Sex is horrible. ~ Liz Lemon, 30 Rock

Sex is confusing.

It complicates otherwise simple relationships.

In my experience, sex just invites an unwanted voice into my head that is perpetually asking “Why hasn’t he called. Should I call him, or does that make me seem desperate? What would I do if this person was just a friend? If he was just a friend, I would just pick up the phone and call. Or would I? I don’t call my friends all that often ….. maybe he’s found someone else. Maybe he’s not all that into me. But the sex was so great! Why hasn’t he called!?!”

Sex is confusing and, perhaps Liz Lemon is right, perhaps it’s horrible too.

Then there’s prostitution, which I really don’t understand. I mean, I’ve been poor and near homeless and I’ll admit the thought crossed my mind …. but it was quickly dismissed by a much more rational voice in my head with very angry instructions to never ever return again.

Really. Prostitution is so 19th century.


So says this feminist, who continues to be surprised at otherwise rational womens’ attempts to justify it. On the APTN news, a women celebrated the recent court decision to legalize it. Women who are being abused, she reasoned, could now call the police. Great. “Hi, 9/11? I’m busy objectifying myself and the guy doesn’t respect me for it.” And when the cop arrives to “rescue” her, she can get his badge number and do a quick interweb search to make sure he’s not one of those cops involved with covering up or ignoring the hundreds of missing women across Canada. And Robert Pickton’s farm.

I’m not saying anyone deserves to get beat up. I’m not saying prostitution should be illegal. Of course prostitution shouldn’t be illegal. Capitalism, and its “everything’s for sale” philosophy is what should be illegal.

Why in the world would anyone take five million years of human evolution and hand it over to capitalism? Why would anyone say “I have a right to take something so incredibly beautiful it’s inspired the world’s greatest poets and writers and artists, and put a monetary value on it, and hand it over to a stranger – not for love or babymaking, but just for the quick buck.” I know the answer …. hunger. Right? Everyone who’s ever traded their precious, magical, mysterious body for sex was hungry. Why else?

Wrong. My understanding is that, at least in Victoria, it’s impossible to be hungry. Anywhere in North America, I’m guessing there are friends, food banks, soup kitchens, and/or dumpsters full of the spoils of capitalism. Just get through another day, and maybe your luck will turn tomorrow. Hold on!!!

So if it’s not hunger driving the prostitution engine, then it must be need. Men NEED sex. It’s simple supply and demand theory. Women only sell themselves because men need sex. If it weren’t for the demand, there’d be no supply.

A prostitute once told me the reason she trades sex for money is because it allows her to feel some power in a relationship. She was giving it away, and then realized she could sell it, and that somehow equalized the power dynamic of the relationship. What kind of a sad and sorry relationship is that, I wondered.

So I go to the grocery story and look at the half naked women on the magazines as I’m waiting in line. Or I pick up a magazine, or watch television commercials where women are telling me I’m not as good as them, I’ll never be as good as them, but if only I’d think of myself as an object I might have a chance.

And the cycle continues. They insist that it’s okay to objectify themselves, that they have the right to take five million years of human evolution and hand it over to capitalism. That there’s absolutely nothing else they can possibly think of doing aside from turning their flesh into cash. That it’s not their fault, it’s the men’s fault who keep asking for it. The men who see those women on those magazine covers, on the internet, on the TV commercials, and then assume that all women are hot like that and if only they could get some their manliness would be forever revered.

If only someone would encourage critical thought.

When I think about it, I wonder about the nature of relationships generally. Traditional monogamous relationships are supposedly about devotion, dedication … and ownership. I am yours, you are mine. It’s so romantic! For a while. After a while it gets boring, and people stray. Cheat. Fall in love with somebody else. (Why do we “fall” in love?) If they don’t think they can get away with an affair, and they’re certain they need sex to fulfill themselves, they go buy a one night stand. Which is worse – getting caught in an affair, or getting caught buying (or selling) a piece of flesh created by five million years of evolution and then reducing what might be a magical experience to a momentary climax that’s ‘just business’?

Maybe monogamy is the problem. Maybe there ought to be alternatives, for those who aren’t comfortable there, for those who feel the need to wander and experiment. Some people try polyamoury, which is about realizing it’s possible to love more than one person … without having to pay for it. It’s certainly true that there’s no limit to love, it’s endlessly abundant, and perhaps it is possible to love more than one person equally.

I’m not sure I could do it. I could love equally, but I’d definitely want to the number one person receiving love. I’d be jealous, for sure.

I just never got the hang of sex and relationships and the attempt to find equality in an inherently unequal world, and so for the past twenty years I’ve been, basically, celibate … which the exception of a couple of relationship attempts. Feels like thirty years! I can’t tell you how clearly my mind works. I’m not consumed with that other voice in my head, asking me when we’re gonna get some more of that, and why hasn’t he called. It’s not that I didn’t have my share of fun in my younger years, it’s just that I finally accepted it’s really mostly confusing and controlling and, ultimately, not worth it. My mind didn’t work properly and my relationships, as much as I tried to break free from the traditional patterns of domesticity, inevitably fell into an unequal distribution of chores and maintenance.

