Protest Signs: Pro-seal hunt demonstration by Nunavut Sivuniksavut

Last March 17, rather than spending St. Patrick's Day drinking green beer like other students, the students of Nunavut Sivuniksavut held a demonstration on Parliament Hill to show support for Inuit right to hunt seal.

The students wanted to raise awareness about the importance of the seal hunt to Indigenous communities. Even many animal rights activists who argue for a ban on the seal hunt often indicate that they are willing to make an exception for Indigenous subsistence hunting and mainly want to focus on commercial seal hunters. However, it's important to know that the majority of the commercial seal hunt is actually done by Inuit hunters, whose main source of income is the commercial seal hunt, including income to buy the gas, ammunition and other hunting equipment to get the seal meat to feed their families. It's not so easy to separate the two notions, and the seal hunt bans have had a huge devastating effect on the local economies of Inuit communities, even with a supposed Indigenous exception.

You don't need to take my word for it; there's a thought-provoking film by Nunavut filmmaker Alethea Arnaquq-Baril called Angry Inuk which does a thorough job of looking at the issue in an informative yet interesting way. It's definitely worth checking out, no matter what your thoughts on the subject are. There's also a great essay analyzing the colonialist aspects of the issues (although, like I said, you gotta watch the movie!)

The rally involved demonstrations of traditional Inuit throat singing, dancing, and even a sealskin fashion show.  I'm always impressed by Nunavut Sivuniksavut students' strong political engagement and eagerness to share their cultural pride with the rest of the world.

Traditional dancing with drums and singing

Acting out a typical seal hunt, including preparing the sled

Sealskin fashion show

Protest signs: Islamophobia counter rally

Checked out the counter protest to the Concerned Coalition of Concerned Citizens' March for Freedom, Liberty & Justice that was supposedly planned today. Saw only one guy turn up for the original March; the rest of the crowd seemed to be rallying against Islamophobia.

Should I go to law school for a career in social justice? And how do I do it?

I’ve been getting this question often enough that I decided to make this into a blog post for anyone else who might be thinking about going to law school for future in social justice, human rights or other public interest reasons.

This is what a social justice lawyer looks like. .. freezing cold

Do I need to go to law school to work in social justice?

You need to be a lawyer if you want to litigate social justice issues in court, because you have to be a lawyer to practice law.

Otherwise, there are many ways to work in social justice without a law degree. You can be an educator, a researcher, an analyst, an organizer, an activist, or a writer. So no, you don’t need to go to law school.

Also, keep in mind that just because you have a law degree doesn’t necessarily mean it will be easy for you to find work in social justice.

However, having a law degree can certainly help.  Law school teaches you to analyze and reason in a manner way that can be very useful for social justice work. All of the social justice jobs that I have worked after law school have required a law degree, even though the work does not necessarily involve the formal practice of law.  And I won’t lie: people assume that you’re smart, so the credentials make you look good as a job candidate.

So even though you don’t need to, should you go to law school?

My best advice to think carefully about your reasons for considering law school.  Here are some things to think about in particular:

•       Law school is competitive. I don’t mean that law school is hard to get into; I mean that once you get in, law students are graded on a bell curve. Your grade is your ranking. No matter how hard you and everyone else have tried, only a certain number of people get A’s, most people get B’s and a certain number of people always have to get the C. Even if everyone is brilliant. So you are, in a sense, competing against your own classmate friends. I used to describe it as being like the Hunger Games, although that’s obviously an exaggeration.  This is important because people who want to work in social justice often are empathetic and very sensitive (you care about people, right?), and working in a tough environment like law school can feel soul-crushing at times, and sometimes takes a toll on your mental health.
•       Law school is expensive. Even if you’ve managed to deal with student loans from your undergraduate degree, law school is three more years of school. If you’re already in debt, having a bit more debt doesn’t seem so bad now, but many lawyers will tell you that once you graduate and have to start repayment, you are going to start to wonder if you can actually afford to take that low-paying public interest job when that Bay Street articling position pays so much better.  Don’t fool yourself: swimming in debt feels awful and it may prevent you from taking the career path you want to take.

Whatever you decide, don’t go to law school just because your parents want you to, or because you don’t know what else to do. Those are the kinds of people who often struggle once they get to law school.

I especially encourage you to go to law school if you come from an underrepresented community. For example, Nunavut needs more Inuit lawyers who understand the particular cultures and values of the land far better than any lawyer who grew up in Ontario will. Go for it and change the world! And don’t let the bastards grind you down.

You don't have to be a lawyer to work in social justice. 

It helps to be able to sing on key though.

