal in his legs out of position and sending him to the hospital, where surgeons determine that not only has the damage undone the progress he’s made, but it’s made his condition worse - he is now unlikely to ever walk again.

It’s the last straw for Moss and his friends. Drawing on the help of some adults, like Moss’ mother Wanda who was an activist and organiser before the murder of her husband, they call a community meeting and decide to demonstrate as a community against the use of the detectors at school. The students plan a mass walkout to co-incide.

One of the few narrative threads that isn’t overtly filed with tension over the coming confrontation with the authorities is Moss’ budding romance with Javier, who we learn is, along with his mother, an undocumented migrant from Guatemala. Their gentle courting, getting to know each other, all the sweet high notes of falling in love for the first time, is like an island of peace in the midst of the heightened anxiety of waiting for the day of the walkout. And yet.... the very presence of this oasis of comfort and hope is a site of tension because what should be unthinkable, that this innocent awakening of love can not survive the brutality of this place and time, is all too possible.

On the day of the walkout, the students arrive to a sea of police in riot gear. When the time comes for the protest, everything you would expect from a military operation primed to view young people of colour attempting a peaceful demonstration as a gang of violent criminals takes place. There are multiple horrors, and tragedies large and small. Armed cops against children. The essence of modern America.

There’s a lot here that hits hard. I’m a middle-aged white cis woman who has none of the lived experience that kids like Moss and Javier and Shawna and their friends know, but this helps me understand as much as I’m able too - that’s the gift of art. It lets you see from other perspectives, feel what it’s like, to a degree, to be someone other than yourself, to live under other conditions. But this book does something else, too, something that white readers need to see and understand. There are white characters in this book. The cops, obviously. But there are white teachers, some white folks who live in Moss’ neighbourhood, Esperanza’s adoptive parents. Some of them even think of themselves as allies, as people trying to help. But the thing for white people reading this book to understand is that allyship is hard. Because we don’t understand. We don’t get it. And the book demonstrates that. There are no examples of good white allies here. Only white people who don’t try, or try and fail, some of them with disastrous results. And that’s the essence of modern America, too.

But one of the most important messages here is right in the title. Because what moves the story past the tragedy and horror is Moss’ anger. Anger is a gift. These days, there’s a lot of what we call tone policing going on. Marginalised people are angry, and yet when they speak up, act on their anger at the years of injustice they’ve faced, the white liberal response is far too often about being patient, engaging in dialog, being persuasive, using the ‘right’ tactics. Waiting your turn. Not antagonising people who maybe could help your case if you’re properly calm and respectful. Anger hurts the movement, they say.

I call bullshit on that. If being polite and waiting your turn could have made this world more just, we’d all be living in a social justice paradise. And as for not antagonising potential allies - if your commitment to doing the right thing is dependent on people being nice to you, your commitment isn’t worth shit and won’t last past the first rough patch anyway.

Anger is fire. It lights the way, it gives us the energy, the determination, the will, to survive and to keep fighting. It blazes against the darkness of injustice, cruelty, hatred. It burns out evil, and makes a space where we can rebuild something better, if we have the will and desire. Anger is a gift.
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And the great Heinlein reread continues. This post finishes off the primary (first reprint) collections of Heinlein’s shorter fiction that have been in print recently enough for me to acquire them. I’m not bothering with secondary collections, or modern omnibuses, and there’s one collection, Off the Main Sequence, which contains some stories not collected anywhere else, which I have been unable to acquire


Rereading the collection of Heinlein stories containing the novella “The Unpleasant Profession of Jonathan Hoag,” which has been published both under the title of that novella, and as 6 X H, served double duty, as part if this reread project, and as part of my reading for the 1943 Retro Hugo nominations.

The novella is quite a neat, if occasionally terrifying, piece of prose. I enjoyed the combination of mystery and horror, the sense of discovering a secret, occult history of the world, the image of the world as art, compete with Critics who assess its virtues - though given their ability to decide on changes to the work, perhaps they are better viewed as editors (either way, labelling Jonathan Hoag’s profession as an unpleasant one is a delightful writerly in-joke). As usual, Heinlein’s gift for character and dialogue is strong, and his ability to pull off a complex and baffling plot yields considerable entertainment.

Heinein could write stories that make you cry as easily as he could change his shoes. The Man Who Travelled in Elephants is a n unsurpassed love story. Not just the story of Johnny, who travelled in elephants and his beloved Martha, lost and then found, but the story of an America that was passing, an America of spectacle and circus and county fairs and amusement parks. The small, intimate details of Johnny and Martha’s life together as they travelled the country, first fir work, later for their own joy, are delightful, bittersweet, familiar to any family that creates its own secret shared mythology. The growing anticipation of the reader once the truth of the tale becomes clear and you know that somewhere in the vast carnival crowd, Martha is waiting for her Johnny, that’s what starts the tears, slowly brimming, finally flowing at the end. It’s a beautiful love story.

—All You Zombies— is a tale that, oddly enough, treats intersex/transgender realities very sympathetically but can’t seem to imagine a role for women in space that doesn’t involve sexually servicing men. It’s the story of a temporal agent who is his own father and mother... or his own son and daughter, depending on what part of his timeline you’re looking at. Heinlein seemed to enjoy the time paradox theme, he wrote several of them. This is perhaps the best one.

They is an interesting piece of psychological fiction. Wr’ve all felt, at times, that we are alone in the world, different, that no one understands us. We know that in some people, at some times, this feeling intensifies, slides into a kind of delusion in which all the world is united in some strange kind of manipulative conspiracy. We call this madness. But what if it were the truth?

Political satire is a tricky thing to write well. Heinlein’s satire was usually well-disguised, but in Our Fair City, he gives us a very funny look at corrupt municipal politics, thanks to an unlikely alliance between a newspaperman, a parking lot attendant, and a playful sentient whirlwind named Kitten with a penchant for collecting pretty bits of paper and string and other sorts of things.

The final story, —And He Built a Crooked House—, is just plain fun. An architect tries to build a house modelled after an unfolded tesseract... but then an earthquake causes the house to fold up through a fourth spacial dimension and the architect and his clients are trapped inside. The set-up requires a certain degree of spacial perception to begin to visualise it, but the story itself is mostly an interesting but throw-away idea.


The Man Who Sold the Moon is a collection of short stories from Heinlein’s Future History sequence, most of them strongly focused on technological advances that form the background to the later, space-faring novels. Included here is Heinlein’s first published short story, “Life Line,” about Dr. Pinero, a man who develops a scientific method of determining the date of a person’s death. The apparatus is destroyed when Pinero is murdered by the insurance companies,and the only reason it’s part of the Future History sequence is that Lazarus Long will later mention meeting Pinero. What is of interest is Heinlein’s dark perspective on the ethics of corporations, a theme continued in “Let There Be Light,” in which a pair of scientists discover a means of generating cheap energy, heat and light, and encounter interference and threats from representatives of the power industry - a problem they decide to sidestep by giving away their methods for a minimal licensing fee to anyone who wants access. This story also introduces the classic Heinlein woman, beautiful, sexy, intelligent, with multiple degrees in science and engineering, and more than ready to be the male protagonist’s wife.

The theme of emergent technologies continues in “The Roads Must Roll” and “Blowups Happen” - both stories about adapting society to new technology, and adapting the technology to the needs of human society. In “The Roads Must Roll,” reliance on the automobile as the means of transportation has become untenable, due to rationing of oil and massive traffic congestion in cities. The technological fix is to build ‘rolling roads’ - giant conveyer belts large enough to transport not only millions of people, but also service establishments, across the countryside. In response, cities spread out, building both factories, homes and amenities along the roadways. A person can wake up, head to the nearest roadway, have breakfast in a restaurant on the road itself, get off at his place of work, and return home the same way, possibly having that afterwork drink, or picking up some necessities for the household, while the road carries him along. In the story, the dependance of the new social and economic structure on the roads leads to a revolt among a small group of roadway technicians who believe that those who control the means of transportation should also control the government. At its heart, it’s a critique of the idea that those who can cut off access to a service that society depends on should wield power simply because of that fact.
“Blowups Happen” addresses dual, linked issues - how to balance need against risk in a society, and the shortsightedness of corporations who willingly ignore long-term risk for short-term gain. It also plays on fears of atomic reactions we now know to be overstated, which dates the specifics of the story. In this story, the need for energy has finally exceeded the ability of the process introduced in “Let There Be Light” to provide it, and atomic power has been brought into the energy mix. However, the potential dangers of a nuclear plant exploding are sufficient to slowly drive anyone working on the plants into states of profound anxiety - the stress of knowing one slip could destroy a whole city, or more, becomes unbearable. And then, a close examination of atomic theory reveals that one slip could destroy, not just a city, but half the planet. The ultimate solution - move the plants into space - reduces the risk enough that people can now stand the stress, and everyone is happy. One interesting theme that underlies both stories, and can be found in a number of other instances of Heinlein’s work, is the idea that psychological testing can determine who is stable enough to work in certain professions, and who is not. There’s a naive faith in the ability of psychology to accurately determine who is capable of what.

The last two stories in the collection, “The Man Who Sold the Moon” and “Requiem” tell the life story of a Moses figure, D. D. Harriman, financial genius who all his life wants only to go to the moon, builds a massive corporate empire to get the money and connections to do ir, then risks it all - only to be shut out of the trip himself, until, in the short story “Requiem” he is dying and all his money can’t legally buy him a waiver to risk his life to do the only thing he’s ever wanted. Frankly, “The Man Who Sold the Moon” has to be the most boring thing Heinlein ever wrote - it’s financial wheeling and dealing from start to finish, with a few engineering hitches thrown in here and there. “Requiem” is by far the better piece, and it really tells you everything you needed to know about Harriman. And it takes the Future History to where it really begins to take off, to the point where man begins to explore space.


In 1966 The Worlds of Robert Heinlein was published. By this tine, Heinlein was no longer writing short stories, he’d moved on to sprawling novels and there he would stay. This was the last collection of Heinlein’s work that included short stories not previously collected elsewhere. In 1980, Heinlein took the stories from this collection, added a massive number of essays, rants, and contextual pieces, and released it as Expanded Universe. Some of the stories can also be found in previous collections - “Life-Line,” “Blowups Happen” - but most pieces, fiction and non-fiction, are not collected elsewhere.

Of the stories not collected in other volumes, it’s sometimes easy to see why. “Successful Operation” is a message story, and it quite lacks any of the qualities that distinguish Heinlein’s writing. In the forward to this story, he notes that he wrote the story because he had not yet learned to say ‘no,’ and it shows. It is an anti-racist, anti-fascist, revenge fantasy, but the merits of the theme do not hide the wooden characterisation, the simplistic plot, or the lackluster writing. “Solution Unsatisfactory” on the other hand, is vintage Heinlein at his best. This is the story that is essentially a parallel universe story about the Manhatten Project, the development and first use of a radioactive weapon of mass destruction, and the conceptualisation of the Cold War and the MAD culture - although Heinlein’s unsatisfactory solution of a global military dictatorship sidesteps the reality of the latter two events. It is interesting to note that even then, Heinlein doubted that America would be able to refrain from turning the world into its own private empire if it had the opportunity. “Free Men” revisits the concept behind Sixth Column, depicting a single incident in the struggle of an underground resistance fighting an unnamed conquering nation. “On the Slopes of Vesuvius” returns to Heinlein’s deep fear of an impending nuclear war. “Nothing Ever Happens on the Moon” is a Boy Scout themed story about a young Eagle Scout from Earth on his first scouting trip on the moon. “Searchlight” is a tech-heavy short short about searching for a blind child with perfect pitch lost on the surface of the moon.