So I’m a boring old maid – NOT! What a horrible thing to label single, independent women who are liberated from the societal expectation of being the perfect wife and mother.

I suppose this is one gift of age …. people, if they choose, can be released from the bonds of sexual status and the competition associated with it. Or, we can feel inadequate and take pills and fool ourselves by placing undue importance on something that’s really, ultimately, about procreation. From a planetary perspective, it’s about survival of the species. Now that there’s over six billion of us, I’m certain the evolutionary thing to do is birth control. Or be gay. Or abstain.

Really, think of it … five million years of human evolution were involved in creating this egg/sperm walking upright live birth thing. You can bang like there’s no tomorrow, and if you end up pregnant …. Voila. You’re one of the chosen ones. Virtuous. Respectable. A Mother.

A human body is a magical, precious thing. The opportunity to live a human life is a great honour. We live in a time where HIV/AIDS, and other sexually transmitted diseases, run rampant. Obviously, sexual proliferation is not a good idea for those who want to live in a healthy body.

Why do we still, in the 21st century, live in a society that has so few reasonable options for girls (and boys) who want to be independent, who want to earn a living in their own way, without having to wreck their dreams with an alarm every morning and then bust their asses doing some horrible and/or meaningless crap so some other assholes can get ultra wealthy and perpetuate this cycle of ownership and destruction of the earth?

Our ancestors died shortly after their procreative abilities had expired. Nowadays many of us have the luxury of living beyond it. And when we do we can look back on our silly, youthful, sexual exploits and hopefully chuckle and forgive ourselves our goofiness.

Sex is beautiful .... and confusing. I just can’t get excited about a patriarchal decision to make the buying and selling of it legal.

doggie minding in qualicum beach

People love trains. They wave at them from their backyards, and from their cars while waiting at the crossings. I witnessed this last week, as I journeyed on what is probably Via Rail’s tiniest train that runs between Victoria and Courtenay/Comox. It’s just two cars long, and does one route a day – up the island, and then back to Victoria. I rode the train to get to Qualicum Beach, for a doggie minding gig.

My first morning walking through what’s known as the “Gnome Forest,” at the edge of town and surrounded by what might in future be a sub-division road, I met Hugh and his dog, Mr. Tate. Hugh, in his younger years, was one of the main trail and bridge builders in this little forest. A retired worker for BC Electric (now BC Hydro), Hugh commissioned various community forest lovers to help build signs to identify trees and birds, he found a retired forestry worker who took a core sample of a 1000 year old cedar stump and affirmed its age, he participated in publishing a book about the little patch of Qualicum Beach green space that has taken on a life of its own.


Community forest walkers add their own gifts to the nooks and crannies of the woods, claiming a special relationship with a little piece of ever-diminishing green space. Clay frogs and gnomes, wind chimes, wooden owls (also Hugh’s contribution), bird houses and feeders, even a wishing well adorn the forest. There are two comment books, tucked away in protective wooden boxes nailed to trees and, Hugh tells me, they’ve recorded comments from people all over the world. These will be useful when the day arrives to save this little piece of forest from destruction for some kind of monetary profit.

Speaking about conservation, referring to my own experiences watching green spaces in and around Victoria and particularly Langford disappear, I learn that Qualicum Beach citizens pitched in a few years ago and bought the Brown Woods. Of course this all was native land, and the idea of purchasing stolen land is abhorrent, but these days it seems the only solution. I’ve yet to visit Brown Woods, it’s on the other side of town, I’m told it houses full grown ancient trees whereas the Gnome Forest has only stumps leftover from non-industrialized logging practices. Modern clearcutting, slash and burn, doesn’t even leave stumps behind.

Certainly this Gnome Forest ought to be next on the list for local protection. Part of it’s owned by the city, but of course that doesn’t guarantee anything. Part of it’s owned privately. Both Hugh, and the good people at the Heaven on Earth health store, and I’m sure many others, appreciate the value of preserving green spaces. And, they seem to understand the need to keep an eye on city council so they can stop the bulldozers before the plans are conceived behind closed doors and without public consultation, which seems to be the way democracy works these days.

You can take a virtual hike through Qualicum Beach’s Gnome Forest by clicking here.

VIVA PALESTINA CONVOY BREAKS SIEGE AND ENTERS GAZA TO JUBILANT CROWDS

The Viva Palestina convoy of almost 150 vehicles, 370 people from 30 different countries and $5 million of aid has entered Gaza.





Amidst scenes of jubilation from thousands of Palestinians there to greet the convoy, Kevin Ovenden, the convoy director, expressed his joy at being in Gaza once again. "We have driven more than 3,000 miles to bring this essential aid and to break this illegal siege of Gaza. We have been joined by supporters from Morocco and Algeria and from the Gulf States and Jordan, to make this the biggest convoy ever to break the siege of Gaza. We are absolutely overjoyed to be here and to bring with us the soil from the graves of those who were massacred on the Mavi Marmara which will be used to plant trees as a memorial to their sacrifice."