How do I do it? Tips for preparing for a social justice career in law school

Again, don’t go into a lot of debt if you can.  Not everyone is privileged enough to avoid debt, but do your best to mitigate it.  Work for a few years to save up before you go to law school.  Choose a law school that has lower tuition: Canada is not like the States, in that all of the Canadian law schools will give you an acceptable legal education that will prepare you to become a lawyer. Work summer jobs. Budget carefully.

Get practical experience in the area you want, even before you graduate law school.  There is a lot of need for social justice lawyers out there, but generally it’s experienced lawyers that are needed. Chances are that you will work with vulnerable populations, and they deserve someone who is competent and experienced too. Getting practical experience, whether it’s through summer jobs, clinical programs, or volunteer work, will put you so far ahead of others in getting a job after law school in the area you want. Law school teaches you how to read and analyze the law, but it does not necessarily teach you how to manage client relationships, handle multiple files, write in a manner that is easy for the public to understand, network effectively with important stakeholders, and these are all skills that look great for someone looking to hire you into a social justice position. Do not wait until after law school to get practical experience; it will just be all that much harder for you, 

Make your own opportunities. The best advice I ever received from a public interest lawyer was to find your own funding and then propose a project to the organization you want to work for. Why wouldn’t they hire you? There are a lot of funding sources out there; some law schools even offer funding awards for public interest projects you propose.  Be creative. Network like crazy. Start up your own charity or business, if you have a great idea that no one else has thought of. 

Educate yourself with as many different perspectives as possible. This is especially the case if you come from a privileged background. It doesn’t matter if you want to work for women’s rights; you should still learn about disability issues, refugees, environmental justice, colonialism, etc. It’s called intersectionality, and the broader perspective you get, the better person you will be as a social justice activist. Plus the social justice world doesn’t need any more ignorant assholes.  So check your attitude and open your ears. I especially encourage you to maintain relationships and friendships with people who are NOT lawyers or law students, so you don't get stuck in the goldfish bowl of law school.

Don’t sell out. You will be tempted to stray from the social justice path. It is so tempting. Those Seven Sisters wine and cheese receptions are just so impressive. And you’ve been a student for so long…wouldn’t it be nice to be able to afford to buy yourself something nice for once if you had a nice job? But you should always be mindful of your goal, the reason why you went to law school in the first place.  The legal community has an ongoing joke about the stereotypical student that put “social justice” and “saving the world” in their law school application personal statements, only to end up working for private law firms in corporate law. It’s easy to stray. Don’t stray!  (Also, keep in mind that there are social justice jobs out there that do pay decently. Not necessarily as much as my Bay Street friends, but it is possible to live comfortably if you can find the right opportunity.)

 Well, it’s okay to sell out a little. If you have the opportunity to get valuable work experience in the area that you want to work in, then give it a try. For example, maybe you want to be a refugee lawyer helping people with their claims, or an Aboriginal lawyer working on First Nations land claims. Working for the government in these areas will actually give you great relevant experience and valuable perspectives, even if that’s not what you want to do forever. Be creative about where you can get experience.   

If your reason for going to law school was to work in social justice and not necessarily to be a lawyer, then remember that there are a lot of great alternative law jobs out there. Stuff where it is useful to have a law degree, but you aren’t necessarily practicing law, in the eyes of the law society. 

Working in social justice is hard. It’s emotionally-draining at times, and at all time you are carving your own path.  If you want to be a corporate lawyer, Bay Street firms will come to your campus to schmooze you and the law schools will set up on-campus interviews.  All of that is set up for you.  This is not the case for social justice.  It’s a constant uphill battle, often frustrating, discouraging, and exhausting. But it’s also rewarding. It may not always feel like it, but you are doing meaningful work and you are helping people.

If you have a deep-seated desire to work in social justice, then go for it! The world can be a terrible place, and it needs people who want to help. Whether it’s with a law degree or not.

The magic is gone: I can no longer listen to the Flaming Lips the same way

These are my reflections in response to recent news about The Flaming Lips frontman Wayne Coyne's decision to fire their drummer over allegations of anti-Native American racism, as well as Mr. Coyne's other actions, including the decision to post a picture of a dog wearing a Native American headdress.

Dear Mr. Coyne,

When I was in my first year of law school, I visited my friend Mike who was working at a recording studio in Scarborough. He had just finished setting up what he described "the perfect sound system". "You've got to listen to try it out," he urged me, and sat me down in the most acoustically perfect spot in the room. He leaned over to press play on the computer and the most wonderful music flowed out of the speaker. I had never heard music presented in such a manner before. I closed my eyes and let the music caress the space between my ears the way a lover would. It was one of the most memorable music experiences I've ever had, where the moment was defined and made special by absolutely nothing other than the music itself.

That song was "The Spark That Bled" by your band, the Flaming Lips. Mike explained to me that he liked using that song to test out his sound system, because he liked it so much.