And there are a fair number of non-sf stories - “They Do It with Mirrors,” a murder mystery set in a strip joint run on the lines of the famous Windmill Theatre - full nudity allowed if no one moves a muscle; “No Bands Playing, No Flags Waving,” an exploration of the nature of bravery; “A Bathroom of Her Own,” a quite realistic story about the nitty gritty of politics and dirty tricks and fighting a corrupt electoral machine; “Cliff and the Calories,” a rather typical Heinlein writing female viewpoint story which is notable for its appreciation of women who have good appetites and are not emaciated;

The essays included in Expanded Universe reflect some of Heinlein’s basic concerns. “The Last Days of the United States” and “Pie From the Sky” argue that the only way to prevent and eventual global atomic war is through the creation of a legitimate world government, while “How To Be a Survivor” is a fear-based guide to living through a nuclear attack on the US (or any other country, for that matter) - the underlying message being that it’s better to do what’s necessary to prevent an atomic war than be forced to survive after it’s over.

One article struck me as particularly worthy of comment. “Where To?” was originally written in 1950 and was a speculative article that attempted to look forward and see the shape of society in 2000. And so much of it is so very very wrong. He gets some little bits of technology fairly close - mostly personal telecommunications devices. But his middle class family lives in a ‘smart’ house well beyond anything that’s available to the ultra rich early adopter, and cities have been decentralised, with commutes if an hour or longer by personal helicopter. And there are colonies on the moon, where older folks can retire in peace and low gravity. One area where he was very close - and later edits brought him even closer - was the revolution in family structures and the development of non-traditional families of choice. He was close on medical research, far off on investment in space travel, and in general thought that science would achieve more to improve global conditions than it has. But prediction is hard, and not really the role of a science fiction author. “The Third Millennium Opens,” while framed as a fictional piece about a person writing in 2001, looking back at the past century and forward to the next, is far more daring, suggesting the scientific development of telepathy and the technology of FTL travel is waiting in the wings.

Many of the essays, and the forwards for the various pieces, make clear Heinlein’s ever growing concern with nuclear war, and Russian domination. He becomes almost fanatical in his opposition to communism - which includes anything that involves socialising any sphere of public life, or anything resembling that American shibboleth, the ‘welfare state.’ Like many Americans, Heinlein confused communism with Russian imperialism - and now that Russia is the worst kind of capitalist state in all but name, we know that it was never about an International Communist Revolution, and always about Russia’s desire to be a world dictatorship. Heinlein visited the USSR, and wrote several scathing essays about how Intourist deals with foreign visitors, managing what they see, who they talk to, where they go. These are also included here.

Heinlein also gives much attention to matters such as the decline in education and the rising interest in astrology, witchcraft, religious cults and other things that detract from what he values above all else - science and engineering, with a side order of history. There’s a lot of material in the essays to make a modern social justice advocate like myself boil with anger, though it’s clear that he wants a society in which people don’t face discrimination, he would shudder at the idea of identity politics or critical race theory.

Essentially. Expanded Universe is Heinlein’s statement of principles, and there’s a lot that’s interesting, and sadly, a lot that just doesn’t hold up well.
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Michael Adams’ book, Could It Happen Here? Canada in the Age of Trump and Brexit focuses on the results of public opinion research and a variety of social and economic metrics in the attempt to determine whether a populist movement of the kind that swept Donald Trump into power could take root in Canada. Ironically, I started reading it during the Ontario election, and found that I had to take a break as, despite all of Adams’ citations of public opinion suggesting that Canadians are supportive of immigration, government intervention, social safety nets, gender equality, lower levels of income inequity, and all sorts of other nice-sounding things, the popularists under Doug Ford smirked and dog-whistled their way to an electoral victory.

So, even before I’d read to the end, and knew Adams’ final assessment, I had an answer to his question. Yes, it can, and it did. Writing in 2017, Adams was more hopeful: “Could Canadians suddenly find themselves seized by the rage-fueled politics of exclusion and enthralled by a tough-guy autocrat? I suppose anything is possible. But if we go beyond the fleeting politics of the day and look more closely at those underlying values, the answer becomes clear: we’ve had our flings with polarizing populists, but when the buzz wears off, we always seem to muddle our way back to the middle.”

So the question for both Michael Adams and myself now, is why, if Canadians hold such equaliarian values, comparatively speaking, did it happen anyway?

I have to state here, for those who don’t know this about me, that not only do I know the author, I used to work for him at the public opinion research company he founded, Environics. In fact, I worked as a research analyst in the public opinion division, and I’m very familiar with the kinds of research data he drew on, how it’s collected, analysed, tracked, interpreted. While I’ve been retired for a while and haven’t had access to the most recent data, I know where it comes from and the methods involved in conducting the research he draws on. So my thoughts here are the thoughts of a former insider, so to speak.

Of course, one thing that both Adams and I would say, and in fact he addresses this in the book, is that the outcome of this election is very much a consequence of the first-past-the-post electoral system that is still used in most of Canada at the provincial level, and in federal elections, and our parliamentary system. The truth is that only about a quarter of eligible voters favoured the Conservative platform, and among those who actually voted, 60 percent voted for candidates of other parties. Which really gives us the answer as to how it happened - conservative supporters were more likely to vote than supporters of other parties, and the anti-populist vote was split between centre and left, leaving the unified right to coast to a majority victory with minority support.

So in some ways, the electoral results doesn’t completely invalidate the conclusions Adams draws from the research. On most of the factors cited as differences between Canada and the US - acceptance of immigrants, trust in social and political institutions, rejection of authoritarianism, support for social equality - the differences aren’t absolute. While a majority of Canadians hold all these beliefs, there’s a minority of 20 to 30 percent that don’t - and these are more likely to be older Canadians, and older Canadians are also more likely to vote. And in this election, it’s that minority that’s taken the rest of us hostage.

I’m 63 myself, and I hope that this election was in part the last gasp of an older generation that is less likely to be comfortable with the social changes taking place, the increasing diversity, the movements that are bringing immigrants, people of colour, Indigenous people, queer and trans people, all kinds of marginalised people to the table. But the other question I have for Michael Adams and the research he draws on is this - what is the relative importance placed on these values by those who espouse them, and how did that play into the Ontario election?

When it comes to a choice, do Canadians put multiculturalism, gender equality, support for immigration, ahead of promises of personal financial comfort, lower taxes, cheaper goods and services? Are more privileged Canadians willing to give up some of their privilege to see the values they claim to hold put into practice, or are they just paying lip service to social equity?

I think it’s the answers to those questions that will tell us if this can happen here, again.
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In her Introduction to Angela Ritchie’s Invisible No More: Police Violence Against Black Women and Women of Color, Angela Y. Davis writes:

“Invisible No More: Police Violence Against Black Women and Women of Color is a very important twenty-first-century document. It reminds us how little in the way of material progress has been made during the last century in purging our societies of officially condoned racist violence. At the same time, Andrea Ritchie’s multifaceted and unrelenting antiviolence practice over the last decade, to which her book bears witness, reveals extraordinary progress in the way we conceptualize state violence and antiviolence strategies. She does not urge us simply to add women of color to the list of targets of police violence—a list that is already longer than anyone would wish. She asks us to consider what the vast problem of state violence looks like if we acknowledge how gender and sexuality, disability, and nation are intermeshed with race and class. In other words, Ritchie’s feminist approach reminds us that the job of purging our worlds of racist violence is far more complicated than advocates of simple police reform would have us believe. It is not only Black women and women of color who are “invisible no more” but also the immensity and complexity of the problem of rooting out the nexus of racist violence.”

It is this intersectional approach to the documenting of state violence against women of colour that makes this book so important. The issue is far more deeply embedded in white society than any approach that focuses primarily on police and prison reform can affect. It is part and parcel of whiteness itself, and must be addressed by radical change, not liberal reform. As Mariame Kaba notes in her Introduction, “Today, my organizing work is focused on abolishing police, prisons, and surveillance. It took a long time for me to embrace abolition as praxis. I bought into the idea that more training, more transparency, better community oversight, and prosecuting killer cops would lead to a more just system of policing. I was wrong. The origin story of modern American policing is slave patrols and union busting. A system created to contain and control me as a Black woman cannot be reformed.”

In this book, Ritchie exposes state violence against black, Indigenous, and other women of colour, starting with the early history of policing as a means of controlling the lives of Indigenous people and African-descended slaves. She gives voice to the many black and Indigenous women who experienced sexual violence at the hands of American soldiers, slave patrollers, and later, police officers. She also examines the gender-specific forms of border policing waged against immigrant women throughout American history, many of which are based on, and reinforce, racist stereotypes of hypersexuality, promiscuity, indiscriminate child-bearing, criminality, and sexual and gender non-conformity among women of colour.

She painstakingly traces the links between race, disability and sexual and gender non-conformity, demonstrating how all are factors placing women, trans men, and queer and non-binary people of colour at high risk from violence, and frequently sexualised violence from police and other state agents. She looks at laws and policing strategies, from anti-loitering and anti-prostitution laws to “broken windows” and “quality of life” policing to child welfare and domestic violence interventions as sites of racial profiling, invasion of privacy, gender role policing and violence.

Yet in this painful litany of injustice upon injustice, there is also a record of resistance. “There is no question that the shroud of invisibility around Black women’s and women of color’s experiences of police violence has been irrevocably lifted in the post-Ferguson moment and movement. It has been forcefully pushed aside by young women on the front lines in Ferguson and by bloggers and organizers across the country who were speaking out in the days and months following Mike Brown’s killing, who were outraged at Dajerria Becton’s assault in McKinney, who rose up in widespread protest following Sandra Bland’s death in police custody, and who unapologetically demanded attention and action around #AssaultatSpringValleyHigh and the rape of thirteen Black women by Oklahoma City police officer Daniel Holtzclaw, and who demanded justice for Rekia Boyd.”

But as each new day’s newspapers and twitter feeds inform us, the state’s assault on black, Indigenous and other racially marginalised women, trans men and non-gender conforming people continues, and so must the resistance.
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Indigenous Nationhood is a collection of writings by Indigenous writer and activist Pamela Palmater of the Mi’kmaw Nation, which she describes as: “... a collection of my own personal thoughts, opinions, ideas, and critiques about a wide range of issues...” Most of the writings are taken from her blog, and address many issues, political, economic and cultural, of relevance to Indigenous peoples, particularly those living within what is now called Canada, and their struggles for justice in a white settler country. Many of the blogs were written during the tenure of Stephen Harper as Prime Minister and refer to specific issues involving his government, but really, not much has changed under Trudeau, and the basic truths remain, no matter how the details change.

In my comments on the non-fiction books I read, I often try to summarise some of the important points the author makes; this time, I’m just going to let Palmater’s words speak for themselves, and urge you to buy the book, or go read her blog, to learn more. Because her words are important.