The convoy set out four weeks and five days ago from London. It travelled through France, Italy, Greece, Turkey and Syria. Everywhere the reception was fantastic and the generosity of well-wishers unsurpassed. Towards the end there was a frustrating delay in Syria whilst negotiations at the highest levels were conducted with the Egyptian authorities. In the end it was all worth it as the Egyptian authorities decided to allow passage of the whole convoy, sadly excluding just 17 members of the convoy including George Galloway.

The convoy will be handed over in its entirety to the relevant bodies tomorrow and the members of the convoy then expect to leave Gaza and return home in the next 48 hours after celebrations and formal thanks are given.

U.N. Convention Confronts Loss of Biodiversity

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Remembering Linda Sam, Wondering what will happen to Kenny?

by cyann ray, published in the November Street Newz. a 20 minute audio chat with kenny, from october 2010, is here.

Another sister has left us. Linda Mary Sam was the seventh of nineteen children born to Edith Sam in Whitehorse, 1947. Linda is survived by sisters Maisie and Elsie and, remarkably, their 97 year old mother, still living in Whitehorse, as well as her three children and three grandchildren. Linda’s father passed away when she was a toddler.

A full-blooded Kwanlin Dün Native, Linda spent most of her childhood (ages 4-16) in residential schools. The abuse experienced there left her scarred and partially deaf. Linda endured those years, then a couple of unhealthy relationships which bore her three children. Still in her mid-twenties, Linda met a young man with thick glasses and a warm heart. Kenny and Linda paired up and remained together for 42 years until September 2nd, 2010 when Kenny had to let go of Linda’s arm for the last time.

We mourn the loss of this strong but poor woman who had such a troubled and difficult life. But those of us who knew Kenny and Linda, know that they were made for each other and had love between them.

Despite becoming completely blind, Kenny always managed to provide for he and his better half. And now that his better half is gone, Kenny is alone.

Blind Kenny has worked the bench outside the church at Douglas/Broughton for nearly 20 years. And while he would sit there and holler “spare a little change?!”, Linda would comb the downtown core, touching base with the street community and making sure everyone was okay. Stocking up at food banks enabled her to feed many of the homeless and less fortunate. Some even found temporary shelter, a hot shower and a smoke and a beer at Kenny and Linda’s small apartment. She was affectionately known as “Mom” on the streets and although the homeless demographic has changed drastically over the past decade, there still remains a crowd quite familiar with the generosity of this long-lasting couple.

Kenny’s bench sitting days are now over. After spending most of his life relying on Linda to navigate thru town, he is now completely on his own for the first time in his life. With no family and a peer group of mostly impoverished alcoholics, this next chapter of Kenny’s life will be quite a challenge.

Admitted to Victoria General Hospital the night Linda passed, Kenny remains in the hospital despite not being sick. Unable to return to his home, Kenny must now await as our over-worked safety network tries to arrange suitable accommodation. A new home to get used to. A new life to learn. A difficult journey for a blind, alcoholic, 58 year old with a grade three education. I fear him falling silently between the cracks and my heart weeps.
Kenny and Linda lived at 950 Humboldt for nearly two decades until several years ago when construction demands displaced them. Pacifica Housing relocated this especially vulnerable couple into a crime-ridden dump. I visited there just once ... it was awful and unsafe. A far cry from their sunny yard where, for about fifteen years, I enjoyed regular visits over cups of tea and laughter.

I’m not sure if the new buildings at 950 Humboldt (originally owned by C.N.I.B., then B.C. Housing) are designed specially for low-income and/or the disabled but I do know that they are not ready for occupancy and Kenny’s wish to move back into his old neighbourhood is unlikely to come true. Living at the hospital is hardly a solution either. The staff seem to have their hands full dealing with sick people and he is quite neglected. From not being able to eat the food, to having to stay in his room (nobody to walk him around, stretch his legs...), this seems like a fate worse than death.

Most recently I learned he has been denied access to his money and forbidden to leave the grounds. Kenny is a grieving widow suffering from (alcohol) withdrawal. He is being further victimized by poverty and a failing system. I am outraged with the lack of compassion and available support in this so-called healthcare facility but I am at a loss as to what to do. Over the years I’ve seen dozens of well-to-do business types, church goers and do-gooders give Kenny envelopes of cash as he sat on his bench with his bucket of change. Are these folks wondering where he is now?

I manage the hour bike ride out to VGH every few days, each visit discovering more details of neglect. Each visit becoming more disheartened. Nobody deserves to be abandoned like this, least of all dear, sweet, generous Kenny. Linda would share my outrage if she knew how her hubby was being mistreated. She spent most of her life looking after Kenny and it was a full-time job. I suspect it will take a small team of professionals to do the work this remarkable woman carried out on her own for over 40 years. I wish I were in a better position myself to help Kenny, but all I can do is share his story and be his friend. Unfortunately, he needs a lot more than that.

Photos by Nancy Raycroft.