  I stood up and I said yeah: A fan video of "The Spark That Bled"
I'd been listening to your band long before that perfect music moment. One of my best friends in high school at the time, Bill, was really into the Flaming Lips and he urged me to listen to this "really weird, really awesome" band he discovered. His music taste was pretty good, and I liked what I heard. But I never got fell in love until I listened to those words, "the softest bullet ever shot". After that, I was a convert. I was excited to see you play at Ottawa's Bluesfest, where you arose like a god and seemed to float above the crowd in a giant bubble. Your show was a party, an escape into my childhood's fantasy worlds. Everything was magical. Your music was magical. The experience of listening to you and seeing you in concert was magical. I've now since started my own band and have been trying to re-create that sort of perfect magical musical moment myself.

But with you, that magic is gone now, and I miss it.

I was so sad to read about the latest events. How your friend Christina Fallin posed in a Native American headdress, and astounded by the anger that the photo produced, responded to the people protesting her concert by performing a fake war dance and flipping them off from the stage. And that you were seen pointing and laughing at the protesters. And that you had also responded to the criticism of racism by posting more photos of people and a dog in a headdress. And that you fired your drummer over this issue. I hoped that it wasn't true, and that the journalists had gotten it wrong somehow.

Disappointing when an artist you respected turns out to be a misinformed racist. @waynecoyne of the Flaming Lips,why? pic.twitter.com/sbvkewNLE7
— Deejay NDN (@deejayndn) April 29, 2014

There's an Ontario campaign that asks people where they would draw the line for a political issue. "Your favourite singer assaulted his singer," the campaign asks. "Do you download his latest single?" To be honest, all this time I always thought that it would depend. I thought maybe there would be a way to acknowledge that you disagree with an admired celebrity's personal life while still enjoying their art. But when asked the question: "Your favourite artist disrespects indigenous people. Do you still feel the magic in his music?" the truth is, Mr. Coyne, the magic that I used to feel from your music is now gone, and it has been replaced by a bitter taste in my mouth and a lot of sadness. 

From Draw The Line:  we have to ask ourselves where we draw the line when it comes to our favourite artists' actions.
I am not Aboriginal, and I do not pretend to speak for indigenous people. I don't pretend that I will ever completely understand their experiences, because their history of oppression is unique and different from mine. But as a woman of Asian descent, I know a thing or two about cultural appropriation, when people show up to Halloween parties labelling your culture as a costume, reducing a rich and beautiful world that you grew up in to a ridiculous stereotype. When they say something stupid like, "Your people are very beautiful, and you are very good at math" and are astounded that you aren't falling over flattered. I have experienced being laughed at by people when I tried to stick up for myself against racism. I have had my outrage dismissed as hyper-sensitivity. Do you know what those people were? They were bullies.

Now when I listen to your music, no matter how much I close my eyes and try to conjure up that perfect first moment, all I see are the faces of all those people that laughed at me for being a weird Asian kid, and for some reason - perhaps irrationally, I know - I see your face there too.

Do you at any point take a step back, look at where you are and what you are doing, and wonder, "How did I get to be here, on the side of things where I am laughing at people that have been historically oppressed for centuries? Supporting people who flip them off? How did I get to be that guy?" I hope you are reflecting on this rather than just reacting. I would have liked to have thought that you'd be an ally rather than a bully, but there's nothing that can be done now to bring that magic back. I can no longer listen to your music with the same wonder.

Fundraiser Friday: women fighting for social justice

When was the last time I did a Charity Friday? Which in retrospect I don't know why I didn't name Fundraiser Friday.  Okay. From now on, it's Fundraiser Friday.  Unless it's French Fridays.  Maybe once in a while, French Fundraiser Friday. Mais ca va etre plus difficile.

As you may know, I am really passionate about poverty issues, especially food security.  For the past five days, my friend Brittany has been living on $1.75 per day on drinks and food. Why? That's the challenge that people living below the poverty line face every day.  Brittany is not only raising money for anti-poverty initiatives through Live Below The Line, she's helping us become more aware of poverty issues. It's a really interesting project. I would be curious to try a Nunavut version (unfortunately, I'm not sure you could even buy a single grocery item for $1.75 at the grocery store here). You can donate to her cause here.

In another equally important issue, my friend Janet will be spinning for two hours at the third annual Ottawa Rape Crisis Centre's Spin-a-thon on May 3, in support of the Ottawa Rape Crisis Centre. The Ottawa Rape Crisis Centre does a lot of important work in supporting survivors in Ottawa, by providing a crisis line, public education programs, and counselling. You can donate to support her here.

Finally, my band has decided that all proceeds from digital purchases of our song "Victoria Island" will go towards local community initiatives here in Cambridge Bay, including our local food bank, Diamonds in the Ruff (a local dog rescue and welfare group), and other projects to benefit low-income families in need of assistance. You can listen and download the song Victoria Island on Bandcamp here: http://scarybearsoundtrack.bandcamp.com/track/victoria-island.