“This is an old battle, one that we have been fighting since contact. While many Canadians would like to believe that old colonial ideologies about Indigenous peoples have long since waned, the opposite is true. Just take a peek at some of the vile comments posted on online media stories about Indigenous peoples and you’ll see what I mean. Not only do Indigenous peoples face this battle on multiple fronts and on a daily basis, but they must also face the battle within themselves. Every day we face the battle to prove we are worthy as human beings. Too often this battle is lost, and we lose our young people to suicide, violent deaths, and early deaths from diseases, malnutrition, and lack of housing or clean water caused by extreme poverty.”

“It is time Canada accepted the fact that we will not be assimilated. Whether you call it “aggressively contrary,” “insurgency,” or “criminal” — we will continue to protect our cultures and identities for future generations. If only Canadians could leave their minds open long enough to see the incredible strength of our diverse peoples, the beauty of our rich cultures and traditions, the unique ties we have to our territories, and the incredible pride we have in our identities — then they would see why we refuse to give it up.”

“My own identity has been shaped by the histories, stories, lessons, and practices passed on to me by my large extended family. This has shaped my worldview, values, and aspirations — it is essentially what some might refer to as my cultural identity. My experience of identity on the other hand, has been shaped entirely by others — by schoolmates, teachers, employers, friends, neighbours, historians, judges, politicians, and governments. While my own Indigenous identity is strong and has survived the test of time, it is scarred and bruised by my lived experience of identity and the ongoing attack on my identity through government law and policy designed to assimilate Indigenous peoples into the body politic.”

“From smallpox blankets and scalping bounties to imprisonment and neglect — Canada is killing our people, and Canadians will be next if nothing is done to change the value (or lack thereof) that we collectively put on human life — all human life. This dictatorial, police state is not what newcomers had in mind when they came to Canada. A territory shared with Indigenous Nations based on formal agreements (treaties) and informal agreements (alliances) was founded on three principles: mutual respect, mutual prosperity, and mutual protection. Indigenous peoples, their families, communities, and Nations protected and cared for newcomers. Our people fought in Canada’s world wars to protect our shared territory and people. Now it’s time for Canadians to stand up for Indigenous peoples.”

“There is a children-in-care crisis, with 40% of children in care in Canada (30,000–40,000) being Indigenous children. In Manitoba, approximately 90% of the children in care are Indigenous. The crisis of over-incarceration of Indigenous people shows that 25–30% of the prison population in Canada are Indigenous and numbers are increasing. The water crisis reveals that 116+ First Nations do not have clean water and 75% of their water systems are at medium to high risk. The housing crisis is particularly staggering when you consider that 40% of First Nations homes are in need of major repair and there is an 85,000 home backlog. There is a growing crisis of violence against Indigenous women, with over 1200 murdered and missing Indigenous women and little girls in Canada. The health crisis results in a life expectancy of 8–20 years less for Indigenous people due to extreme poverty. This does not include the cultural crisis, where 94% of Indigenous languages in Canada (47 of 50 languages) are at high risk of extinction. These are all exacerbated for communities which suffer from massive flooding due to hydroelectric operations.”

“We are in the fight of our lives and we need to turn the tide of this war around. We have to stop blaming ourselves and believing the lies that we were told. We are not inferior, we are not genetically predisposed to dysfunction, our men are not better than our women, and we certainly did not ever consent to genocide against our people. All the dysfunction, addictions, ill health, suicides, male domination, and violence are the result of what Canada did to us. We are not each other’s enemies. We have to forgive ourselves for being colonized — none of that is who we really are as Indigenous peoples.”

“Today, however, the bright spirits of our peoples have been dimmed by the dark cloud under which our generations have lived for a very long time. Multiple generations of our peoples have been living under colonial rule and suffering the losses of our lands, identities, traditions, values, and worldviews, as well as our sense of responsibility to ourselves and each other. This has been compounded by the historical and current physical and emotional harms imposed by our colonizers. These actions are well known and include assimilation laws, policies, and state actions like residential schools, day schools, the Indian Act, discriminatory laws, the sixties scoop, overrepresentation of Indigenous children in foster care and our men in prisons, deaths in police custody, starlight tours, racial profiling, and many other current state actions.”

“Just like all the “non-status,” “non-band member” and “off reserve” Indian women who have been excluded at every turn, we now have a new negative descriptor — murdered or missing Indigenous women and girls. Our women can be murdered or go missing in frighteningly high numbers without society caring enough to even wonder why. How much more inequality must Indigenous women endure before society at large will stand up and say enough?”

“The whole world is changing and it is Indigenous peoples who are leading that change to restore balance to the earth, its life-giving resources, and the peoples who share this planet. We have the power to bring our people back home. All those suffering in child and family services, those that are missing, and those trapped in prisons or state custody — we are going to bring them back home. Canadians are standing beside us as we do this because they have come to realize that without farmable land, drinkable water, and breathable air — none of us will survive. This means that Indigenous Nations are Canadians’ last best hope at protecting the lands, waters, plants and animals for all our future generations.”
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How We Get Free: Black Feminism and the Combahee River Collective, edited by Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor, is a collection of work memorialising and expanding upon the significant contributions to social justice theory made by the women of the Combahee River Collective (CRC). Taylor’s stated intent in this volume is “an effort to reconnect the radical roots of Black feminist analysis and practice to contemporary organizing efforts” and “to show how these politics remain historically vibrant and relevant to the struggles of today.”

The Combahee River Collective, “a radical Black feminist organization formed in 1974 and named after Harriet Tubman’s 1853 raid on the Combahee River in South Carolina that freed 750 enslaved people” formed in reaction to both the white feminist movement, and the civil rights movement. The women of the CRC - including Barbara Smith, her sister Beverly Smith, and Demita Frazier - were painfully aware that white feminists were not paying attention to racism and the particular conditions experienced by the black woman in America; at the same time, they felt that a focus on racism alone was not a sufficient basis for critical analysis and action planning relevant to black women’s liberation.

While it would be some years yet before Kimberlé Crenshaw named and defined intersectionality, the CRC “...described oppressions as “interlocking” or happening “simultaneously,” thus creating new measures of oppression and inequality. In other words, Black women could not quantify their oppression only in terms of sexism or racism, or of homophobia experienced by Black lesbians. They were not ever a single category, but it was the merging or enmeshment of those identities that compounded how Black women experienced oppression.”

The CRC also introduced the concept of identity politics into radical social analysis, arguing that “...oppression on the basis of identity—whether it was racial, gender, class, or sexual orientation identity—was a source of political radicalization.” Furthermore, identity politics meant that “experiences of oppression, humiliations, and the indignities created by poverty, racism, and sexism opened Black women up to the possibility of radical and revolutionary politics” - it provided a point of entry for an oppressed group to work towards their own liberation. For the CRC, identity politics was connected to coalition building. They believed that different oppressed groups, in working together on the issues affecting the liberation of those oppressed groups, could effect real change. Identity politics allowed people to radicalise around their own oppression, identify the specific issues affecting their own conditions - and then join with other groups to address multiple issues together.

The CRC was a truly radical political movement, operating from a socialist base that acknowledged the importance of class in an understanding of the oppression of black women, and within a spirit of internationalism that declared solidarity with the “global movement of Black and Brown people united in struggle against the colonial, imperialist, and capitalist domination of the West, led by the United States.”

The first chapter of the book is, inevitably, a reprinting of The Combahee River Collective Statement, a historic document that sets out the results of the Collective’s analysis. They begin by stating:

“The most general statement of our politics at the present time would be that we are actively committed to struggling against racial, sexual, heterosexual, and class oppression, and see as our particular task the development of integrated analysis and practice based upon the fact that the major systems of oppression are interlocking. The synthesis of these oppressions creates the conditions of our lives. As Black women we see Black feminism as the logical political movement to combat the manifold and simultaneous oppressions that all women of color face.”

I remember reading, and being deeply affected by, the CRC Statement. I think it is an absolute necessity for any feminist or anti-racist activist to read it, and one of the things that delights me about Taylor’s book is that she has made the Statement readily available in print. If you are unfamiliar with it, there are also a few places where it can be found online, if you look for it. It is an important document, more so now than ever as we witness the failure of white feminism or socialist action or civil rights movements alone to radically transform our world to one in which true social justice is the rule, not the fervently hoped for, rare in practice exception.

The Statement is the heart of this book. What follows in the interviews conducted by Taylor with Barbara Smith, Beverly Smith, Demita Frazier and Alice Garza, and the comments of Barbara Ransby is the background, contextualisation, extension, and evolution of these essential ideas, presented to a new generation that can build on them to bring about real change, true liberation for all.

These interviews are powerful, thoughtful, often raw, always real, explorations of what it means to be a politically and economically radical black feminist. They are steeped in intersectionality, in the importance of seeing the indivisibility of multiple marked statuses. They are fearless in calling out both white supremacy and late-stage capitalism as poisonous ideologies that limit social justice. They are historically and immediately important.

It has been 40 years since the publication of the Combahee River Collective Statement, and it remains an important document in the body of theory that informs the broad social justice movement, and the specific Black feminist movement. In bringing together the statement and the voices of those who created it, and who have incorporated its ideas into their own movement, Taylor reminds us of its power and truth.
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I have been reading a fair bit lately about race and antiracist theory, but most of what I’ve been reading has been written in an American context, though of course much is broadly applicable to the situation in Canada, too. Much of the Canadian material I have been able to access has focused on indigenous issues. So I was particularly happy to learn of the publication of Robyn Maynard’s Policing Black Lives: State Violence in Canada from Slavery to the Present.

Maynard is a Black feminist writer and grassroots community organiser who has been on the forefront of resistance to police violence for over a decade.

“Working with racialized youth in state care and in street-based economies, as well as with adult street-based sex workers, I have been constantly and painfully aware of the gross racial and economic injustices at the fault lines of Canadian society. Though I have not worked exclusively with Black communities, I’ve regularly witnessed enormous and disproportionate levels of what can only be called state-sanctioned violence and concerted neglect of Black people.”

Maynard writes that she began writing Policing Black Lives as a response to her experiences, and to the realisation that little literature on this issue in a Canadian context existed.

“In combing through the world of research for something that would describe the realities that I was seeing, I realized that there was still far too little literature addressing, in one place, the specificities of how criminal and immigration laws, inequitable access to work and housing and other state policies and institutions interact to shape the conditions of Black life in this country. It has become increasingly clear that none of these incidents are isolated; they are part of a larger pattern of the devaluation of Black life across Canada.

I felt compelled to write this book because anti-Blackness, particularly anti-Blackness at the hands of the state, is widely ignored by most Canadians.”

Maynard begins by interrogating the myth of Canada as a place of racial tolerance and multi-culturalism. She argues that anti-Black racism and state violence are endemic, but unregarded, in Canada, to the point that many white Canadians are unaware of the extent to while the various institutions of the state regulate, dehumanise and injure Black Canadians, and that, like institutional racism in the United States, has its roots in the transatlantic slave trade.