We talk a little more about the situation of dogs in Cambridge Bay in today's Searchlight vlog. Also, rabies.



Remember to keep voting for us for CBC Music's Searchlight!

update on the International Youth Internship Program

I've got great news, everyone! A while back, my colleagues and I wrote to the Minister of Foreign Affairs imploring the government not to cancel the Internaional Youth Internship Program. If you remember, I was able to have all of my Namibian adventures thanks to this program. This program helped launch my dream career as a human rights lawyer.

Yesterday, the International Development Minister announced that the government will continue to fund this program. This is a huge relief for many of us.  A big thanks to everyone who joined forces to let the government know just how important this program is!

In other news, if you tune into 89.1 CHUO FM today at 5PM Eastern Time, you might catch my band interview on the Ladies First radio show. Radio host Lina will also be playing our new song The Longest Night, which is our entry to CBC Music's Searchlight contest (Don't forget to vote for Scary Bear Soundtrack today!). You can also listen online.

My Letter to the Minister of Foreign Affairs

In 2011, I participated in the International Youth Internships Program managed by CIDA in partnership with the Canadian Bar Association to work in human rights law in Namibia. Since then, the program has been postponed and is now under review, where the Department of Foreign Affairs, Trade and Development must decide whether to continue funding the program. I wrote this letter in support of the program.


The Honourable John Baird, P.C., M.P.
Minister of Foreign Affairs
House of Commons, Ottawa, ON
K1A 0A6

Dear Minister Baird,

My name is Gloria and I live in Cambridge Bay, Nunavut.

From 2011 to 2012, as part of the International Youth Internships Program (IYIP) managed by the Canadian International Development Agency, I had the privilege to spend seven months in Windhoek, Namibia, working with the Legal Assistance Centre on a project focused on human rights. The Legal Assistance Centre is a non-profit organization that was originally founded to combat apartheid, and now continues to assist local Namibians with important legal human rights issues.

You see, in 2007 I went to law school so I could become a human rights lawyer. However, I found that it was difficult to gain experience in human rights law, as most of the opportunities were unpaid. Many law school graduates cannot afford to work for free, especially if they have student loans.

This is why I consider myself to be fortunate that the IYIP existed at the time. It was a rare and exciting opportunity to get experience as a human rights lawyer, while receiving financial support to help cover my basic day-to-day living expenses. While working with the Legal Assistance Centre as part of the IYIP in partnership with the Canadian Bar Association, I developed essential skills in human rights law while learning to adapt to life in a developing foreign country. It was a life-changing experience where I learned so much.


I am now working as a poverty lawyer in Nunavut, one of the few such lawyers resident in the entire territory. I assist my predominantly Inuit low-income clients with their legal rights, including in employment law, landlord-tenant disputes, and human rights complaints. I feel very fortunate to be working here.

I would like you to know that my employer has informed me that my experience in Africa under the IYIP was one of the reasons why they thought I was a suitable candidate for this position. They explained that my IYIP experience demonstrated my ability to adapt to and thrive in a cross-cultural context, often with limited resources. The experience that I have gained from the IYIP continues to directly help me with my job today, as my clients in Nunavut often deal with similar themes of poverty, addiction, domestic abuse, and isolation that I saw in Namibia – although in a very different environmental climate, of course.

Many of my colleagues who graduated law school with me are still struggling to find steady work.
We all know the story: in order to get a job, you need experience. But in order to get experience, you
need a job. The number of young lawyers that are out of work is particularly frustrating when
juxtaposed with the fact that there is a huge need for lawyers in remote areas such as Nunavut or
northern Ontario. But these vacant positions require some work experience in order to ensure that
clients’ needs are adequately and competently addressed.

I am very lucky that I have been able to achieve my dream of being a human rights lawyer, which
was made possible through my time with the IYIP. At the same time, I feel saddened that the next
generation of law school graduates may not have the same wonderful opportunities that I had with
the IYIP. My understanding is that your department needs to decide whether it will renew funding
for the International Youth Internship Programs. The IYIP offers exactly what new university
graduates need – paid experience. It prepares them for their future career and is an important
investment in the future of young Canadians.

As such, I am respectfully asking you to ensure the continuation of the IYIP, and to engage all
relevant stakeholders in a dialogue should you wish to review the program.