As the book’s full title suggests, Maynard starts her narrative of Black experience of systemic state oppression and violence with the often ignored history of slavery in the British and French colonies that would come to be identified as Canada. While not all Black people living in the colonies prior to the abolition of slavery throughout the British Empire were enslaved, many were. The ships engaged in the transatlantic slave trade made stops at ports such as Halifax. During the American Revolution, Black Americans who fought for the English were given freedom and promised land in Nova Scotia - at the same time that white American Loyalists migrated north with their household slaves, who remained property.

One consequence of the existence of slavery and the ideologies that supported it in early Canadian culture is that free Black Canadians were devalued as citizens, denied many of the rights and privileges accorded to other colonial settlers, and subjected to race-based discrimination and sometimes violence. Racism was endemic. The freedom runners who followed the Underground Railway north to Canada may have escaped literal enslavement, but they did not arrive in the mythologised land of racial tolerance Canadians imagine our country to have been.

“The segregation of Black communities — which, like slavery, was a form of controlling Black movement and institutionalizing subordination — was based on the idea that Black people were both inferior and dangerous to whites. Formally and informally, segregation was one of Canada’s foremost strategies for maintaining white dominance across all aspects of society after slavery’s end. In the United States, Jim Crow referred to the de jure segregation of Black from white in the public facilities of the former Confederate states. Canada had its own iteration of practices that separated Black from white in what some historians call “Canada’s Jim Crow.” Canadians produced “their own distinct language and rationalizations” when “propping up white supremacist ideology and practices.” Segregation in the post-abolition period cut across all aspects of society. Public education, immigration, employment and housing were all subject to a veiled Jim Crow-style segregation that either formally or informally kept Black persons in social, economic and political subjugation.”

Maynard discusses the ways in which Black people have been associated with a presumption of criminality, beginning with the presentation of Black freedom runners as criminals who had escaped from their lawful owners. The presence of escaped slaves was used to justify scrutiny by both police and the general public. After abolition, vice laws were used to continue scrutiny of Blacks; assumption about the general immorality of Black people resulted in the frequent use of prostitution laws against Black women in public places, and of drug laws against Blacks, and particularly Black men. Black men were also at risk of accusations of rape committed against white women, while at the same time, it was almost impossible for a white legal system convinced of the sexual immorality of Black women to consider rape against them as a crime.

“After slavery, associations between race and crime, and particularly between Blackness and crime, took hold as an important means of legitimating the ongoing state surveillance and control over Black people’s lives. Beyond prostitution and drug laws, the creation and application of criminal laws in general were used by the Canadian government to manage deep-seated fears and anxieties about Blackness. Tracing the lineage of racism in Canada’s legal system from the 1700s to the present day, Black Canadian legal scholar Esmerelda Thornhill concludes that “the law has colluded — and continues to collude — with race in ways that accommodate and foster ongoing … anti-Black racism”. The data supports this claim. Examinations of court records between the years of 1890 to 1920 found open racism in the sentencing of Black offenders by many magistrates. From 1908 to 1960, Blacks convicted of violent offences would receive far more severe sentences. The result of these court decisions was a consistently disproportionate rate of incarceration for Black people. In 1911, Black males were incarcerated at a rate eighteen times higher than that of white males, while in 1931 they were incarcerated at a rate ten times higher than whites. Incarceration had replaced enslavement as a legal means to literally strip people of their freedom, as well as separate families and inhibit future employment opportunities. Black incarceration was thus highly effective in maintaining Black disenfranchisement and subjugation in post-abolition Canada. The association of Blackness with danger allowed for the policing of Black peoples’ lives by white settler society, law enforcement and immigration agencies — Black emancipation had not yet been actualized.”

The association of Black communities and crime has continued. Black protest is criminalised, with protestors and civil rights activists seen as thugs and hoodlums. Despite evidence that Black people are no more likely than white people to use illegal drugs, the War on Drugs focused on Black communities, with Blacks far more likely to be arrested, charged and convicted on drug offenses. Racial profiling ad carding disproportionately target Blacks, particularly Black youth.

“Though not only Black people were arrested for drug infractions, the increased police surveillance and repression of Black communities mandated by drug law enforcement had direct impacts on Black incarceration in the period immediately following Mulroney’s War on Drugs. In 1995, a large-scale investigation in Ontario documented a massive influx of Black prisoners during the period spanning 1986–1987 to 1992–1993. By the end of this period, Blacks were incarcerated at a rate five times higher than their white counterparts. Though the CSR Report found that Black and white communities engaged in crime at comparable rates in that same period, this period saw the rate of incarceration of Blacks increase by over 200 percent, compared to white persons, whose rates rose by just over 20 percent. Black women, though arrested in smaller numbers than Black men, were found to face even more disproportionate rates of incarceration than men. By the end of 1993, Black women were incarcerated at a rate of seven times that of white women. Admissions at Vanier Centre for Women increased the rate of admission of Black women by 630 percent, whereas white women’s admissions at the same prison went up by 59 percent.”

Maynard devotes several chapters to the examination of the ways in which Black women, and particularly Black trans women, are treated by the police ad other agents of the state. Presumptions of engagement in sex work are common for Black women in public spaces. Poor Black women receiving social assistance are often represented as likely to commit fraud, or other crimes, and live under heightened scrutiny in their private lives by agents of social welfare agencies. Verbal, physical and sexual abuse by state agents is common. Black Caribbean women who travel between Canada and their home countries are frequently profiled as drug couriers.

Maynard also examines other aspects of the ways in which Black Canadians are surveilled, regulated, policed and denied privacy and autonomy: the issues of migrant Blacks, including refugees, and the policing of borders and concepts of citizenship; the scrutiny and interference in Black families, pathologising of Black family life and removal of Black children from their families; and the institutionalised racism Black youth face within the educational system.

I don’t often say things like this. But in this case, I think it’s essential. Maynard’s book should be read, and seriously deliberated on, by every white person in Canada. We are far too find of congratulating ourselves for being better than the US on racism. The truth is, we aren’t. We are just further behind on having it out in the open for everyone to see.

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No Time to Spare: Thinking about What Matters is a collection of Ursula Le Guin’s writings taken largely from her personal blog. I’d read most of them before, having been a follower of that blog from fairly early on. And being of the opinion that anything Le Guin chooses to write about is worth reading, even if it is only what she imagines her cat might like her to write about. Maybe even particularly that.

There will be no more blog posts. But reading them in a concentrated dose, in this volume, is like looking into the wise and imaginative mind of one of the great thinkers and writers of our time, and seeing what she does when she’s at home. Of course there is always the necessary distance between writer and reader. Le Guin knew well she was writing for an audience, even in this blog. But I like to think she knew she was writing for an audience that loved her and wanted to know some of the things about her that she was willing to share.

As Karen Joy Fowler remarks in the Introduction:

“What you will find in these pages here is a more casual Le Guin, a Le Guin at home. Some of the issues that have obsessed her throughout her career—the fatal model of growth capitalism; sisterhood and the ways in which it differs from the male fraternal; the denigration and misunderstandings of genre, science, and belief—continue to appear, but they’ve been sanded back to their absolute essentials. It is particularly pleasurable here to watch the lively way her mind works, and how a posting whose trappings initially seem merely sportive becomes deeply consequential.”

Le Guin’s topics range from the love her cat has of hunting beetles to the magnificent subversiveness inherent in the truth that lies beneath all speculative fiction, that “it doesn’t have to be the way it is.” In some ways, she has personified in her blog one of my favourite aphorisms, the one attributed to the Roman playwright Terence (Publius Terentius Afer) which says “Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto.” All of that which is human, which can be apprehended by a human, is hers to explore and discuss.

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The Fire This Time, edited by Jesmyn Ward, is a collection of writings in response to the racism that is an integral part of North American, white supremacist society. The title is a reference to James Baldwin’s classic writing on the same issues, more than 50 years ago, a reference that Ward makes explicit in her introduction.

“I read Baldwin’s essay “Notes of a Native Son” while I was in my mid-twenties, and it was a revelation. I’d never read creative nonfiction like Baldwin’s, never encountered this kind of work, work that seemed to see me, to know I needed it. I read it voraciously, desperate for the words on the page. I needed to know that someone else saw the myriad injustices of living while black in this country, that someone so sharp and gifted and human could acknowledge it all, and speak on it again and again. Baldwin was so brutally honest. His prose was frank and elegant in turn, and I returned to him annually after that first impression-forming read. Around a year after Trayvon Martin’s death, a year in which black person after black person died and no one was held accountable, I picked up The Fire Next Time, and I read: “You can only be destroyed by believing that you really are what the white world calls a nigger. I tell you this because I love you, and please don’t you ever forget it.” It was as if I sat on my porch steps with a wise father, a kind, present uncle, who said this to me. Told me I was worthy of love. Told me I was worth something in the world. Told me I was a human being. I saw Trayvon’s face, and all the words blurred on the page.

It was then that I knew I wanted to call on some of the great thinkers and extraordinary voices of my generation to help me puzzle this out. I knew that a black boy who lives in the hilly deserts of California, who likes to get high with his friends on the weekend and who freezes in a prickly sweat whenever he sees blue lights in his rearview, would need a book like this. A book that would reckon with the fire of rage and despair and fierce, protective love currently sweeping through the streets and campuses of America. A book that would gather new voices in one place, in a lasting, physical form, and provide a forum for those writers to dissent, to call to account, to witness, to reckon. A book that a girl in rural Missouri could pick up at her local library and, while reading, encounter a voice that hushed her fears. In the pages she would find a wise aunt, a more present mother, who saw her terror and despair threading their fingers through her hair, and would comfort her. We want to tell her this: You matter. I love you. Please don’t forget it.”

Every piece in this collection is important in what it says, and what it asks the reader to contemplate. These are powerful pieces, poems, personal narratives, essays, examinations, exhortations, accusations, inspirations. They talk about growing up black. About walking while black. About the history of black people. About the deaths of Michael Brown, and Eric Garner, and Tamir Rice, and Rekia Boyd, and the Charleston church worshippers and Sandra Bland and too many others. About white rage and black mourning. About knowing your rights, and knowing how to behave when you’re stopped for breathing while black. About being a black parent, knowing what you must say to your black child, in the hopes of keeping them alive. About being black in America.

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Celebrity is a strange thing. Most people whose fame goes far beyond any recognition they might reasonably have attained through their own work in their field, or their actions with their own circle, do so because the media picks them up, enhances who they are or what they do. Zoe Quinn became a celebrity because a bunch of overly privileged manboys decided that she had harshed their gaming mellow and threatened to kill her. Zoe Quinn became a celebrity because of the people who hate her, and remains one because of her response to that, and the people who came to admire her for it.

Crash Override: How Gamergate [Nearly] Destroyed My Life and How We Can Win the Fight against Online Hate is the story of how all that shit went down. It’s also the story of how Quinn survived and went on to found an organisation designed to help others facing the same shit that was thrown at her. And it’s the story of how much more has to change before any real dent can be made in the toxic sludgery that is the natural environment of the Internet abuser.

The first part of the book interweaves a linear account of the early days of the Gamergate assault on Quinn following he revenge post of an abusive ex-lover, with Quinn’s account if growing up poor, nerdy, and queer in a dysfunctional family in small town America. The later part of the book focuses on an exploration of the nature of online harassment, her anti-harassment activism and the tactics adopted by her organisation - also called Crash Override - on behalf of their clients, general advice on what to do if you are being harassed, or expect to be, and thoughts on what our social institutions - such as lawmakers, police, academic researchers, the media, and companies with internet presence - can do to ameliorate the problem.

Quinn earns significant points in my book for pointing out that as bad as the harassment has been for her, a white cis woman, it is worse for trans folk and people of colour, and worst of all for trans women of colour - as it is in life off the net as well. She makes clear the linkages between the reddit and 4chan gamergate abusers, highly sexist denizens of the MRA and ‘manoverse’ netspaces, and the alt-right/white supremacist/fascist community centred on breitbart and similar sites.

And by admitting her own involvement in internet abuse as an insecure teenager with unresolved frustrations, she underscores the point that internet harassment is bullying gone digital, it is a manifestation of something that has been part of human interaction for a very long time, and it will take a cultural seachange to prioritise empathy over dehumanisation.

“We need a culturewide solution because individual change is difficult when online abuse is frequently a group activity. It’s harder to hear the voices of the people you’ve hurt over the dozens of others cheering you on. These mobs spring up partly because a lot of people like teen me don’t have a community anywhere else. Participating in an abuse campaign is something to have in common, with a target to bond over and rally against. The mob is a place to belong and find acceptance; it just happens to be built on someone else’s suffering.”

A brave, painful and sometimes funny examination of the underside of Internet culture that will probably leave you wondering what would happen if the trollmobs came after you.

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Sara Ahmed begins her book, Living a Feminist Life, with these words:

"What do you hear when you hear the word feminism ? It is a word that fills me with hope, with energy. It brings to mind loud acts of refusal and rebellion as well as the quiet ways we might have of not holding on to things that diminish us. It brings to mind women who have stood up, spoken back, risked lives, homes, relationships in the struggle for more bearable worlds. It brings to mind books written, tattered and worn, books that gave words to something, a feeling, a sense of an injustice, books that, in giving us words, gave us the strength to go on. Feminism: how we pick each other up. So much history in a word; so much it too has picked up.

I write this book as a way of holding on to the promise of that word, to think what it means to live your life by claiming that word as your own: being a feminist, becoming a feminist, speaking as a feminist. Living a feminist life does not mean adopting a set of ideals or norms of conduct, although it might mean asking ethical questions about how to live better in an unjust and unequal world (in a not-feminist and antifeminist world); how to create relationships with others that are more equal; how to find ways to support those who are not supported or are less supported by social systems; how to keep coming up against histories that have become concrete, histories that have become as solid as walls."

This is not unlike my own sense of what feminism has meant to me, throughout almost an entire lifetime of consciously identifying myself as a feminist. It is about living bravely and ethically, believing in the power we have within us to change the world and make it a better place for everyone to live in. It is about social and economic justice for every damned human being on the planet. It is about fighting sexism, racism, classism, homophobia and transphobia. It is about recognising intersectionality of experience and not centering the experiences of the privileged. It's about challenging capitalist greed, the bitter aftereffects of colonialism, the ongoing oppression of globalisation and economic imperialism. It's about respect and compassion and love. And yet, as Ahmed notes:

"When you become a feminist, you find out very quickly: what you aim to bring to an end some do not recognize as existing. This book follows this finding. So much feminist and antiracist work is the work of trying to convince others that sexism and racism have not ended; that sexism and racism are fundamental to the injustices of late capitalism; that they matter. Just to talk about sexism and racism here and now is to refuse displacement; it is to refuse to wrap your speech around postfeminism or postrace, which would require you to use the past tense (back then) or an elsewhere (over there)."

Ahmed writes with such specificity about becoming a feminist, being a feminist, behaving in feminist ways, that every page is full of recognitions - “yes, that’s what it feels like,” “yes, that’s what always happens,” “yes, I’ve been there, said that, done that.” She talks about being the ‘feminist killjoy’ - the one who recognises the everyday manifestations of sexism and racism, who identifies them as problems, as wrong, as forms of violence, who has a name for these things, who feels angry about them, who speaks out, who takes action to resist the wrong, repudiate the violence, repair the harm. And about feminism as willfulness: “If to be a killjoy is to be the one who gets in the way of happiness, then living a feminist life requires being willing to get in the way. When we are willing to get in the way, we are willful.”

A further aspect of Ahmed’s writing is her multi-layered examination of the words and images we use, and how their meanings and relationships can reveal unexpected truths. As in this passage:

“If feminists are willful women, then feminism is judged as a product of those who have too much will or too much of a will of their own. This judgment is a judgment of feminism as being wrong, but also an explanation of feminism in terms of motivation: the act of saying something is wrong is understood as being self-motivated, a way of getting what you want or will. Virginia Woolf wrote of a room of one’s own, a room we have to fight for. We can think of feminism as having to fight to acquire a will of one’s own.

Of course now when we hear the expression “a will of one’s own,” we might assume this claim as an assertion of the primacy of an individual. But own can be rebellious in a world that assumes some beings are property for others (being for others): to claim to be one’s own or to have a will of one’s own can be a refusal to be willing to labor or to provide services for others. Perhaps willing women means being willing to be for. When you are assumed to be for others, then not being for others is judged as being for yourself. Perhaps willfulness could be summarized thus: not being willing to be owned. When you are not willing to be owned, you are judged as willing on your own. This is why willfulness as a judgment falls on some and not others. It is only for some that ownness is rebellion; only some owns become wrongs.”

Ahmed devotes a significant portion of the text to discussing her experiences and observations on being a diversity worker in academia - an example of praxis of the feminist theory she expounds elsewhere in the text. But much of the thinking she shares about the work of enabling and supporting diversity, and the multiple barriers faced by such workers, is entirely applicable to the struggles of any activist to enable and support social and economic justice for any marginalised group.

Indeed, the final section of the book is about feminist activism of all kinds and the consequences of living a feminist life. Ahmed demonstrates the ways that the various concepts she identifies and explores - the feminist killjoy, the willful woman, the feminist snap among others - work in the real world of interactions between people with multiple intersections of privilege and oppression. Moreover, she stresses the importance of surviving as a feminist, and of ensuring that feminism survives. And she gives us much to think about while we try to survive and live our feminist lives.

“Feminism needs feminists to survive: my killjoy survival kit is assembled around this sentence. It is a feminist sentence. And the reverse too is very true: feminists need feminism to survive. Feminism needs those of us who live lives as feminists to survive; our life becomes a feminist survival. But feminism needs to survive; our life becomes a feminist survival in this other sense. Feminism needs us; feminism needs us not only to survive but to dedicate our lives to the survival of feminism. This book has been my expression of my willingness to make this dedication. Feminists need feminism to survive.”

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Ibram X. Kendi, in Stamped from the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America, traces the history of thought about race in America, from the earliest days to the present, "... from their origins in fifteenth-century Europe, through colonial times when the early British settlers carried racist ideas to America, all the way to the twenty-first century and current debates about the events taking place on our streets." The book itself draws its title from a statement about race: "... from a speech that Mississippi senator Jefferson Davis gave on the floor of the US Senate on April 12, 1860. This future president of the Confederacy objected to a bill funding Black education in Washington, DC. 'This Government was not founded by negroes nor for negroes,' but 'by white men for white men,' Davis lectured his colleagues. The bill was based on the false notion of racial equality, he declared. The 'inequality of the white and black races' was 'stamped from the beginning.' "

Kendi structures his observations into five historical periods, characterising each period as, in a way, a conversation with the ideas on race of five American intellectuals: Cotton Mather, Thomas Jefferson, abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison, W. E. B. Du Bois, and Angela Davis. He carefully weaves the development of each individual's thoughts on race into the historical events of their times, comparing and contrasting their views with other intellectuals of their times, showing both the influences on their ideas, and their influence on events and the ideas of others. While his focus is on ideas about racism, he makes a consistent attempt to identify the ways in which gender and queerness intersect with race. This results in various critiques throughout the book of the ways in which racist and heterosexist ideas and practices differently affect Black men and Black women, the ways in which sexism and hetersexism have influenced Black anti-racist thought about women, gender, and Black queerness, and the ways in which feminist movements and thinkers have engaged in racist thought and action.

In exploring the range of ideas about race that have influenced and driven American culture, society and politics, Kendi identifies three general strands of thought - segregationalists, assimilationists, and antiracists:

"But even before Thomas Jefferson and the other founders declared independence, Americans were engaging in a polarizing debate over racial disparities, over why they exist and persist, and over why White Americans as a group were prospering more than Black Americans as a group. Historically, there have been three sides to this heated argument. A group we can call segregationists has blamed Black people themselves for the racial disparities. A group we can call antiracists has pointed to racial discrimination. A group we can call assimilationists has tried to argue for both, saying that Black people and racial discrimination were to blame for racial disparities. During the ongoing debate over police killings, these three sides to the argument have been on full display. Segregationists have been blaming the recklessly criminal behavior of the Black people who were killed by police officers. Michael Brown was a monstrous, threatening thief; therefore Darren Wilson had reason to fear him and to kill him. Antiracists have been blaming the recklessly racist behavior of the police. The life of this dark-skinned eighteen-year-old did not matter to Darren Wilson. Assimilationists have tried to have it both ways. Both Wilson and Brown acted like irresponsible criminals."

Kendi takes aim at the generally accepted belief that ignorance and hatred are the basis for the development of racist ideas, which then are manifested in policies that end in racial discrimination. He argues instead that the self-interest - political, economic, and cultural - of the elite white classes leads to the adoption of policies that discriminate and oppress along racial lines, which supports the development of racist ideologues, which create ignorance of and hatred toward racialised groups.

The precursor to racist ideas, Kendi argues, can be found in Aristotle's justifications for the Greek practice of slavery, which holds that, while al non-Greeks are barbarians, peoples from extreme climates are in particular inferior to Greeks because of the environment they live in. Variations on these ideas - that people from other cultures are inferior, and people from distant places where the physical conditions are different are even more so - were later used to justify slavery in the Roman and Muslim spheres of influence. A second source of racist thought may be identified in the Biblical story story of Noah's son Ham, the progenitor of African peoples and other dark-skinned peoples, who 'looked on his father's nakedness.' As punishment, Ham, his son Canaan, and their descendants were cursed by God. The darker complexions of Africans and other non-Europeans were seen as a mark of the curse and of their inherited inferiority.

Initially, slavery in Christian Europe, like that in Muslim countries, involved both black Africans and
Eastern European Slavic peoples. However, in the 15th century, the pattern began to shift as the sea trade with coastal Africa increased significantly (and the Slavs embarked on fort building to discourage Turkish slave raids), black slaves became the norm and racist justifications for slavery derived from initial idea of the 'curse of Ham' dominated the discourse. With the 'discovery' and later colonisation of the Americas by Europeans, concurrent with the increasing colonisation and exploitation of African nations, the racist narrative of the inferiority and natural role as slaves of dark peoples - both African and indigenous American - became the established thinking on race among Europeans and American colonists.

As slavery became a necessary institution for the provision of cheap labour in the colonies, the previously existing racist idea of African peoples as barbaric and hypersexualised was extended, with stress on the sexual aggressiveness of black women. This served to excuse the rape of female slaves. Kendi notes that the law - which in British tradition had long held that a child takes on the social status of the father - was explicitly reversed, ensuring that children born of such rape were seen as slaves, and hence additions to the available cheap labour pool, like their mothers. At the same time, sexual contact between white women and black men of any status was prohibited.