Sincerely,
Gloria


  part of a report about domestic violence I helped work on while at the Legal Assistance Centre
************
Note: You can read about my experiences in Namibia here, or starting from the beginning here

Note: You can also read the letter written by my friend Joshua Lam, who is accomplishing wonderful public interest work in Alberta with Pro Bono Law Alberta and Calgary Housing & Employment Services.

suicide prevention day

Yesterday was World Suicide Prevention Day, which Nunavut celebrated as Embrace Life Day.  Communities across Nunavut held various activities to mark this important day, including Cambridge Bay, which is holding week-long events and activities to provide support to the community and raise awareness.

gathering at the community hall to open the ceremony with a prayer in Inuinnaqtun 

As many know, suicide is a particularly troubling issue that people in Nunavut struggle with.  The statistics are shocking. Last year, 27 people died by suicide in Nunavut, which is a staggering number when you consider the entire territory has a population of 34,000, that of say, Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. The suicide rate of Inuit youth is 11 times the national average and one of the highest in the world.  Some of these youths that commit suicide are as young as eleven years old.  And each of these deaths hits the communities hard.  This past year, I remember a particularly bad time when a young man committed suicide here in Cambridge Bay, shortly after a woman had been killed in a fire. The two funerals happened on the same day, and on that very day, another man also committed suicide in town.  The cause of this problem is complex, a result of many factors including poverty, mental health issues, abuse, alcoholism, colonialism, and not enough support systems in place to deal with them.  There are no quick and easy solutions, but publicly showing one's support is an important step to helping people realize they are not alone.

One of the events that Cambridge Bay held for Embrace Life day was a candlelight civil, a march that led throughout the whole town. I was pleased to see how many people showed up to participate, people of all ages marching together

 

 

  

  

a camera man taking footage of the vigil

the ladyboys of thailand

When I told my hairstylist in Ottawa, a lovely woman originally from Vietnam, that my partner and I were going to Southeast Asia for our honeymoon, she emphatically insisted that we go to "Geisho" when we got to Thailand.

"Is that a place?" I asked confusedly.
"You know, Geisho!" she said again. "But don't sit your man at front. They do things to man in front."

I realized that she was referring to a "gay show".

The Thai concept of kathoey, or what is popularly termed as ladyboy in English, does not exactly have a direct Western translation. Some kathoey explain it as being of a third gender or a women of a second kind. Sometimes it refers to an effeminate gay man. Sometimes it refers to a person born as a biological man who has undergone a full surgery or is taking hormonal therapy. Some dress as men during the day at work, and dress as women at night.

We hadn't really planned on seeing a ladyboy show in Thailand, but I really wanted to learn more about kathoey while I was in Thailand. Although I am a cisgender woman, I find it fascinating to learn about different concepts of gender identity in other cultures. I just wanted to tap the kathoey clerk at our Bangkok hotel on her shoulder and ask her all sorts of questions about her life. That would be intrusive, of course, and I am a polite Canadian, so I did not. Instead, I bought a book on the subject and read it by the hotel pool.

Contrary to popular Western belief, ladyboys are not always readily accepted in Thai society, even though the term kathoey has for a long time and often ladyboys begin to self-identify at a very young age, as early as eight. Ladyboys often face public ridicule; sometimes they are kicked out of the house for bringing shame on the family. The ones that leave home early are denied an education, and cannot get well-paying office jobs. Even if they do have an education, many employers do not want to hire a ladyboy. This is why ladyboys disproportionately work as prostitutes or performers.  Even after going through a full gender reassignment surgery, the Thai government does not recognize them as women, and forces them to don the "Mr" title on their passports.  Meanwhile, the police often arrest ladyboys on the streets while propositioning to them at the same time.

By the time we got to Ko Samui, I decided it would be fun to hit up a ladyboy cabaret. Our guide assured us that the ladyboy cabarets were magnificent spectacles, with no affiliation whatsoever with the go-go bars in Patpong, and while I was worried about the idea of paying ladyboys to dance and pose in front of us like zoo animals, I did see that a lot of families brought their kids to the ladyboy cabarets and having a lot of fun. So we headed over to Stars Cabaret in Chaweng.

It's free to get into the show at Stars Cabaret, but there is a one drink minimum, and as you might guess, the drinks are way overpriced. Still the show was quite entertaining, as the performers came on stage in fabulous costumes and fun dance sequences. It's obvious that they spend a lot of time rehearsing and that they enjoy showing off their talents to the tourists. Between the ladyboys shaking their peacock feather-adorned booties to Lady Marmalade, and the showboys dancing around in high heels, mascara, tight black pants, and no shirts, there more going on than my eyes could keep up with.

also featuring showboys

I was impressed not only by kathoey's ability to transcend gender, but also, apparently race. The Thai performers were imitating white and black singers convincingly, without resorting to offensive caricatures (ie, no blackface). They were clearly the masters of makeup. I was tempted to run backstage and beg them to give me lessons in eyeliner.