European law at the beginning of the colonial period held that Christians might be indentured, but could not be enslaved. Thus at first there was little pressure to convert slaves to Christianity, and much resistance. Indeed, many slave-owners and segregationalists in general argued that for various reasons - barbarism, lower intellectual capacity, even the presumed lack of a fully developed soul, Africans could not by their natures become Christians. Christian assimilationists, wanting to save black souls without threatening the economic status quo, began to argue that Africans had been brought by historical necessity into slavery so that their masters might convert them - thus making them more docile slaves. Laws were passed that explicitly stated that converting someone already a slave would not change their legal status in any way; Virginia's 1667 statute declared that "the conferring of baptisme doth not alter the condition of the person as to his bondage.”

With the approach of the Enlightenment and he beginning of 'scientific' thinking about race, two opposing theories of human origins, monogenesis and polygenesis, emerged. Monogenesis - usually associated with assimilationist thinking on racism - held that all humans had the same origin. On the other hand, polygenesis - a clearly segregationalist narrative - put forward various theories concerning the origins of the different races; the one consistent element of these theories was the idea that Africans did not share an origin with white peoples - indeed, they often argued that Africans and great apes shared an origin.

Repeatedly, "altruistic" attitudes toward African slaves - the idea, for instance, that despite their presumed barbarism, their souls were capable of salvation - were advanced, only to be countered by either segregationalist narratives, or laws that ensured that no degree of altruism might interfere with the economic interests of land/slave holders. Slavery was cast as both legal and permissible under Biblical precedent - thus criminalising any black person who sought their own freedom. "No matter what African people did, they were barbaric beasts or brutalized like beasts. If they did not clamor for freedom, then their obedience showed they were naturally beasts of burden. If they nonviolently resisted enslavement, they were brutalized. If they killed for their freedom, they were barbaric murderers."

As the abolitionist movement grew, both in England and in what would become the United States, new ideas entered the public discourse on race. Abolitionists put forward the argument that while Africans were inferior - thus supporting racist perceptions - it was so because of the conditions of slavery. Pro-slavery voices expanded upon the concept of polygenesis, giving reason upon reason for their conviction that black people were of a different species altogether from white people. Kendi pays particular attention to Thomas Jefferson's writings on both the justification for the American revolution and his support for the continued enslavement of Africans in America. The notion of colonisation - creating a new nation in Africa for free American blacks (as Britain had done in Sierra Leone) added further nuances to ideas about the nature, capabilities and potentials of black people, and the possibility of a state in which free blacks co-existed with whites.

As the middle of the 19th century approached, with the Civil War still some decades away, the multitude of positions on black Americans included wholehearted advocates of slavery, 'gradual abolitionists' who wanted a slow end to slavery, those who wanted to immediately abolish slavery but limit the civil rights of blacks until they were 'ready' to exercise them, those who demanded immediate abolition and full enfranchisement, and those who supported abolition only if free blacks were deported to the new African colony of Liberia.

Kendi demonstrates how new developments in scientific understanding consistently came to be used against the possibility that blacks and whites could be equal. Darwin's Origin of Species may not have addressed human evolution, but even while it provided the means of dismantling the popular theory of polygenesis, it was used to argue that whites were superior to blacks due to natural selection. Sir Francis Galton's work in mathematics led to the understanding of statistics, but his strong pro-nature stance in the nature vs. nurture debate led to the creation of eugenics as a sociopolitical position, and Sir Herbert Spencer's championing of Darwin's theories resulted in the concept of 'social Darwinism' - two ideas that were easily used to counter any attempts to 'improve' the situation of slaves or free blacks in America. When Darwin at last turned to the subject of the evolution of the human species, his thinking on race was sufficiently ambiguous that "Both assimilationists and segregationists hailed Descent of Man. Assimilationists read Darwin as saying Blacks could one day evolve into White civilization; segregationists read him as saying Blacks were bound for extinction."

Kendi does not shy away from critiquing the positions of Black intellectuals or the Black elite - middle-class or wealthy, often Northern, educated professionals and entrepreneurs - on the issue of race. The 1890s were a time when Black public intellectuals began to have a greater voice in the national conversation on race in America. Sadly, many members of the Black elite were assimilationists who had internalised racist thinking about themselves, or about 'lower class' blacks who needed to be 'raised up' from the state to which they had descended during slavery.

The 'voice' chosen by Kendi to frame the conversation on race during the late 19th and early to mid 29th century is W. E. B. Du Bois, whose own understanding of race changed significantly during that time. In the 1890s, when Black intellectuals were gaining prominence, W. E. B. Du Bois was a young man whose anti-racist vision had not yet matured. Du Bois had studied in Germany and, on returning to the US, at Harvard, and, as Kendi explains,

"He had grown more accustomed to meeting “not white folks, but folks.” He mentally climbed in Germany and stood on an equal plane with White people. But his new antiracist mind-set of not looking up at White people did not stop him from looking down at supposedly low-class Black people. It would take Du Bois much longer to see not low-class Black folks, but folks on an equal human plane with him and the rest of the (White) folks.

Du Bois accepted a position in 1894 teaching Greek and Latin at the A.M.E. Church’s flagship college in Ohio, Wilberforce. He was determined 'to begin a life-work, leading to the emancipation of the American Negro.' Somehow, some way, he maintained his faith that American racism could be persuaded and educated away. 'The ultimate evil was stupidity” about race by “the majority of white Americans,' he theorized. 'The cure for it was knowledge based on scientific investigation.' "

The preeminent Black voice of the period was Booker T. Washington, "the calculating thirty-eight-year-old principal of Tuskegee, [who] wanted Black people to publicly focus on the lower pursuits, which was much more acceptable to White Americans. ... In private, Washington supported civil rights and empowerment causes across the South throughout his career. In public, his talking points reflected the New South racism that elites enjoyed hearing.
At the opening of the Cotton States International Exposition on September 18, 1895, Washington delivered the 'Atlanta Compromise.' He asked southern Whites to stop trying to push Blacks out of the house of America, and to allow them to reside comfortably in the basement—to help them to rise up, knowing that when they rose, the whole house would rise. Many of the landowners in the Atlanta audience had spent their lifetimes trying to convince their Black sharecroppers 'to dignify and glorify common labour.' So when Washington beckoned to them with the words, 'It is at the bottom of life we must begin, and not at the top,' they were overjoyed. Rest assured, Washington said, 'the wisest among my race understand that the agitation of questions of social equality is the extremest folly.' "

It is interesting to note that anti-racist thought seemed to be most fully developed among Black women who had entered the realm of the public intellectual. Speaking about Booker T. Washington's assumption of the mantle of premier Black intellectual on the the death of Frederick Douglass, Kendi says: "Ida B. Wells would have been a better replacement, but she was a woman, and too antiracist for most Americans."

"Wells knew that immoral constructions about Black women hindered them from fully engaging in the burgeoning women’s club moral movement that cascaded across the 1890s. 'I sometimes hear of a virtuous Negro woman, but the idea is absolutely inconceivable to me,' wrote an anonymous 'southern White woman' in The Independent. Oberlin graduate and teacher Anna Julia Cooper took it upon herself to defend Black womanhood and encourage Black women’s education in A Voice from the South in 1892. Like Wells, Cooper wrote in the antiracist feminist tradition. 'The colored woman of to-day occupies, one may say, a unique position in this country,' Cooper explained. 'She is confronted by both a woman question and a race problem, and is as yet an unknown or unacknowledged factor in both.' And yet, Cooper did espouse some class racism. She praised, for instance, the 'quiet, chaste dignity and decorous solemnity' of the Protestant Episcopal Church, while demeaning the 'semi-civilized religionism' of low-income Black southerners.

Southern white men were 'shielding' themselves 'behind the plausible screen of defending the honor [of their women]' through lynchings in order to “palliate” their record of hate and violence, Ida B. Wells maintained in Southern Horrors, and again during her 1893 anti-lynching tour of England. Her speaking tour was an embarrassment to White Americans. In her work, Wells more or less condemned the strategy of uplift suasion and championed armed Black self-defense to stop lynchings. 'The more the Afro-American yields and cringes and begs,' she declared, 'the more he has to do so, the more he is insulted, outraged, lynched.' "

Throughout much of the first half of the 20th century, the predominant thinking about race remained either segregationalist or assimilationist in nature. Du Bois, disenchanted by his efforts to raise the condition of Blacks through education and 'suasion,' slowly came to realise that racism had to be confronted directly, that nothing Blacks did to become 'more like Whites' was going to change the engrained white supremacist position. Other anti-racist thinkers - Langston Hughes, Zora Neale Hurston, Paul Robeson, James Baldwin - joined him in rejecting assimilationism and the notion that Black people had to 'improve' themselves in order to earn equality with whites.

Post-war America found itself in the position of presenting itself internationally as the beacon of freedom while domestically still in an era of Jim Crow and deep racial inequities. It became a matter of national image to at least give the impression of moving towards racial equality and civil rights for all. Gestures such as school integration were attempted, provoking serious opposition in the South. Civil rights activists began staging demonstrations to draw attention to the need for action. In 1964, the US government went ahead with civil rights legislation, but in many ways the effects were superficial, and did not result in deep, systemic change. Kendi marshalls a powerful critique of civil rights 'gains' during this period: "... as much as the Civil Rights Act served to erect a dam against Jim Crow policies, it also opened the floodgates for new racist ideas to pour in, including the most racist idea to date: it was an idea that ignored the White head start, presumed that discrimination had been eliminated, presumed that equal opportunity had taken over, and figured that since Blacks were still losing the race, the racial disparities and their continued losses must be their fault. Black people must be inferior, and equalizing policies—like eliminating or reducing White seniority, or instituting affirmative action policies—would be unjust and ineffective. The Civil Rights Act of 1964 managed to bring on racial progress and progression of racism at the same time."

In this post-war environment, new voices emerged to take up the national conversation on race: Elijah Mohammed and his protege, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr, and the black anti-racists who would become the leaders of the Black Power movement, including Stokely Carmichael, Eldridge Cleaver, and Angela Davis. Kendi follows these and other Black voices, and those who sought to diminish or silence them, through to the grassroots antiracist organising of BlackLivesMatter.

As his account of ideas about race moves forward through American history, Kendi examines each new stage in racial/racist thought with reference to the events which both contributed to and were bolstered or opposed by it. His research is detailed and exhaustive, making for a book that is immensely informative but best explored slowly and thoughtfully. Looking at American history through this lens of its ideas about race is a difficult but important experience for the white reader. Events we thought we understood, at least in general, take on different meanings and perspectives; backgrounded events take a new and more prominent place in the national narrative.

I cannot recommend this book highly enough for those who truly seek to understand the roots of racism in America.

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Memory Serves is a collection of lectures and speeches by Sto: lo/Salish activist and author Lee Maracle. In her Preface, Maracle says of her work as a communicator:

"Indigenous people have historically hesitated to create books such as this because they express the views of the individuals presenting thoughts on the whole. The individual cannot represent the whole in that way in our communities. We don't assign anyone that kind of authority. I derive my understanding of social theory, of our logic, our processes for thought, discovery, consultation and learning from the stories I have heard and from having witnessed thousands of oral discussions with youth, elders, middle-aged people, even children. As a witness I pay attention to how these discussions unfold, how each individual engages the whole, the subject in question, and how they play with it. I have been witnessing for as far back as my memory serves, but this does not make me an expert on our people.

What makes my words valuable is the thousands of Indigenous people who have said to me: You just articulated everything I was thinking."

Maracle's writing - actually, speaking, for these are the written forms of oratories, spoken word performances - is poetic, evocative, drawing on the shape and style and images of the Indigenous storytelling genre. She uses events, examples, images, and linking all, rhythm and sound, to lead the listener to an understanding. It must be listened to in the heart and the gut as well as the head to be comprehended. In the oratory that gives a title to the volume, "Memory Serves," her re/membering connects pasts and futures, moving from ancient myth/stories of the relationships of men and women, peace and war, life and death, to a speakers panel of Indigenous women to the birth of her daughter. It guides the reader/listener toward the path that leads to 'the good life' - and reconnects them with their hidden selves and their community history.

Her re-membering is a force for wholeness, for understanding, for action, for justice.

"I re-member courage in the face of awesome fear and haul up the courage from every cell, transform it into desire and push it with a will toward freedom. I re-member rage and dig beneath its hoary cap in search if the justice moving me to rage and then I determine to stretch this rage into some kind of energized force and transform it into justice. When I am successful this will become a moment that will live for all time because others will choose to remember. I re-member dark, its seriousness, its sobriety, its sacred ability to hold my life still and call me to alter my conduct, change my direction and commit to participating more fully in my life. I come to the table full feast. I offer the host, the multitudes, the dead, the living, and the unborn this food.

I remember the body is made to move, that life is always worth engaging, that fear is a beautiful friend cautioning me to take care, and that courage is there to mediate this fear and is ever willing to be summoned that this old friend will not capitulate and become some beast that no longer serves me. I move as though sure. I fear no decision as belief in my memory grows; it has always served my spiritual path."

In the oratory "Salmon Is the Hub of Salish Memory," Maracle compares the divisive and reductive European worldview, which ignores connection and sets artificial hierarchies of importance, to the Indigenous worldview which recognises the community of all things. She builds this comparison around two events from 2001 - the suicide of an entire salmon run, and the suicide attacks on the World Trade Center which led to the invasion of Afghanistan.

"At the time that the salmon were committing social suicide, Afghanistan was the object of international invasion. Salish people know that the homelands of the salmon have been the object of chronic invasion by fisheries, pulp and paper mills, the forestry industry and all manner of toxic dumping. Are these events connected? Is there a connection between Western society's devaluation of the lives of Afghanis and and the devaluation of salmon, the degradation of their life conditions such that suicide seems their only option? Are the Afghani people and the sockeye of equal value? Is there a connection between suicidal salmon and suicidal warriors?"

"Who Gets to Draw the Maps - In and Out of Place in British Columbia" questions the authority of those who make not just the geographical representations of land that we think of as maps - complete with boundaries that divide this from that and assign ownership to segments only of the whole - but the maps of reality formed by the accepted language and story we are surrounded by. Who decides the sociological hierarchies, the categories we put humans and other living things into? Who defines the terms that shape our realities, and to what ends?

In these as well as other oratories collected in this volume, Maracle addresses the conditions of colonialism from a variety of perspectives: the absence of a well-developed post-colonial literature in Canada that results from our holding on to colonial power relations; the system of colonialist laws that limit the autonomy of Indigenous people; the impact of colonialism on Indigenous women and on Indigenous traditions of relationship between me and women in families and in society; the devaluing and loss of Indigenous knowledge and the methods of developing and transmitting it.

At the same time, Maracle presents Indigenous alternatives to the Western colonial way of being - ways of relation to the earth and to each other, ways of seeing, learning, studying, developing knowledge bases, thinking, remembering, communicating and teaching. She places particular emphasis on exploring/explaining the oral nature of Indigenous culture - its literature, its teaching methods, are based not on written text as both repository and communication, but on memory and the spoken word, on the real-time communicator of accumulated knowledge and ongoing creativity.

In "Oratory on Oratory" Maracle explicitly addresses the Salish methodologies of knowledge development, a topic which is woven through all of the other oratories collected here:

"Study is tempered by humans studying the space between the beings in the relationships humans engage. From the snow flea on a glacier to barra- cudas and sharks, the small beings and the invisible beings, all beings have a perfect right to be. We respect the barracuda, but we recognize that the charming smile of this predator is dangerous, and so we maintain a good distance from his territory, and we don’t swim with sharks. Principles of fair exchange govern all of our relationships. We pick berries in such a way that the berries are assured of continued renewal, and we are cautious to leave some for the bears. We study from the perspective that, as the variable beings on earth, it is humans that need to transform and alter their conduct to engage in relationship with other beings and phenomena. Relationship engagement is disciplined by conjuring the least intrusive and invasive con- duct possible, respecting the distance and reproductive rights of other beings, and ensuring the greatest freedom of beings to be as they are and always will be. This requires that we study the life of beings and phenomena in our world from their perspective, and not from the perspective of our needs."

This is a volume to be read slowly, to be read with the ears and eyes, heart and mind. It unfolds a way if thinking, seeing, remembering and teaching that is very different from European tradition, in the very act of remembering and teaching about the impacts of colonialist history of the European presence on the people who thought, and saw, and remembered and taught, and who still, in spite of all, think and see and remember and teach in this way.

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Unsettling Canada - A National Wake-Up Call sounded like something I'd want/need to read from the minute I heard about it. A collaboration between two First Nations leaders, Arthur Manuel - a vocal Indigenous rights activist from the Secwepemc Nation - and Grand Chief Ron Derrickson - a Syilx (Okanagan) businessmen, it is touted by the publishers as bringing "a fresh perspective and new ideas to Canada’s most glaring piece of unfinished business: the place of Indigenous peoples within the country’s political and economic space."

Much of the writing on Indigenous rights and
Indigenous activism in Canada is not accessible to someone like me, who can pretty much only read ebooks. (I can read a physical, bound book, but only very slowly, stopping the minute my breathing begins to be affected, which in practice means three or four paragraphs a day, and that means only one or two such books a year, so I pick only the most important books to be read in this manner.) So I was delighted to find an ebook copy of this available from the library.

The book is written from Manuel's voice, wth advice and input from Derrickson. He begins with a rumination on the land of his peoples, what settler-colonialists have called the B.C. Interior, and on his work with the Global Indigenous People's Caucus - in particular, the presentation of a statement on the 'doctrine of discovery' to the UN Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues. The doctrine of discovery is a poisonous piece of European colonialist legalism which says that a European sailing along the coast of the land and seeing the rivers flowing down from the interior had, by virtue of their 'discovery' of evidence of that land, more right to it in law (European-derived settler law, of course) than those peoples whose ancestors have lived on, gained nourishment from and stewardship to, for generations.

It's a law that has no justice or even sense of reality behind it. It can only exist if you pretend that Indigenous people never did. Yet it is the basis by which most of the land of the American continents were taken from the people inhabiting those continents, and it lies at the root of land claim discussions even to this day.

Manuel goes on to speak briefly about his family - George Manuel, his father, was a noted Indigenous activist but not very present during Manuel's early life - and his youth, which included time in residential schools due to his mother's long hospitalisation and his father's absences.

These two strands - the history of Indigenous land claims, and his father's legacy of activism, come together in the narrative of Indigenous resistance to the Trudeau government's Statement of the Government of Canada on Indian Policy - the 1969 White Paper.

"Ironically, the impetus for unity [among Indigenous activists and organisations], and what finally put my father into the leadership of the National Indian Brotherhood, was provided by the Trudeau government's Indian Affairs minister Jean Chrétien. In June 1969, Chrétien unveiled a legislative time bomb that was designed not only to destroy any hope of recognition of Aboriginal title and rights in Canada, but also to terminate Canada's treaties with Indian nations. ...

The statement sparked an epic battle that did not end in 1970 when the Indian Association of Alberta presented its counterproposal in the Red Paper. In many important ways it was the opening shot in the current battle for our land and our historic rights against a policy designed to terminate our title to our Indigenous territories and our rights as Indigenous peoples. The White Paper of 1969 is where our struggle begins."

The White Paper, in essence, sought to end all concept of Indigenous nations, abrogate all treaties, eliminate the concept of sovereign lands held in common by an indigenous nation, and force full and complete assimilation - ending by cultural genocide the disappearing of the Indigenous peoples that no previous strategy had quite managed to accomplish.

Resistance to the White Paper was strong. Indigenous leaders formally rejected the government's position, declaring that nothing was possible without the recognition of the sovereignty of Indigenous people and a willingness to negotiate based on the principle that "only Aboriginals and Aboriginal organizations should be given the resources and responsibility to determine their own priorities and future development." But although the paper was withdrawn, the positions it espoused have continued to resurface, recycled and repackaged, in government negotiations with Indigenous peoples to this day.

In 1973, however, a Supreme Court decision gave Indigenous peoples a tool for fighting the White paper proposals. In a 3-3 decision in the Calder case, the Supreme Court declined to set aside the provisions of the Royal Proclamation of 1763, which stated that Indigenous peoples living on unceded land - which at that time included most of what is now Canada - had sovereign rights to that land, which could not be set aside by government fiat, but only surrendered via treaty. While a contested victory, and one that was less useful for many nations who had been tricked into giving up more rights than intended in colonial treaty negotiations, this decision still established the legal concept of the sovereignty of Indigenous nations which would eventually lead to more fruitful legal arguments.

Balancing between historical, academic perspectives and personal recollection, Manuel traces the story of the struggles of Indigenous peoples to reclaim their rights and build a new partnership with Canada over the past 50 years. As he examines the history of court arguments and governmental negotiations over issues of sovereignty, land claims, and other key points of dispute between Canada's Indigenous Nations and the Canadian federal and provincial governments, Manuel clearly and concisely explains the legal concepts involved at each stage. In so doing, he weaves a chilling narrative of repeated attempts to, quite literally, extinguish the rights, and the existence, of the original landholders in the interests of corporate exploitation and gain - a neo-colonialist project that would finish off what settler colonialism began.

Events that for many white Canadians passed by without any comprehension of what they meant to Indigenous peoples - the James Bay hydroelectric project, the repatriation of the constitution, the Oka crisis, Elijah Harper's lone stand against the Meech Lake Accord, the Nisga'a Treaty, the Canada-US softwood lumber disputes, the Sun Peaks protests, to name a few - are placed in a coherent context of colonial oppression and Indigenous resistance.

Manuel also places the struggle of Indigenous peoples in Canada within an international context, that of the "Fourth World" - defined as "Indigenous nations trapped within states in the First, Second and Third Worlds." He recounts his father George Manuel's role in the creation of the World Council of Indigenous Peoples, which led to the establishment in 2002 of the UN Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues and the UN Declaration of the Rights of Indigenous Peoples - a document fiercely opposed and flagrantly ignored by Canada and the other major colonial nations, Australia, New Zealand and The United States.