One of my favourite acts involved a single performer dressed as a man on one side and as a woman on the other side, singing the famous duet "One Man Woman" (you can see another similar performance here). During the female vocals, the performer presented the female side, and during the male vocals, the performer presented the male side. It was fun to watch, if not at the least because it allowed you to see the performer both in drag and not in drag at the same time...not to mention also a white woman and an Asian man at the same time.

there's her...

there's him...

there's them!

There was, as my hairstylist warned, a lot of audience participation, sometimes involuntary: "Toni Braxton" convinced one of the male audience members to give her a kiss on the cheek, while another performer teased a shy Korean tourist who was trying to hide behind his iPad. It was definitely an entertaining night.

diana ross

toni braxton

beyonce

britney spears

whitney houston

photo shoot! discussing domestic violence and gender-based violence

One of the coolest projects I've worked on as a public interest lawyer (besides helping to write a comic book) was helping to run a photo shoot to develop a series of photographs as part of the Legal Assistance Centre's public awareness campaign about domestic violence.

Sylvia Kincses is a photographer from New York who was visiting Namibia at the time, and offered to provide her services for this cause. The photo shoot was pretty fun, despite the serious subject matter, and a nice break from report writing and legal research.

Our organization then turned these photographs into informative posters.



The organization has now finally released a major report on domestic violence in Namibia, evaluating how the domestic violence legislation is working in the country. It's a comprehensive report that I have had the privilege of helping out with. You can read about the findings here: http://www.lac.org.na/projects/grap/grapviolence.html.

I've discussed the topic of domestic violence and gender-based violence before, both in the context of Namibia and for Canada as well, and the topic remains important to me. I think it's important that we continue to fight these battles and educate the public about these important issues. Recently, in my hometown of Ottawa, a Para Transpo driver (a public service transporting people living with disabilities) pleaded guilty to sexually assaulting a woman in a wheelchair who had both intellectual and physical disabilities. The part that stuck out the most for me was this quote from the accused:

Fuentes said he didn’t know the woman lived in a group home and he didn’t remember her saying no or resisting him.

This statement shows a problem with what people understand about consent. In the landmark case R v. Ewanchuk, the Supreme Court of Canada found that there was no such thing as implied consent when it came to sex. In other words, you can't go around assuming that everybody wants to have sex with you. You have to make sure that the other person is consenting. Not hearing a "no" is not enough to assume consent; you have to actually get a green light to go. This rape case should never have happened. It should be common knowledge that you need a person's consent, but it seems like this is not something that everybody understands, or else you wouldn't hear of so many cases of people engaging in such behaviour when the other person is too intoxicated or incapacitated to give their consent. This is why I think it's important to engage in public awareness campaigns, educating people so that it is common knowledge that consent must be given, just like it should be common knowledge that you can't beat your spouse.

I recently finished reading a crime novel called The Hour of the Jackal by Bernhard Jaumann. As far as murder mystery crime thriller goes, it's pretty standard in many aspects of the plot, but what was particularly interesting for me was its setting, as the novel takes place in Windhoek, Namibia. It is the only crime novel I've found so far that takes place in Windhoek. Of course I loved the chance to revisit a city that I fell in love with, but what I found particularly inspiring was the author's subtle message about society's complacency after Independence. The novel's plot is closely connected to the assassination of anti-apartheid fighter Anton Lubowsky, the first white man to openly fight for SWAPO (he also helped found our organization, the Legal Assistance Centre). His murder has still been left unsolved, possibly for political reasons.

A character in the novel asks if Lubowski fought and died for freedom for no reason. I find these words to be inspirational about continuing to push for better conditions in society, not just in Namibia but in our own neighbourhoods as well:

"Is that what Lubowski died for?

"Twenty years have gone by, and still no one wants to know what really happened. The reasons for this have undergone a stealthy change, that's all. People have settled into drab routine, into a rut unworthy of all the struggles that raged in thepast. They have no wish to be reminded that quite different aspirations once prevailed, and that people were murdered for them. Lubowski isn't buried under one-and-a-half metres of earth, but under the guilty conscience of those who have outlived him. Because we don't want to admit to ourselves that we've made nothing out of them, the dramas of the past must remain unspoken. And so, Lubowski has ben sacrificed twice over. Not, this time, for a better future, but so that people can continue to wallow in the dismal and rather dirty but otherwise not uncomfortable morass in which they have somehow ended up. Insufferable, isn't it?

"So what? some will say now. Lubowski doens't care anymore, dead is dead. I take a different view. The dead can be murdered a second time, but you can also try to prevent that."

a completely serious discussion of international development

Towards the end of my contract in Namibia, I wrote a piece discussing how to make meaningful individual contributions toward international development that would have a positive and sustainable effect on the developing country, rather than just letting donors/volunteers feel good about themselves.

The Onion, however, always manages to find a way to express my thoughts in a wittier and pithier manner:

"Point: My Year Volunteering As A Teacher Helped Educate A New Generation Of Underprivileged Kids" vs "Counterpoint: Can We Please, Just Once, Have A Real Teacher?"

charter party flash mob!

Last Tuesday, April 17, Canada celebrated the 30th anniversary of our Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. Some of us (lawyers, mostly) celebrated with a flash mob. Who doesn't love flash mobs? Even lawyers love flash mobs!

I reported on this event for a couple news publications. You can read about the event in one of the publications here: http://apt613.ca/flash-mob-the-ottawa-legal-community-celebrates-the-30th-anniversary-of-the-charter/

Namibia's Independence Day

"Now, in the post-apartheid era, what is their excuse? Well, this is the great epoch of freedom. And freedom comes with conspicuous consumption and instant gratification: people of his clan don't only wear brands but see themselves as brands. They purchase and market themselves as such."
-Zanemvula Kizito Gatyeni Mda, "Black Diamond"

I catch a cab at the end of my street in Khomasdal, the coloured township of Windhoek. There are already two passengers in it, wishing everyone a happy Independence Day. The cab driver has been listening to some of the celebrations in Mariental being aired on the radio. It is a bunch of speeches from various government officials thanking other government officials. It all sounds kind of dry and I'm glad that I didn't make the trek to Mariental for the festivities and had stayed in Windhoek instead.

The cab driver changes the radio to a music station where the Afrikaner deejay is blathering on about the freedoms we should be thankful for now, like the freedom to go to the mall and shop and the like.

"Freedom," the cab driver snorts. "We are not free here."

"Nee?" I ask. He seems to want to talk.

"We do not have freedom when anyone can walk into our homes, rob our house and attack our women," he says. "This is not freedom. When you are not safe, we are not free."

"Yes, there is a lot of crime," I agree. "There still is a long way to go." I was going to add some dramatic comment about how it is a long walk to freedom, and then realize that someone else had already said it before.

Instead, at that point the cab runs out of petrol and stops at the side of Sam Nujoma Drive. I get out of the cab and walk the rest of the way. I feel bad leaving the cab stranded there on the road, but I am late.

I meet briefly with my old landlord, an old German man who tells me how his family used to go to Angola on vacation to get away from the apartheid regime. "It felt so free there," he says, "for those of us who were a little more liberal-minded and didn't agree with the system." He tells me how the black Angolans used to come up to his small blonde children, fascinated, and ask permission to touch their hair.

Afterwards, I meet up with A, who has been out of town working on a study of the behaviour of men who have sex with men, some still closeted, to assess their risk in terms of HIV exposure. We head over to Singles Quarters the Katutura township to have kapana for lunch.

Singles Quarters is where the apartheid regime had kept their male labourers, separate from their wives and families, while they worked. Now it is a giant meat market where you can also get delicious kapana. We pass a cow's skull on the ground and approach one of the stands where a man was cooking his meat. He invites us to sample a piece of beef. It agrees with A., who then orders sixty namibian dollars worth of meat, which the man finishes cooking on his grill and then wraps up in newspaper before handing it to us. L runs to another stand in the market to purchase some diced tomatoes to go on the side, and we sit ourselves at a nearby table to enjoy kapana with some Fanta. As a Korean-Canadian, I'll always be biased toward Korean barbecue, but kapana is still quite good. I eat a piece that is pure fat (it looks like a baked potato) and am struck in wonder how how full of flavour it is. I am suddenly afraid I might become Jack Sprat's wife who eats no lean.

By that point, AN and S. have joined us, and we decide to spend the afternoon at Goreangab Dam. On the way, we spot F partying on a balcony, so we pick her up and bring her along.

Goreangab is jumping; all of Katutura's residents are out celebrating Independence Day. We give up trying to find a spot at a picnic table and instead park our cars under the shade of a tree. We open the trunk and sit on the bumper, blasting kwaito rap and drinking beers. AN remarks that it feels like an awful lot like American tailgating. To me, it feel like high school for some reason and I find it comforting.

The two Oshiwambo girls F and L are wishing everyone a Happy Independence Day. F has been celebrating all night, dancing in the shebeens until 5:30AM and then starting up again at 7AM. She looks totally punk rock. I resolve to do the same for Canada Day.

Everyone is having a good time, drinking, partying, dancing to great Namibian tunes like Gazza. At one point, a pickup truck full of guys backs up straight at us and hits the tree dead on, barely missing AN and leaving a huge dent in the back of the truck. Nobody seems to care, and the drivers drives off as nonchalantly as he can. I envision him telling drunk stories later that night about how a tree had come out of nowhere and rear-ended him.

"Happy Independence Day," F says again, cracking open another beer. I look at the lot of us and feel thankful about our freedom to do this, in our independence after apartheid, to hang out with our friends, a mix of whites, blacks, asians.