What makes this book so important - and so accessible - is the insider perspective that Manuel brings to the narrative. He and members of his family were intimately involved with many of the key actions and negotiations; his personal knowledge of the dealings behind the scenes fleshes out his factual accounting of the events he witnessed and participated in. Manuel's personal lived experience makes this more than just a relating of legal points and bureaucratic counters, it allows the reader to feel the profound injustices faced by Indigenous peoples in their struggle to preserve their rights and their identities and their fierce determination to succeed.

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Rebecca Solnit's latest collection of essays - The Mother of All Questions - is comprised of pieces written between 2014 and 2016, before the seachange in American life that followed the election of Donald Trump. It seems ironic to be reading, now, of Solnit's guarded optimism on some of the goals of feminist action, such as this passage from her introduction:

"This book deals with men who are ardent feminists as well as men who are serial rapists, and it is written in the recognition that all categories are leaky and we must use them provisionally. It addresses the rapid social changes of a revitalized feminist movement in North America and around the world that is not merely altering the laws. It’s changing our understanding of consent, power, rights, gender, voice, and representation. It is a gorgeously transformative movement led in particular by the young, on campuses, on social media, in the streets, and my admiration for this fearlessly unapologetic new generation of feminists and human rights activists is vast."

I say guarded, because she does follow this with a comment expressing her "...fear of the backlash against it, a backlash that is itself evidence of the threat feminism, as part of the broader project of liberation, poses to patriarchy and the status quo."

Well, the backlash is ramping up - defunding of Planned Parenthood, insane laws surrounding access to abortion that harass not only women who seek to terminate pregnancies but also those who suffer miscarriages, attempts to deny health insurance coverage to all kinds of women's health issues including childbirth - and so it is the more pessimistic parts of these essays, rather than the ones that look at some degree of progress and hope tor more, that resonate with me in my reading. Maybe some day I'll be able to reread this volume and feel the hope.

The cornerstone of the collection is a long essay on silence - the meanings of silence, who is silenced and when, and why, who does the silencing, who is not silenced. It opens thus:

"Silence is golden, or so I was told when I was young. Later, everything changed. Silence equals death, the queer activists fighting the neglect and repression around AIDS shouted in the streets. Silence is the ocean of the unsaid, the unspeakable, the repressed, the erased, the unheard. It surrounds the scattered islands made up of those allowed to speak and of what can be said and who listens. Silence occurs in many ways for many reasons; each of us has his or her own sea of unspoken words.

"English is full of overlapping words, but for the purposes of this essay, regard silence as what is imposed and quiet as what is sought. The tranquility of a quiet place, of quieting one’s own mind, of a retreat from words and bustle, is acoustically the same as the silence of intimidation or repression but psychically and politically something entirely different. What is unsaid because serenity and introspection are sought is as different from what is not said because the threats are high or the barriers are great as swimming is from drowning."

What follows is a discussion of the ways that the voices of the marginalised - Solnit focuses on women but acknowledges that her observations are true of any similarly oppressed and silenced group - are dismissed, ignored, repressed, and stopped, so that they cannot speak the truths of their lived experience, of discrimination, of targeted violence, of injustice and unregarded pain and suffering.

Other essays in the collection take on a variety of feminist issues, from the prevalence of rape jokes, to the expectation of motherhood for all women to the falsehood of the anthropological myth of man the hunter as the ingrained template of our gender-based social roles and expectations.

Solnit is always readable, and her critiques of misogyny and patriarchy are as always well thought out and expressed. I do, however, find myself wishing for more acknowledgement of intersectionality and the ways that the issues she addresses affect women of colour, queer and disabled women as distinct from 'women' - which too often means white women. But it must also be said that she does make such acknowledgements more often than other white feminists whose work I've read.

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The Geek Feminist Revolution is a collection of essays by author and social critic Kameron Hurley on being/becoming an sff writer and being a woman in that profession, on sff and geek culture and being a woman in that culture, and on the ways that sexism and geekdom play out in the broader 'mundane' world. In her Introduction to the collection, Hurley says:

"At its heart, this collection is a guidebook for surviving not only the online world and the big media enterprises that use it as story fodder, but sexism in the wider world. It should inspire every reader, every fan, and every creator to participate in building that better future together."

The essays in this collection range widely: from the important of persistence in becoming a writer to a discussion of Joanna Russ's How To Suppress Women's Writing. They are painful, inspiring, rage-honing, insightful, and even funny at times, and include the Hugo Award winning "We Have Always Fought." They are definitely worth reading.

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Wonderfully left-wing publishing house PM Press has been putting out a series called Outspoken Authors which consists of collections of writings by visionary left-leaning writers, most of them writers of sff. I've read and talked a number of these before, including volumes that contained selected works (and an original interview) with people like Ursula Le Guin, Nalo Hopkinson, Kim Stanley Robinson, Terry Bisson and Eleanor Arnason.

My latest read from this series is a collection of essays, poems and other works from Marge Piercy called My Life, My Body. Woven through all the selections is a strong, politically and socially radical consciousness, conjoined with a commitment to feminist analysis, addressing topics ranging from the effects of gentrification on marginalised communities to the enforcement of a white male canon in literature.

Her focus ranges from social justice to literary criticism. Several of the selections here deal, in part or in whole, with the growing problem of homelessness, particularly among women. Others argue passionately against the trend in criticism that demands the separation of politics and art, and devalues literature written from a political consciousness (which, she notes, is often work created by women and marginalised peoples.

In addition to the essays and poems, the volume includes an interesting interview with Piercy conducted by fellow leftist and science fiction writer Terry Bisson.

If you're a fan of Piercy's work, you'll appreciate the pieces collected here immensely. And after that, I heartily recommend that you have a look at other volumes from the Outspoken Writers series.

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For those who don't know (and until I read a passing comment on the Internet about her and the book she'd just written, I didn't), Lindy West is a feminist, fat acceptance movement activist. That was quite enough for me to be interested in her book Shrill: Notes from a Loud Woman.

Shrill is, like Roxane Gay's Bad Feminist or Laurie Penny's Unspeakable Things, a heady combination of personal narrative, political analysis and call-to-arms.

She talks with humour and honesty about growing up as a shy, overweight child, about reaching menache in a culture that seeks to ignore the biological processes of female bodies, about living as a fat woman, about struggling to come to self acceptance and to raise the consciousness of colleagues in the media about the effects of public fat-shaming.

She writes matter-of-factly about her abortion, and I recognised some of my own reactions on having mine. It was no horrible tragedy, no wrenching drama, simply a thing that I chose to have because I was not interested in having a child. What she says about the right to abortion, to control one's body, is short and exactly on the mark.

"The truth is that I don’t give a damn why anyone has an abortion. I believe unconditionally in the right of people with uteruses to decide what grows inside of their body and feeds on their blood and endangers their life and reroutes their future. There are no “good” abortions and “bad” abortions, there are only pregnant people who want them and pregnant people who don’t, pregnant people who have access and support and pregnant people who face institutional roadblocks and lies."

West writes movingly about the psychological consequences of the violent and obscene harassment - often minimised as "trolling" - of women on the Internet. She pulls no punches - she calls it what it is, abuse directed at the marginalised inhabitants of the net:

"Why is invasive, relentless abuse—that disproportionately affects marginalized people who have already faced additional obstacles just to establish themselves in this field—something we should all have to live with just to do our jobs? Six years later, this is still a question I’ve yet to have answered."

One of many interrelated topics she addresses is the idea of socially responsible comedy - comedy that does not make marginalised people, be they women, people with a disability or a socially awkward disease such as herpes, or any other marked status, the punchline of the joke.

"When I looked at the pantheon of comedy gods (Bill Hicks, Eddie Murphy, George Carlin, Lenny Bruce, Louis CK, Jon Stewart, Richard Pryor, Chris Rock, Jerry Seinfeld), the alt-comedy demigods (Patton Oswalt, Zach Galifianakis, David Cross, Marc Maron, Dave Attell, Bill Burr), and even that little roster of 2005 Seattle comics I rattled off in the previous chapter, I couldn’t escape the question: If that’s who drafted our comedy constitution, why should I assume that my best interests are represented? That is a bunch of dudes. Of course there are exceptions—maybe Joan Rivers got to propose a bylaw or two—but you can’t tell me there’s no gender bias in an industry where “women aren’t funny” is widely accepted as conventional wisdom."

She pays particular attention to the phenomenon of the rape joke.

"Feminists don’t single out rape jokes because rape is “worse” than other crimes—we single them out because we live in a culture that actively strives to shrink the definition of sexual assault; that casts stalking behaviors as romance; blames victims for wearing the wrong clothes, walking through the wrong neighborhood, or flirting with the wrong person; bends over backwards to excuse boys-will-be-boys misogyny; makes the emotional and social costs of reporting a rape prohibitively high; pretends that false accusations are a more dire problem than actual assaults; elects officials who tell rape victims that their sexual violation was “god’s plan”; and convicts in less than 5 percent of rape cases that go to trial. Comedians regularly retort that no one complains when they joke about murder or other crimes in their acts, citing that as a double standard. Well, fortunately, there is no cultural narrative casting doubt on the existence and prevalence of murder and pressuring people not to report it."

I enjoyed reading West's lived experiences - some of which, in certain ways, seemed similar to some of mine - and her strong, bold voice. Not shrill, Lindy, though frightened misogynist men might label it so. Just strong, and true.

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Kallocain, by Karin Boye, noted Swedish poet and author, is a dystopian narrative that fully deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as Orwell's 1984, Zamyatin's We, or Huxley's Brave New World. That it is not part of the core lineage of 20th century political dystopian literature may be because it was not translated into English until 1966, or because it was written by a woman, or both. But it is unfortunate that even now, 50 years after it became accessible to English readers, it is still not better known and acknowledged.

Written eight years before Orwell's 1984, Kallocain place in a future in which the state - to be specific, the totalitarian police state - is all, and the individual nothing. Readers of 1984 will find much that is familiar; sparse living quarters, rationing, constant surveillance, the ever-present atmosphere of suspicion, politically correct expression, conformity of action and an on-going threat of war with other states about which nothing is known but that they are the enemy. There are no minutes of hate in Kallocain, but there are structured festivals that celebrate the state, weekly broadcasts in which people who have misspoken must make their apologies and corrections. The mechanisms of social control in the WorldState (so named even though it is just one of several states) are perhaps a little less dramatic, but no less all-encompassing.

But these are external manifestations of the totalitarian state. Kallocain concerns itself with the inner self under a social and political order that demands universal devotion and loyalty to the state and its ideology. As the novel's protagonist. Chemist Leo Kain, comes to realise, there are always those whose thoughts rebel, lack the singleminded purity required of them. Those who question, those who resent, those who watch and remember, those who imagine another way of being. And because he himself fears the embers of these thoughts in his own mind, he produces a drug, Kallocain, which relaxes inhibition and causes those under its influence to speak their inner truths, a drug which he offers to the state as the answer to identifying those committing these internal forms of sedition.

There is much that is chilling in the descriptions of how everything from family life to human scientific experimentation is handled in this future state, but it all follows quite logically from the basic premise of such systems, that the collective is all and the individual nothing.

I've long been fascinated by dystopian literature, and yet only recently did I learn of the existence of this novel. I'm very glad to have finally been introduced to it.

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