Soon the weather takes a turn for the worse - not just rain, but thunder and lightning. F squeals and dives into the trunk of A.'s car, insisting that it's time to move, anywhere, anywhere indoors. We pile into A.'s fake sports car and An. and S.'s station wagon and go to one of the dozens of shebeens on Eveline Street. Eveline Street is like Newfoundland's George Street, heavily concentrated in rowdy bars, but Katutura-style. Seems like every shebeen is also a car wash or a barbershop. Three fun things to do in Katutura: drink beer, wash your car, and get your hair done. You'd think we were deep in Texas.

The rain is coming down hard and everyone's looking for shelter. I order a cheap Windhoek Lager that costs barely over a dollar and look at the tin walls and the tin roof and the bodies all pressed against each other, girls dancing on the floor, guys chatting with each other while sitting on the pool table. I feel a bit claustrophobic but at least we are out of the rain.

Once the rain lets up, F. convinces us to squeeze into the station wagon and drive around Katutura to find some cute boys that she had met the night before. Instead, we end up finding T at Druzo's. By that point I feel like I've done enough drinking for the day so I decide to head home to "my" neighbourhood, Khomasdal, the township where coloured people lived during apartheid. L and F give me one more hug and one more happy independence day, and then we depart. This is the last time I'm going to see them before I leave Namibia.

At home, N is waiting for me, ready to cook a risotto as my last dinner in Namibia. We pick up some drinks at the neighbourhood shebeen Benny's so we have some beers for the night, and then M and W come over just in time to drink it. N serves the risotto which is delicious. ZK refuses to eat it because the dish is vegetarian and he is Herero and Hereros apparently only consider meat to be food. M is also a self-identified Herero, but he doesn't pass up a good free meal.

I try to make a toast. "Happy Independence Day," I say without thinking, and then my voice falters. "...do you guys do Independence Day?"

And then ensues a heated debate between Hereros M and ZK, and W with her mixed background. I should have known better than to bring up patriotic rhetoric in front of queer Herero folks, but then I've been partying with Oshiwambo girls all day.

"Independence Day is the one day I tell my white boyfriend to leave me alone," W replies.

"No," M says at the same time. "Independence Day is what Ovambos celebrate."

"Oh, Hereros have to come off that," W says. "You guys have got to stop whining."

"We were the first ones to fight," M replies. "Back when everyone was still trying to figure out what to do, we were already here on the ground fighting. And now what? The Ovambos are in power and wasting our money, paying fifty thousand namibian dollars to exile kids like you."

M is referring to the fact that W had been sent out of the country as a child for safety reasons until after Independence. "You're talking about wasting money?" W retorts. "Who spent millions of dollars sending a bunch of representatives to Germany to retrieve like ten skulls? How many Hereros does it take to carry some skulls anyway?"

All throughout this, ZK is emphatically punctuating all these comments with his own exclamations of approval or disapproval. He's eighteen years old and was born after Independence, which is hard to think about. I can barely follow along the debate. Meanwhile, in all the excitement, N has accidentally sliced his hand open on a broken bottle neck of a beer and is bleeding all over the kitchen floor.

"Are you okay with blood?" he asks me, holding his hand with his other hand.

"Yes," I lie, closing my eyes. He instructs me to tear off a cloth strip from an old shirt so he can wrap it around his hand, which just won't stop bleeding. That's when I find out he is a doctor, having just completed a fellowship at Harvard.

The political debate in the kitchen ends when W checks her phone and discovers that one of her (many) admirers have sent her a, shall we say, adult photo. We then discuss how she should reply. Eventually we decdie to send her a series of close-up phtoos of other body parts: M's beard, ZK's nostril, my shoulder, and N's bloody finger. Two black guys, a white guy, and an Asian woman. Happy Independence Day. W's suitor replies that he wishes the photos were clearer.

At that point of the night, all of the day's drinking has left me sleepy and I find myself curling up on my mattress on the floor, turning in early on my own good-bye dinner. N thoughtfully closes the door and I sleep while the others keep drinking.

I wake up at one point in the night to hear my friends still talking in the kitchen. W and N are discussing what their notions of freedoms are, and whether they think they are free. They conclude that they are. I want to get out of bed to join in this discussion, but realize I have nothing to add. Instead I snuggle into my covers and think about where I am. I think about W and N, one an exile kid smuggled out of the country while being shot at during the war against apartheid only to return a decade later to a home she no longer recognize; and the other one having spent his childhood caught in the Bosnian war and then his adolescence with his town under fire and not being able to go to school. And then I think about me, having never lived through war and free to come to Africa and leave as I please. I think about how if they are free, then obviously I am, and I am grateful for it.